Surviving the Apocalypse: Long Leggity Beasties

Prologue The man who entered the SCIF—the Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility—was so nondescript as to be virtually unnoticeable. People would walk right by him, stare right at him, and never even realize he was there. Which was exactly the way he preferred it. It made it easier for him to do his job. As for the SCIF itself, which was located in a sub-subbasement of the J. Edgar Hoover building, only a very select few in the entire country knew of it. Although as it turned out, “the few” had been reduced to “two,” and now only Man the First and Man the Second were aware it existed. Man the Second—they’d never refer to themselves as number one or number two, since too many puerile jokes could be made about those titles—took the seat across from Man the First. “Sorry I kept you waiting,” he said. “No need to apologize. I know how he can get.” The “he” Man the First referred to was of course the forty-sixth president, one of the youngest men to be elected—even younger than JFK. As a backlash to the previous president’s policies, Forty-six, with his good looks, charismatic personality, and idealistic beliefs, had won in a landslide, not only the popular vote but the Electoral College as well. The career politicians in DC bent over backwards to go along with his policies in a desperate bid to placate the populace and keep their jobs. And they kept their fingers crossed that history would look kindly on them. Keeping his job wasn’t something Man the Second knew he or the man who’d been waiting for him in the SCIF needed to worry about. They’d been installed in their positions by Richard Nixon and no one knew of them. Even Nixon had probably forgotten them once he’d left office. First and Second passed on their instructions through men and women who were trusted by both their superiors and their subordinates. Things could get a bit hairy at times, but it all came out in the wash, as Man the Second’s sainted granny had liked to say. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?” First suggested. “Things aren’t working out the way we’d expected. We’ll have to scrub the experiment.” Which was too bad. Operation Big Boss had begun three administrations ago as a form of biological warfare, and then in the last administration it was used as a way of dealing with the migrants who left their homes in Central America, desperate to enter this country. The caravans would start crossing the state of Oaxaca in Mexico only to vanish. No one cared—not their own people and certainly not the men in power in this country—and no one questioned their disappearance. “Then we’ll scrub it. Although I have to say I don’t understand why you think it isn’t working. Considering the parameters we were given, it’s pretty much done what we set it up to do. Al-Qaeda and ISIL have had their backs broken, and the tidal wave of migrants has dwindled to a trickle, which the border patrol can easily handle. I don’t see why you insisted we have this meeting.” “We’ve got a problem.” Man the First sighed. “Of course we do.” Well, at least he didn’t raise his eyes to heaven as if pleading for patience. “Explain.” Man the Second did so, observing the color mount in First’s face. He concluded with, “A few of them have been tracked to this country, to New Mexico.” “Dammit.” “Yes. I had a thought, though.” “Go on.” “Send Canaday out to New Mexico. She won’t be able to deal with the situation.” Frankly, Second wasn’t sure if anyone could, but those were the breaks. “She’s been asking too many questions, and this will be the easiest way to dispose of her.” “Hennessey isn’t going to be happy to have a female agent assigned to him.” “Precisely. He’ll make things increasingly more difficult for her, and her eventual failure will be chalked up to incompetence on her part.” First drummed his fingertips on the desk, but Second had no doubt the man would agree with him. Sure enough…“Yes. This sounds like a doable plan. You’ll deal with it?” “Certainly.” Second wanted to grin, but he kept his expression smooth. “I’ll see the proper person drops a word in the director’s ear.” First nodded and rose, ending the meeting. He didn’t leave the SCIF, however, and Second waited to hear what he had to say. “If, as you say, a few of them have entered this country…It might be a good idea if we took a vacation.” “Yes.” Second didn’t even have to take a minute to think about it. He knew the way things were likely to go, and getting out of Dodge was an excellent idea. “We haven’t been to our island off New Zealand in some time.” He approached First and kissed his lips. “See if you can get us a flight out.” “I’ll make the arrangements and then stop at our bank, if you’ll head home and start packing.” Yes,” he said again. “But no connections in LA.” Although no one was aware at this point, the City of Angels, with its never-ending system of storm drains below its streets, would soon be on the verge of annihilation. As would the rest of the United States. However, at this point there was nothing they could do about it. “No, no LA connections.” First smiled at him, and Second recalled why he’d fallen in love with the man all those years before. “You always wanted to see London, Paris, and Rome.” Second had never had the opportunity, though, since unlike First, he’d always worked in the States. Yes, those cities should be safe enough, at least for the time being, although neither of them knew how long that would last. Eastern Europe was on the verge of going dark; by using newsfeed in a loop, he and First had managed to keep the media from learning of this, although it was anyone’s guess as to how long that would last once they’d left the country. It was good they were moving fast. Australia was already suspicious something was going on and had closed its ports to all shipping. New Zealand might do the same at any time, and become wary enough to ban air flight as well. Second brushed his lips over First’s a final time, then watched as his partner left the SCIF. In spite of the nondescript appearance they both cultivated, they never failed to be cautious. He waited, rubbing his temples at an incipient headache. Maybe it was a good idea that he and First retired. He was getting too old for this s**t. Fifteen minutes later, Second walked out of the J. Edgar Hoover building and made his way to the apartment he and First shared, making a mental note as to what he’d need to pack.