The Ebola Wall Read Free

terminated. Phone lines were cut, cell service disabled, television and radio signals were jammed with military hardware.
    Havoc continued to rumble down the pavement, each tenth of a mile bringing another military unit into view. Most were Abrams tanks, with the occasional Stryker holding a position along the picket line. Command favored the armored vehicles because of their CBRN (chemical, biological, radiation, and nuclear) protection systems. Basically, each wheeled or tracked unit was an air-tight, positive pressure haven that couldn’t be penetrated by nasty viruses.
    Both the Stryker and Abrams were equipped with sophisticated sensors as well. Night vision, thermal imaging, satellite communications, and a host of other high-tech gadgets made them the near-perfect guardians of the wall.
    For tonight, Havoc ’s assigned position was at the pinnacle of the Exit 4 overpass. Captain Norse had spent many nights stationed on what was essentially a bridge passing over a two-lane surface road. The elevated vantage and clear fields of fire provided an excellent guard tower.
    As Havoc approached the flyover, Norse lowered himself into the turret and sealed the system. There wasn’t any perceived danger; his action was merely standard procedure. The crew didn’t comment as their ears popped, assured that the over-pressure air filtration system had engaged.
    Tonight’s duty-shift involved relieving the number five unit, “‘Bama Thunder.” Norse keyed his radio, “Five, this is Six, on station.”
    “Ev’ning, Captain. Glad to see you,” came the response from Thunder’s commander.
    Norse conjured up an image of Lieutenant Thompson’s toothy grin, the toe-headed southerner a former University of Alabama football player and his second-in-command.
    “Any unusual activity to report, LT?” Norse asked.
    “We had some odd thermal movement a few hours ago,” sounded the speaker. “But it was at extreme range. Other than that, just a typical afternoon on the wall, sir.”
    “Copy that, Five. You’re relieved. Roll Tide!”
    A warm chuckle came over the airwaves, Thunder’s commander obviously appreciating the reference to his college Alma mater. “Thank you, sir. Be safe.” 
    Havoc ’s driver, Specialist Jones, pivoted the tracks perfectly, pulling the 70-ton machine into the appropriate overlook position at the edge of the bridge. The crew waited patiently until Thunder had rolled off and then began their sweep of the surrounding landscape using both thermal and light amplification sensors. After three minutes, Specialist Crenshaw made the announcement everyone was waiting for. “All clear on the perimeter, sir.”
    “Unseal the tank,” Norse ordered.
    Another round of popping ears, and then the driver’s and gunner’s hatches were opened, allowing somewhat fresh, almost-cool air to begin circulating inside the stagnant interior. Norse quickly added to the effect, pushing open the heavy commander’s opening at the top of the turret. It wasn’t much relief.
    Despite the late hour, it was still over 90 degrees outside, the low afternoon sun continuing to pour heat on the tank’s metal skin. While it was against procedure to exit the vehicle while on station, the captain also thought it was a violation of protocol to bake his crew inside the oven-like interior. He made up his mind to periodically climb outside throughout the night and allow one of the crew to enjoy some cooler air via the hatch. The Skinnies haven’t been active in weeks , he thought, justifying the decision. There’s no way they could sneak up on us.

    The moon was high in the clear sky when Norse glanced at his watch. The constant monitoring of the surrounding terrain had become lackluster, mundane work. In the early days of the blockade, it wasn’t unusual for the local residents to make three or four attempts at crossing the wall per shift. Each attempted breach was given one warning via a loudspeaker, and if that verbal order was