The Man Who Sold His Son (Lanarkshire Strays)

by Mark Wilson

  “The young businessman, this boy’s father, had focused all of his energies on the virus. Procuring it meant everything to him: his son was already dead and gone in his mind. All he saw in the boy’s fragile little body was potential profit to be gained from the rare pathogen in his spinal fluid.”

  Shame crossed Sinclair’s face.

  “He instructed me to remove a sample of that fluid; we’d determined that the virus lay in its highest concentration there. He also ordered all other samples we had of the virus for analysis be destroyed and watched as we did so.

  “It was his right. The boy was going to die no matter what we did, but it was wrong and I knew it. I did it anyway, partly from exhaustion, partly to relieve the boy of his burden: he’d been fighting for months. Mostly I did it because I’m a coward.”

  Sinclair broke into tears, but held a hand out to stop Gayle from approaching him. He composed himself and continued, but in a much less animated manner. His speech slowed and slurred.

  “Gavin Ennis was so desperate to reverse his company’s decline, to take ownership of this pathogen,” he held the little syringe up again, “that he caused the death of his own son. He sold that boy’s final days for the massive wealth he’s generated since. And God help me, I allowed him to do it.” Sinclair held the syringe in front of him again. “I took this from the spine of little Garth Ennis after his father had walked from the hospital with a similar sample in his hand and dollar signs in his eyes. I never knew what to do with it.”

  Gayle rose from her chair. Receiving no protest from Sinclair this time, she knelt in front of the elderly man and rested her hand on his. He slipped the syringe to her.

  “Ennis had fixated on one particular symptom his son presented. All those horrible effects from the pathogen, and he focused on the infertility caused to the boy by the virus,” Sinclair lent forward, barely able to stay conscious.

  More than forty years of grief and guilt were escaping him. He seemed to shrink and his strength left him before her eyes. From habit, Gayle slid two fingers to his wrist, finding a very weak pulse. She lifted his coat to the side at the waist, verifying the presence of a patient-controlled morphine dispenser. One glance told her that Sinclair had removed the dosage safe-guards.

  “Try to relax Doc… James. I’ll get some help.”

  Sinclair’s right hand slid over hers and gripped tightly. “No, just stay here. Don’t leave me to die alone.”

  Gayle nodded. Looking deeply into the old man’s eyes, she spoke softly. “You’ve made amends. I’ll make sure that this makes a difference.” She indicated the syringe in her hand.

  Sinclair willed the words thank you with his eyes, and then closed them one last time.

  21

  Gayle had relayed her experience with Ennis and her encounter with Dr Sinclair to Alex whilst the computers churned through the genome of the organism Sinclair had kept for forty years to give to someone: to her. Base sequences were being analysed and the gene’s functions determined by cross-referencing with all genomes they had on file. Alex had also filled Gayle in on his theory about a single viral particle being the source of the strains they’d found in the living population

  Very few viruses were totally new. Most, if not all, were amalgams of pieces of DNA and antigens from a variety of pre-existing viral particles that encountered each other in random and spontaneous pseudo-sexual encounters. Sometimes those encounters resulted in horrifically dangerous combinations of genetic traits, like the Spanish flu strain some one hundred and fifty years previously. Sometimes the encounters meant nothing.

  Alex had listened passively until now, calmly absorbing her words with only a few questions here or there to clarify various details.

  “Okay, let’s deal with the organism first. We’re thinking the same thing here, right?”

  Gayle nodded. “Yes.”

  “Fuck,” said Alex.

  “Yes,” agreed Gayle. “Fuck is about where it’s at.”

  Alex leant forwards and massaged his temples with the heels of his hands. He hadn’t slept in days. Gayle had told him three times since she’d been back to go to bed whilst the computer did its work. But how the hell was he supposed to sleep with this rattling around his brain? If this virus was what they thought it was….

  “Alex?”

  Realising Gayle had said his name more than once, he snapped awake and turned back to her. “Huh?”

  “Go to bed, Alex.”

  Several hours later a marginally-refreshed Alex rejoined Gayle in the main laboratory. Finding her in her small office with a cup of coffee in her hand, Alex made a drinking motion to her through the glass. By the time he’d made his way around the exterior and into her office, Gayle stood with a mug out for him.

  “Feeling better for that?” she asked.

  Alex sipped a mouthful of his coffee and nodded.

  “Any progress?” he asked.

  Gayle’s eyes flicked to the side, it was one of her tells. She had bad news.

  “Yes. It seems that the gut feeling we had was entirely correct.”

  “Could you show me?” he asked, ignoring the rising excitement surging through his heart.

  Gayle didn’t reply but led him over to her workstation and began swiping Holo-images and files around the space.

  “There was a lot of data, mostly thanks to your hard work whilst I was away,” she said. Alex acknowledged that with a forced smile. “But, the sample from Dr Sinclair has proved to be the deciding factor. Look here.”

  She dragged the results from the Antibody K-A samples onto the main image holder, selecting a group of genes from the virus that they believed were responsible for the immunological response and the production of Antibody K-A that they’d observed in the Synthi-kids.

  “And look again, here.”

  Gayle dragged in a second image, this time showing the viral genes responsible for the production of the Antibody K-B in the main population.

  The correlation between the DNA samples from each pathogen was clear and startling when looked at side by side. They clearly derived from a common ancestor. Gayle dragged a third image in beside them. It was the sample containing the genome of the virus that had stimulated production of Antibody K-C which they’d isolated from Alex’s blood. Looking at all three side by side left no doubt that they were related.

  Gayle dragged in the newly determined genome from the Sinclair sample: the viral DNA contained all three sets of genes. The virus Sinclair had given them, the one that little Garth Ennis had died from, was the source of all three strains of the pathogen present in the human population. The stark, horrible conclusion froze their blood.

  Gavin Ennis had engineered new strains of this horrific virus. Removing the genes from the wild type responsible for the rapid degeneration of his son’s nervous system and eventual death, he’d carefully selected those traits that led to male infertility and somehow introduced the virus into the human population. He’d infected enough people, globally, with several designer viruses he’d manufactured to make ninety-nine percent of the male population sterile and then presented the world with Synthi-sperm.

  “That’s not the worst of it,” Gayle said.

  Flicking her fingers, she zoomed in on a group of genes in the upper part of the Sinclair sample’s genome. “These led to the infertility in men and created the demand for synthetic male gametes.”

  Alex was still having trouble finding words but nodded. Gayle swooped her fingers clockwise, flipping the Holo-image of the genome one hundred and eighty degrees. She made a pinching motion and zoomed into another group of genes.

  “This selection will do the same in the female population. It seems Mr Ennis has a new product that he needs to create a demand for.”

  Alex finally found his voice.

  “No. We have the original virus, we just need to develop a vaccine for that. It’ll take time but we could reverse the effect his engineered strains have had and put the kibosh on his new strain before he even ge
ts started.”

  Gayle shook her head. “We don’t have time for that, we’re being re-assigned in a few days, remember? Besides, we don’t have the facilities, manufacturing capabilities or a distribution network.”

  Alex was shaking with anger.

  “We can use my blood. Chances are that I have immunity; I do to all the other strains. Let my white blood cells start producing antibodies, then monoclonal antibodies can be distributed. A passive immunity initiative on a global scale.”

  “Alex, we don’t have time. Besides, we’d never get a sample off the island and there’s no guarantee that you’d have any immunity to the wild type. All we know so far is that you’re immune to the strains Ennis engineered.”

  Gayle placed an arm around Alex’s thin shoulders.

  “We need to destroy that sample. We can’t risk anyone becoming infected with that horrific virus. Then we need to focus on finding a way off this island for you.”

  Alex stared blankly into the empty lab. Empty but for the two of them. He suddenly caught sight of himself reflected in the polished metal door of a refrigeration unit. He looked emaciated; his sunken eyes, drawn face and thin skin gave him a carrion-like appearance. It had been months since he’d bothered to notice his appearance. Now that he did, tears gushed from his eyes. He was an empty shell. He wasn’t anyone’s father anymore. He wasn’t anyone’s husband. He was a prisoner, a forgotten remnant of the man he’d once been. But he could still have a purpose. He watched the transformation take place in his own eyes. From utter sadness and defeat, he morphed to iron-willed determination.

  Alex darted towards Gayle’s workstation, knocking her aside as he went. Grabbing at the syringe marked G-ENN-001, Alex popped the protective cap from the needle, stabbed it into his right thigh and injected its contents into his muscle tissue. Then he picked up a biohazard re-breather, and tossing it to Gayle he said, “Let’s get to work, Professor.”

  22

  Despite the rain, Sarah sat cross-legged, Buddha-style, on top of a bright blue oil drum on the main deck of the freighter vessel, Rena’s Pride. She’d come up on deck to look at the stars. Even the moon would have done, but the clouds were ubiquitous and had made the sky dark.

  Surrounded by a city of containers full of designer clothes, Holo-Cams, computers, Holo-Projectors, medical equipment and food consignments, she felt like she was in the most remote place on earth. She felt alone and she felt useless. The ship seemed to hardly move at times, but the shifting scenery and the wake of the ship told her that the enormous vessel must be getting her closer to her Alex, even if it didn’t feel that way.

  As slow as the journey seemed, at least she was moving, unlike during the two days she’d spent waiting for her flight in London. Those had been torture, despite Tom and Rob’s best efforts to distract her and the hours spent with them planning their trip and their actions upon arrival at Ennis’s island. Along with her elderly escorts, she’d been travelling for thirty-six hours on Rena’s Pride since boarding a little Zodiac from the coast of Taiwan at Yen-Liao Beach Park. The men had slept often, for short power-naps as well as through the night. Sarah couldn’t believe how relaxed they were. Always joking, tormenting each other and so very full of life, she envied them the ability to compartmentalise their feelings.

  In London, whilst planning, Rob had been very clear in his instructions on how they’d approach the trip and how to proceed once they reached their destination. His decades working in the intelligence business had given him a calm certainty, a sureness of purpose and confidence she’d only ever seen in Tom Kinsella until now. Despite the men’s demeanour and Rob’s professionalism, her mind was consumed by the shrill panic of time racing away in front of the slow freighter.

  Sarah sighed and filled her mind with happier thoughts. She brought an image of Alex in front of her mind’s-eye. An image of him as he’d been the night before Ennis had visited their apartment. Calm, happy and handsome. They’d only just begun to find each other once more, to love each other wholeheartedly again after so many wasted years.

  She’d been so angry at him for so long. Angry at how easy the transition to parenthood had been for him, whilst it terrified, even repelled, her. Angry at the effortless way he loved their son whilst she’d cried herself to sleep more nights than she could recall, wishing with all her heart that she could only achieve that simple task: to love her child.

  In truth Sarah had never wanted to be a mother. She’d decided when she was a child, after she’d left her father’s home, that she couldn’t take the risk of being like him; or worse, dying and leaving a child without hope like her mother had done to her. Better to not be a parent than a bad one, or an absent one. In reality, she’d been both a bad mother and an absent mother until Tommy was ten years old. She’d lost herself willingly to vaping and hadn’t forgiven herself for a second of that time, even though her wonderfully kind son had. Thinking of Tommy brought his image to her mind and a smile to her lips. He’d be in Canada by now with Patricia, having the time of his life.

  Despite all that had occurred – her husband forced to leave, not hearing from him or knowing where he was for half a decade – in many ways, Alex’s absence had forced her to become the mother their son deserved. She was unsure whether the guilt she still felt for those lost years would ever leave, but she’d finally earned her son’s trust and respect. That’d have to do for now, until she brought his father home for him.

  “Hiya, love. Still not sleeping very well?”

  Sarah smiled at Tom as he crossed the deck, making his way towards her. The rain had eased enough for Tom to leave the warmth of his cabin and come up on deck for a smoke. Sarah had been surprised to see the old man begin smoking when they’d settled in Paris. He’d told her it was an old habit come back to him. “Besides, hen, you can’t not smoke in Paris. It’s practically compulsory.” Tonight his need for a cigarette was a thinly disguised excuse to check on her.

  “No, Tom. I’m fine, just watching the sea, y’know.”

  Tom looked out at the calm waters, where moonlight peeked between the clouds and bounced off of the surface, shimmering. “Aye, I’ve always liked the sea. Hated it whenever I was in a land-locked country. Just doesn’t feel right, like the ground’s been titled ever so slightly to the wrong angle. It just feels…” he searched for the right word and came up with a purely Scottish choice, “it just feels all slanty, y’know?”

  Sarah laughed, partly because she hadn’t heard the word used in years, mostly because it was the perfect word to describe the sensation. Tom had a habit of knowing exactly what to say and how. It was why Alex, why the whole family, loved him so.

  “It does….” she said. She looked to his face. “Should we have stayed home, where it’s safe? Are we nuts doing this, Tom?”

  Tom shrugged. “What else can we do?”

  Sarah nodded and watched as he flicked the butt of his cigarette into the silvery water, listening for the sizzle as it hit.

  Tom slipped an arm around Sarah and pulled her in close to the side of his chest. He smelled strongly of the cherry tobacco he smoked. Sarah breathed the smell in and felt the glow of childhood memories. Summers spent in the old man’s company with Alex. Trips to Gullane beach; they’d always called it Granda’s Beach.

  Sarah let out a breath she felt like she’d been holding for days. His company did that to her. The calmness that came upon her brought tears as the determination that had driven her these few days ebbed.

  “Do you think he’s still alive?”

  “Yes,” said Tom instantly. “I know that he is.” His voice was clear, certain.

  Sarah pulled in close to him, absorbing the strength emanating from him. For the first time, it hit how much like her husband and her son Tom felt to hold. Same build, same height and the same gentle strength. She cried a little harder as something re-connected inside, bringing her resolve roaring back.

  Tom gave her a tight hug then let her go.

  “Let’s go get som
e sleep. We’ll be there in a few hours,” Tom said.

  Arm around Tom’s waist, she glanced over her shoulder at the bright, clear moon that’d peeked through a gap in the clouds, high and huge above the water. The cold light filled the world and bathed her in energy the way a sunrise did. She turned away from it and followed Tom below deck.

  23

  Wiping at the moisture that was once again filing his eyes, Alex glanced up to see if Gayle had noticed. She had.

  “Go and sit down, Alex. I can manage on my own.”

  Alex abandoned discretion and rubbed at his hair and face with a towel, removing the sweat that had left him looking like he’d just stepped out of the shower. The towel was saturated. He threw it into a basket along with all the others.

  “Faster if we both do it,” he croaked.

  It hurt to talk. It hurt to do everything. After only twelve hours, the virus had begun to take a toll. Every breath hurt, stretching the intercostal muscles to places they didn’t want to go. He could feel his diaphragm struggle to contract. His muscles ached as the sensory neurones begun to scream at his central nervous system. His hands shook almost constantly and his legs buckled so often that he’d given up on them and plonked himself into a wheelchair, working from the relative stability of its seat, as his motor-neurones jangled with half-formed messages from a confused CNS.

  “Suit yourself,” Gayle barked at him. She was exasperated by his refusal to stop working, but he continued to ignore her requests and subsequent demands that he rest. It wasn’t pleasant, watching her stress and worry over him like this, but he simply couldn’t take to his bed and leave her to work alone.

  Since injecting himself with G-ENN-001, Alex had worked with Gayle to analyse the samples of his blood pre- and post-infection, monitoring the pathogen’s progress and the effectiveness of his own immune system in dealing with the intruder. The replication rate of the virus was astounding. Its life-cycle was hyper-accelerated, invading cell after cell, destroying the host’s nervous system so efficiently and brutally, one would swear the virus had a vendetta against it. G-ENN-001 was a truly aggressive and honest-to-goodness terrifying organism. But it was also a ridiculously poor pathogen.