2030_ The Real Story of What Happens to America - Albert Brooks [55]
A woman came by once a day and asked people how they were feeling. It wasn’t so much out of concern for the actual person as it was to anticipate a flu that could spread through a tent like this in an instant.
So many medical wonders had taken place over the years, curing some of the major diseases of the twenty-first century, but the flu wasn’t one of them. It was just too smart. The flu virus could not only adapt instantly, it lived in the mucosa, not the genes, so there was no real fix. There were drugs to reduce the severity, and shots to give immunity, but every few years a virulent strain swept down and took over the human body and nothing could be done to stop it. There was also a growing fear that in the race between the virus and the cure, if the virus got too far ahead it would wreak disaster. Since each new strain was immune to the drugs that came before, there were many scientists who were convinced the flu virus would one day win and be immune to anything medicine could come up with. So with all the medical breakthroughs, the flu was still something to be avoided at all cost.
“How are you doing today, Mr. Miller?”
“Not well. I’m feeling depressed.”
“We can help that. Let me take a drop of blood and see what medication can make you feel better.”
“I know what medication I need.”
“Fine, what is it?”
“Money. I need to be injected with the money you stole from me by throwing me off my property. You got money on you?”
The woman smiled and told him the same party line. “Someone will deal with that at the appropriate time.”
“What time is that? Before or after I die?”
“Thank you, Mr. Miller. If you need anything else, tell us.”
As she walked away, Brad yelled after her, “Money! I need money! Give it to me in pill form, I don’t give a shit!”
Brad lay down on his cot and fell asleep. When he woke, a young man in a suit was standing over him. “Mr. Miller?”
“What happened? Is this heaven?”
“I’m Steven Collard. I’m with the Department of the Interior. Would you come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“Just to talk in private. To the office structure, outside.”
“Are you the guy that can help?”
“I can certainly try. Let’s talk.”
They exited the giant tent and walked three hundred yards to a temporary office building. It was three stories, made out of steel that could be put together like a LEGO toy, and it looked very active. Each office was occupied. Brad followed the younger man up the stairs to the second floor, went down a hall, and stepped into a cubicle. It was tiny, just enough room for a desk and a small couch. Collard sat down behind his desk and motioned for Brad to sit. Brad said he preferred to stand.
“Mr. Miller, if it’s any consolation, I know exactly what you are going through. I have an uncle in your same situation.”
“Is he here?” Brad asked.
“No, he’s staying with us. He didn’t come to Pasadena.”
“Well then, he’s not in my same situation.”
“I meant financially. He also had a condo that was leveled and has nothing to show for it.”
“Great. So how does that help me?”
“Well, first of all, you did have insurance, correct?”
“Of course. American Life.”
“And what do they say?”
“They say nothing. They don’t answer. They claim they are overwhelmed, and I’m hearing in the tent that they, and all of them, are going Chapter 11. Without Uncle Sam we’re fucked, excuse my French.”
“Well, they’re not all going out of business, but many of them are, yes.”
“So what do I do?”
“The plan is to make you whole. The government doesn’t want to see people who had insurance get nothing, but it’s going to take some time. I know the President has stated that people who were insured should get their money; we just have to figure out how that can happen.”
“The government can write me a check and then go after my insurance company, how about that?”
“It’s not that easy. But I just want you to know that people are