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arrangements.
    Eight hours later the
Canadian CC-177 Globemaster was landing on the now military
controlled Palo Alto Airport.
    The Globemaster’s
co-pilot stepped out of the cockpit just before landing, motioned to
Major Besson. The two men conferenced for a minute and turned to Bob
and the Doctors.
    “Colonel Aiken, the
crew has advised me that the entire city is under quarantine, and we
are ordered to be suited up before breaking the seal on the doors.”
    Major Besson opened a
storage hatch near the tail of the plane, exposing a dozen yellow
plastic suits. The crew joined them after touchdown. Over the next
thirty minutes, they were all engaged in the monotonous process of
suit instruction and inspection followed by dressing.
    With everyone fully
geared up in their biohazard suits, the Globemaster came to life as
motors in the mammoth plane’s tail section began to hum, lowering a
ramp large enough to drive a tank down.
    The ramp descended
revealing a green camouflage Humvee parked a few yards behind the
plane. A tall figure wearing a yellow, puffy biohazard suit was
leaning against the Humvee’s door.
    As Bob, Major Besson
and the Doctors began down the ramp the man in the yellow suit raised
a welcoming hand.
    “Hi! I’m Dr.
Grace…. Ted! I’m part of Miranda’s DART Team.” He said with
an extended hand.
    Dr. Grace shook Bob’s
hand and swung his arm towards the Humvee motioning for the group to
hop in the vehicle, “We’re so glad you’re here. We sure are
having a tough time with this thing. We’re pretty much at our wits
end. Please tell us you have some good news.” Ted exclaimed.
    Bob, who had taken the
honor of hopping in the front seat next to the driver, turned to the
back, looking at Ted, “Dr. Grace, I might just have the good news
you’re looking for loaded in that plane. I’d like to see Dr.
Frost first, if possible.”
    Ted grabbed the head
rest of the driver’s seat and pulled himself forward, “Private,
take us to Stanford Health Care Center please!”
    A muffled, “Yes,
Sir!” came from behind the clear mask of the private’s suit,
“We’ll be there in five, Sir!”
    As the Humvee pulled
into Stanford Health Care Center (SHCC), Bob could see that the
parking lot was full of Humvees. To the east was an Apache helicopter
sitting on a mobile landing zone, that two days earlier had been a
small walking path abutting a pond. The walking path was created for
long term patients to be able to stroll the hospital grounds while
visiting with family members. Because of recent events, there had
been no one on the path in days. Those who were sick, were now dead
and those who would have come to visit, were now dying. For this once
thriving community, hope was lost.
    Ted led the guests to
the front main doors of the lobby, where four soldiers were standing
with military weapons. Two more were sitting behind an eight-foot
folding table that had been set up as a make-shift desk. One of the
soldiers sitting at the desk had Sergeant stripes. He looked up at
Ted, “Hello Dr. Grace.”
    Ted snapped off a
salute at the Sergeant, “Hello Sergeant. This is Colonel Aiken,
Major Besson, and Doctors Marcil and Simone from McGill University.
They’re here to help us with this situation.”
    “I’m sorry Dr.
Grace, but they’re not on my list. I'm afraid their access is
denied.”
    “Sergeant, I don’t
think you understand who these people are-.” Ted was interrupted by
Bob stepping forward, “Sergeant! First of all! You stand at
attention when you’re addressing me! Now I don’t give a god damn
who is on your list! I am here on direct orders from General Strong!
Now you stow your shit and get out of our way, or I’ll have you
emptying shit filled latrines in the Philippines for the rest of your
career! Understand?” The Sergeant looked back at Dr. Grace and then
back at Bob in a state of confusion.
    “What are you looking
at, son?” Bob was now against the table on his tip toes, forcing
the