Yellow Death: Arrival: Surviving the plague was only the beginning (The Yellow Death Chronicles Book 1)

by Peter Hall

  “Yes. That makes sense—but I’d love to be able to give him a cuddle. Sorry, I’m being morbid again.” She threw more wood on the fire, which crackled gratefully and spewed a shower of sparks upwards. “Would it be very bad to open another bottle?”

  “Very, very bad. I’ll get the corkscrew. Do you want it warmed up?”

  “I don’t mind, you choose.”

  Cal topped up her mug straight from the bottle.

  “So you didn’t go through the fever at your home then?”

  “No, no. I was at the hospital. Most of us stayed at work right through it. When I got sick, I just lay down on a bed, ready to die. I was exhausted, and I’d seen so many die that I never even considered the possibility that I might live through it. By then, I didn’t much care one way or another. Kev had already gone. So had my parents. When I eventually woke up—days later—there was an empty IV drip in my arm. Somebody must have tended to me for part of the time. I’d been told we’d run out of meds, but I’m guessing they put some to one side for the medical staff. Maybe that’s what saved me.”

  Juliet sipped from her cup and Cal waited for her to continue.

  “When I had enough strength to get out of bed, I wandered through the corridors. It was spooky. Not just the corpses—I’d got used to those. It was the structure itself. A hospital should always be bursting with noise and life, but it was totally silent. The hospital was dead. I realised straight away we were back to the Stone Age—medically, that is. The place was packed with technology; scanners costing millions of pounds, operating theatres, dialysis machines, all of them nothing more than scrap.

  “All my training and experience seemed to be useless. How could I set a broken leg without x-rays? How could I cure even a minor infection with no antibiotics? We’re back to doing amputations with the patient having to be tied down. People are going to die from the most trivial injuries.”

  She brushed her hair out of her face. “When I think about it, that’s what hit me the hardest after the Death. When the initial shock was over, I was left feeling useless. A doctor isn’t a nine-to-five job, it’s a life. I spent nearly all my time around the hospital. All my friends were other medical staff. The Yellow Death took away my reason for being.”

  Cal offered her the bottle, but she shook her head. “Surely, all that training must count for something?”

  “I didn’t think so right away, we’d got so used to all our high-tech tools. But I came round to thinking that those few of us who survived, especially those with skills, have a duty to preserve whatever we can. We can’t let everything we’ve learnt over centuries be lost. So I resolved to do two things. Firstly, to create medical supply dumps. So I looked for buildings that were secure and dry and began storing important drugs and equipment for the long-term. I took out any batteries, wrapped equipment in cling film and that sort of thing.”

  “That’s what you were doing this afternoon?”

  “Yes, I’m still at it. Protecting irreplaceable medical supplies. But we must do more than hold on to the past. Eventually, drugs will run out, or simply get too old to use. So, I’ve been learning about how medicine used to be practised. Just how do you amputate an arm if there are no painkillers or anaesthetic and only thirty seconds before the patient bleeds to death? I’ve studied the use of herbs and natural remedies. You’d be surprised how many modern drugs are based on wild plants. There’s a stack of books in my jeep that I’ve read through, it’s like med school all over again.”

  “That’s great. It’s exactly what I’ve been thinking since day one. Preserve what we have and prepare for when we no longer have Dead Man’s Legacy. If only more people thought the way you do. Nobody seems to be working for the future.”

  Juliet poked the fire with a stick. “After I woke up, I was numb for a while, like everybody else. But I knew there must be survivors. Since I was working in the hospital from when the first cases arrived, I saw how a handful of patients somehow hung on. Even before I went down with the fever, I realised this was the end of civilisation. That gave me a head start over most people, and being a doctor gives me a reason to carry on.”

  Cal sipped his wine. “Have you been working all on your own?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. I’ve travelled with a few groups for short periods, but couldn’t raise much interest. Everyone wished me luck, but they all had something better to do. Most folk seem to be in some sort of delayed shock. Post-traumatic stress, maybe. I met one woman six months after the Yellow Death who had watched her husband, eight children and four grandchildren pass on in front of her. That poor woman dug graves for all of them. How the hell do you get over that? She felt so guilty for surviving—it was as if a weight was pressing her down. I reckon the only reason she carried on was because she was Catholic and suicide is a mortal sin. In her heart, she wanted to lie down and die.”

  Juliet stared into the fire, lost in her thoughts. “Anyway, that’s what I’ve been doing. Saving what I can and preparing for the future. We can’t carry on scavenging forever. What about you? What have you been up to for the past year?”

  Juliet’s question startled Cal. He had been intent on listening to Juliet’s story and ideas. Suddenly, it was his turn to justify what he had been doing since surviving the Yellow Death, and the prospect sent his mind into turmoil. The evening had been going so well.

  How much should I tell her? She’s trusted me. I have to do the same—right? But what will Juliet think when I say I’ve spent my time storing guns, bombs, and rocket launchers—machines of death? She’ll wonder if I’m crazy. She might start telling others about the nutter who has made massive weapons caches all over Devon. Anybody with that knowledge would recognise it was me, and then I’d become a target. Everyone would want to steal my stashes. Or am I being paranoid? Why would she do that? I don’t plan to go around telling everyone about her medical caches.

  When faced with two options, favour the boldest.

  “You’ve gone very quiet,” Juliet said. “Don’t you approve of what I’m doing?”

  Cal realised he had been silently staring into the fire for several moments.

  “Oh, Good Lord, no. Please don’t think that. Actually, I’m in awe of what you’ve done. It’s exactly what needs to be done. Everybody should be doing something similar. I’ve been sort of doing the same thing—but different.”

  “Now you’ve really got me intrigued. Just what have you been up to?”

  “After the Yellow Death, I had a similar epiphany to yours. To be honest, for a time it was like being king of the world. Nobody told me what to do. I could go into any shop and pick whatever took my fancy. For a while that gave me a real buzz.”

  Juliet laughed. “I remember going into a department store and trying on loads of really expensive boots. It was a strange time. I was in terrible grief and shock. But to survive from day to day, I had to somehow put that in the back of my mind. When it came to the surface, I would just burst into tears. Going through a shop and trying on jewellery, clothes, and ridiculously expensive perfume was a distraction… But at the same time, it felt hollow, or shallow. Papering over the cracks. That sort of thing should be done with friends. It just reminded me that I was alone.”

  Cal put another log on the fire, sending a shower of sparks into the night. “I get that. When I drove out of the showroom with my brand new top-of-the-range SUV, I was chuffed. But after driving down an empty road for a few minutes, it somehow took the shine off it. Like you said, it was shallow. But something else occurred to me. Something… darker. Something that scared me.”

  Juliet glanced up at him and frowned. “Go on.”

  “I realised I could do whatever I wanted.” He paused to allow that statement to sink in.

  “So?”

  “That idea scared me. I’m not the sort to take advantage of others. But there’s plenty who are. I’ve studied warfare all my life and if there’s one thing I’ve learnt for sure, it’s that the veneer of civilisation is very thin. Most fol
k need little excuse to turn into animals.”

  “That’s a pretty pessimistic view of the human race. There’ve always been plenty of good people… Martin Luther King, Nelson Mandela—”

  “Yeah, but for every good person you can list, I bet I can give you ten evil dictators. Before the Death, everyone believed we were cultured, civilised and respected each others’ civil rights and so on. Yet there were terrible atrocities happening all over the world. And there always has been. For instance, when the Soviet Army reached Berlin in 1945, they systematically raped over a hundred thousand women. In the Vietnam war, an entire company of US soldiers rampaged and slaughtered over five hundred defenceless villagers. You just had to watch the news to hear of civil wars, school shootings, mass rapes, terrorist attacks—”

  Juliet held up her hands. “Okay, okay, I get the point. There’s a lot of bad people around. I don’t need convincing—I saw my fair share on a Saturday night in the Emergency Department.”

  “Sorry. I get carried away.” Cal picked up his cup, then decided he’d drunk too much already. “Anyway, I felt with no police, army, courts, or any mechanisms of law, some people would go wild. And I’m being proved right. For instance, the red mini-bus and the coach you found with the ten bodies. Initially, everybody could grab whatever they wanted and there was no need to steal. Now it’s getting difficult. Some folk will establish settlements and start growing their own food. But that’ll be hard work. There’ll be those who’ll want to take an easier path.”

  Cal poked the fire with a stick. “I saw this coming from day one. I asked myself, what do people need to defend themselves against aggressors? Answer: Weapons! So I started to create weapons caches. I’ve made dozens of secret ammo dumps across Devon. Also, like you, I realised that this would be a stop-gap. We’ll soon run out of ammo, or it’ll become unreliable. Then we’re back to bows and arrows. So I’ve also been doing my homework. Medieval warfare—manufacturing gunpowder and so on. Like you, my truck has a stack of books. The only difference is mine are mostly about how to kill.”

  He inhaled deeply. “So. Now you know my dirty little secret.”

  Juliet tilted her head back and started laughing. “Jesus, Cal. What a pair we are. The Angel of Mercy and the Angel of Death.”

  Cal looked at the light of the fire on her face. Juliet was lovely, and he felt, well, dirty next to her. Florence Nightingale sharing a glass of wine with Attila the Hun.

  “Listen, if what I’ve said disturbs you, if you don’t feel safe camped here, I quite understand. I must come across as some sort of gun-toting nut case. If you like, I’ll take off and camp somewhere else.”

  She looked up at him, and in the firelight, he could just see she was smiling. “Don’t be silly. I’m perfectly safe with you. Well, safer than I would without you, anyway. One advantage of working shifts in the Emergency Department is that you learn to judge people pretty quickly. There’s nothing wrong with arming yourself—you already know I carry a gun. A gun is just a tool, no different to a scalpel. What matters is what you do with it.”

  “I’m relieved you think that.”

  “It’s still early days and we hardly know each other yet. There’s still plenty of time for me to form a poor opinion of you. One thing puzzles me, though. I can see why you’d want to store sufficient weapons for yourself and your friends, but why do you need so much?”

  “Two main reasons. The first is that weapons will become a useful currency. Remember that money is worthless, probably the same with gold and jewels. Let’s say in a couple of years I need something from a settlement—food, shelter, medical help, whatever. How do I buy it? I suspect that the offer of a good rifle, with ammo and training, will be very welcome. Weapons are my nest egg.”

  “Yeah, I guess that makes sense in a weird sort of way.”

  “But that’s not the major reason. Have you noticed how it’s always the bad guys who have the guns? People tend to believe others are like themselves—that’s a fundamental part of human psychology. Good people expect other people to be good. So they won’t think to arm themselves until something bad wakes them up. By then it’ll be too late. You can bet one of the first thoughts for most of the shitheads will be to get their hands on some guns. I want to be able to help out the good guys. To even the score.”

  “And how will you decide who are the good guys?”

  “The good guys are usually the ones being beaten up by the bad guys.”

  “I’ve drunk a teeny bit too much wine. That almost makes some sense. I’m going to put up my tent and get ready for bed.”

  They both erected their small tents side-by-side behind their SUVs and prepared for bed. Half-an-hour later, both laid in their sleeping bags in their respective tents. Cal felt strange knowing somebody was lying only a few feet away, and he quite liked the idea. He had lived a solitary life long enough.

  “What time do you get up in the morning?” Juliet shouted.

  “Six. You don’t need to shout. I’m right next to you.”

  “Sorry. Did you say six? Won’t it still be dark then?”

  “Yeah, but I always get up at that time. Is that a problem?”

  “Well, I guess not, but I’ve drunk a little too much. Don’t expect me to be ready to jump out of bed that early.”

  “No, problem. Take your time. I’ll try not to wake you up.”

  “Goodnight, Cal.”

  “Goodnight, Juliet.”

  “And Cal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Okay, no problem.”

  Thanks for what? For being nice? For sharing food? For being a half-decent human being and not raping you? Sometimes people say the strangest things. And yet, in a way, I feel gratitude towards Juliet. But for what? It’s the first night since the Death I’ve not camped alone. I’ve not talked—or laughed—so much for as long as I can remember. And it was so… natural. So relaxed. I’ve drunk a bit too much and that must be part of it. But I’ve got drunk on my own before and that’s just made me miserable. Juliet made me… happy. I’d almost forgotten how that felt.

  He lay in his sleeping bag, warm and cosy. This had been the best night since the Yellow Death, and he should have fallen asleep in an instant. Yet he could not. Something niggled at the back of his mind. Something he should sort out.

  Both he and Juliet had drunk a lot of wine and he suspected that neither of them was used to alcohol recently. Juliet had giggled towards the end and slurred her words. Cal imagined the booby traps and tear gas grenades dotted around the camp and imagined Juliet getting up in the night for a pee and stumbling about in the dark. It was frigid outside and pitch black. He was dressed only in shorts and a T-shirt, but was quite cosy inside his sleeping bag. The last thing he wanted was to go outside again.

  Cal rolled over and tried to get to sleep, to put the thought of those gas grenades out of his mind. It would not work. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He climbed out of his soft cocoon, left his tent and crept around the camp, disconnecting the tripwires to the tear gas. When he returned to his tent, he immediately fell into a deep sleep.

  The next morning, Cal’s phone alarm sounded at six a.m. as usual and the sounds of Mad World drifted across the campsite. From inside her tent, Juliet half-sang, half-croaked along with some of the words.

  “Morning, Cal.”

  “Morning, Juliet.” Cal unzipped the flap of his tent. “Looks like it’s going to be a lovely day. Blue skies and fantastic sunrise.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. That’s a lovely song, by the way. Do you understand the lyrics?”

  “Something about depression and loneliness.”

  “And you picked it to wake you up every morning?”

  “What can I say? I like the tune.”

  Cal spent a few moments in his sleeping bag, stretching his back and working the muscles around his lower spine. The exercises continued outside the tent as he inhaled the crisp morning air. A light frost had powdered the landscape with whit
e. The orange sun hovered above the horizon.

  “I’m going for a run.”

  The zipper on Juliet’s tent came down and her head poked out of the flap.

  “What?”

  “I’m going running. Be back in about an hour.”

  “Are you absolutely insane?”

  “Most definitely. The booby traps are disconnected, so it’s safe to move around. The sun’s up. Do you want to come?”

  “Christ, I’ve been sleeping next to a madman. And my head hurts.”

  “Sure you won’t come?”

  “Fuck off and don’t disturb me again unless you have a mug of coffee.” Juliet pulled her head back into the tent.

  On the run back to the campsite, Cal noticed a strange odour. It took a second to recognise—frying bacon. He was still a couple of hundred yards away from their camp and, as he approached, the smell became stronger.

  Who’d have thought cooking smells carried so far? Must be more careful about that.

  Juliet was sitting by the campfire preparing breakfast. The frying pan sizzled over the open fire.

  “Wow, that smells good,” Cal said.

  “Really! Would you like some too?”

  Cal flushed. He assumed Juliet would have done enough for both of them. “I-I-I’m sorry, I thought—”

  “What? That I was cooking for both of us? Of course I am. Relax, Cal, you’re far too easy to tease. It’ll be cooked in about ten minutes if you’ll be ready?”

  “You bet.”

  Breakfast was delicious and Cal savoured every mouthful. Juliet had sliced and fried some tinned ham, which they ate with baked beans and scrambled eggs. It was a taste explosion—meaty, salty, smoky, fatty, chewy, eggy goodness. Porridge would seem very bland after this feast. The pièce de résistance was real fresh coffee. Cal cradled the steaming hot mug in both hands as if it was a religious icon. Juliet was apologetic that the ham was charred at the edges, but Cal was amazed how well she had managed on an open fire.