Not ‘Good God, you look awful, what’s the matter?’ Just ‘Hello.’ It was so utterly normal and unexpected that Bob felt an immediate, fantastic surge of hope and warmth. Maybe things were not quite as bad as he thought, if she didn’t reel back in alarm and disgust at the first sight of him. Maybe he felt worse than he looked. But then he remembered who he was dealing with.
‘Saskia,’ he said roughly, his throat still clogged with snot. Realising this guttural noise could hardly be understood, he swallowed with difficulty and began again. ‘Saskia … Y’know, now isn’t a good time.’
‘Is there anything wrong? You don’t look very well, Dr Strong.’ Was that a smile on those perfect lips? Surely that was concern in her eyes, not mockery?
Strong went to speak, coughed up another string of mucus, and backed away. Immediately Saskia Harden stepped in after him, reaching out to help keep him upright.
She took him into the living room, surveying the mess without comment. She let him sit down in the armchair. ‘Rest there a moment.’
He raised a hand to protest. ‘What are you doing here?’ He coughed painfully and tried once again to focus on her.
‘Do you know what’s wrong with you?’ Saskia asked him gently.
He shook his head and shivered. ‘Dunno. I think it’s something to do with what’s been on TV. I think I should go to hospital, but …’
‘But …?’
‘Well, I’ve already got people working on it,’ he told her. ‘They’ve done some blood tests. They’re looking in to it.’
‘But do you know what it is?’
‘Not yet.’ He gagged, once, and then spoke in a rush, the words tumbling from his lips in a hurry because he knew he was going to throw up soon. ‘They’re saying it’s flu but it isn’t. I think it’s some kind of virus. I mean, virus as in “biohazard”. Like a biological weapon — I know it sounds crazy, but I’m convinced. I’ve seen the reports on the TV … it’s spreading across the whole area, and they keep telling everyone it’s nothing to worry about, it’s just a minor flu epidemic or a bug, but I can tell they’re keeping something back. You probably think I’m nuts-’ (She shook her head, not at all) ‘-but it feels like there’s a wasps’ nest in my throat and I can’t stop coughing. I want to cough it all up, but it just won’t budge. For God’s sake, I’m bringing up blood.’ He coughed, winced and then said, ‘I’m supposed to be a doctor. I can’t panic about this. I mustn’t.’
He wiped a hand down his face, surprised at the roughness on his chin. He realised that he must look like a complete tramp; Saskia’s cool green gaze was still checking him over carefully, perhaps trying to recognise the same man she’d seen in surgery the previous day. ‘Look,’ he said, summoning a feeble smile from somewhere, ‘I did warn you — this isn’t a good time for me. Maybe I’m just paranoid or this thing is doing something to my mind, but … Really, what are you doing here?’
She looked at him with a steady, level gaze. ‘I’ve come for my baby, Dr Strong.’
The SUV was speeding back towards Roald Dahl Plass, Owen following in his Honda.
Inside the Torchwood vehicle, the glare of the street lights cast strobing orange shapes across the faces of Gwen and Jack.
‘That man,’ Gwen said, staring at the road ahead. ‘I looked at him properly. And so did you.’
Jack glanced at her but said nothing.
‘I saw the way you looked at him.’ Gwen turned her head and stared at his profile as he drove. ‘The way he’d been killed … cut right open like that. Could you survive something like that, Jack?’
‘You know I would.’
‘I know you can’t die. But a wound like that … how would you? How could you? Surely it wouldn’t just … heal?
‘It’d take a while, but it would heal. I’d live.’
Gwen shivered. ‘I can’t imagine that.’
‘Try not to think about it,’ Jack advised. ‘That’s what I do.’
She looked back at him. ‘But … you must think about it. You must do.’
‘Not any more. I don’t think about dying. Only living.’ He glanced across at her and smiled that wolfish grin. ‘Besides, I don’t plan on letting anyone rip me open like that. Believe me. That’s gotta smart.’
She smiled despite herself. ‘Why do you always do that?’
‘What?’
‘Make me feel daft for even thinking something so bad, even when we’re right in the middle of a crisis.’
‘Crisis? What crisis?’
‘Owen’s medical crisis.’ Gwen activated the computer console in front of her and went online, searching for a news update. It wasn’t hard to find coverage of what the strap line termed ‘South Wales Epidemic’.
Owen’s voice crackled over the comms. ‘How come it’s my medical crisis?’
‘The TV and internet are full of it,’ Gwen reported, tapping at the monitor screen in front of her. ‘And they’re still calling it a flu epidemic.’
‘That’s bollocks,’ said Owen’s voice over the loudspeakers.
‘That a medical term?’ asked Jack.
‘It is when I use it.’ The Honda pulled up alongside the SUV as the two cars hurtled along the carriageway. Gwen could see Owen at the wheel. ‘Look, it won’t be long before someone starts calling it an outbreak,’ he continued. ‘That’s different to an epidemic, by the way. The authorities will already be considering it an emergency, the way things are going.’
‘They’ll think it’s germ warfare or something,’ Gwen said. ‘Terrorism.’
‘They’ll check with all the relevant biohazard facilities first — research labs, storage bases, chemical plants, both commercial and government. That won’t tell them much. Even if one of them knew there’d been a leak, they wouldn’t fess up straight away.’
‘What are the chances of it being an accidental leak?’ asked Jack.
‘Slim, but not impossible.’ Owen’s voice crackled slightly as the Honda pulled ahead and moved in front.
‘What if it’s none of those things?’ asked Gwen. ‘I mean, not an accidental leak from a research lab or even a deliberate attempt at biological terrorism? What if it’s something else?’
‘Then they’ll call us,’ said Jack.
‘Baby?’ said Bob. He suddenly felt a lot worse, if that was possible, as he sensed everything suddenly sliding out of control. ‘I don’t understand.’
Saskia just smiled. It was the coldest thing Bob had ever seen. ‘You will.’
‘Saskia, this really isn’t the right time …’ Bob tried to glare at her, but he couldn’t focus properly. He wondered if he was simply hallucinating the whole thing. She looked strangely ephemeral, as if he was seeing her through water.
She pulled off her raincoat, exposing one bare arm for Bob to see.
‘You’re hurt,’ he said, puzzled. The reaction was instinctive. There was a wound — a deep tear in the flesh of her upper arm, crusted with blood. The skin around it was inflamed and swollen. It looked extraordinarily painful, and yet she barely seemed to register it. All this time, and she had not given the slightest indication that it hurt. ‘How did you do that?’ he wondered. He stared at it, unable to take his eyes off the damage, his professional interest suddenly overwhelming every other thought. ‘Is that a gunshot wound?’
This time her lips parted in a tiny snarl. ‘Something metal,’ she said. Even the word seemed to taste bad for her.
Bob sat up, peering more closely at the wound. It was still bleeding, slightly, but there was something else in there, possibly detritus that would need to be cleaned away.
‘You should go to hospital,’ he told her. ‘The best place for this kind of thing is A amp;E, honestly.’
As he spoke, he saw something move in the wound. It was dark green, like a fragment of cabbage or broccoli caught in the scab. It quickly withdrew inside the flesh as he looked, almost as if it sensed his observation.
‘This is too much,’ Bob stammered, looking away. ‘I’m seeing things n
ow.’
‘Really?’
There was something in her tone — a challenge? A hint of contempt?
Whatever it was, it made Bob look back up at her, into her eyes. And then, in the final moments of his life, Bob suddenly realised what colour Saskia Harden’s eyes were.
They were the colour of mucus.
NINETEEN
Jack strode through the giant cog-wheel portal of the Hub and headed straight for the steps on the left leading up to Toshiko’s workstation. He was taking the stairs three at a time when he realised that she wasn’t at her desk.
‘Where’s Tosh?’ Jack called to Ianto, who was just coming through from the Morgue.
Ianto was holding a dustpan and brush. He used the brush to point. ‘Hothouse. Good to see you back.’
‘You too, Ianto, you too. Lookin’ sharp. I like a man who knows how to keep a place tidy — I ever tell you that?’
‘Once or twice.’
Jack doubled back, heading for the spiral steps that led up to the Hothouse. He could see Toshiko now, standing over a complex piece of apparatus in the centre of the room. She was wearing a white lab coat, which stood out among all the plants and bottles. Jack was about to go inside when he realised that the doors were shut, and when he tried to open them he found they were locked.
‘Tosh?’
No answer. She was intent on her work and she couldn’t hear him through the partition.
Ianto followed Jack up the stairway and cleared his throat apologetically. ‘She’s sealed herself inside.’
‘What? Why?’
Ianto knocked politely on the glass and Toshiko looked up, startled.
Jack felt startled too. Toshiko looked terrible. She was drawn, with dark rings under her eyes and a sheen of sweat over colourless skin. Jack looked back at Ianto. ‘What’s going on?’
‘She’s running a temperature and she’s as weak as a kitten. Then she started coughing up blood.’
Inside the Hothouse, Toshiko pressed a switch to activate the intercom. ‘I’ve put myself in quarantine, Jack.’
‘Quarantine?’
‘It’s just a precaution. I think I’ve picked up some kind of infection.’ She coughed hard into a handkerchief, holding on to the workbench next to her for support. ‘I don’t know what it is yet, but I’m trying to isolate it now. I think it could be what’s been on the TV news.’
‘There must be something we can do. I’ll get Owen, he can help.’
‘I doubt it,’ said Owen, joining them outside the Hothouse with Gwen. He cleared his throat and winced. ‘I think I’ve got it too.’
Jack looked at him. ‘Owen, you’ve got a cold.’
‘Man flu,’ said Gwen. ‘You guys — slightest sign of a sore throat and you hit the deck. Rhys is just the same. Pathetic.’
Jack ignored her and turned back to Toshiko, thumbing the intercom switch next to the door. ‘What you found, Tosh?’
‘Well it’s not flu, I can tell you that.’ Another cough, her face screwing up and a hand going to her throat. ‘I’ve taken blood and saliva samples, I’m testing them now.’
‘Owen did all this before, on Saskia Harden’s GP. His tests were all clear.’
‘I was checking for known diseases,’ Owen admitted. He raised a hand to attract Toshiko’s attention. ‘Are you checking for anything in particular?’
‘I’m eliminating any known biological or bacteriological weapons. Sarin, Anthrax, E74. I’ve even checked for any radioactive isotopes, in case it’s plutonium poisoning — the symptoms aren’t dissimilar.’
‘And?’
‘So far it’s all clear.’
‘Which means?’ asked Jack.
Owen said, ‘Which means that if it is a bioweapon, it isn’t one from Earth.’
‘Meeting, downstairs,’ Jack told the others, and they moved away towards the stairwell. Jack smiled through the glass at Toshiko. ‘Carry on. I’ll connect up to you from the Boardroom.’
She nodded wearily and gave him the thumbs up.
Gwen already had BBC News 24 feeding through to the main screen on the Boardroom wall. They were in the middle of a story about the polar ice-caps melting, but the rolling stop-press news at the bottom of the picture referred to the flu epidemic in Wales and southern England. Gwen was reading it out aloud as the others filed in behind her: ‘Government scientists have been placed on alert following the outbreak of a previously unknown strain of the flu virus in South Wales and South East England-’
‘Government scientists?’ said Owen scornfully, sliding into a chair.
‘-A spokesperson has denied that the outbreak indicates that bird flu may have made the transition to human beings, although it has yet to be confirmed whether or not this is the deadly H5N1 strain of the virus … Blah blah blah,’ Gwen trailed off.
‘They’re fudging,’ agreed Owen. ‘They know it’s something serious, so they’ve let slip the bird flu thing. It’s a cover for the fact that they haven’t a clue.’
‘And we do?’ said Jack.
‘We know it’s something to do with Saskia Harden.’
‘Do we?’
Owen leaned forward, wincing for a moment as he cleared his throat. ‘It’s my guess Saskia’s the original carrier — Patient Zero. She went to her GP, passed it to him. That’s two infected people. Now a contagious pathogen in the middle of a doctor’s waiting room, full of people who are already sick or rundown, is the perfect breeding ground. Little or no resistance. Everyone there is infected. They go away, infect other people. And so it goes on.’
‘My God, it’ll never stop,’ whispered Gwen.
‘Do you think it’s deliberate?’ Jack asked. ‘Or just an accident?’
‘Does it matter?’ Owen said. ‘Either way we’re up the proverbial creek. Remember what happened when the Rift was opened — an entire hospital was brought to its knees trying to deal with fourteenth-century patients with bubonic plague. Something like this could cause the emergency services to go into meltdown.’
‘It’s deliberate,’ Ianto said firmly.
‘Why?’
‘Think about it. The whole thing boils down to this Saskia woman. Before this week we’d never heard of her — but neither had anyone else, except for the police and her GP. And the records they hold for her are all false. She doesn’t really exist.’
‘Which is why we have to find her,’ said Jack, clicking his fingers.
‘And Toshiko?’ asked Gwen. ‘What do we do about her?’
Jack turned to Owen. ‘How do you think she caught it?’
‘She must have been exposed to the virus. I don’t know how, but it’s my guess our dead friend from Greendown Moss is responsible.’
Gwen coughed. ‘But if that’s the case then we’re all infected, aren’t we? We were all there in the Autopsy Room.’
They all looked at one another.
Jack opened a link to the Hothouse. ‘Tosh? Any news?’
A barrage of strenuous coughing came through the loudspeakers. Eventually, Toshiko’s voice, tired and ragged, followed: ‘Nothing yet. I think I’ve managed to isolate a non-human cell, though. It’s a slow process. The cells are mutating all the time, almost as if they’re trying to disguise themselves as human cells.’
‘The likelihood is that we are all infected,’ Jack told her.
‘I’m the only one showing advanced symptoms so far. I need to stay isolated.’ There was a heavy, lonely sigh. Gwen pictured Toshiko lowering herself onto the stool as she talked. ‘I’m keeping notes — it starts with a sore throat, then a cough. The cough gets worse … like there’s something at the back of your throat but you just can’t clear it.’
‘Exactly what I’ve got,’ said Owen, and then coughed as if to prove it.
‘The cough gets progressively more painful. You begin running a temperature. Eventually you’ll find you’re coughing up blood.’
Gwen was rubbing nervously at her throat and swallowing repeatedly. ‘You know, I’m getting a sore th
roat too …’
‘It’s the first sign,’ Owen said, looking around the table. ‘We’ve all got it.’
Ianto came into the boardroom, a handkerchief held over his mouth and nose.
‘That won’t do you any good,’ said Owen. ‘Holding a hanky over your nose isn’t going to protect you against this kind of thing.’
‘It’s too late for that,’ Ianto replied. He showed them the handkerchief — it was full of bright red spots. When they looked back at him, his face was flooded with anxiety. ‘What’s going to happen to us all?’
‘After a while, there will be mucus as well as blood,’ croaked Toshiko before dissolving into another fit of coughing. ‘From what I can tell, it’s at this stage the pathogen becomes properly contagious.’
Gwen felt herself starting to panic. As always, her first instinct was to call Rhys, but she had to shut her eyes tight and ruthlessly close the lid on any thoughts about her immediate future. She wouldn’t be any use if she was frozen by fear. Look at Tosh, she told herself. Cool and professional to the end.
To the end … A thought suddenly struck Gwen. ‘What about Jack?’ she said.
Everyone turned to look at him. ‘I never get sick,’ he said. ‘When you can’t die, you don’t get bothered much by the common cold.’
‘This isn’t the common cold,’ Gwen said.
‘I don’t get sick,’ Jack repeated. ‘Usually.’
There was a long pause. ‘Usually?’ Owen prompted.
Jack pulled a face and rubbed his neck. ‘I’ve kinda got a sore throat coming on now.’
TWENTY
Owen’s mobile rang and he flipped it open. ‘Owen Harper.’ He listened for a moment and then redialled. ‘Voicemail,’ he explained, pulling a ‘don’t know what this is about’ face. He waited for the connection and then suddenly had to pull the phone away from his ear as a series of harsh squawks and shouts came out.
It was loud enough to make the others look up. ‘What’s that?’ said Jack. ‘Dial-a-fight?’
Ianto had already run a computer check on the signal. ‘It’s from Bob Strong.’
Owen switched his phone to loudspeaker and replayed the voicemail message. At first, it was difficult to tell what was being said, apart from the fact that it was someone shouting.
Something in the Water t-4 Page 12