Episode 103.3 - Broken News

“Authorities in and around metropolitan areas are still advising people stay in their homes if at all possible. The Governor, meanwhile, is the latest to declare a state of emergency and has officially called on Washington for assistance as violence and chaos grow more widespread. This, a mere two days after, presumably, every Cryo-facility in the world experienced inexplicable malfunctions and released billions of medical clones into the population.

“There is still no official word on why these clones have reacted so violently, but some experts are suggesting there may have been a miscalculation in the regular doses of vitamins and steroids used to grow them into their adult states. Others theorize this may have been sabotage from the beginning, planned by whatever forces are responsible for the release itself.

“Authorities have asked that you not use the 911 system to report missing family members, including chil…--.

“Excuse me. To report missing family members, including children, as the service is already dealing with more calls than it can handle at this time. Instead, you are asked to wait until it is safe to leave your home, and file a report with the nearest Police station.

“As for… I… Listen, Keisha, Andre, Daddy needs to know if you’re okay. You stay where you are, you hear me? You stay wherever you are and you lock those doors, and call me here, and I’ll come find you. Call me or… I don’t know… tell me where you are, and Daddy will get you. Stay safe. Daddy will find you.

“...

“This is Walt Davis, Zombie Radio Morning News.”

Episode 103.2 - Don't Need to be a Weatherman

“You realize, of course, that refugees are going to start moving north.” George Tomkins stood in front of the mayor and town council to offer his assessment of the situation. Mayor Greg Cutler had called an emergency town meeting, like mayors had or would across the country, to gauge his constituents’ moods on the situation and start to formulate a plan of action. Paul, watching his father speak to the council, figured you had to hand it to the Mayor: he may not like him or agree with him, but at least the guy took his responsibility seriously.

“Why not south?” The Mayor asked. “Or East or West for that matter?”

George nodded toward the state map on the wall. “Take a look. To the East, ocean. To the South and West, larger cities. It’s simple physics, Mr. Mayor. Matter takes the path of least resistance. We have space, and people in general know that to be true. If they’re fleeing danger, they’re going to head to where that danger is least likely to occur.”

“Well, sure.” Councilwoman Barbara Halliday said from the Mayor’s left. “That only makes sense. But the nearest Cryo facility is, what, 50 miles from here?”

George grabbed a pointer off the head table, his eyes asking for permission to use it. When the Mayor nodded his assent, George walked to the map he’d indicated and pointed to a city 200 miles south. “You live here,” he said, “when everything starts happening. Where do you go?”  

“North,” said the Councilwoman.

“Right. So these, say, 300,000 people head north. And you live...” he pointed to a spot a hundred miles north of the first. “Here. Now you have all those clones. All those Donors causing havoc, and 300,000 people starting to head your way. “Now what?”

“North.”

“Indeed. And here?” The nearest city to The Forks was indeed about 57 miles away. A short distance when it came down to it, Paul thought. Too short.

Councilwoman Halliday swallowed hard, as realization dawned. It was one thing to know something on a cerebral level. But to begin to fully understand it... for the first time since the President’s announcement the day before, she was really frightened.

“North,” she said.

Episode 103.1 - Murphy's Law

In a dark room, United States Representative Jackson Murphy sat alone, a bottle of whiskey -- the good stuff -- at his left hand; a Smith & Wesson .357 revolver in his right. Not that he knew, or cared, what the calibre of the handgun actually was, as long as the bullets fit. And he knew they would; he stole them when he stole the gun.

The truth was, Jackson Murphy hated firearms; they were more up the alley of his old rival and golfing buddy Tom Starks. Tom had shown Jackson this particular weapon with pride, and the Congressman was honestly sorry to have stolen it. He’d add it to his lengthening list of sins.

He poured another finger of whiskey. Then another. Then he forgot about fingers altogether and filled the glass. Outside, the chaos was just beginning. As the folk singer said, it didn’t take a weatherman to know which way the wind blows. The situation would decay before it got better. The cloned organ donors -- once a great personal triumph for Murphy -- would continue in violence for a while. They would settle down once they had a good meal, but would never cease to be dangerous. Worse than that, the entire population of the country had just doubled in a single day, and half of these new citizens were completely without any sense of law and order, of morality, of anything other than their own needs, wants, and fears.

And, when it came right down to it, the Congressman couldn’t help but feel more than a little responsible for it all. When the so-called Donor Laws were passed as an amendment to the Health Care Act, he and his comrades had celebrated. No longer would American citizens have to wait on a long list for needed organ transplants. No longer would they have to hope and pray a match could be found while they were still alive. Thanks to Congress and the President, people would soon be able to find a lab-grown organ donor all of their own. They had finally caught up to European medicine, and were finally making the use of American ingenuity that those in England, France, Germany, parts of Asia and the Middle East were already enjoying.

The Donor Law. The Murphy Act, actually. His legislation. He hadn’t merely cosponsored the bill. He had written it. It was his legacy. His gift to the American people.  Congressman Jackson Murphy, tears in his eyes, took another swift drink of the whiskey before setting down the glass for the last time. He hadn’t prepared a note or an explanation. People would understand.

And indeed, when the news came that Jackson Murphy, US Congressman and author of the Donor Law, had been found dead in his hotel room of a self-inflicted gunshot wound, nobody hiding in their homes, televisions turned down to avoid attracting undue attention, was really surprised.