The Plague Within

By Gioya McRae

Chad Summers lives in a world where a disease decimates Black communities, the government isolates and deserts them, and they’re left to build their own societies.

Blackmailed by the Regime, mercenary Rude Ryder sabotages Chad's attempts to gain a foothold in the emerging culture of growth. While Chad's girlfriend, model Raquel James distracts him in other ways.

The novel takes place in the year 2050 in the urban community of Adamsberg, New Jersey. Black people who have “escaped” to the comforting suburbs are forced back to co-mingle with the elements and people they had left behind.

The Plague Within details how one man struggles against a controlling Regime and the traitors within to lead a society to unity and develop the necessary elements of survival – food, shelter and clothing – while fighting a devastating disease. After losing everything, for the second time in his life, can Chad rebuild his life and the lives of a population betrayed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gioya McRae
• Release date: Jan 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9780977454211

Gioya McRae

Gioya McRae is Founder of Mocha Mind Communications, a literary firm. She is a professional writer and speaker, whose experience ranges from writing books, magazine articles and web content to creating theater reviews. McRae’s Self-Publishing and Creative Writing Seminars guide aspiring authors to reach their publishing dreams.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Newark, NJ in March 2050

The three men cruised the littered streets eyeballing passersby through the one-way glass. In turn, pedestrians scrutinized the anomalous vehicle.

Ignoring the unusual warmth of the day, they kept the windows shut tight as a precaution. They rolled up the sleeves of their microfiber clothing and scratched their arms. They only had to wear it a few hours more.

The two newbys sat up front while, in back, the lieutenant read data on a touch screen. He said, Turn right at the corner and go a half mile.

Gotcha, said newby number one. He was a nineteen year old short, chubby blond with a crew cut and big ears. He swung the Humvee around the corner with the same practiced ease he used to drive his dad's tractor.

The guy riding shotgun stretched his long legs out and scratched his ankle. If we're almost there, I might as well put on the shoes.

The senior answered without moving his eyes from the monitor. Wait 'til we get there.

The lanky man gave the senior a sideways glance and leaned toward Chubby. How long do you think we'll be on this duty? He rotated his shoulders and stretched his legs, then pulled at his crotch as if to relieve some pressure.

The driver said, The Regime's not saying.

Lanky leaned back and said, My Dad said they haven’t revealed anything since they came into power twenty years ago.

Chubby smiled. Yeah, except when they want to tell us what to do.

And they’re even more close-mouthed since President Wang came into power.

How’d a Chinese man get to be president anyway in the modern world of 2050?

Lanky reached for the shoes again and then seemed to remember his order to wait. Easy. They bought us up, piece by piece until they bought the presidency. It’s a damn shame. He looked back at their leader who seemed to be absorbed in some charts. Whatever’s going on, I see more soldiers coming in every day.

Chubby said, The natives don’t even seem to notice. He pointed to a huddle of teens standing on the corner watching them pass in the dimming sunlight. And why are we here anyway? What are we protecting them from? That’s what I want to know.

I’ve heard some things, but I don’t know how true they are.

Like what? said Chubbs.

Lanky said, Well, for one thing, I heard we’re not here to protect them.

Chubby screwed his face up, making him look like a Shar Pei. Well, what the fuck are we here for then?

Lanky lowered his voice, as if the senior was paying attention to them, and said, I hear somethin’s wrong with some of the people here.

Then the police should just arrest them.

"No, Idiot! Not like their doin’ somethin’ wrong. There’s somethin’ wrong with them."

Every blue spectrum in Chubby’s eyes was showing now. Like what?

From the back of the truck a loud voice said, Heads up. We're here.

***

Chubby eased the truck to the curb in front of a shabby gray house. He looked around. This is it? There's nothing here but old houses.

Senior didn't respond except to say, Suit up, guys.

The privates slid on thick, brown-gray rubber booties that overlapped their pant legs. They added a wide strip of gray tape over the top edge of the booties to guarantee the seal. They pulled on matching rubber headgear until it covered their necks and repeated the taping procedure. The headgear covered their faces with a sheer protective fabric that filtered the air they breathed. Their uniforms, boots and headgear were constructed with fabric that morphed, chameleon-like to blend into all backgrounds.

Once they were suited, they stood and awaited instruction.

The lieutenant said, You may think you know what to expect, but this is your first assignment of this kind. We need to get in, complete the job and get out of this neighborhood ASAP. You got that? He gave them detailed instructions and slid open the back of the humvee so they could exit. Lanky hopped out and waited on the cracked sidewalk as Chubby turned back and opened his mouth. Before he could utter a word, Senior snapped the door shut. Via communicator, he said, Get going and hurry. I don't want any confusion from the natives.

The two walked up to the decaying house and creaked up the stairs. The front door was unlocked as they had been told. The rusted mailbox's faded lettering spelled Richie.

Chubby said, I guess this is the place. He chuckled without smiling. His sweaty hands wet the inside of his gloves."

Lanky pushed the door open and they walked into a dim, dank foyer. A dusty plastic flower arrangement sat atop a wood-like table and an oval mirror hung above it reflecting the dying sunlight through the open door.

A cloying smell permeated their filtering masks and Lanky gagged. He said, I'm going upstairs. You take the rooms down here.

Chubby started down the dark hallway. He looked back with questioning eyes, but Lanky had already disappeared up the stairs. He turned and half tripped up the stairs behind his partner. He reached the second floor to find the landing empty. Hey Partner, what's your position?

Lanky appeared from a bedroom on the left.

Even behind the mask, Chubby could see he was pale and shaken.

Lanky said, We have to go in here. He jerked his thumb toward the room. He heaved a raspy breath, turned and reentered the room.

Chubby paced into the room and slapped his gloved hand to his mouth. He'd never seen anything like this, even on the farm.

They bent and lifted the body, each taking two appendages. As they moved the heavy mass onto the polymer wrap, it slammed to the floor leaving blighted skin pieces in the men's hands.

Papa Richie, had been dead only a day, but the disease had rendered his skin into mushy sleeves covering his arms and legs.

They discovered him laying in a heap next to his recliner. A damp, smelly blanket lay crumpled beneath him. His stiff hand held a media remote. Cyberscoop, the Regime-controlled news still played on the wall media screen. A pile of discarded medicated gauze pads patched with bits of skin spilled from an overturned bucket on the floor next to his chair.

Lanky doubled over and dry-heaved.

Chubby shook his hands in the air and then scraped them on the polymer. He said, We've gotta get a grip. He wrapped the polymer around Papa Richie and dragged him to the top of the stairs.

Chubby entered the next room first. Here the twin boys lay next to each other, one under the covers, one on top. They were about ten years old. The one on top of the covers was fully dressed except for shoes. The other was wearing Iron Man pajamas. A folded wash cloth had dried across his forehead. It seemed like one boy was caring for the other. A line of snot had hardened across the dressed twin's cheek and his half-closed eyes were crusty.

The men repeated the wrapping process with the twins. Lanky's hands shook as they placed the boys next to their father at the top of the stairs.

Lanky said, There's supposed to be a little girl, about three years old. The mother died in the hospital. He sniffed and choked back a sob. Then he stood tall and pulled his shoulders back. They investigated the third bedroom, the bathroom and closets. Nothing.

They decided to bring the bodies downstairs and then search the first floor. Even wrapped in polymer, Papa Richie was too heavy to maneuver down the stairs.

Lanky descended halfway down the stair, reached up and yanked at the end of the wrap. Papa Richie's body bumped down the stairway making sickly squishing and cracking sounds as it passed Lanky to the bottom landing and lay there like a sack of laundry.

Lanky grabbed his stomach and ran out of the house. He had vomited in his mask. He raked his hands at the taped neckline and ripped off the headgear.

While he wiped his face, Chubby carried the boys down one by one.

The two men put the bodies into the truck's cold unit and reentered the house. They searched the living room and dining room with no success. They entered the kitchen to the saddest sight of all. A tiny girl in footy pajamas covered with daisies and stars. She lay in front of an open cooling unit. Spilled juice and partially eaten cookies and bread decayed around the small body.

Chubby dropped to his knees and held wavering hands over the small figure. Her cute face shone through the splotched skin. Tiny braids spanned her head like a halo. A piece of moldy bread hung from her mouth. Chubby pulled it from her lips.

As the food left her mouth, she gasped.

Chubby fell back and screamed.

Lanky appeared at the door. He said, Are you ok?

Chubby pointed at the girl. His mouth moved, but nothing came out.

Lanky said, I'll get her. He pulled out another polymer wrap and leaned closer.

Chubby said, No, don't. She's breathing.

Lanky dropped the wrap and picked up the girl. He ran out the door, leaving Chubby on the floor.

Chapter 2

Chad viewed his new surroundings with loathing. How did I come to this? He watched the cold rain shift trash from one dirty curb to another. He lifted another moving carton and shivered as he trudged up the stairs to his woman's second-floor apartment.

Chad dropped the heavy box onto the floor and looked around the room. The apartment was small and drab by his standards. It was killing him to leave his luxury digs behind. He went back downstairs and hoisted another carton. He'd left so many things behind, things it had taken him years to acquire. Tension squeezed Chad's chest.

I've done all the right things. I've gone to school, worked hard, saved my credits... I've earned my right to a good life. I pulled my ass out of the ghetto and now look at me. Chad glanced down the street to see a gaggle of young hoods hanging on the corner watching him. He heaved a sigh, locked his vehicle and went back inside.

Chad dropped the last box onto the living room floor and sat on it. He blinked back tears and clenched his jaws until he tasted blood inside his cheek. It was unfair. The Regime had no right to do this to him.

I fought to evolve from fried fish shacks to sushi bars, from graffiti painted buildings to glass-walled high-rises, from junk filled yards to tree-lined streets.

My high school buddies called me faggot, sellout, booji, when I veered away from them to study. I told them to look for the guys that hung on those same corners just a few years before. Gunshots and overdoses had cleared the way for the new gangstas. But they thought they were bulletproof, nothing would happen to them. Now most of them are dead and the ones who are left still don't get it. They look at me like I'm the traitor. In reality, they are, for wasting their lives and taking others down with them. What they couldn't understand was that Black is not a lifestyle. You're not betraying your race by living a good life.

Once I got my scholarship to Howard University, I never looked back. In fact, I never came back. I got my South Orange condo with my first job. I only came to places like this to visit my folks, and of course, to see Raquel.

***

Raquel had been the love of Chad’s life since college. He had met her at her 19th birthday party. He had seen her celebration from a corner of the campus pub. Captivated by her earthy beauty he had run across campus and bought a singing birthday card. After overhearing her name several times, he programmed it into Stevie Wonder’s oldies birthday tribute to Martin Luther King.

Happy birthday Raquel!

Happy birthday Raquel!

Happy birrrrthday!

Chad strolled into the pub with the large birthday card and handed it to her with a grin. Embarrassed at not remembering him, she accepted the card and offered him a beer. By the end of the evening, he had charmed his way into her heart. He confessed his trickery and begged for her forgiveness and a date.

Raquel had said, Anyone who would go through this much trouble is worthy of at least one date.

They had begun dating that week and had been together ever since.

***

Chad wiped his eyes and surveyed the room. He had to admit Raquel's place wasn't that bad. It's just that he had become accustomed to plush surroundings. He stood and started to unpack one of the damp boxes. He pulled out some books and stacked them in a corner. Next he found a picture he and Raquel had taken on last year's Hawaiian vacation. He placed it on a side table. One by one, he pulled out the items he had thrown into the box, until he reached a small ebony statue of The Thinker that Raquel had given him as a birthday gift. She said it reminded her of him, always deep in thought and so serious.

Chad gripped the precious item. His face morphed into a grimace. He turned and smashed the statue against the wall. Look where all my thinking got me. He returned to the box and threw each remaining item against the door, the floor, the table, then he stomped the carton flat. He dropped to his knees. I wanted Raquel to live with me, not the other way around. It was all so different a few weeks ago...

***

Chad and Raquel were having lunch at the Flying Fish Restaurant on South Orange Avenue in South Orange. It was a quiet little bistro with the best seafood in the area. They sat in a back booth and grinned their way through a garlic shrimp appetizer. After three years of dating, they still emitted the demeanor of new lovers. Between dishes they held hands across the table and spoke in hushed giggles and whispers.

Chad gazed out the decorated picture window and drifted into thought. I love Raquel, but sometimes she acts so young and irresponsible, like she doesn’t care what happens in the world. It’s like being admired on the runway is all that matters. If social issues or world events mattered to her, I’d do more than live with her. I’d marry her.

Chad's smile disappeared. He leaned forward and said, Raquel, did you hear the story about that family in Newark who contracted that skin disease?

Yeah, it was creepy. I never heard of anything like that before. I only noticed because I popped the news chip into the reader and touched the science news button by mistake. I wanted to hear the fashion news, but I listen to lead science story anyway.

She raised the dessert menu between their views.

Chad pushed Raquel’s menu down onto the table and looked deep into her eyes. "The disease started in the heart of Newark. The Richies, a family of three children, a mother and father, were the first to contract what is now dubbed the Exterior Membrane Disease or EMD.

"What was notable in this case was that the Richies contracted the disease in order of skin color, first Momma, last baby Ann. The disease worked its evil through the family until it took them all from darkest to lightest. Although the baby was found alive, it died on the way to the hospital.

"The horrors of EMD are numerous. It's a skin disease that emerges as itchy patches. At first doctors thought it to be a form of psoriasis and treated it as such. When the treatments failed and more people in the community came forward with the disease, the Center for Disease Control was called in to identify the problem.

As always with the Regime, they took their time in handling matters relating to us unless it meant economic detriment to the Regime or their proponents.

Raquel pulled a mirror from her purse and glanced at her smooth honey brown skin; large, deep brown eyes; arched eyebrows and curly black hair. She swept an ebony lock back from her cheek, took another look at her makeup.

Chad pushed her hand down and said, It's not just this family. This has been happening for several months. The lab gets all types of reports from the CDC about new diseases. I saw a memo last year about another family with the same symptoms.

In Newark?

No. This was in Chicago. I kept an eye out for more notifications, but didn’t see anything more.

Raquel frowned, Are you sure they had the same symptoms? She tapped her well-manicured nails on the table.

Absolutely.

They were startled by a comely young waitress standing in anticipation of an order. You touched the ‘needs’ button?

Raquel looked down to see she had indeed tapped the button connected to their server.

Sorry, my mistake.

No problem, your entree will be out in a minute. She smiled and scuttled away.

Raquel sighed, Sometimes technology just bites me in the ass.

Chad chuckled.

No really, like the credit chips in our fingertips. I know they’re supposed to be more convenient than the old credit cards.

Chad broke in, Yeah, you can’t lose them, steal them or forge them.

But now they implant then in newborns’ fingers. I think that’s too much.

Chad agreed, Now they can track a person’s transactions from birth. I guess one upside is that babies are too young to remember the pain of implantation.

The waiter approached with two sumptuous main courses, diverting Chad’s thoughts to more pleasant notions.

Raquel turned back to a smiling Chad.

CHAPTER 3

Rudolph Rude Ryder stood, hands clasped before him, next to President Wang’s desk in the Oval Office awaiting permission to sit. The recessed ceiling lights gleamed off of his pale bald head.

President Gan Li Wang sat deep in thought at his massive glass top desk. He leaned back in the high back leather chair with his fingers interlocked behind his head, his back to Rude. After a few minutes, he swung around to face him. As you know, I require long periods of solitude to make future plans.

Rude said, I wouldn’t interrupt your busy schedule, except you requested my presence.

Wang ignored him and said, I have a very able and loyal cabinet, but I trust only myself when it comes to planning the United States’ future.

Rude, still standing, said, Is that why you’re the first president to remove all cameras and recording devices from this office?

Wang said, After all, who’s more qualified to return this country to the super power status it lost in the last decade?

Rude fought not to roll his dark eyes. Does he always have to go on so? Did you buy Vice President Burke too? Rude smiled.

Fuck no. I hand-picked Wallace Burke because he’s not qualified to become president and doesn’t have the balls to do so.

Rude nodded. And you don’t want any interference with your plans to be president for life. Rude eyed Wang’s almost bare desk, sporting a picture of his young wife, a fair haired, blue-eyed beauty twenty years his junior. He couldn't find a smiling image of her? A paper thin computer screen with a thumbprint encrypted password, and two communicators, one internal and one external occupied the other side.

Wang’s internal communicator lit and hummed. He tapped it and said, Speak.

His secretary, and mistress, said Mr. President, Dr. Briel is here.

Wang said, I told you 'no interruptions.'

The secretary hesitated and then said, Well, uh, Sir, she says this is urgent business. She's demanding to speak to you, Sir.

A moment later Dr. Echo Briel, the surgeon general, swayed into the Oval Office. She tugged at the hem