by Nicholas Lim
“Groggy.”
“That’ll be the diamorphine. They gave you a shot before seeing to your arm.”
Garrett glanced down at a white bandage wound tight around her left forearm near the elbow.
“What happened?”
“It’s fine. Only a cut. They put in a couple of stitches. But you lost a lot of blood.”
Garrett closed her eyes. She thought of natural replacement rates: hours for lost plasma, a couple of weeks for marrow to replace erythrocytes.
“We brought you straight here.”
Garrett tried to sit up. “Where’s here?”
“Bristol General. Don’t worry, you’re doing fine. You just need some rest. No strenuous activity for at least twenty-four hours is what they said.”
Garrett spotted her folded clothes on a chair. Her eyes closed on their own.
“There! Second left.” Kirtananda pointed. Harith nodded and switched lanes. A queue of cars led up to the turnoff.
“Fucking hell,” Harith shook his head. Up ahead an old lady in a Renault Clio had stalled.
Kirtananda glanced in the rear view. Zak was shaking his packet of beedies again. “Relax, she ain't going anywhere.”
Harith nodded at the looming building. “Big hospital. We could use Rayan.”
“Well he ain't here,” Kirtananda said. “And we've got one defenceless woman in a hospital bed. Think you can handle it?”
“Sure, sure, no problem, Ji,” Harith said hastily.
Zak grinned. The van lurched forward a few yards. “Rayan's a waste of space anyway. Guy’s probably working on his tan.”
“He's got plenty to do,” Kirtananda said. “The House of Health and Knowledge must be cleansed.”
“Cleansed?” Zak said.
“The Rebirth work is done. We must leave no trace of it behind.”
“How come?” Harith said.
“Because Arshu-ji has said so.”
“So when we going to join the others?”
“When we've finished what we need to do. When I say so.”
There was silence.
“Rayan’s getting Instruction from Sky,” Zak said.
“Sure,” Kirtananda nodded.
“Sky is a very spiritual man,” Dharma said. “He is the youngest Instructor ever.”
Dharma was not the brightest bulb in the van, Kirtananda thought.
“You know Hoshi?” Zak said. “He joined us last year. Sky instructed him. Hoshi told me he thinks Sky’s enlightened.”
“I heard he found out where Arshu was born,” Harith said.
“Where was that?”
“Ashcroft, Liverpool,”
“You what?”
“Yeah, straight up. He went there.”
“What for?”
“I guess to pray.”
“I’ve spent time with him,” Dharma said. “He’s a special being – he sees patterns in things others don’t. You know he’s memorised all of Arshu’s sayings? He’s on a special path.”
Dharma was soft in the head. If he was not such a good man with his hands Kirtananda would have had no time for him. But he was the best knife man he had ever seen. A useful skill. Kirtananda studied the windows of the hospital building. Especially for quiet jobs.
Up ahead, the old lady in the car in front was still struggling. She was talking to herself. He shook his head. Across the road, a tall black woman dressed in green and gold stood outside eating chicken from a box. She called out to two young schoolboys fighting in the road in front of her.
All this will pass away, Kirtananda thought. The reflection surprised him.
“What an idiot,” Harith said. He pulled on the handbrake and came out of gear. They watched the old lady panicking as she struggled with her gearbox. “Someone should put that out of its misery.”
Someone was going to, Kirtananda thought. A strange feeling moved him. For a moment he didn't recognise what it was.
“She's alright. Let her be,” Kirtananda said. His men looked at each other, puzzled.
This red darkness is finding the index case is the key to Christmas time is a happy…
Christmas!
Garrett woke between heartbeats.
“What about Christmas?”
Cherry looked up from her magazine. “Mmm?”
“Christmas?”
“He’s not talking.”
Garrett picked at the sheets with her fingers. “We–”
“Trust me. Fly’s tried. He’s saying nothing. The cops are holding him on possession. They expect you to press charges.”
“Where is he?”
“Shepton Mallet station. What do you think you’re doing?”
“I'm getting up!”
“You’re not. You must rest. You're hurt.”
Garrett struggled upright. Pain from her left arm broke through the drugs. “He must be tested.”
Cherry reached out to her shoulders. “You gotta stay in bed!”
“We need to get samples to the lab. Where’s my phone?”
“They don’t allow mobiles in here.”
“I must–” Garrett threw off a sheet.
“All right!” Cherry looked into her eyes, like a parent demanding attention from a toddler. “If you stay in bed, I'll find you a phone, and you can call through and get what you need done. Okay?”
Garrett stared at Cherry, one leg on the floor.
“Just get back into bed and I’ll go ask.”
Garrett hesitated. She had been on the other side of these conversations. The only way to escape being treated as a child was to act like an adult.
“And I'll bring the phone, okay?”
Pain throbbed in Garrett's arm. She nodded. “Okay. But you don't realise–”
“I know it's important. I'll do it,” Cherry patted the sheets back into place. “Leave it to me.”
Garrett flopped back onto her pillows. Slowly, bit by bit, she allowed tiredness and morphine to close her eyes.
“Fuckin A, grandma’s figured it out!” Harith rolled the van forward. The old lady had finally found a gear.
“Now listen up,” Kirtananda looked around. “Dharma, Zak. I want you two with me. Harith, you stay with the van.”
Harith whooped, “Rock 'n' roll!”
He gunned the engine. It stalled.
“Wanker,” Zak said.
“You dick!” Dharma yelled.
Kirtananda grinned.
“Fuck off you guys,” Harith said. He restarted the engine. Stalled again. On the third attempt he got the van in gear.
“Hey grandma,” Zak said. “Shall we put you out of your misery?”
Harith turned and hit out, one hand on the steering wheel. The van wobbled. The punch missed. Harith twisted around and lunged with both hands. He caught Zak on the ear, a glancing blow.
Kirtananda laughed and grabbed the wheel as the van veered into the curb.
“You fucker!” Zak yelled.
“Okay cool it. Take the turn,” Kirtananda pointed. He held the dashboard one-handed as they bumped over sleeping policemen into the hospital grounds.
Garrett's eyes snapped open. How long had it been since Cherry had left? A minute? An hour? She raised her knees. The movement made her wince.
Pain seeped up her arm. Her bladder complained too. She swung her feet onto the floor.
Walking to the window brought the blood to her head. It was another sunny day. The car park was busy, nearly full. A grey panel van indicated to turn into a bay opposite A&E. Two cars paused to let it pass. She counted ambulances, cars, bicycles, and remembered Jimmy watching his beach. This is my beach. Hospital traffic. The thought made her grin. When she carried on grinning, she diagnosed morphine.
She suddenly remembered her mobile. Numb fingers searched the pockets of her clothes.
The call history showed no missed connection attempts. Where was Jason? Why hadn't he called? She stared at the dial button and swayed on her feet. No. She should wait for a hospital landline.
She rested her forehead on the window. The glass was warm. Maybe get a chair. Sit in the sun and watch the traffic until Cherry came back.
Harith slotted the van into a spot in front of A&E.
“Arshu’s will be done.” Kirtananda struck a clear chime from the kartals. He jumped out before the brass note had ended. “Let’s go!”
He headed towards the open double doors of the main reception, Dharma and Zakiya at his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eyes he tracked Harith by the van. Good. The familiar screw of tension tightened in his belly. He felt the butt of his silenced Glock semi-automatic lying snug and warm inside palm and curled fingers, concealed in a pocket of his zipped windcheater. He thumbed off the safety.
Garrett counted cars cruising the lot for spaces. She had been remembering queuing theory and how her first attempts at statistical programming had used the Poisson distribution.
Over by A&E three men walked away from the parked panel van. The one in front wore an odd, coloured collar around his throat. Like a priest. The shaven head of the man at his right shoulder made Garrett think of Christmas. Where was Cherry?
“Hello, could you tell me where Christine Garrett is?”
“And you are?” The receptionist looked up at her questioner, a handsome man with military hair and the whitest smile. She glanced at his two companions. One of them was dressed in an odd orange robe, his back to her, elbows on the counter. Rude.
“Stephen Garrett. Her brother. Her older brother.” The red-haired man smiled again. He had a nice nose and neat teeth. One front incisor was pointed, so sharp it looked filed. “I called through earlier?”
The receptionist began typing at a keyboard. Kirtananda added, “Chrissy was admitted last night. She had an injury to her arm?”
“Oh yes, I remember. She was brought in from the festival. Here we are. Ward B, room three. Second floor.” She looked up to meet the man’s eyes. They were blue and very steady, friendly when he smiled. “Right out of the lifts, down the corridor, it's the third door on your left. Ask a nurse if you get lost.”
“Thanks. If I get lost I’ll come back and ask you.” He smiled again. The receptionist grinned back, thinking how important manners were in a man. You could tell so much. She watched him walk over to the lifts and press a call button. He nodded his head towards the stairs.
“Now where are my glasses gone to?”
The nurse on the ward desk fumbled around her pockets. When she found them she checked the signature and date on the form. Garrett ignored the nurse’s disapproving frown. The argument had been short. She had pulled medical rank.
“Christine! What you doing up?”
“I got tired of waiting. Where’ve you been?”
“Sorry,” Cherry stopped stuffing crisps in her mouth. “I was hungry. I figured you’d be asleep–”
“Your friend’s checking out,” the nurse said.
“What?”
“I can’t diagnose Christmas over the phone. I need to see him.”
“You’re joking! You’ve just–”
“I’m fine. Come on.” Garrett took the top copy of the form from the nurse. “How did you get here?”
“Fly dropped me. Christine–”
“We’ll get a cab outside A&E.”
A man stepped out of the lifts. The nurse glanced at the clock. Visiting hours were nearly over. Another man appeared behind him. He was shaven-headed. Chemo? At a nod he waited, legs open, hands clasped behind his back, beside the open lift doors. The first man headed down a corridor as if he knew where he was going.
The nurse smiled to herself. Those two men had such a wordless understanding. Almost like they were married. Her smile deepened. Maybe they were gay.
An ambulance had just arrived. Garrett led a still-protesting Cherry through the scrum of activity to a waiting cab. A passenger was paying.
“Keep the change.”
Garrett opened a rear door and slipped inside. She winced as she jogged her injured arm. A pulse thudded in her head. She put a hand up to her cheek to shield an eye from a growing headache.
“Hello girls! Where to, love?”
“Shepton Mallett please.”
The cabbie jogged his rear view with a finger. When he discovered Garrett was a doctor he began to complain about his spondulitis. Garrett protected her arm with her body as they bumped down an exit ramp. Advertising hoardings, telegraph wires and the tops of buildings edged Garrett’s view as they emerged onto a local High Street. She watched the turning of cloudless blue.
***
White entered the Metropole basement stacks from the top, experiencing a familiar touch of vertigo as he peered down six descending levels visible below his shoes through metal grille flooring. He passed his ID card through a reader and exited the wire mesh cage which surrounded the lift doors.
Opposite the lift was a wrought iron spiral staircase. White stepped down four flights then threaded his way across a floor of corridors laid out like a library, walls formed of files and electronic equipment. With each step, the metal underfoot ran like a tuning fork; fluorescent lights glinted through the grilles from the stacks above and below.
White felt frustration and guilt at his slipped memory. What the hell was happening at CDSC? They handled the primary data. If Sniffer had caught four cases through the background noise, how many more were there?
He stopped at a door marked 4B34. He passed his card through another reader and entered a small cubicle, empty except for a table, computer monitor, input devices and a plastic chair.
White sat in the chair. He typed in a name and password then submitted to voice, fingerprint and retina scan. He pulled out Hanratty’s printout, typed in the file reference, then a compartment pass code. The screen refreshed.
Report into potential breach of GM protocols
at Kronos malaria vaccine research laboratory
concerning Malaria Falciparum x Streptococcus
Type III GM gene sequences.”
“Display file?”
White clicked OK. He began to speed read.
***
“Yes he’s here. Came in last night under custody from the festival. We charged him with Class A possession. It's with the CPS.”
A uniformed duty officer sat behind double-glazing studying a charge sheet. A half-eaten sandwich sat in a plastic carton at his elbow. Garrett managed her impatience before speaking.
“I'm only concerned with the health issue. I asked that CDSC be informed immediately after any arrest.”
The officer glanced at his sandwich, wet a finger and turned a page. “Nope. Doesn't say anything about... Ah. A message was left at CDSC for a Mr Kirkpatrick.”
Garrett's felt the muscles in her neck relax a fraction. She had just finished a frustrating call to the lab at Porton. As usual no-one had picked up. She had left a brief message; her mobile battery was almost flat. She felt a running urgency and the world wanted to stroll.
“And did you get any reply?” Cherry spoke each word slowly as if asking directions of a foreigner. She stood at Garrett’s shoulder.
The officer glanced at Cherry then returned to his reading. Garrett searched for patience. She was already exhausted by the short, officious exchange, after another that had been required to prove her credentials. Her left arm ached like a rotten tooth.
“Looks like he has not yet replied.”
“This man may be involved in a serious public health matter,” Garrett said.
“Yes. Apparently so,” the officer said, still reading.
“Where is he now?” Cherry demanded.
“Jimmy, our Medical Officer, checked him over. He didn’t look too clever. Running a fever. We’ve got him in solitary.”
Garrett pressed teeth together. Pain seeped up her arm. Questions revolved like riderless horses on a carousel, about the disease, the connection with Asari, Jason... Now, perhaps, she had found someone with answers.
“Can I see him?” Garrett asked.
They fo
llowed the police officer down a whitewashed corridor to the back of the station.
“I will need a blood sample,” Garrett said.
“Let's hope he gives his consent then,” the officer warned over his shoulder, pleasant but superior. “They all know their human rights now you know.”
“This health issue concerns a notifiable disease. Consent is not required.” Garrett's voice was sharp. She was tired of bureaucratic dismissals. “I will get a magistrate’s order if needed.”
“I see.” The officer stopped at a metal door. “What sort of… health issue are we dealing with here then?”
“I’m hoping this man will help me answer that question.”
After a cursory glance through a small grill, the policeman unlocked the door and stepped aside. At last.
Pain, and the memory of it, surged up Garrett’s arm at the sight of the figure sat at a small metal table. She stared at a shaven head pillowed on crossed arms, skin blued by tattoos, lit by a stretched square of sunlight from a small barred window.
“You’ve got a visitor,” the policeman said. Christmas gave no reaction. “You hear me?”
There is a stillness to a dead body that is not the same as sleep. Garrett moved past the policeman. She put two fingers into Christmas’s neck.
“What the hell?” The policeman sounded angry.
“From rigor and body heat, I’d say he’s been dead an hour,” Garrett said, after a pause. She studied a small brown stain of blood beside his mouth. “There is–” The ringing of a mobile interrupted her. It was her own. Remembering her message left with the Porton lab, she accepted the call. Good timing…
“Hello?”
“Mum? Er – Christine?”
Garrett felt the muscle of her heart shiver. The phone was porcelain cold and hard and precious in her hand. She turned her back on the policeman, Cherry and the dead man in the cell.