When he arrived there were several other men that he did not recognize standing around Rhind, all talking loudly and excitedly at each other. When Rhind saw Boxall he immediately slipped through the bodies, took Boxall by the elbow and led him away to a nearby drinks machine. Whilst stabbing coins into it with trembling hands he spoke rapidly.
“Jason, good lord, it’s all going crazy. I assume you‘ve heard?”
“Heard what?”
“The media. It’s on the TV and will be in the papers by tomorrow. The press are linking Mnemoloss to these unprovoked attacks. Surely that can’t be right, can it?”
“Actually that’s what I came to see you about. I’m afraid it seems as though there might be a connection and I don’t think we have a choice any more. We have to issue a recall.”
Rhind slumped down into a chair holding his chin in his hands, not noticing the steaming black coffee spilling out from the paper cup. “Really? You think?”
Boxall nodded slowly.
Rhind went pale and looked as though he was about to retch. A soft, moan escaped his lips as he hung his head. “Yes, yes, you may be right.”
“Immediately. This very afternoon. We can’t have Mnemoloss administered to even one more person. Apparently an investigative journalist in North America called Elizabeth Carpenter broke the story. It’s been picked up by various radio stations and now it seems to be echoed all around the civilized world.”
“Good lord! This is really bad. This is going to cost millions, hundreds of millions, I dread to think. Are you absolutely certain?”
“I’m afraid so but that’s not all,” Boxall continued. “We have got to contact all the people who have taken Mnemoloss, every single one of them, and test all of them, world-wide. I believe the media reports may be correct; there may be a link after all between Mnemoloss and these behavioural changes. I’m afraid until I’ve done more tests I just can’t rule it out.” He felt an incredulous sense of unreality, as though his mouth knew things that his brain had not yet accepted, but what else could he do? With the possibility that their drug, his drug, was turning people into violent maniacs, they had no other choice.
Rhind buried his head in his hands. “Yes of course,” he mumbled. “That’s absolutely right. I just can’t believe this is happening.”
Boxall left Rhind to come to terms with reality, feeling not a little angry. From the start his hands had been tied as to how he ran his own experiments. He had tried to mention this to his superiors but had been ignored and now they were facing the consequences. He wondered though whether he had been vocal enough in his protestations. He had been wracked with guilt over his mother’s condition. Because of that he had been as desperate as Van Firstenburg to see the drug succeed, tempted by the possibility that it might make a difference. Had that clouded his judgement? He did not think so, but how could he be sure? And did it even matter now?
In pharmaceutics as in any other industry requiring research and development, advances tend to be made at a steady pace, balanced with progress in other fields, insightful leaps forward then periods of stagnation, reconciliation and review. With Mnemoloss however, so much money had been made available which had meant their progress had been positively meteoric. After each seemingly successful result they had forged ahead in a self-congratulatory environment without stopping to consider any possible flaws. Ironically it seemed that this massive amount of funding was ultimately leading to their downfall. As the Four horsemen of the Apocalypse slowly drew into view on the horizon they were not the traditionally accepted faces of War, Famine, Pestilence and Death. Instead they each wore a different guise; that of Progress, Charity, Pride and Arrogance.
It was Tuesday when Boxall went to see Rhind. At that moment, as he was making his way back to Bennett’s laboratory, there was a knock at the front door of his home. For some reason Julia felt a sense of unease as she went to answer it and checked on Isabelle and Rory first. She went to open the front door but paused and took a breath, steadying her nerves. Jason’s brother, George, was standing there, looking at his feet and shifting back and forth.
“Oh George, it’s you. Hello.” She was surprised to see him, in fact slightly taken aback. Although he lived reasonably close and often went to a martial arts club at the end of their street, he did not normally come to the house unannounced, and especially not when he would surely know that Jason was at work.
“Yeah, hi,” was all he could think to say and just stood there awkwardly. She noticed he was carrying a small sports bag. “Errr,” he paused, “can I… come in?”
“Yes of course, sorry.” She led him into the kitchen. Checking that the children were still playing in the lounge she quietly closed the kitchen door behind them.
“Why are you here George? Is Jason okay?”
“Yes, he’s fine. I guess he didn’t have a chance to call you then?”
“No. Why?” She started to feel a flush of panic but tried to calm herself. After all, there was nothing to worry about, was there…?
“He phoned me a few minutes ago and asked me to pop by. Well in fact he asked me to stop by - for the night.”
“What’s going on?” Julia’s voice was rising with her sense of apprehension.
“It’s nothing, please don’t worry. Or at least I hope it’s nothing. You must have seen some of the reports on TV of elderly people going nuts and attacking strangers, or… even loved ones? Well it seems they have all been taking the Dem-buster drug.”
“Yes, but…” and it slowly started to dawn on her. “You can’t possibly mean your mother?” She was aghast.
“I’m sure she is okay but Jason said to say that he might not make it home tonight and just wanted me here. Just in case.”
“Oh my god!” She crumpled into a chair, clasping her hands together. The children must have heard her as they ran in at that moment, Isabelle looking worried.
“Hi Uncle George. What’s wrong Mummy?”
“Nothing sweetheart,” she replied somewhat lifelessly, trying to sound cheery. “Everything’s fine,” but as the children turned to go she spoke a little more sharply, “…but come and play in here, both of you. Now!”
“How is she?” George gestured upstairs to his mother. “Mind if I go and check on her?” He ran upstairs without waiting for an answer.
She was sat in her armchair watching television. When he entered she turned with a scowl that transformed into a vague smile. “Hello dear.”
“Hi Mum, how are you?”
“Yes, dear.” He was not sure if that was a positive reply to his enquiry or if she was just saying anything, but he decided to leave it at that. She appeared completely normal. He frowned and went back downstairs closing her bedroom door behind him. He noticed that there was no lock to it.
When Jason had phoned earlier George had initially thought his brother was being ridiculous and over-reacting but something in Jason’s voice had quieted his protestations. Now he too was starting to feel alarmed although he could not say why. The children were still in the kitchen and complaining that the toys they wanted were in the lounge and why couldn’t they just play in there? Julia however wanted them in her sight and wanted to keep herself between them and her mother-in-law; just in case.
Jason did not get home that night, but he spoke to Julia on the phone, telling her there were problems with the drug. It was possible that it was linked to hostile attacks around the world and that he had to stay and work round-the-clock on the issue. He asked after his mother and was told that she was okay, the same as always. His parting words to her were to be careful and not take any risks. That did nothing to put Julia’s mind at rest.
George slept on an inflatable bed on the landing outside his mother’s bedroom. In his younger years he had served in the army and so was quite used to roughing it. He had checked on her several times throughout the evening and she seemed fine. Julia had put her to bed as normal and he then went in to say goodnight. As he turned out the light he thought she glare
d at him and muttered something dark under her breath, but when he turned the light back on her eyes were already closed and there was a peaceful expression on her face. Perhaps it had just been his imagination.
On Wednesday morning the story of Mnemoloss was on the front page of every newspaper and dominating every television news report. There were many more acts of aggression reported. This could have meant that other unconnected acts of aggression were mistakenly being attributed to the drug, or that there was indeed a rapid rise in their occurrence and the press was more alert to them.
Like his brother, Jason had spent the night on an inflatable bed although in truth he had only managed to sleep for two hours. He had now turned his efforts to frantically searching for a way to reverse the effects of Mnemoloss. Theoretically that should not be too hard - he hoped. They understood what Mnemoloss was designed to do and hence knew, or thought they knew, how it reacted in patients’ bodies. Reversing it should therefore be more straightforward than developing it had been in the first place. The key factor now was time and they did not have enough of it. Jason did not make it home that day and neither did George who remained in his brother’s house with a growing sense of alarm.
One of Boxall’s staff called Montgomery was extremely busy phoning their contacts overseas who had been involved with the foreign trials. Invariably though the call was not needed as the contacts had seen the horror-show on television and knew the alleged link between the Dem-buster and the violence. It was with growing revulsion that Montgomery made each subsequent call as many of them had terrible stories of their own, most of which had happened in the past few days, as though someone had just thrown a switch and all around the planet the drug had morphed into its evil alter-ego. Montgomery was a petite lady with blonde locks scraped back in a severe bun. As the phone calls progressed she played with the strands of her hair in agitation and the bun increasingly came apart in her hands, leaving her looking more and more dishevelled and fraught.
The journalist Carpenter seemed to be making a name for herself on the back of GVF’s misfortune. Because she had been responsible for breaking the story she unwittingly became a lightning rod for further reports and found herself swamped with calls from strangers who all had tales of violence. After her first mention of a potential link between Mnemoloss and the outbreaks, she then went further and suggested the hostility might not be confined to people who had been administered the drug. She had received an undisclosed number of accounts suggesting that those who came into contact with Mnemoloss users were also becoming hysterical and acting strangely. She briefly hinted at secondary effects although did not mention the word ‘mutation’ and did not yet know the exact method by which the condition was being passed on. Speculation in the media was rife.
In Hong Kong two men working for an electrical goods company were delivering a refrigerator to an old woman on the third floor of a block of flats. The front door was open when they arrived but there was no answer when they called out. Fearing the lady might have taken a fall they tentatively ventured further into the flat.
They found her sitting in her living room wearing a nightdress and mumbling to herself. She ignored them and it was only when one of the men called Tai shook her gently by her shoulder that she seemed to react. She stood with surprising vigour, grabbed at his wrists and started biting him whilst making a strange gargling noise. His friend Patel came to his aid and forced her back onto the couch where they were barely able to restrain her. In the process he was bitten as well. At first it was hard to contain her, even though there were two of them and she was just an old lady, but after a few moments she suddenly seemed to calm down and just went limp. Tai took the opportunity to phone the police and she was still sedate when they arrived.
Both men went to have their wounds checked in hospital but the bites were not serious. Tai went back to work the next day, feeling a little queasy and with a passing headache. Patel did not appear and had not phoned in sick. Over the next two days there was still no sign of him so Tai went to his apartment. He arrived at the flat to find a commotion outside. The police were questioning the doorman who said that he had been advised of a disorder by some of the upper floor residents and was about to go and investigate when a ‘wild man’ had rushed past him, pushing him to the floor. The man turned out to be Patel. He had run into the street attacking passers-by at random. People fled from his path and Patel, who was frothing at the mouth like a lunatic and yelling in some foreign language, disappeared into the subway station opposite.
He had made it down to the platform from where he normally caught the subway to work and had been attacking and savaging everyone within reach. Many people were taken to hospital and treated for shock or bite wounds. Patel himself did not need any medical care as he fell onto the train tracks whilst struggling with two men who were trying to subdue him, and went under the wheels of a train. The events of the day made Tai feel peculiar. He still had the headache which now grew in intensity and a raging thirst that he was unable to slake. He returned home and by the time he got there was feeling worse. He rang his work the next morning to say that he was ill and that would be the last rational conversation he would ever have.
By Wednesday evening Boxall was absolutely exhausted and had been working feverishly throughout the day. He had been granted all available resources by his superiors and was urgently repeating previous experiments, tests and computer models but this time in reverse. It felt as though up until this week matters had slowly been gathering like distant, wispy clouds on the horizon. Now they were converging, building into the mother of all Biblical storms. The situation was speeding up and he was struggling to keep pace with it. Things were no longer under his control and he felt as though he might just flounder and sink beneath the surface at any moment.
He spent a large part of his time working in the laboratory directly with Bennett whose moustache had never received so much twirling and tweaking. Boxall periodically returned to his own office to keep track of what his team of technicians were doing and giving them new directions. In the background he had a television tuned constantly to a news channel but there was never any good information. Reports were tumbling over each other, struggling to the fore like an angry crowd of shoppers at a Thanksgiving sale, all outdoing the previous one for grief, shock and savagery.
That night none of the team of scientists left the building. Food was brought to them and basic sleeping arrangements were provided. Otherwise they all worked continuously. On Thursday morning Boxall found himself sat in his office feeling numb and staring blankly at the television. It took him some time to register that everything had gone quiet. He turned to Montgomery who was hovering outside his office.
“Hey, the news channel has gone dead. That’s the first break in the reports in the last forty-eight hours.”
“Oh yeah, so it has. I wonder what that means.”
Montgomery put down a clipboard and picked up some half-moon glasses from the desk. The channel was just showing the view from a roof top, looking out over the city where previously a reporter had been standing and reading the latest bulletin. As they stared they saw the clouds moving in the background, a couple of birds fly past but otherwise nothing else happened, no reporter holding a microphone, no news subtitles being pasted to the bottom of the screen, nothing. Just still, eerie silence.
“I’m not sure I like this,” Boxall stood then rang his wife.
Julia, George, Isabelle and Rory were all sat quietly in the kitchen. They were not really waiting for anything, just marking time with a sense of dread constantly lurking in the background. They had not been outside for the last two days and had mostly spent their time watching the news channels. Nanny Boxall was upstairs in her room as usual. They took her meals but otherwise preferred to leave her alone. The children seemed to perceive the unfolding horror and had become sullen and miserable. George had tried to remain upbeat and keep them all preoccupied but even his normally boundless reserve of energy had been exha
usted.
When the phone rang Julia jumped and snatched it up. “Yes?” she answered quickly.
“It’s me, how are you all?”
She could feel herself on the verge of tears and panic. “We’re okay. We’re in the kitchen, apart from your mum. She’s in her room. How are you?”
“Ah, we’re all fine here, just really tired,” Jason replied. “I think we are making progress though. Just thought I would make sure you’re okay. We’ve got a TV news channel on here but it all seems to have gone quiet. I mean, the picture is still playing but there is nothing happening; nothing at all. There’s no one even in the frame, it’s really spooky. Have you heard anything lately?”
“No. We’ll go and check the TV and let you know if we hear anything.”
Boxall stood staring for a moment, lost in exhausted distraction and then dragged himself back to his work.
A short while later a harassed-looking presenter returned to the screen and announced in a shaky voice, “The Indian Government has declared a state of emergency and is mobilizing the army in order to control the mounting violence and lawlessness.” He informed anyone watching that this was an action that had not happened since 1977 and effectively introduced martial law. There had been a sudden rise in violence across the UK as well, which had taken the form of looting, rioting and unprovoked aggression, but as yet no such measures had been taken. Boxall did not hear any more details. He was already thinking about his family and what he should do.
Within a few minutes he was driving home. The streets had an eerie quality to them. There were not many vehicles. What cars there were on the road seemed to be driving fast and not stopping at traffic lights. Relatively few pedestrians were out but there did seem to be a lot of police, either on foot or flashing past in police cars and vans. Those on foot were never by themselves and always wearing full riot gear. Every time he saw someone else walking or loitering he could not help but consider them with suspicion. What were they doing? Were they looting? Or even more dreadful to contemplate, were they crazed people who had taken his Mnemoloss?
The Blood of the Infected (Book 1): Once Bitten, Twice Die Page 6