“I’ll be right back. I need to make a quick call.” I sent her another flirtatious smile, one of my best efforts. “Okay,” she responds, “but don’t be too long. They’ll be calling the kids down at any moment”. With a simple nod I turn into the cool safe corridor, keeping to the shadows as I head for the door.
“Mr. White, where are you going?” The voice stops me dead in my tracks.
“Mr. Whitcomb,” I greet the principal, “Just running out to my car for a moment. I forgot some of the paperwork necessary for today’s immunizations.” “Ah, paperwork,” the man grins, “the backbone of all school procedure. Don’t let me hold you up.” With a sip from the travel mug of coffee, he ambles away to his own morning business.
The blast of cool air outside is a welcome relief, and I feel the pressure of my own deceits subside, and the pleasure in a job well underway begins to rise to the surface. I move behind the old bus and reach for my cell, speed dialing one of the partners. He picks up on the first ring, and I identify myself with speed. “Rojas. Time for dry weather.” Clicking off, I replace the phone and inhale the sharp cool air. In five minutes, the water supply would no longer function, and any form of hand washing, or hygiene would be virtually eliminated.
That was not my part of the process, however. My responsibility to the plan still awaited. I hurried to the car, grabbing some blank white sheets. If the principal caught me again in the hall, my outright lie would be less apparent.
“I’m back. You need any more help setting up?”
“No, we’re ready” she smiles. “Thank goodness your team was able to get these immunization drinks for the student body. If the disease spread through town, it would be such a tragedy. All those lives lost for nothing, and these are just kids. Scary business, these germs. Thank God you are here.” Her blue eyes looked so open and grateful. If she only knew that all her mascara was going to run with the endless tears she would be shedding twenty-four hours from now.
“Would students from the first and second grades please report to the nurse’s office?” the annoying whine came over the loudspeaker. “Well,” I gave a daring wink, “Here goes nothing!”
The first students came in, a pretty blonde six-year old bravely taking a seat next to the nurse. “Down the hatch,” the nurse smiles as she hands the innocent white cup to the girl. “It doesn’t taste that bad, and it will keep you healthy and strong.”
Trustingly, the girl purses her lips and gulps down the drink. “It’s not bad,” she announces, “but I like chocolate milk better!” With a laugh and a pat, she is sent on her way to be replaced by a freckled boy, and then a smaller boy and the line moves on.
Each innocent face angered me more. They were users who just didn’t know it yet. They began by trusting the world only to be later crushed by worldly experience. Taught to be greedy consumers, to swallow limited resources and strip the world of beauty and wealth. They were mind-shaped by schools and government to grow into useless members of a corrupt society. They were vermin. And whether they knew it or not, their extermination would be a gift to the world.
Their death would mean a new chance for humankind to develop its true potential. I was proud to be among the shapers, a piece of the corporate plan that was unfolding in countless schools across the nation. These small towns would soon face the wrath of epidemic, the fury of a germ storm that would wreak havoc and break society. It would strip the nation bare and ready it for rebirth.
The hours of planning, the artificial approval of vaccines for general use, true vaccines that were then replaced by advanced mixtures of viral genius, the members who worked their way into trusted staff positions so that the deceptions could take place…there were hours, months, years of cooperative planning that were at this moment being swallowed by elementary children everywhere, And these children were carriers of contagion. The beauty and perfection of planning was breathtaking.
I watched as a tall dark child hesitated before downing the mixture. I wished I could have reassured him that he would never face the pain of being an adult in this doomed artificial society, and that his sacrifice would ensure the ultimate survival and happiness of his race. Those inoculated, like myself, had a true education. We would survive and breed and create a world deserving of its existence.
The nurse turned to me once more, and handed me more cups to refill. “You really are a savior,” she smiled. “These kids have no idea how lucky they are.”
“I know,” I replied. “I know.”
