‘I’ll add it to my resume,’ Harry replied. Sheila giggled.
The lifted spirits were dashed as the sound of boots marched around the corridor. Orders were being shouted. They all looked to the door. Harry heard someone give the order to breach the room.
The door smashed open and police stormed the room and aimed their pistols at them. The police held flashlights that blinded Harry. Behind the police were the black uniform swat officers all geared up. The swat team were aiming into the corridor.
‘What in the hell happened in this place?’ an officer said. Harry couldn’t see his face through the flashlight. ‘There’s an emergency and I’m afraid I can’t explain everything. The hospital is now a quarantine zone and we’ve been ordered to extract any remaining survivors.’ The officer lowered his flashlight and pistol, the two officer’s behind him did the same.
‘Dean,’ Sheila cried. She jumped to her feet and ran at him and hugged him.
‘Sheila, what are you doing here? Thank goodness you’re alive. I thought you had to head out of town to that interview, I assumed the worst.’ Dean squeezed Sheila and the let go and bent down to examine Charlie and Shane.
‘Is that Charlie?’ Dean said. ‘My god he is in a state.’
‘Thank goodness you are here. This man has had major blood loss and needs immediate help. I’ve injured my leg but it’s minor,’ Jamie said.
‘That’s Jack, he’s senile and this gowned fellow is Shane, a dangerous man. He slit Charlie’s throat,’ Harry explained. Harry just wanted rest.
‘I’m not senile, I came in for a prostate surgery, then that man hit me on the head.’ Jack pointed to Charlie.
‘We’ll deal with the law you just be thankful to be alive Jack,’ Dean said. ‘Listen carefully. The CDC have faxed over emergency quarantine instructions along with government procedures that are to be enforced immediately. Because the hospital is no longer safe, we have had to set up a field medic behind the station. We’ll take you all there,’ Dean said. The two officer’s behind Dean holstered their pistols, walked to Charlie and lifted him out of the room.
‘They got my observations?’ Jamie asked.
‘No, Jamie. The CDC claim they never received a report,’ Dean replied.
‘Right, well when I go down there they’ll listen,’ Jamie snapped.
‘Slow down, you lot are not going anywhere, your all going to the station, the CDC procedures state we, and the doctors, have examinations to conduct.’ Dean chuckled a belly laugh. Sheila was distraught with tears running down onto her white office shirt. Harry felt shitty hearing Dean say that. Harry stood and stepped next to Dean.
‘Where are my wife and son, Dean?’
‘Probably at home, that isn’t my problem, you lot are. You are the living normal people we have found so far.’ Dean turned and walked out of the room. Dean began to give inaudible instructions to the swat officers.
Two of the swat officer stepped in and one aided Jamie to his feet and escorted him out the room, Jack followed them. Harry lifted Sheila to her feet and the pair were escorted out by the other swat officer. Harry waited with Sheila at the elevator. The swat officer’s black bullet proof vest had blood on it.
Harry turned and saw Dean re-enter the doctor’s office. Again. Another police office followed him and shut the door. The elevator arrived. A gunshot went off. Shane had just been executed. Harry was sure of it.
CHAPTER 10
The Police Station
Beach town police department is situated in the centre of main street. Worn untended brown brick exterior, four stories. A UK flag was housed into a suspended pole overlooking the centre of the building. The police station windows sparkling clean.
The entrance to the police station, two solid wood doors up six steps. Two armed police officers with belted pistols stood silent at the front doors. It wasn’t regularly guarded but new rules were in play.
Cars drove slowly down main street, the occupants going about their day, unaware of the horror that had taken place at the motorway and hospital.
Opposite the police station, the street was lined with two clothing shops at the left end of the road. Next to the clothes shops an Italian restaurant, a western style pub, a post office, an independent bank –Independent Finances Co. Beach Town Daily newspaper sat directly opposite the police station and housed the town radio on the first floor. Next to the paper radio shop was a fish and chip shop, a cafe and Harry’s workplace the opera house which sat next to a large supermarket at the right end of the road. The pavements were lined with strips of grass that separated the road from the path.
The street was bustling with shop goers and parents and children. They dressed in dresses and shorts and hats. Heat waves rippled from the road surface. Shop goers chatted to one another and laughed. Kids ate ice creams with rainbow sprinkles as they waited for their gossiping parents. Beach Town’s postmen were striking outside the post office, eight people held and waved signs reading “more pay”. A yellow vested traffic warden was writing a ticket for a poorly parked Ford outside the bank. Residents were going about their lives, there was no sign of a pandemic.
Behind the police station in the car park, police cars were parked against the bushes and a white tent was erected in the centre of the parking lot. People dressed in hazard suits tend to people inside the tent. They take blood samples from the visitors. Five officers patrolled the police car park whilst drinking coffee and smoking. Police radios were irregularly quiet. A call came in for a social disturbance at the beach front, they ignored it.
Inside the police station, things were different. Officers wore casual clothes and paced through the offices; tension was high as if they all had a strict deadline. The officers didn’t talk to one another. If they did it was to ask for paperwork or spare pens.
The police station entrance opened to a large rectangular marble floored reception area. A bearded whistling janitor mopped the entrance. The receptionist’s desk was directly in front of the entrance, twenty paces. The desk was occupied by an officer filling out paperwork. Other plain clothed officers loitered in the main entrance frustratingly trying to use their phones. They could not call because there was no signal.
A two-in-one coffee water machine was to the right of the check in desk. To the right was a railed stone staircase which led to the first floor. Staff could only gain access to the first floor through the staircase. Contractors had failed to install an elevator stop because of “structural limitations”. The first floor housed the evidence room and three offices. The evidence room full of confiscated marijuana and knives. Beach Town was low on crime. Major crimes were rare with an occasional murder and criminals appeared to prefer drowning their victims. Dean was forced to discover more than six people along the island coast during his employment. There was an elevator to the right of the reception desk and left of a canteen. Four officers sat at the metal tables eating handmade butties. The microwave had broken.
In the cellar of the police station were the cells, stone slabs and cold. Three people awaited sentencing or release. Two interview rooms were on the second floor and the third floor was weapons storage. The third floor had offices each with a coffee machine and an in house first aid room. Officers preferred working on the third floor. The heating worked on the third floor. There was also a radio player screwed onto a desk in the hallway. Officers weren’t allowed to move it.
Sat in interview room number one on the second floor was Harry. An officer had asked him a set of questions about the situation and left with his notes. Silence surrounded him. The room was dim and dirty. It was unpleasantly spacious. Harry sat on a silver steel chair and leant against the wall. A steel table in front of him. On the table was a black recorder box and its red light hummed like a bee. Harry looked behind him out the window. Seagulls circled overhead amidst the clear skies. The interview room door opened, and a casual clothed officer entered followed by Dean. Harry had known Dean through Sheila and met him years ago, but they never spoke until now.
Harry’s was next to a hot radiator and still felt cold. Officer Smith looked laid back as did Dean. Harry assumed they were both detectives as they never wore uniform in tv shows. Only a bullet proof vest and badge at most.
Harry was relaxed yet the perplexing situation was difficult to comprehend. Dean handled a brown file, Harry failed to notice the file as Dean entered. Dean ran his index finger along the file and opened it. Dean then pulled a black ballpoint from his trousers and began to write in the file. Harry could see his name inside the file and suspected he would be sworn to silence.
‘Harry, Harry Carrington?’ Dean said, straightening his name tag. Dean held the file up to Harry. Harry’s back ached against the metal chair and he bit his tongue in frustration. Finding his family were the priority, not sitting in a police station. If his family had been hurt at the hospital, Harry could never live with himself. ‘Confirm your name and your address and date of birth for the recording, please.’ Harry crossed his arms.
‘Harry Carrington, Leaf Drive,’ Harry said. ‘Born nineteenth of the sixth, nineteen eighty-four. Thirty-four years old. Staff manager for the opera house. Enough?’ Harry grinned obnoxiously and Dean was un-humoured.
‘This isn’t the time for jokes. We have a serious epidemic on our hands and have been given government guidelines to follow. You are aware you need your medical examination.’
Dean glared into Harry’s eyes; frowning. Harry thought Dean talked too much and never enjoyed his company. Sheila liked Dean but Harry never understood why.
Harry felt his trouser pocket. The cig packet was still crumpled. Harry wanted to get rid of them, he wasn’t in the mood for tobacco. Harry wanted to give them to Sheila, but she was taken for her medical examination. Harry didn’t want a medical examination but if he was at risk of contracting the disease, getting checked would reassure him. Sheila was distraught at the hospital and hadn’t mentioned Wendy her partner. Harry disliked Wendy’s attitude towards him but Sheila should have notified Wendy. Harry’s neck muscles tensed, his scalp was prickling, and pain resonated over his head.
‘Epidemic?’ Harry yelped. Dean ticked something on the file. Harry couldn’t see what. Officer Smith held his hand over his pistol, a threat. Harry was fearful. ‘What is this? I’m not dangerous.’ Harry worried the law had gone rogue, somebody had shot that crazy bastard Shane and they might do the same to him.
‘We’re following government procedures to establish whether you are in fact a threat,’ Dean said and ticked something on the sheet. Harry lifted his head to see.
‘Why?’ Harry quickly responded.
‘Because that is how this procedural checklist goes,’ Dean said. ‘If you are so concerned, it’s the checklist for Z C dash one eight, eight, nine, dash zero. See.’ Dean briefly showed Harry the checklist. The file had an official address and logo of the dispensing CDC centre. Harry saw a section labelled informal observations with tick boxes. Dean continued to ask questions.
***
An hour after bickering and two interruptions, the checklist was complete. Dean escorted Harry out the interview room. Harry saw a water machine but there was no time to stop. They took the stairs as the elevator was out of service.
Outside the police station main entrance, it was dusk. Main street was quiet, and shopkeepers were closing for the night. They walked around the side of the police station to the rear car park. Dean led Harry to the white medical tent and returned to the station through a rear entrance.
‘Harry,’ Sheila cried. Sheila jumped up from a plastic chair and hugged him. She looked ragged.
‘Jeez,’ Harry said. ‘Have you been here the whole time?’ Two doctors in white hazard suits were busy with vials of blood and microscopes.
‘Yes, I have,’ Sheila said. ‘I’ve given blood and I’ve had to give oral swabs; they swabbed my woo-hoo too.’ Sheila blushed. The doctors tended to a table in the centre of the tent with files. One doctor approached Harry. The doctor breathed as if through a gas mask.
‘Lay down sir, we need a blood test, we won’t be long.’ Harry complied and walked to the bed on the left. Sheila held his hand as he lay down. Harry assumed they would immunise him.
‘Done,’ the doctor said. Harry felt a pinch he assumed was from Sheila joking. Harry felt woozy. Time was precious. The sun was low, and an icy breeze whistled through the tent. Harry shuddered.
‘Can we go?’ Harry asked. He let go of Sheila’s hand and watched the doctor examine the blood sample. The doc placed the blood in a glass machine that spun and then used a small glass tube to place a drop on a slide of glass before placing it under the microscope.
‘Sixty seconds sir.’
‘What’s happened to the hospital, what about those people, what happened to them?’ Harry asked. The other doctor was attending to a man with an oxygen mask.
‘The police have orders to quarantine the hospital,’ the doc said. The other man was attached to a heart monitor machine. It skipped a beep. Harry thought nothing of it.
‘My family were there, what will happen if they are still there?’ Harry was afraid his family were shambling through the hospital as one of the creatures. He got off the bed.
‘Sir, step back,’ the doctor said. His raised voice attracted the attention of the two officers outside the tent. The officers stepped in and drew their pistols.
‘Step back,’ one officer said pointing his pistol at Harry’s chest. ‘Back away from the doctor.’ The officer was unshaven and bag eyed. Harry stepped back. The doctor turned to face Harry. Harry could not see his face through the plastic window.
‘Clear,’ the doc said. ‘You’re free to go. A curfews in place now, I suggest you adhere to it.’ The doctor walked to his colleague next to the man on the other bed. Harry saw the frail man’s eyes had gone black. The officer lowered his gun and led Harry and Sheila out of the tent into the darkness while the other remained inside.
‘Curfew?’ Sheila asked. They headed back down the side of the police station.
‘First I’ve heard of it. I need to go home,’ Harry said. ‘My family might be there, and they are the only thing I care about now.’ They stood at the foot of the police station steps. The pub opposite was closed. This was serious and getting worse. The opera house was closed, and Harry didn’t know when anything would be open again, if ever. Harry hugged Sheila and departed. The night air soothed his pulsing temples. Would the town survive the night or would the disease sweep through town and kill everyone? Harry knew one thing; he was alive and not infected.
CHAPTER 11
Not Contained
Harry was awoken by the plastic blue alarm clock ringing on the bedside cabinet. He thumbed it quiet. He had survived the night.
It was seven. On a normal day, James, Molly and he would prepare to go to church. Harry was depressed that he was unable to contact his wife. The signals died yesterday long with Harry’s spring spirit.
His head still hurt. The dark room was lifeless. Today would be worse, the search for his family would continue. Tiredness last night ran him into the ground otherwise he would have scoured every square inch of the town.
The red bedsheet thick with soft feathers. The texture calmed Harry. He felt as if he were on a cloud, content to peruse the days plan.
Harry could not smell syrup pancakes or black tea and he couldn’t hear James playing Lego at the end of the bed. Something he enjoyed. Everything was strange and unfamiliar. Harry had checked the landline last night. The phone was reading out a pre-recorded message: “Due to a recent curfew you are not permitted to use a mobile phone or landline. We hope to have the problem fixed soon.”
The curfew was a ghost rule, rules Harry considered useless. Harry thought they may be announcing it on the radio or tv.
Harry gathered t
he strength to push the quilt off and slide his legs out of bed. He was fully clothed after returning home too stressed to undress. The shoes had left mud under the sheet. He pulled his shirt off and patches of dried sweat decorated the underarms. He kicked his shoes off and took his trousers and socks off. Harry turned and walked into his en-suite bathroom. The cabinet neatly arranged, and the shower head glistened under the automatic lights. He grabbed his razor from the sink and had a shave before brushing his teeth.
The house was modern. A one story detached with a large rear garden. The interior was featureless in Harry’s eyes. The walls cream with a red flowered feature wall in the living room. Two bathrooms and two bedroom.
Harry paced back into the bedroom and retrieved some clothes from the built-in sliding door wardrobe. Harry looked at Molly’s clothes neatly stacked next to his, her shoes lined up on the floor. Harry noticed the watch he bought her just months ago. He slid the wardrobe door shut.
Harry walked down the cream carpeted stairs and took a left down the laminate floor hallway to an open plan kitchen. He opened the fridge. Checking the curfew seemed more important than food. Harry walked into a large sitting area and sat on the sofa. He found the remote under the cushion and changed his mind again. He got up and walked back to the kitchen where a radio sat on the white marble countertop. Harry clicked the radio on, the button was sticky and reminded Harry of cake icing. The radio crackled and after some silence an announcement came through.
“It’s just turned half seven, we have plenty of fine tunes coming your way right after a brief news report,’ the reporter sounded cheery. ‘Beach town police department have issued an official curfew, the first in over thirty years.”
Harry turned the volume knob.
“All residents are ordered to stay inside their homes between the hours of eight pm and nine am until further notice. Residents are also advised that communication via mobile, landline and post will remain unavailable until further notice and the towns WIFI has been disabled. Anyone attempting to leave town will be arrested. What is this Mike?”
Beach Town: Apocalypse Page 8