by John Holt
She had to get in, and fast. Her car was still in the garage, awaiting a new clutch, so it was out of action. She would have to take her husband’s car. “And how do I get to work?” he had asked, as he stifled a yawn.
She smiled. “Well there’s always the bus,” she replied, as she quickly got dressed. “Or you could walk.” She paused. “The exercise would do you good. You could lose a few pounds.”
He smiled, and shook his head. “And what about the kids,” he murmured. “What about their school?” She shook her head, and smiled once again.
“All right, no need to answer,” he said. “I’ll take them.” He
heaved another sigh.
“And bring them home again,” she added. She was sorry about the situation, truly sorry, but there was nothing that she could do about it, was there? They had no choice did they? They just had to get on with it, and that was that.
He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “And bring them home again,” he repeated.
She moved over to him, kissed him goodbye, and walked to the door. “Bye,” she called to him. He didn’t hear her. He was already fast asleep. She smiled, switched off the light, and went out.
By the time she had arrived at the hospital, twenty-five minutes later, two other cases had been brought in, a young woman and a middle-aged man. Like the first case, they too worked at the Oil Plant. And, also like the first case, they had respiratory problems, and that dark red rash to the upper body. Over the next few days a series of tests were carried out. It was determined that the disease had been caused by a mutant strain of a flu virus, and that it was extremely contagious.
* * *
She checked her watch once again. She was now more than twenty-five minutes late. She started to run, and then almost immediately stopped as memories flooded back to the time when she had been a student nurse. She could hear the matron calling out to her. “Nurse Martes, we do not run along the corridor,” she would say in that distinct, cutting voice of hers. “Ladies do not run. Ladies walk.” Then there would be that slight pause. “But walk quickly,” she would then cry out angrily.
Nurse Martes started to walk quickly. Suddenly her bleeper sounded. She stopped and pressed the answer button. “Where are you?” a gruff voice demanded to know. It was the Matron.
“I’m on my way, Matron,” she replied nervously. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Make it two,” the voice snapped back. The line went dead.
Nurse Martes looked at the bleeper and shook her head. It wasn’t her fault that she had been delayed at x ray was it? If that technician hadn’t mixed up the negatives she would have been back ages ago. All right, so he was young, and inexperienced. All right, so he had only been doing the job for a little over three weeks. Was that her fault? No it wasn’t. It wasn’t really her task to sort out things like that was it? Why, he was virtually blaming me, she murmured. Certainly she had knocked the pile of envelopes to the ground. But that was an accident. It could have happened to anyone. He was the one who had actually confused the names.
She knew that they would not accept that as a legitimate reason for being late. Offhand she couldn’t think of anything that would have been acceptable, except maybe the outbreak of World War III. Even then she wasn’t entirely convinced. She had only stopped to help because she felt sorry for the young man. But now she was beginning to regret it. She should have left him to it. It was his job not hers.
She knew that she would have to make up for lost time; that was a foregone conclusion. Every minute would have to be accounted for. Another late shift, she reminded herself. That would be four this week. She shrugged her shoulders, and smiled. Four out of four, she muttered. How long could she go on doing eighteen or twenty hour days, with very little rest or a break? On top of all that, leave had been cancelled for the foreseeable future.
So much for the week’s holiday, further up on the coast that she had planned with her husband, and two young children. They had rented a small bungalow overlooking the beach. They were all looking forward to it immensely, especially the children. They had it all planned, playing on the beach, building sandcastles, and swimming; perhaps taking a small boat out into the bay. “Can we, Daddy? Can we?” they had pleaded. He had looked at her and smiled. She had smiled back and slowly nodded her head. Then he looked back at the children. “Of course we can,” he had replied. Their squeals of delight had been magical.
She shook her head. It would all have to be cancelled now. There would be no boat ride. There would be no swimming, no sandcastles, and there would be no beach. What could she tell her husband? More to the point, what could she tell the children? They wouldn’t understand would they? They would be so disappointed. This was to have been their first real holiday for five years.
She suddenly started to smile. Perhaps they could have that holiday after all. Oh no, she wouldn’t be able to go, she knew that. The hospital and this wretched virus had seen to that. But there was no reason why they should all have to suffer. There was no reason why the children shouldn’t get their holiday, was there? Her husband could take them, couldn’t he? All right, she would not be with them, but it was only for a week after all. Of course she would miss them, but it wasn’t like they would be parted for months. And besides, with the long hours that she was working she didn’t get to see much of them, anyway. She nodded. It was all settled, her husband and the children would get their holiday after all. She was beginning to feel better already, as she made her way along the corridor. Suddenly she stopped, and a frown spread across her face. There was no way that he would agree to go away and leave her alone.
Sadly she shook her head once again. There would be no holiday. They would not get their money back either, that much was certain. Of course they had holiday insurance, but that would not cover the present circumstances. A cancellation due to a family illness would have been acceptable, maybe. A cancellation because the holiday company had ceased trading would be fine. But there would be no chance for a cancellation because the hospital had stopped all leave, and matron had said that she couldn’t go. No, there was no possibility of getting their money back. Perhaps she could claim it back from the hospital, she thought momentarily.
She smiled, and then she shook her head once more, quickly dismissing the thought from her mind. There was absolutely no way the hospital would reimburse her. She sighed deeply. She was so tired, so weary. She needed a break. She needed a rest. She needed that holiday. It just wasn’t fair. Her bleeper sounded once again. This time it was to tell her that there had been another death, a few short minutes ago; a young man, in his mid twenties. He was one of the fifteen that had been brought in that morning from Almeria just a mile or two away.
She slowly returned the bleeper to her pocket. She took a deep breath, as she realized that tears were slowly flowing down her cheeks. She took out a handkerchief, and gently wiped the tears away. She knew that his death wasn’t her fault. She knew that even if she had been back earlier, it would have made no difference. She was powerless to prevent it. And yet she still felt guilty, somehow. All of the time that she had been worrying about the loss of her precious holiday, and complaining about long shifts and being over-worked, that poor young man was taking his last few breaths. She shook herself. But it really wasn’t her fault was it? It was nobody’s fault, not really. It was just one of those things, she told herself. She shook her head. No, it wasn’t just one of those things. It was a particularly nasty strain of a flu-like virus. That’s what it was.
She suddenly heard a loud noise behind her. Doors being pushed open, and then loudly swinging closed. She turned around, and there coming towards her at great speed was a hospital trolley being pushed and pulled by two orderlies. Running at one side was a young nurse holding a drip connected to the patient’s arm. On the other side was a paramedic, pushing the side of the trolley. Nurse Martes quickly moved to one side to allow the trolley to pass. As it did so, she could see the patient quite clearly. It was a you
ng girl, no more than six or seven years old, much like her own daughter. Walking quickly behind was a young woman, her eyes deep set, and rimmed in black, where she had been crying. The girl’s mother, Nurse Martes guessed. Next to her was a young man. His arms wrapped tightly around the woman’s shoulder. His face was white, ashen, his eyes staring into the distance. It was obvious that he, too, had been crying. The woman’s husband obviously, the young girl’s father. Nurse Martes said a silent prayer, as she reached for the rosary beads inside her tunic.
As she eventually reached the Isolation Ward she could see one of the doctors speaking to someone. The man was distraught and crying loudly, beating his fists against the wall so hard that they had started to bleed. The young man who had just died was his younger brother. Should she speak with him, she wondered, to try to console him, to offer some comfort. She sadly shook her head. What could she say anyway? What could anyone say at a time like this? She closed her eyes, trying to obliterate the scene from her mind. She turned away, and looked along the corridor. At the far end, over to the left, she saw a group of people deep in conversation. She recognized Doctor Fernandez, the head of the hospital. Next to him was Rosa, his secretary. Then there was Professor Gonzalez. The last person in the group was a young American. She did not know his name but she was sure that he was from Trenton Pharmaceuticals. The company had been in the area for several weeks now, trying desperately to find a cure for this terrible disease. She looked down at the floor, and shook her head. So far without success, she whispered.
She turned to her left and headed towards the ward. There, on the right hand side was the trolley that had passed her a few minutes ago. The young woman and man were standing next to it. The man was staring at the crumpled white sheet that now completely covered the patient. “Oh no,” whispered Nurse Martes, “No.” Suddenly the tears started to fall once more.
* * *
That was just the start. Little did they realize what the future would bring. As a precaution, facemasks were distributed throughout the country, together with basic advice regarding cleanliness. The population was advised only to travel when it was absolutely essential. Over night the tourists had all packed their cases, left the area, and returned to their homes. All flights into the country, other than those bringing in emergency supplies, or aid, had been banned until further notice. There were assurances from the authorities that everything possible was being done. There was talk of vaccinating the entire population, although what vaccine would be used was still unknown.
Within days, the virus had spread over much of the country, and some cases had been reported across the border in the neighboring country. An urgent appeal had been launched for financial aid, and for medicines. The World Health Organization had been called in to give assistance, and The United Nations had sent in a medical team to try to isolate the source of the outbreak.
The news was reported on all major news channels, but it was contained within a relatively small area, so no real significance was given to the reports. CNN made an attempt to show the seriousness of the matter, but with no real effect. The screen showed their reporter in Costa Rica, the small Central American country where the disease had first come to light. He was wearing full protective clothing, including rubber gloves, and a mask. “There have been three reported cases in San Miguel, and one in Costa Felipe,” he said. “So far there have been no further deaths. A spokesperson for the World Health Organization said that the situation was being closely monitored, and was completely under control.”
The picture then changed. Now it showed the huge glass and steel tower that was the headquarters building for Trenton Pharmaceuticals, in downtown Miami. The reporter was speaking to one of the executives of the company. “We are doing everything we can to combat this dreadful virus,” he said. “My people are working day and night.” The picture changed and now showed the inside of one of the laboratories. White coated technicians were busily testing row upon row of samples. “We are determined to find a cure,” the executive continued.
The screen then changed once again, returning to the studio. The newsreader shuffled the papers lying in front of him, and looked up at the camera. “It has just been announced that the United States has pledged five million dollars to the Costa Rican Emergency Appeal ….”
* * *
Chapter Three –
Punta Rojas – Five Years Previously
The Carlton Room at the Hotel Montrose, Sunny Isles, had often been the venue for important functions. In its twenty-five year history it had played host to many a conference, or exhibition, and even the odd concert. Just twelve months ago it had been the venue for the Florida Jazz Festival. Six months ago it had been home to the Democratic Party Convention. Tonight it was to be used for an Extraordinary Meeting of the Shareholders of Trenton Pharmaceuticals. The meeting had been called to appoint a new CEO and President.
The current holder of the post, Charles Cartwright, was deeply embroiled in a particularly nasty scandal involving alleged fraud and embezzlement. Of course, he strongly denied everything, but the evidence against him was just too great, too overwhelming. Certain incriminating documents had been discovered; bank statements and accounts details had been found, and several irregularities had been noted in the accounts. It did not look good for Mr. Cartwright. In fact, things looked decidedly black. The Board members had given him a straight choice: “Resign with immediate effect, receive a generous pension, and no more would be said.” Or “Fight on and face certain imprisonment.” Eventually he had agreed to stand down. Health reasons were cited, and he wanted to spend more time with his family. He was publicly thanked for his past efforts, and there were enthusiastic expressions that he would be a great loss to the company, and sorely missed. All talk of alleged fraud suddenly ceased.
Arrangements were made for the election to take place as quickly as possible; the winning candidate would be announced at the meeting that evening. Three candidates had been put forward. There was Kevin Matthews, Cartwright’s Deputy, a college graduate, and well liked. Then there was Hugh Saunders, Vice President in charge of Sales; a tough negotiator who knew what he wanted. Finally there was Alan Clark, Vice President, Research and Development; a self made man, who had worked his way to the top. Some said that he had paid his way to the top.
All three men were imminently suitable for the position. However, it was not long before one particular candidate began to stand out from the rest.
* * *
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the acting chairman announced from the rostrum, as he tapped on to the microphone, trying to make himself heard. “Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention please?”
Slowly the noise from the audience subsided. The Acting Chairman nodded. “Thank you,” he said, as he looked around. Every so often he would nod as he recognized someone that he knew. He took a deep breath. “The votes have now all been counted.” He paused and took out a sealed envelope from his pocket. He looked at the envelope for a few moments, and then tore it open. He took out a sheet of paper, allowing the envelope to drop to the floor. He looked up at the audience. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he continued. He took another deep breath. “The results are as follows. Kevin Matthews, six hundred and ninety two votes.” He paused for a moment. “Hugh Saunders, seven hundred and three votes.” He paused once again. “Alan Clark, two thousand three hundred and seventy two votes.” He shook his head and smiled. “The winning candidate, and your new CEO and President is …. Mr. Alan Clark.”
For a brief moment there was complete silence. Then the clapping started, quite slowly at first and gradually building up. Suddenly, chanting started at the back of the room, and then there was some booing. A scuffle broke out, and people started yelling. Then it was over as quickly as it had started.
That was four months ago.
* * *
Two men stood at the top of a hill looking down into the valley below. One man slowly moved closer to the edge. He had a broad smile on his face, and
he was gently nodding his head. Alan Clark was pleased with himself, very pleased. He took a deep breath, and turned to face the man standing behind him. He walked back over to the second man, put his arm around his shoulder, and squeezed hard. “We’ve done it, Luis. We’ve done it,” he said. “It’s all finished.” He started to laugh. “All finished.” He punched a clenched fist into the air. “I told them I’d do it, and I have.” He turned away and looked back towards the edge. “We’ve done it, Luis,” he said. “You and I, we did it, together.” Luis smiled back, but said nothing.
The man looked back down into the valley. He took a step forward and shook his head. Then he turned slowly and looked back at Luis, and swept his arms out in front of him. “We are now ready for the next phase,” he said. A huge grin spread across his face, and his head would not stop nodding. There it all was, he thought. Spread out before him. There was the compound and over to the right hand side was the field hospital. On the far side were the office areas, and his private quarters. Beyond were the stores. It was all finished. He could hardly believe it. It was all there, fully in accordance with his instructions, just as he had ordered, to the letter.
There were the six dormitory wards, and the pharmacy, and the laboratories. Beyond were the staff quarters, and the administration areas. There were sixteen marquees in total, all of them double sealed, and all fully air locked. All were provided with air conditioning, and heating. All were fully isolated as necessary. The compound was all finished, and fully stocked and equipped, the last of the supplies arriving just a short time ago. He started to laugh again. He had given the construction company eight weeks to complete the task. Eight weeks only, he had said. Not a day more. They had exceeded all of his expectations, and they had done it in a little over five weeks. Five weeks, two days and three hours. That meant a huge bonus for his Central American workers. And they deserved it. They would certainly celebrate this night, and so would he.