by M. W. Duncan
“It’s not like anything else in the city. But you shouldn’t think of going there. It’s dangerous. Look what happened to me. Where will you go once you’re out of here?”
Gemma sighed. “I’m going home to my parents. I’m going to make sure they’re safe.”
“Then what?”
Gemma’s plan consisted of getting out of the hospital and blackmailing Black Aquila with the information to ensure her parents were safe. Beyond that, she had no plans. Watch the world fall apart from somewhere safe?
“I’m not sure, Jacob. What about you?”
Jacob steered Gemma away from the window, as if someone outside would be able to hear. “I’m going to get as far away from people as I can. When I was younger my friends and I would go camping. There was a spot, fresh water running nearby. Miles from anywhere. Animals to hunt. Sheltered from the elements. I’ll stay there until everything settles down.”
“That’s a good plan, Jacob. It’s good you’re thinking about what comes next.”
“We’ll get through this together. You and I. Our fates are locked, Gemma. I’m sorry about how I was when we first met. I know I’ve said sorry before but I was scared and I didn’t know how to get out. I’ll leave you now. Come get me if you hear anything. I’ll be in my usual place.”
A thought struck her as she watched him go. So much of the hospital was not in use. The decline of patients perhaps was testament to the virility of the Carrion Virus. How long until the guards fell victim? Gemma did not intend to find out.
Gemma left the confinement of the uppermost levels and headed down to one of the communal areas still in operation. Exhausted staff filled the room, all were silent. Some lay across chairs with their eyes closed. Some read crumpled paperbacks. A TV broadcasted endless stories of the crisis. The reporting was extremely understated. The mainstream media for all intents and purposes was now a tool to control the fear of the panicked population.
Gemma pulled up a chair next to three women and a male. They looked like administration staff. The male rested his head on the table. Asleep?
“Tough day?” she asked the group.
The woman closest to her spoke without drawing her eyes away from the TV. “That’s all there is around here now.”
“I can see that,” said Gemma. “How long have you been here?”
The woman looked at Gemma with a hopeless frustration. “You ask a lot of questions and that’s not a wise thing to do here.”
“Last I checked, this was Britain and it was alright to do that.”
The male raised his head. “Does this look like the kind of Britain you recognise? Ask yourself that.”
Gemma caught a glimpse of his badge. He was a staff nurse. William Wozniack.
“Hush, William,” said the woman closest to Gemma. “You can’t say that.”
“I’m sorry, Morag, but it’s about time we started saying things. Complaining. We’re being treated like prisoners here. Told it’s for our own protection and that we’re serving the nation by our commitment. I don’t see that anymore. We’re allowing this to go on. This isn’t medicine. This isn’t anything we should be part of.”
“Please, William. They’ll hear.”
“I agree with you, William,” said Gemma. “What’s going on here isn’t right. What I’ve seen and what I’ve been told isn’t helping people. It’s hurting them. We can’t just sit back. When was the last time you were home, or were allowed to call your family?”
Morag paused, her mouth open with a half formed word. She closed her mouth and wiped her eyes with a crumpled napkin. “Three weeks. It’s been three weeks.”
“I could go around the table here and ask you all the same and I’d bet all the tea in China that you’d say the same. This isn’t right.”
“Oh God.” Morag looked past Gemma.
Gemma turned. An armed soldier made his way through the communal area toward their table.
“What’s going on here?” asked the soldier. “You know the rules about this kind of thing.”
“What?” said Gemma. “Sitting at a table and saying hello?”
“You know what I mean.”
“We were discussing the situation here,” said Gemma. “There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“There’s something wrong with causing trouble. Maybe you should consider that before you go opening your mouth, love?”
Love? Gemma did not like being addressed in that fashion, nor did she like his smug look, nor the way he towered over her expecting her to crumble with terror.
“What is the military so afraid of? We nobodies having a chat? We’re being treated like prisoners and slaves here. Are we not even allowed to discuss the truth, love?”
Morag turned a ghostly shade of white and held her napkin to her mouth. William watched with a horrified fascination, poised to take cover at a moment’s notice.
“What’s your name?” asked the soldier.
“Piss off,” said Gemma.
“Come with me.” The soldier reached down and grabbed Gemma by the arm.
“Hey!”
He hauled her easily out of the seat and to her feet.
William was on his feet in an instant. “Leave her alone. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”
The soldier pointed to William. “Sit down and shut up. I’m in charge here.”
“No,” William argued defiantly. “Let her go this minute!”
Others stood and joined in the chorus. More and more joined in and their demands grew to shouts.
The soldier threw Gemma back into the seat. She hit her chest against the table edge. Her breath burst from her lungs and she grunted with the pain. The soldier brought his weapon up, and everyone fell to the floor or scattered, but not William.
“What will you do, soldier? Shoot us all? And for what? Asking questions? They’re questions that need to be asked. When was the last time you were allowed to speak to your family? Do you have a wife? Girlfriend? Out there?” William pointed to the window. “The country is changing every day and we’re stuck here in a bubble where we don’t know what’s happening to our families. We’re here because we want to help, but the asking price is too high. We can’t not know.”
The soldier’s weapon slipped an inch.
“Nobody here would deny helping those in need but we’re not machines,” said Gemma. “We all give something but we need something back, too.”
“We’ve let it go on for too long,” added William. “We’re not asking for the world, just our basic rights.”
Morag wept in the corner. “Please, just let us speak to our families. I don’t know if they’re okay. Please.”
The soldier backed away. He glared at Gemma, then each person he passed.
“This isn’t something that will go away,” shouted William. “You need to address this. Get your superiors in here to talk otherwise you’ll find us unwilling to work.”
Shouts of agreement came.
“Today there’s a handful of us. Tomorrow we’ll bring this facility to a standstill.”
Gemma crossed to William. She hugged him gingerly. “Thank you for speaking up.”
“Something has to be done,” he said evenly.
“We can’t let it end here. We need to spread tell all staff in this facility. We’re only a handful. They can’t ignore all of us. We need to make something happen.”
The seeds were planted. This mini revolt increased her opportunities to leave. It was an entirely self-serving endeavour even if others would benefit from it. Gemma rubbed her chest. It would probably be a bruise tomorrow.
***
Ice cold water dripped into Eric’s face. The sensation brought him back from a dark place, back into the world. Nothing made sense. For the longest time he could not rationalise his situation. He lay on his back, crumpled metal and the twisted and broken body of the Chinook nearby. It was snow dripping from the tree branches overhead that encouraged his return to consciousness. He shivered uncontrollably. It
was daylight. He had no idea how long he had been out. When they crashed it was night-time. He could have lain out in the elements for five hours at least. It was a miracle he had not succumbed to the freezing temperatures.
Eric wiped the wet from his forehead, but recoiled in pain. He touched a significant gash on his forehead. He tried to sit up but vomited.
Got to move. So cold.
Eric pushed himself to his feet, holding himself against the wall section of the aircraft. His pack and weapon remained strapped to him. Above, the forest canopy was torn where the aircraft came down. Metres away fires smouldered.
“Hello?” shouted Eric. “Anyone hear me?”
Only his echo responded. The forest was winter quiet and still.
Eric hobbled. His legs were close to numb. He moved around the wreckage to the cockpit, stomping to return feeling to his legs, but with every thud, pain shuddered upwards. The front of the aircraft had taken most of the impact. The compartment was crushed into a barely recognisable puzzle. Blood stains and a protruding arm was all the evidence Eric needed to decipher the fate of the pilots.
He removed his pack, and the satellite phone he wore fell in pieces to the ground. He rummaged through the pack and pulled out a small field dressing kit. Nothing to clean the wound, but he found adhesive dressing. He pulled it free from the protective sheath and sucked in air as he applied pressure to his forehead.
He clasped a hand to his chest. Perhaps a broken rib, perhaps two. It was too cold to undress and inspect. He had to move or die. He reasoned help would have arrived if a distress call was sent. Or perhaps there was no one to receive it. Eric scavenged around the crash site but found little in the way of useful items. Much was lost on impact.
He’d have to search the area, find a trail, a track, a way to safety. He started in the direction where the trees began to thin. The ground was uneven, tripping him at every opportunity. Lift your feet, Eric! His legs didn’t want to obey, and dragged too often, but the stumbles lessened and he made some distance.
The edge of the forest came suddenly. The trees fell behind and he was moving through untamed land. Beyond was a tapestry of farmland, old stone walls marking the boundaries between each field. No roads that he could make out, and no visible populated centres. The fields were neatly uniform. In the summer they would possibly support crops of some kind. There must be a farm nearby. Even a small village. He wished for binoculars. Or for an accurate map position.
Eric started over the first stone wall. The stones slipped and moved as he went. He landed hard on the ground. His left foot broke through ice hidden under the snow.
“Shit! Shit!” The water was freezing. He ripped his foot free, and the pain of the cold disappeared as numbness took over.
He needed shelter and heat. Eric got back to his feet, and limped, crossing two more walls and crested a hill. He doubled over and dry retched, then kept moving. Down into the small valley behind the hill, he could make out a farmstead, a cluster of buildings with smoke rising from a chimney. A road stretched into the distance. No traffic, probably just an access road to the farm. It was shelter. The farm would have a phone. He could contact Jacqui, let her know he was alive.
He wiped at his eyes, slapped at his cheeks, keen to dispel the threatening dizziness. Got to keep going. He made his way down the hill, slipping to his knees more than once. Get up! His whole body shook. His head burned.
“Getttt upppp!” he ordered, his teeth chattering. His limbs would not comply. His body folded, and suddenly he was face down in the snow. Got to keep going. A wall of sleep fell atop him. No matter how hard he fought against it, he could not resist. Jacqui!
***
News of Gemma’s stand against the soldier spread like wildfire. Medical and support staff gathered in the communal area, turning it into an unofficial picket line. Nothing too intimidating. It was just a collection of frightened and broken staff making a stand against what they felt was an almost tyrannical dictatorship. Gemma would have felt a miniscule of pride if she were not entirely motivated by her own interests.
Two soldiers stood by the doors. Neither were threatening in manner, and were more like interested onlookers. The room smelt unpleasant. Double shifts and little time for showers made body odours triple.
William said to a doctor, “They’re not monsters those soldiers. They’re people like you and I following orders. Perhaps illegal orders. But there won’t be violence as a result of this.”
The doctor played with his stethoscope. “I keep thinking of the infected patients they remove. Who gives an order like that?”
“Gemma,” William said, “how do you think this will go down? I’m a little worried despite what I say to the others.”
“What’s been your experience of the soldiers?”
“At the start, we welcomed them. They were here to protect us and maintain our ability to work. Then later, they became our jailers. The original reason for them being here feels forgotten. We’re no longer on the same page. They’re here to keep us in check, and keep the infected from getting out. Or in.”
“William, they can’t do anything to us. If they don’t play it safe, this facility becomes useless. You and the other staff are the blood of this place, and it needs you to keep pumping.”
“I don’t like that everyone looks to me for some kind of guidance. There’s doctors here. Men and women smarter and more able to lead.”
“But it was you that took a stand. That counts for a lot.”
“We took a stand, Gemma.”
“Yes. We did. And it was the right thing to do.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Ask yourself this. As a medical professional, could you endure much more of this? The situation?”
William considered it for a moment. “No,” he said finally. “No, I don’t think many of us could have.”
“Then it’s the right thing to do.”
William smiled, nodding his thanks. He turned to the closest group and inserted himself into their conversation.
A commotion at the doorway drew the attention of the crowd. Gemma stretched up on her tiptoes. More soldiers filed into the room. All armed but they held their weapons down. A man in a suit, balding and almost penguin-like in his hurried, clumsy walk appeared between the soldiers.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he shouted, holding his hands in the air. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I can have your attention. My name is Myles Swanson. I am the government appointed agent for this facility. Due to several factors, not least being this mutiny you have staged, the military support for this facility is being withdrawn and redeployed immediately.” He scowled, his nose lifting in indignation, as if each one of them played a part in offending him personally. “Please wait here until we have evacuated. Thank you for your time.”
“They’re going?”
“What about us?”
“What will happen to us?”
“Who will protect us?”
“You can’t do this!”
“What if the infected break loose?”
Whilst everyone was panicking, Gemma wanted to cheer. Her avenue to escape was only moments away. She waited for as long as she dared, then skirted the outside of the group, and on to the door. The corridor was empty.
“They told us to wait here,” complained one of the staff.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said quietly.
She listened intently. No gunshots or screams. The hospital was quiet like the grave.
“I’ll check what’s going on. Wait here.” She pushed through the doors, walked quickly past the wards and past patients.
Jacob waved from his doorway. “They’re gone.”
“Are you sure?”
“They told us to stay in our beds until the medical staff returned.”
“We’re going.”
“Now?”
“Grab your stuff.”
Jacob pulled on a thick winter coat, grabbed his backpack and followed Gemma. She grabbe
d a coat and her backpack from a hidden cupboard in the corridor. Jacob was slow.
“Come on,” she called.
“I’m trying.”
The carpark was empty of military presence. The roadblock had been dismantled and the road lay open. Civilian cars filled the northern end. Snow had compacted on windscreens, and some wheels looked buried in white.
“Will they start?” Jacob complained.
“Of course they will. Check the reception desks for car keys.”
Jacob returned inside and Gemma ran to the northern end and tried door handles. All were locked. She bound through a layer of snow to get to more cars just around the corner. All locked, too.
“Gemma, where are you?”
“Here!”
“I’ve got a key!”
“Start clicking the button. See which car it opens.”
The telling beep of a car being unlocked sent Gemma back to the northern carpark. Jacob had clicked open a Citroën hatchback.
“Start her up,” she ordered.
Jacob slipped into the driver’s seat. The engine burst into life without a hint of effort. He wound down the window.
“Would you look at that? Started first time. Someone must have been turning it over regularly.”
Gemma reached the car and swiped at the snow on the window. “Shit. It’s not budging. Look for something in the car.”
“Like what?”
“Something to shift this shit.”
Jacob dived into the back seat and came back up with a plastic scraper. “This do?”
“Here!”
He tossed it across the bonnet. Gemma started chipping away. Progress was slow.
Jacob called out, “There’s almost a full tank.”
“Come out and take over, Jacob.”
“Righteo.” He did as he was asked and went to work on the ice.
Gemma inspected the rear tyres. Snow banked around them. Forward motion was going to be difficult. One of them would need to push, and she knew it would be her. She kicked at the snow, chipping away at the weeks of accumulation.
William stood at the doorway to the hospital. “Gemma?”