Ward Z

by Amy Cross

  "Don't try to lecture me," he replies, pushing me away. "Believe me, I understand completely why you're falling for all this bullshit, Andrew. You want these crackpots to validate the mistakes you made all those years ago. That's right, isn't it? You want to be told you were right all along, but it's never going to happen. This is the science of madmen, and only a fellow madman would believe a word of it."

  "You saw the evidence for yourself," I point out.

  "I saw deformities in the body of a cancer-stricken corpse," he spits back at me. "I'm sorry, but that's not enough to make me believe the rest of this nonsense and ignore a lifetime of experience!"

  "I really don't think we have a choice," I reply.

  He opens his mouth to argue, but finally he seems to accept the futility of the situation. Taking a step back, he joins me as we watch the soldiers open the door. It's as if his brief pique of fury has been quashed, and now he's just a tired, angry old man who realizes that there's nothing he can say or do to change the situation. Just a few hours ago he was telling me to trust the military; it's shocking to see how quickly his view has changed, and I can only assume that somewhere, deep down, he knows that Lincoln's right.

  "It'll be over soon," I tell him, trying to sound calm even though I know we're by no means out of the woods. "Just be patient."

  "I'll be in touch in the next couple of hours," Lincoln says as he steps out into the hallway beyond the doors. "As soon as we have any information, I'll -"

  "I bet you will," Dr. Gerrold says, suddenly hurrying forward and slipping through the doors before anyone has a chance to stop him.

  "Don't move!" Lincoln shouts as the soldiers aim their guns directly at Dr. Gerrold's chest.

  "Or what?" Dr. Gerrold asks, stopping a few paces on the other side of the doors and turning back to face the soldiers. "I demand to be put in quarantine!" he says, raising his hands above his head. "Put me in there for a month, a year, whatever, but I refuse to remain on the ward! I'm a man of science, and this is a democratic nation, and I won't be corralled into an office and told to wait until men with guns decide that I'm allowed out!"

  "Alan!" I shout. "Get back in here!"

  "I'm a British citizen!" he says firmly.

  "Alan!" I shout again. "Get in here now!"

  He shakes his head.

  "He's just scared," I say, looking over at Lincoln. "Can't you put him in quarantine somewhere else?" Hearing a noise nearby, I turn and see that the disturbance has drawn a small crowd of nurses and patients who have come to see what's happening. Just when we'd managed to get them to calm down, they seem riled again.

  "Are we allowed out?" asks Anthony, one of the porters, as he hurries over to me.

  "Not yet," I say firmly, watching as Lincoln takes something out of his medical bag.

  "What are you waiting for?" Dr. Gerrold shouts at Lincoln. "I'm out! I'm over the threshold, so you might as well take me to quarantine! I'll willingly -"

  Before he can finish, Lincoln raises his hand and I realize that he's holding a gun. I open my mouth to tell him to stop, but it's too late. A shot rings out and Dr. Gerrold lurches back against the elevators before slumping to the ground, as blood flows freely from a gaping hole in the side of his skull.

  Epilogue

  Two years ago

  "Cancer?"

  "I'm sorry, Cally," says Dr. Gordon, staring at me from the other side of the desk. "I'm afraid the results are conclusive. We need to get you started on radiation and chemical therapy as soon as possible. I've arranged for a room to be made available at -"

  "No," I say, trying to keep from falling apart, "I need to..." I pause for a moment. I swear to God, I can hear my heartbeat loud and clear, and it's as if the whole world has frozen around me. "Okay," I say eventually, taking a deep breath, "let's start again. What type of cancer?"

  "It's a form of leukemia," he replies, sliding a print-out over to me. "This document provides some basic information. At this point, I usually like to warn my patients that they should refrain from going online and looking up more details. The internet is a wonderful resource at times, but it's also filled with a large amount of disinformation. If you have any questions, I'd rather that you ask me directly, or wait until you reach the hospital."

  "When am I going in?" I ask, running through a million things in my head that need to be dealt with.

  "I'd like to get you in this afternoon," he replies calmly.

  "This afternoon?"

  "We need to get moving with your treatment. I'll be completely honest with you. I feel that we should have caught this sooner."

  "So it's my fault," I reply. "You're blaming me for not coming in before?"

  "I'm not blaming anyone," he replies. "I'm simply saying that since we've caught it late, we need to make sure that we start the treatment as soon as possible. Fortunately, there's a research program at the local hospital, run by a very good doctor named Andrew Page. You're extremely lucky that an opening has been made available for you. You're going to get the best treatment in the world, Cally."

  "Why?" I ask.

  "Why what?"

  "Why am I going to get the best treatment?"

  He pauses. "Dr. Page likes to take patients who have... advanced conditions."

  "You mean I'm dying," I reply, immediately feeling a shiver pass through my body.

  "No," he says firmly. "I'm categorically not saying that, because it's not true. You're facing a big fight, Cally, but you can get through this. All hope is most certainly not lost. Dr. Page is an old colleague of mine and I was able to get details of your case to him. He agreed to take you on because there are certain unusual aspects in terms of how your blood panels have shown up so far. That's just how he operates, and it's a good thing. I really couldn't think of a better place for you to be."

  "And how long do I have to stay there?" I ask.

  "For as long as it takes."

  "Which is how long? Weeks? Months?"

  He sighs. "Cally, this could take a couple of years to beat."

  "Years?" I stare at him. "I can't go into hospital for a couple of years! I have a job! I have a daughter!"

  "You'll have to take time off work," he replies, "and you'll need to find family members who can take care of your daughter. If I remember correctly, you said before that your ex-husband, the child's father, lives nearby. Is that correct?"

  "Yeah," I reply, "but she can't live with him!"

  "She can't stay in the hospital with you," he replies.

  "Fuck," I mutter, looking down at my trembling hands. There's no way I can let Emma go and stay with Kieran. Then again, I might not have any choice. Besides, I have no idea how I'm supposed to break this news to Emma. Over the past couple of years, we've become so close, and now it's all being wrenched away from me in one fell swoop. I can't help imagining Emma standing by my coffin when the cancer has finally claimed me, wondering why I didn't stick around for her. She'll think that I've abandoned her.

  "Would you like me to call someone for you?" Dr. Gordon asks. "A family member?

  I shake my head, as the first tear trickles down my cheek.

  "What about a counselor?" he continues. "I can get someone -"

  "No," I say, checking my watch and seeing that it's almost 3pm. "I have to pick my daughter up from school, and I promised we'd go into town so she could get a new backpack, and -"

  "Cally," he replies firmly, "you need to get someone else to pick her up. I'm going to call an ambulance to take you straight to hospital -"

  "I need to pick Emma up," I say again, my voice trembling as tears roll down my face. "Please, I need to go and get her..."

  "You need to get to the hospital," he replies. "Please, Cally. For your daughter's sake, you need to fight this, and you need to start now. I want you to call your ex-husband, or a friend, and make alternative arrangements for your daughter. Is that clear?"

  Taking a deep breath, I realize that he's right. Damn it, when I walked into his office ten minutes ago, I e
xpected him to tell me I'd got a sprained muscle or something in my leg. I considered the possibility of cancer, but I assumed it just couldn't happen to me. I mean, I'm pretty healthy and I look after my body. This shouldn't be happening.

  "How am I going to tell her?" I ask after a moment.

  "Your daughter?"

  "How am I going to tell her what's wrong with me?"

  "There's no easy answer," he replies, picking up his phone and calling through to reception. "Jane, I need an ambulance to take Cally Briggs to hospital. Can we set something up as soon as possible?" He pauses for a moment. "Okay, that's great. Thank you."

  "What are my chances?" I ask as he puts the phone down. For a fraction of a second, I feel a strange churning sensation in my right side, but it quickly passes. "What are my chances of beating this thing? Fifty-fifty?"

  He pauses. "The five-year survival rate for this type of cancer is around 25%," he says after a moment.

  I close my eyes, unable to believe that things could be so bad.

  "We're going to do everything possible to get you through this," he continues. "Andrew Page is the very best specialist in this field, and you're extremely lucky that I was able to get you into his program. I promise you, Cally, that if anyone can help you, it's Andrew. You have a very good chance of beating the curve."

  I want to reply, to ask him a million questions, but I can't speak; instead, I break down sobbing. Despite everything he's just said to me, I can't shake the ominous feeling in the pit of my stomach that tells me I'm never going to survive. It's almost as if there's another voice in my head, telling me not to get my hopes up. The countdown has started, and whether it takes a month or a year or five years, this thing is going to kill me.

  "I don't want to die of cancer," I whimper eventually, wiping tears from my eyes. "Anything else, but not cancer. Please... Anything else I can handle, but please, not cancer."

  Part Five

  Leviathan

  Prologue

  Ten years ago

  "Are you coming or not?"

  Looking up from my desk, I find that Catherine is waiting in the doorway, wearing a beautiful black cocktail dress. For a fraction of a second, I struggle to remember what she wants, and then it hits me: she's coming to the presentation evening, and she's going to sit in the audience and listen as I explain the new findings I've made. No wonder she's all dressed up; she knows this is going to be the most important night of my career.

  "Sure," I mutter, checking my watch and seeing that it's almost 6pm. I guess I was so nervous, I lost track of time. People will already be arriving at the dinner, ready to hear my keynote speech. They're probably expecting some kind of bland re-statement of tired old facts, after which they plan to applaud politely while their drinks are topped up. Instead, I'm going to deliver a bombshell: I'm going to tell them that I've identified a new, highly-evolved form of cancer that takes root in the human body in a very specific way. Then, I'm going to tell them that I think this form of cancer is beatable. And then I'm going to stand back and let them appreciate the fact that I've finally found the path that's going to lead to a cure for all types of cancer.

  It's the modern medical Holy Grail.

  "Look at you," Catherine says after a moment. "My handsome man, poised to blow the socks off the conservative scientific community."

  "It's not my fault that they all missed the truth," I point out.

  "And you're so much smarter than them, huh?"

  I shrug, although I can't avoid a faint smile. "The facts speak for themselves."

  "I've never seen you so scared, Andrew," she adds, watching with amusement as I grab some papers from my desk and head over to her. "Would I be right in thinking that tonight is in some way important to you?"

  "I'm not scared," I reply, stopping next to her in the doorway. "I'm... apprehensive."

  "Uh-huh?"

  "This is going to be the biggest scientific development in living memory," I point out.

  "And... you have double-checked your work, right?"

  "No," I reply, "I'm a complete idiot and I'm going to walk into that room and make an ass of myself. Of course I've double-checked and triple-checked everything."

  "But you haven't had it peer-reviewed?"

  "I can't afford to share my findings."

  "Because you want to make a big splash?"

  "The biggest."

  She smiles. "Just don't put too much pressure on yourself, okay? You're only twenty-six. You don't have to change the world before you hit thirty, you know."

  "Wait until you hear what I've found," I reply, feeling a tense, tight sensation in my chest. The truth is, I've been trying to manage expectations, but I'm convinced that the presentation I give tonight will be dynamite. If I'm right, I've made the most significant discovery in the history of cancer research.

  "Your mother would be proud," Catherine continues, taking me by the hand and leading me toward the front door. "Doctor Andrew Page, cancer expert!"

  "That's not my technical job title," I reply with a smile. "And that's not the reason I do all of this. It's not some kind of Oedipal desire to please my mother and reject my father."

  "Well, they both -" she starts to say, before stopping at the door and turning to me with a hint of sadness in her eyes.

  "They both died of cancer," I say, completing her sentence, "but in very different ways. My mother wasn't a forty-a-day chain-smoker. She didn't bring it on herself." I pause for a moment. "And, she wasn't an abusive asshole, but I don't think it was the cancer that soured the old bastard. It just made him more bitter, especially toward the end when he knew he was dying. He told me once that he could feel it eating him from the inside. He wasn't exactly in a good mood by the end, but he only had himself to blame. My mother, on the other hand, was cut down in her prime."

  "Like I said," she continues, "just don't put too much pressure on yourself."

  "It's hard not to," I reply, "when I might have found a..." I pause, wondering whether I should say the words.

  "Found a what?" she asks, slipping into her coat before grabbing her purse.

  "A cure for cancer," I say, immediately regretting my openness.

  "Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself?" she asks.

  I stare at her. "No," I say finally. Suddenly I'm filled with a rare kind of confidence. I've been keeping this stuff to myself for so long, it feels good to get it out in the open. "Catherine, I've checked my findings over and over again. I've run the numbers, I've had my research read by some of the leading experts in the field, and everything points to the same thing. Finding a cure for cancer was always predicated on gaining a better understanding of what cancer is and why it develops. I've done that, and it's opened up treatment pathways that I think..." I pause again. "Tonight," I continue, "at the conference, I'm going to stand up there and tell the audience that we're less than five years from a complete cure. And it's all thanks to my work."

  "You really think you've done it?" she asks. "You think you've cured cancer?"

  "I think I'm on the verge," I reply.

  "Then why announce it now? Why not wait until you've actually done it?"

  "I want to give people hope."

  "Just make sure it's not false hope," she replies. "Make sure you really know that what you're saying is viable."

  "Do you think I'd be doing this tonight if I hadn't already?" I ask. "It'd be career suicide. Hell, I'd be a laughing stock. There are already plenty of people who resent me for making a name for myself so early. They're waiting to shoot me down, but instead..." I pause, momentarily overcome by the enormity of the whole thing. "Besides," I add, "there's a team working in the States, and I think they're only a few months behind me. I need to get my news out ahead of them."

  "Aha," she replies with a smile, opening the door and leading me out into the hallway, "so it's about vanity. You don't want someone else to nip in first with this cure."

  "Hell, no," I reply. "I don't mean to be immodest, Catherine, but i
f this works, I could win the fucking Nobel Prize for this work. And pretty much every other major medical prize going. And social prize. I could be TIME's man of the year. Hell, I could be knighted! I'm not doing it for the glory or the money, but at the same time, if they're up for grabs, I'm not gonna slow down and let a bunch of goddamn Yanks steal the glory and end up being lauded around the world. No-one's gonna remember the name of the second person who cured cancer. It's first or nothing."

  "And then you'll get a plummy research job, huh?"

  "Just think," I reply, "I'll never have to deal with another fucking patient again."

  "You're really not a people person, are you?"

  "Don't worry," I reply, giving her ass a jokey slap. "Tonight, we dine with some of the most boring and intellectually conservative men and women in the country. And tomorrow..." I grab her shoulder, turn her to face me, and kiss her passionately for a moment before taking a step back. "Tomorrow we celebrate," I add, amused by her stunned expression. "Tomorrow everyone's gonna know that the cure for cancer has arrived."

  Today

  Dr. Andrew Page

  "Fruit and vegetables," I say, standing at the door while a soldier on the other side scribbles down everything I'm saying. "Some kind of roughage, like rice or pasta. Bread would be useful, and maybe even vitamin supplements. These people need proper food, and our kitchen is already running low. We need fresh, good quality food."

  "Anything else?" the soldier asks.

  I stare at him through the glass pane. He's young and polite, and it's almost possible to like him. Almost. After all, he's only following orders. Then again, there's a gun slung over his shoulder, and I have no doubt that if I forced the door open, this young and polite soldier would put a bullet in my head, the same way Dr. Gerrold was executed in cold blood just a few hours ago. I've been so busy focusing on the need to get the ward organized, I've barely had time to think about everything that happened. I guess that moment will come later, when I finally allow myself a quiet moment.