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

by Peter Hall

  As soon as Katy was in bed, Kim made a quick phone call to Nigel and then began packing. She felt a desperate urge to get out of London.

  Sleep eluded Kim. She lay in bed, desperately tired, yet her mind raced. Had she packed everything she needed? She must remember to shut off the heating and water before she left tomorrow. She must remember to clear out the fridge before they left. Oh, and she had to phone Katy’s pre-school and tell them she was away for a few days.

  Kim climbed out of bed, checked on Katy, grabbed a notepad and started making a task list. It became a very long list.

  Damn! Did I set my phone alarm to wake me up tomorrow?

  Kim picked up her phone and checked the alarm settings. She was unable to resist tapping on the BBC News app and immediately regretted it. Every item on the Top Story’s page was plague related.

  A deep sense of unease permeated every bone in her body. Once again, she left her bed and went to Katy’s room. Katy was sleeping peacefully.

  Of course she is. Get a grip on yourself, Kim. You’re losing it. You have to keep strong for Katy.

  Kim made a hot water bottle, which normally soothed her. She soon overheated and tossed it on the floor. The time was two a.m. She felt so alone and desperately wanted to speak to Nigel again. But if his phone went off at this time, it might wake up his parents and she couldn’t risk that. Fuck!

  Finally, Kim picked up her Kindle and switched off her bedside lamp. She was part-way through reading Flowers In The Attic about a family that kept their children hidden in the attic. Kim’s eyes mechanically scanned the words on the screen, although their meaning skimmed over her consciousness like pebbles across the water.

  Before long, her troubled mind could no longer resist the need for sleep and her eyelids closed…

  Kim looked at the birthday cards on her bedroom window and bookshelves. She had turned thirteen the previous week, and her party had been a lavish affair with many gifts. Children and adults she did not even recognise turned up, and she revelled in being the centre of attention. After all, she was a teenager now—almost a woman.

  The sound of laughing in the street drew her to the window. Her bedroom was on the second floor, providing an excellent view of the comings and goings below. At the weekends, she would see people leaving their houses, dressed up to enjoy London’s nightlife, and she would imagine joining them. In a few years, a handsome man would escort her to the ballet in his posh limousine. Life was good and the future exciting.

  Kim looked around her bedroom. On the opposite wall was a poster of the Russian ballet and to her left and right, bookshelves strained under her vast collection of books. Kim was an avid book reader and collector. She loved old books, especially if they carried inscriptions and notes from previous owners. A historical book was like a piece of history. Sometimes, she would open one of her vintage volumes and sniff the pages, imagining all the people who held it before her.

  Kim loved her bedroom. Her sanctuary. Mother allowed her to help choose the furnishings, and it contained all her prized possessions.

  At that moment, she was completing her homework. Mom was out as usual. On Thursdays, it was the bridge club. Dad used to go with her, although nowadays he was always too busy—due to his important government job—so he stayed at home to look after her and Toby, which meant shutting himself in his office and working.

  Father expected his children to stay in their bedrooms and not disturb him doing his secret government business. That suited Kim fine. Except tonight would be different.

  A curt rapping on her the door startled her. Dad walked in and closed it behind him. Kim swivelled her chair to face him. He was a tall man with a receding hairline, which he tried to conceal with careful combing. Kim rarely saw him out of a business suit and he wore one now, although it looked crumpled.

  “Hello Kimi,” Dad said. “What are you doing?”

  “Just some stupid French homework. Why do we have to learn French, anyway? Surely they can all speak English?”

  Normally, that might have sparked an interesting discussion, but tonight, he seemed distant.

  “It’s the law. We have to pander to the bureaucrats,” he said.

  He slowly walked around her room, examining it as if he had never seen it before. He looked at her books on the shelves, her ornaments, and jewellery box. Then he began touching them, almost like a blind man feeling his way. His fingers traced the outline of Orlando Bloom’s face on her ‘Lord of the Rings’ poster. During this examination, he said nothing. It started to creep Kim out. This was her stuff, her personal stuff, and he was invading her privacy. Kim stiffened as his hand passed over her journal, and sighed with relief when he left it alone.

  Then he snapped out of his reverie, locked the door, and put the key in his jacket pocket. Kim and Toby both had locks on their doors, but no key. The keys were for locking them in their rooms when they needed to be punished. It was unheard of for Dad to lock himself in the bedroom with Kim. A rising sense of panic rose from Kim’s chest. Something told her to run. To get away. That something terrible was about to happen. But she was trapped.

  “I need you to do something for me, Kimi,” Father said with a stern voice.

  “Okay,”

  Her stomach churned, and the room suddenly seemed hot and stuffy. She had never seen Dad act this way. This was all very wrong. She must get away.

  “Come over here, please.”

  Kim rose up on shaky legs and stood in front of her father. Had she done something wrong? Had she broken one of the many rules she and Toby needed to follow? At least he wasn’t carrying the feared length of hosepipe.

  “Get down on your knees.”

  “What?”

  “Do not question me. Get down on your knees. I will not ask you again.”

  Kim did as she was told, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her head was level with his crotch, so she looked down at the floor. Without ceremony, he unzipped his trousers and released his penis, which jutted out at attention.

  Kim gasped. Never had she seen an erect penis in real life and now her Dad’s hovered inches from her head. The odour of of urine, fish, and cheese struck her and she screwed up her face. She tried to stand up, but he pressed down on her shoulder. “Stay,” he commanded, as if speaking to a dog. She stayed and trembled, eyes closed tightly.

  “Now Kim,” he said, “I want you to lick it… lick it, slowly.”

  Kim opened her eyes and looked up in disbelief.

  “What? I don’t understand.”

  He took out a short piece of hosepipe from the inside of his jacket. Kim recognised it as the instrument used for giving stern lessons. Her spine turned to ice.

  “I said lick it. NOW!”

  Kim woke with a start, gasping for air. It was dark, and she lay in bed.

  “Fuck, fuck fuck!”

  She had not endured that particular nightmare for years. Not since she finished with all that psychotherapy her mother put her through. She hoped it was behind her—that part of her life was firmly behind locked doors—wasn’t it? Why now?

  Kim walked to the bathroom and drank cold water from the tap. Her pyjamas stuck to her back, so she pulled off her top and threw it into the laundry basket.

  It was obvious ‘why now’ when she thought about it. After years of therapy for depression and anorexia, she built herself a fortress to protect her from the past. This comprised a nice job, a loving husband, a pleasant home, and now a wonderful daughter. Those may not be exciting and not what she dreamed of when she was a little girl. Yet her life was safe, comfortable, secure and predictable. Considering her history, it was all she wanted.

  After graduating from university, a friend talked Kim into taking up karate against her better nature. The formality of the dojo brought comfort. Everyone dressed the same and gender was left at the entrance. With time, Kim’s strength and agility magnified, but more importantly, she regained confidence in herself. She had passed three grades and wore an orange belt when one of he
r fellow students—kareteka—asked her out on a date. Nigel was an incongruity. A black belt who could split a plank of wood with his fist, yet was gentle, caring, shy—and handsome. He treated her like a princess. Nigel helped Kim move on with her life and put the horrors of her teenage years behind her.

  But overnight, the world had gone to shit, and the future was a black hole. Nigel—her rock—was not here to hold her hand and reassure her. Perhaps she was more fragile than she thought. Recent events must have stirred up memories and resurrected insecurities. It seemed her past had not been buried deep enough.

  Kim opened the door to Katy’s bedroom to reassure herself Katy slept safely. Katy was perfect. Katy was pure. Katy had a lovingly devoted mother and father who would make sure she received the best of everything. No man was ever going to force his dick into Katy’s mouth.

  Kim returned to bed, but sleep eluded her. A door in her mind had been kicked open, and she did not know how to shut it. She feared falling asleep and putting herself at the mercy of her inner mind again.

  Unfinished business. That was what the psychologist mentioned at their umpteenth session together. Kim never had an inkling why her father broke the sacred trust with his daughter. He never apologised, never explained, made no attempt to contact her. Years passed, then he died of a stroke. There would be no resolution there.

  The situation was different with her mother—to an extent. Kim saw Rachel most days, and she was the devoted grandparent. On the surface, they had a close relationship. On the surface. Yet Kim knew she held a deep resentment of her mother. After three years of abuse, Kim finally escaped by videoing a session with her father and showing it to Rachel. The consequences were unexpected.

  Rachel sent Kim to live with her aunt and uncle. The story given to friends was Kim needed to be closer to school. Nobody believed it, but nobody questioned it. In London’s polite society, one did not delve too deeply. Rachel protected Kim from her father and made sure she wanted for nothing. At the weekends, Rachel, Kim, and Toby went on outings together. It was all very civilised.

  Yet they banished Kim from the family home whilst he still lived there, unpunished. He got off scot free! Worse still, that thing could never be mentioned. The past became a closely guarded family secret. Kim never found out whether Aunty Helen knew the real reason she moved in with her. Everyone acted as if nothing had ever happened. The injustice was eating up Kim from the inside. Months later, she collapsed at school and was rushed to hospital to be diagnosed with anorexia. That became the start of a long course of psychotherapy, which only ended when Kim moved out to university.

  After dozens of counselling sessions, evaluations, interventions, hypnotherapy, and drugs, the mental health service discharged Kim. But she still remembered the words from the counsellor in her last session. Unfinished business. She felt deep bitterness towards her parents. Yet her father lay in his grave and her mother resolutely refused to discuss the subject. Kim would have to learn to live with it. A wound that had never healed, and this pandemic had picked off the scab.

  Making an early start with a small child is easier said than done. The situation was made worse by Kim’s lack of sleep and the feeling that her head was stuffed with cotton wool. Thus, it was nine o’clock before a hot and bothered Kim pulled away from their house with Katy strapped in the rear seat and the car crammed with luggage. The day began grey and overcast, which only added to her feeling of apprehension.

  The breakfast news was all bad. Official sources at last admitted that suspected plague victims had presented at several London hospitals. Unconfirmed reports claimed some had already died. Each time a journalist mentioned the ‘plague’ word, Kim’s anxiety raised a notch.

  The Government advised the public to stay at home unless their journey was absolutely essential. Schools and non-essential shops closed, as did most Government and Local Authority offices—including libraries. The UK was close to a full lockdown.

  But there was no need to panic. These actions were an ‘abundance of caution’.

  Kim feared travelling, in case the police stopped her for breaking the lockdown. Yet the thought of staying in the city was unthinkable, so she continued with her plans.

  Kim’s fingers itched to switch on the car radio for the latest news—even if it was speculation. But with Katy listening in the back, she chose a ‘Postman Pat’ CD. They both sang along to the music as if this was a normal day.

  The journey began well but, after half-an-hour, traffic congestion built up. Many cars were stuffed with baggage and Kim realised she was not alone in breaking the lockdown. Faith in the Government seemed thin on the ground.

  When they reached the M4, a cloud of drizzle enveloped the traffic snake. Kim frequently used the windscreen washers to clear the muck thrown up from the road. She tried to remember when she last filled the washer bottle under the bonnet. Vehicles packed closer and became slower until, just before junction five, progress came to a halt. The carriageway back to London was empty.

  Kim sat for twenty minutes, becoming increasingly frustrated. The queue moved a few yards twice. The log jam disappeared into the mist.

  “Mummy, I’m thirsty.”

  “I know, darling. I’m sorry, but silly Mummy forgot to pack the juice boxes. We’ll pull into a shop as soon as we can, okay?”

  Another hour passed with no movement. Everyone had turned off their engines, and many now stood on the road. Kim followed suit to stretch her legs. Shouted conversations took place along the line of stranded drivers:

  “This is worse than a bloody bank holiday.”

  “They just said on Capital radio that they’ve blocked off roads out of London.”

  “So are we in or out of the road block?”

  “I dunno, they didn’t say.”

  “Look at those idiots driving down the hard shoulder. What if there’s an emergency?”

  “I’m supposed to be at an important meeting in an hour.”

  “I’ve been trying to get through to the AA for the past half-hour, but it just keeps ringing. Not even a recorded message.”

  “The BBC just said that the PM’s in a COBRA meeting and he’ll be making a special announcement within the hour.”

  “Oh, great. I feel so much better already.”

  “About bloody time they took control of this mess.”

  Kim paced back and forth, nibbling her fingernails. Her mouth had become dry, and she cursed not bringing a bottle of water. A sense of complete helplessness gnawed at her belly. She picked up her phone to call Nigel and her mother to let them know the situation, but the screen displayed ‘no network’. How could there be no network? Other people complained their phones had stopped working—some received a message reporting a temporary outage because of essential maintenance.

  Men relieved themselves at the side of the motorway. Kim envied them, regretting her last cup of coffee before leaving.

  A police helicopter buzzed overhead like an angry wasp.

  An awareness of foreboding and intense wrongness settled upon Kim. She stood on one of the country’s major highways, which had become a giant car park. How long could this go on for? What if people left their vehicles and started walking? A few abandoned cars would permanently block the road. Where were the authorities? Why wasn’t somebody sorting this out?

  The opposite carriageway remained clear. The thought of taking down the central barrier occurred to her. A group of men began talking about it. She needed to do something—this waiting and not knowing was excruciating. But she had to stay strong for Katy.

  “Mommy, I want pee-pee.”

  Oh, God, no. That’s all I need.

  “Okay darling. Just a minute. You’ll have to go on the grass verge.”

  So will I, if things don’t get moving soon.

  A few cars away, somebody shouted. “Wait, listen everyone.”

  The talking stopped and, in the distance, the roaring of engines starting could be heard—hundreds of them—a veritable tsunami of nois
e rushing towards her. The crowd cheered and Kim could not help smiling as she started her own car engine.

  At last, they began moving. Initially, their motion was start-stop-start-stop, but after a few hundred yards, they picked up speed and a few drivers tooted their horns. Vehicles sped from the other direction, going into London. The blockage must have been cleared.

  “We’re on our way again, Katy. We’ll stop at the next service station. Everything’s going to be okay now.”

  The euphoria did not last long. After a mile, they came to a massive roadblock of commercial trucks, Army land rovers and police cars. Both the soldiers and police carried weapons and looked wary. A large section of central barrier was missing and traffic was being directed to move onto the opposite carriageway and go back to London.

  “No, no, no, no. This can’t be!”

  Kim was desperate to pull over and reason with them. She had to get to Devon. But cars, trucks and vans were packed tightly together, and she was carried along with the tide of humanity. Those few drivers that stopped to protest were waved on—no exceptions. The guards stood unresponsive at the shouted pleas.

  An hour later, Kim and Katy arrived home. Kim went to phone Nigel, but the land line was dead and her mobile had no network. She sent a text, hoping that it would work through the system. Devon seemed very far away.

  CHAPTER 21

  John & The Outbreak

  TIMELINE: At the time of the Yellow Death

  “Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear - not absence of fear.”

  Mark Twain (1835–1910)

  John returned to his chalet after breakfast with his mother and switched on the TV. The BBC News channel gave the outbreak in America exclusive coverage.

  John listened as he went through his physio exercises. For each gram of hard fact, there was a mountain of speculation. The same reports and videos repeated every few minutes with the words ‘unsubstantiated’ and ‘unconfirmed’ being used liberally.