Contagion

by Contagion (retail) (epub)

  “Iona also told me the coast is being guarded. Can we get there?”

  “You can. It’s not legal, or comfortable. There are boats taking paying passengers who want to escape the epidemic and go to other parts of Europe. I’ve found one that will stop in Shetland on the way to Norway. But it’ll cost, and not just a little. And you’re broke, right?”

  I exchange a dismayed glance with Kai. “Yeah, totally.”

  “I’ve got some friends with deep pockets. I’d have to tell them about you, but if I do, I think they’ll help.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Part of an online group Iona is in too—that’s how we know each other. She trusts them, as do I.”

  Kai and I look at each other. “I’d rather as few know as little as possible,” Kai says. “For their sakes as well as our own.”

  “Understood.”

  “Can I ask Iona?” I say.

  “Of course. I know you’ve been in touch via her blog, but you can use our group system if you want. Which means you’ll look like me. But it’s encrypted and bounced. Even if someone finds and decodes it, they can’t trace the source.”

  “Okay, sounds good.”

  “Here, let me start it up.”

  His fingers move quickly to type a complicated login sequence, but not so fast that my eyes can’t take it in, that my memory can’t store it away.

  An avatar of a heart appears on the screen.

  LOL: Calling JIT.

  There’s a ping noise.

  JIT: Hey LOL, break any hearts lately?

  LOL: Alas no. But I have a few houseguests. Over to…

  He looks at me.

  LOL: Curly.

  JIT: Curly? That fits!

  LOL: JIT? Is that you?

  JIT: Hurray, you made it! Is LOL taking care of you?

  LOL: Yep, think so. He wants to finance us via some group you’re both in. Is that okay?

  JIT: That’s cool, they’re safe.

  LOL: Wish we could talk properly.

  JIT: Me too. Best not. (((HUGS)))

  LOL: (((HUGS)))

  I turn back to Lochy and Kai. Kai, who’d been reading over my shoulder, nods.

  “Yep, okay, let’s do it,” I say.

  “Can you tell us more about what is involved?” Kai asks.

  “It won’t be pleasant. Crowded boats run by the sort that will do anything for enough money.”

  “Where do these boats go?”

  “Wherever they can. They were slipping through to various points in Europe with good success for a while; it’s gotten harder now as the cordons have gotten tighter. Some countries won’t let them land. Others are putting refugees into quarantine camps. A few camps have had outbreaks and were sealed off without medical aid or assistance of any kind. And the crossing is not without risk: you could get arrested by the coast guard, and some boats haven’t made it in rough seas.”

  “Oh my God,” I say. “I didn’t know it was that bad. Why do people still try to leave if it’s that dangerous?”

  “Easy: they’re more scared to stay.” He grabs a remote, finds a twenty-four-hour channel with quarantine zone updates. A map fills the screen.

  “What? It’s in Inverness now too?” Kai says.

  “Yes, and with that, Elgin is surrounded. It stretches from Inverness above to Aberdeen below. It’s changed in a rush this week.”

  “And that’s why people will risk anything to leave,” I say. “They’re trapped.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What about you, Lochy? Do you want to leave?” I ask.

  “Me? No way! I must be bug proof, or I’d have caught something shocking by now for sure,” he says. He winks, but there is fear behind his bravado.

  “Come with us,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “I can’t run away. Too many people who can’t leave mean too much to me here,” he says, looking uncomfortable admitting it, then shrugs. “Anyhow, I’ve been checking into Shetland as much as I can, to see if there is any information that can help you. But it’s weird: it’s almost like an information vacuum. I had to hack to even get these.”

  Lochy opens another screen and shows us recent satellite images of the islands, with the Shetland Mainland in the center, then zooms in. “As you can see, there are vast blackened areas where everything was completely destroyed by the explosions and fires. But even though not everywhere was affected, they’re not letting anyone return. There were people still on the other islands, but they’ve since been evacuated—supposedly due to environmental concerns.”

  “Supposedly? Do you think there’s another reason?” Kai asks.

  “There’s got to be something else going on for them to limit access like this. I mean, all that is there is a temporary air force post that’s been set up to monitor the seas and keep an eye on the international cordon.” He adjusts the map and points out the base. “And there are various officials and cleaners-up and so on at the Sullom Voe site, doing what they do. But not as many as you’d expect, and little is said about it. Anywhere—officially or unofficially.”

  “Maybe with everything that is happening in Scotland and England right now, it isn’t making the news,” Kai says.

  “That could be part of it, but not all. It’s just so intriguing. Something high on the weird scale is definitely happening or has happened over there. I hope you find out what it is.”

  “Can I look at the images of the Shetland Mainland again?” I say.

  “Of course.” Lochy shows me how to zoom in and out on the giant screen, and I take over the controls.

  Callie, do you recognize where we need to go?

  She studies the screen.

  Where is the oil place?

  “Where is Sullom Voe?” I ask Lochy, and he points out the spot.

  Zoom in there and then to the left. Yes. It’s on this part of the island. She moves closer to the screen. It’s somewhere around here that I got out of the research institute. And then, up top, there, is about where Dr. 1’s house is.

  Lochy has some maps of the Shetland Islands as well, and I study them in detail, committing them all to memory.

  Callie looks from the satellite images to the maps and back again.

  Yes. This is definitely the place. She gestures to a point that reaches out into the sea, near the top of the main island.

  I zoom in. Even though close to Sullom Voe, this part of the island was less affected than most. It is almost surrounded by water, with only a narrow finger of land attaching it to the rest of the island. It is wild, barren, steep. The whole landscape is eerie, oddly red in color.

  And we’re going there.

  CHAPTER 18

  CALLIE

  IT’S ALMOST TIME TO GO. Lochy has set up what he says is an untraceable line so Kai can call Mum. After much debate, they decided the need to find out what she knows outweighed the risk. But I can tell Kai just wants to hear her voice, like I do.

  I get closer to Kai than I have in a while, close enough to listen in.

  “Hello, Mum?”

  “Kai! Where are you? Are you all right? Is Shay?”

  “Can’t say, and yes, and yes.”

  “What have you gotten mixed up in?”

  “We’re doing what is right, I promise you that.”

  A slight pause. “I believe you, but—”

  “I can’t talk for long, and I have a question for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Has any progress been made on the origin or source of the Aberdeen flu?”

  “No. The biological agent still eludes us. We need survivors—send Shay to me.”

  Lochy gestures—the safe time for the call is up in a few seconds.

  “I have to go.”

  “Ich hab dich lieb.”

  “Love you too, Mum. Never forget that.” The line cuts off.

  I love her too.

  Kai stands there, pain in his eyes, and the anger I felt toward him before relents. Shay slips her hand into his.

&nb
sp; “Ready to go?” Lochy says.

  We follow him out the back door and down a lane and wait a few moments. A van pulls up. Lochy passes Kai a pack full of bottled water and food and gives Shay and Kai a quick hug. He thumps on the van door. It opens.

  There are many eyes inside. People move a little to make room for Kai and Shay, though it isn’t easy. It’s a standard-sized van, and there are already two men, three women, a crying baby, and so many children squirming about that they’re hard to count.

  I back away and tell Shay, I’ll ride up top.

  CHAPTER 19

  SHAY

  THE VAN JOLTS and lurches down the road. The baby is still crying, and one of the children is sick. The smell is making me feel sick too, and I wish I could join Callie outside.

  Kai’s body shelters mine against the side of the van. Even though it is Kai so close against me, the lack of air and space makes me want to scream.

  When we finally stop and the door opens, the fresh air is a relief I breathe in deep—sea air, and I can hear the sea nearby too. We’re behind trees, by a small lane. I get a better look at the others. Scared and some a little vomit-spattered, they are otherwise completely ordinary—they could be any of the families in Killin.

  Before the flu came, that is.

  We’re told to be quiet, to walk quickly.

  There is a path through trees, down to a narrow rocky beach. It’s windy and the sea is rough. There is what looks like a fishing boat anchored near the shore, a decent size, and I’m relieved we won’t be as crammed in as we were in the van.

  We’re told to clamber into a rowboat, four at a time, and we get half-soaked in the process. The water is freezing. We’re rowed out, bouncing on the waves, to the fishing boat, and then must climb out one at a time up a ladder that lurches sickeningly with the movement of the sea. Arms from above help pull us on board, and then I see our group isn’t the only one. There are so many people crammed in the darkness already that even though we’re in the open, it is, once again, hard to breathe.

  “Well, this is an adventure,” I whisper to Kai.

  “Lucky I like standing close to you, though not so sure about all the rest,” he whispers back.

  Callie makes a face. Are you sure this is safe, with so many people on it?

  I’m sure it is, I say to her, but more to convince myself than for any other reason. Callie leaves the deck behind, sits on the top of the cabin above us, and once again I find myself wishing I could join her.

  Me too, she says. Climb on up!

  I have a feeling they’d rather I didn’t.

  At least we must be the last to board. The anchor is pulled up, and soon we’re heading out to sea. We’re warned again to keep quiet, that sound carries on the water and there may be patrols nearby.

  This far north it isn’t properly dark in July, even though it’s late. Stars are hiding behind clouds and there are no lights on the boat, but white faces reflect what light there is. The sway on the sea increases as the dark shadow that is Scotland disappears behind us. A woman is crying soundlessly, a man rocking her back and forth. Children are shushed.

  A baby cries, and her mother cradles her. The baby cries louder, and the mother holds her, jiggles her, but she still cries. “I’m sorry,” she breathes in the barest whisper. “She’s not well, she won’t stop, and—” Her words cut off like she realizes what she said. “No, no; it’s not that!”

  Everyone on the crowded deck shrinks away from the woman and baby. An angry muttering starts up as the baby cries again.

  The feeling all around us is ugly, full of fear: that the baby will bring the epidemic to us all—that we’ll all die.

  “Shhh!” one of those running the boat says.

  Someone says something to him about the baby, and he pulls away in fear too.

  The woman is sheltering her baby between her and the railing. The baby’s cries are muffled and getting weaker.

  Callie has come down off her perch to investigate, then radiates alarm.

  Shay, she’s holding her baby too tight!

  What?

  It can’t breathe—do something!

  I push through the people and touch the mother’s shoulder. She flinches.

  “Let me,” I say. “I’ll get her to stop crying; I’ve got the knack.” I smile reassuringly, but she’s as terrified as if I’d said I’d throw the baby overboard. That’s what she thinks someone will do, isn’t it? She’s holding her child even tighter.

  I reach…and soothe the mother’s fear and distrust. She loosens her grasp enough: the baby is weak but gasps in air to fill her lungs and cries.

  The mother lets me take the baby from her arms. I know nothing about babies—totally zilch. But I rock her, thinking soothing, gentle, happy, sleepy thoughts, and she settles—it’s working.

  But when I look up, the other passengers around us are still staring at the baby, their faces fearful, angry, and my concentration is broken. Like she feels the threat from them through me, the baby draws in air to cry again, but her breathing is ragged, her lungs congested. She coughs instead.

  “She hasn’t got the Aberdeen flu; she’s got a cold. Back off!” I say to the passengers around us. The baby coughs again and falls asleep.

  People shuffle awkwardly—with shame, embarrassment. I ease her back to her mother.

  But soon they forget all about the baby, the patrols, the epidemic they are hoping to escape and where we are going. The sea swell increases. The boat lurches from side to side; it rises up with each wave and crashes down hard in the trough between them, and then does it again.

  Now we are all more scared of the sea than of anything else.

  CHAPTER 20

  CALLIE

  SOMETIMES I’M GLAD TO BE AS I AM. So many people are sick: some manage to do it over the railing, but many don’t. Even as far from them as I can be, I’m glad I can’t smell anything anymore.

  The sea is calm in the early morning, but it is still a boat full of misery that sneaks toward the Shetland Islands in mist. It hugs the coast and slips into a cave.

  “You two.” One of the sailors points at Kai and Shay. “You leave the boat here?”

  “Yes,” Kai answers.

  “We stay here in sea cave until dusk. We row you out soon.”

  They are busy with the anchor and then start to swing the rowboat down to the water.

  “Wait.” There’s a hand on Shay’s arm; it’s the mother of the baby. “Thank you. For last night.”

  Shay shrugs, uncomfortable. “No worries. I hope you are happy where you go—Norway, is that it?”

  “Yes. Well, it depends on the sea where we land, I think, but that is the plan. But you’re leaving us now? Why?”

  “There’s something we have to do.”

  “Best of luck.”

  “You go now,” the sailor says.

  Kai and Shay climb down the ladder and get into the rowboat. The others wave, wish them luck, and they wave back. The water is like glass now; after last night it’s hard to believe it is the same sea.

  They’re rowed out of the cave and along the shore. The sailor steers the rowboat toward a cove.

  “When you’re ready to leave, go back to the cave. There are a few of our boats that stop there; I can’t say what day, depends on many things.” He shrugs.

  “How do we get to the cave without a rowboat?” Kai asks.

  The sailor shrugs again. Kai and Shay exchange a glance.

  Chuck him overboard and keep the rowboat.

  Callie! Shay is shocked.

  Let him swim for it.

  We can’t! They might need it.

  You need it. Kai might make the swim, but judging by how you were in the river, you won’t.

  We’ll find another boat somewhere. It’ll be all right.

  The sailor maneuvers the rowboat into the cove, near the shore. There are high cliffs above.

  “Can we climb up here?” Shay asks.

  “Your problem. Now get out.”
>
  CHAPTER 21

  SHAY

  WE STAND ON THE ROCKY BEACH. The sea laps gently behind us; cliffs tower above. To the left, a waterfall tumbles down. There is a cut in the rock to the right, a place we should be able to clamber up to a grassy slope above. The only sounds are the sea and the cries of seabirds. It is desolate, lonely—beautiful.

  Kai points to the cut where I was looking. “That way up?”

  “Yes, but not yet.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “A wash, there.” I point at the waterfall. “A picnic, here.” I gesture around us, at the beach. “Then climb to the grass above and take a nap in the sun.”

  Kai smiles. “I like the way you think.”

  Callie scowls and crosses her arms. Shouldn’t we get a move on?

  “Callie thinks we should get going.”

  “We need a rest, Callie, and some sleep, or we’ll be useless,” Kai says.

  Fine. I’m going to check things out.

  She disappears in a dark blur straight up the cliff.

  “Race you!” Kai says, and runs for the waterfall, chucking his shirt off as he goes.

  Later we lie on the grassy slope above, breathing hard. It was a challenging climb. We’re nearly out of food and water and can only hope that we will find some where we are going.

  When I have my breath back, I go on my side, up on my elbow, lean down, and kiss Kai. He kisses me back, once, twice, and then, like he always does, pauses—stops, pulls away a little, looks at me. His pupils are dilated, his heart beats fast, but he keeps me at arm’s length like he is afraid of what will happen with just one more kiss.

  Warm and sleepy now in the sunshine, our eyes soon close. My head rests on Kai’s chest, his arm around me, the th-thump, th-thump of his heart against my cheek. His hand strokes my hair.

  My thoughts wander and I’m drifting, half-awake, half-asleep—needing to rest but not wanting to let go quite yet, wanting to stay here, with Kai, with the sun warm on my skin and his heart beating and the music of the sea murmuring below us.