by Robin Crumby
“Look, I don’t claim to be an expert on influenza,” continued Anton. “Doctor Hardy is the real expert. He knows a lot more than he’s letting on.”
“So if he is the key to all this, how do I get him to talk? He’s clearly not going to help me voluntarily.”
“He’s protected by Major Donnelly. Not even the colonel can get him to talk. “
“There must be a way. Everyone has a weakness.”
“I once saw the KGB file we kept on him. His vices were listed as ‘none’.”
“He must have a weakness, a pressure point.”
“If there is, no one has ever found it. Don’t waste your time. He’s unbreakable.”
Anton checked his watch and realised they were late for Doctor Hardy’s briefing in the lecture hall. “Perhaps we should be getting back.”
“They won’t start without us. Come on, I’ll show you a short cut.”
Chapter Nineteen
“I need to talk to Briggs right now,” demanded Terra, resting her hands on the darkly stained wooden counter at the school’s reception.
“Well, he’s not here,” replied the bespectacled janitor, without looking up.
“Hey!” shouted Victor, getting his full attention. “It’s important. Where is he?”
“He’s up at the hospital.” He blushed. “Been there all morning.”
“Come on. I’ll drive us up there.” Victor huffed, grabbing the keys to a top-of-the-line Jaguar saloon from a hook by reception. Climbing in, the interior still smelled of new leather. It was practically in show-room condition. The engine roared into life, and they pulled away.
At the main road, he turned right, tyres squealing on the tarmac, as they headed away from Lymington. Victor seemed to notice Terra’s confusion.
“I never go through town. Too many soldiers. Too many questions. This way is longer but much less hassle.”
It was only a couple of miles as the crow flies, but it took them nearly half an hour to wind their way through narrow country lanes before rejoining the main road through the Forest that led to Lymington.
From the mini-roundabout on the outskirts of town onwards, Damian King had converted the entire industrial estate into a fortified compound ringed by a high-security fence. The estate contained more than a dozen warehouses and storage units that served as an Aladdin’s cave of items recovered from the local area.
Terra was amazed that the allies had allowed this group leave to remain. After all, the site was a mere stone’s throw from their command post in Lymington and just the other side of the river from the ferry terminal. It was undoubtedly only a matter of time before the site was cleared and King evicted by force like they had threatened to do at Carisbrooke Castle. Unless there was some other agreement in place that gave them protected status. In return for what, thought Terra.
At the barrier to the compound, one of King’s men gestured for Victor to slow down. He seemed to recognise the car and immediately waved them through the open gateway. Parking directly in front of the main entrance, they hurried inside to find Briggs.
The hospital buildings were more modern than she remembered, certainly built within the last decade or so. Inside the front entrance was a large atrium with high ceilings and multicoloured walls. At the bottom of the glass and steel staircase, they found a group of more than a dozen men conversing animatedly. One nudged the other until they all fell silent, staring back coldly at the newcomers.
“We’re looking for Briggs,” said Victor breathlessly.
A familiar voice from above greeted them.
“He’s up here somewhere,” shouted King, leaning over the railing, mumbling something unintelligible over his shoulder. “Something I can help you with?” He smiled, head tilted.
“It’s private.” Terra smiled back.
Briggs joined King at the railing, their elbows touching. He looked different somehow. The two men were relaxed in each other’s company. There was a growing momentum behind their partnership that gave grounds for self-satisfaction as more and more local groups rallied to their cause. Terra was burning to know what they were planning.
“Private, eh?” Briggs laughed, observing their impatience. “We’ve nothing to hide from our friends.”
Terra hesitated, readjusting what she had planned to say. “Are you familiar with the radio mast at Rowridge?” she asked, skipping the preliminaries.
“The one on the island? It’s hard to miss.”
“We’ve figured out why none of the radios work around here.”
“Go on.”
“Someone’s broadcasting static.”
King glanced suspiciously at Briggs, but he shrugged as if to say “nothing to do with me”.
“Why would anyone do that?”
“To enforce a news blackout.”
King blew out his cheeks, half-mocking Terra. “Or a simpler explanation is that the power may just be out?” He exchanged another glance with Briggs, who leant further over the railing, peering down at her, ruminating on this new theory.
“I suppose it could explain why only short-range radio seems to be working. Copper, remember that police jammer you found for us?” said Briggs.
Terra couldn’t see Copper from where she was standing but heard a grunt of agreement from above.
“And you figured this out all on your own?” sneered King.
“She had some help,” added Victor, feeling left out.
“If it were an act of sabotage, then surely the military would have figured this out by now. They’re not stupid.”
“Unless they’re the ones who did this in the first place?” suggested Terra.
“The military? What would they have to gain from knocking out the transmitter? They need to coordinate their activities more than anyone.”
“Not if they had their own communication systems that weren’t affected.”
“I suppose it’s possible. Just seems like a lot of effort.”
“The person we spoke to said someone could be broadcasting static to mask all other signals. So if other regions or countries have been trying to get in contact and getting no response, then…”
“They’d assume everyone was dead.”
“Exactly. That might explain why no one has come here. For fear of infection.”
“Hold on. What about the Americans? Why did they come here?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“We weren’t the only country affected. Radio blackout or not, someone would have organised a relief effort by now.”
“Not if the whole of the UK remained subject to an international quarantine order.”
“Why would they do that?”
“The Santana crew called it ‘English Flu’. We think that no one has dared to land here because it’s still considered too dangerous. There might be a whole exclusion zone around the UK. No one comes, no one leaves.”
“And you really think no one would have chanced it? The whole country is wide open. It’s a looter’s paradise.”
“Correct. That quarantine order would attract every petty criminal with a rowing boat.”
“If the UN is really involved, by now they would have sent clean-up crews, inspection teams, that sort of thing. They wouldn’t just leave us to rot like this. It’s been two years.”
“Or no one’s been here because the rest of the world is in just as much of a mess as we are. That’s the only logical explanation. If the Americans thought the UK was riddled with infection, then why would they bother? There are probably hundreds of places less affected.”
“The more rational explanation is that the transmitter stopped working because there’s no power, that’s all,” cautioned King. “I’m telling you, if they get the transmitter back online, they’ll restore comms.”
“Terra, this isn’t just another of your wild theories, is it? I suppose you have some actual evidence?” challenged Briggs.
Terra looked flustered as if someone had taken the wind out of her sails. “You have to a
dmit, it makes a lot of sense…” She blushed, realising everyone was staring at her. “But no, I wanted to bring this to you as soon as we found out.”
Briggs glanced at King, who shook his head.
“And you did the right thing,” Briggs replied with a hint of sarcasm. “Look we’re in the middle of something, yeah? Why don’t we talk about this later, back at the school?”
Terra thought about pushing the point, but Victor cautioned against it with a glance.
“Perhaps if you need me here,” said Victor, “I can get someone else to take Terra back?”
Briggs smiled mischievously at King. “No, I think we have everything under control. I’ll see you both back at the school.”
Victor looked bruised by the dismissal. Since joining forces with King, he too had felt his power over Briggs had waned somewhat.
As they turned to leave, Terra noticed chalk markings on the floor and realised what they had been looking at from above. It was an outline of the Isle of Wight, with major towns marked out and various areas shaded in different colours.
“Dividing up the spoils already?” asked Terra.
“Something like that.” King shrugged.
“Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourselves? How exactly do you plan to get everyone off the island?” she asked bluntly.
“Ask nicely?” One of the men laughed.
“Well, they’re not going to leave willingly. You’re not thinking of starting a new outbreak, are you?” Her eyes flicked from Briggs to King and back again, gauging their blank reactions for any clues.
“What an active imagination you have.”
“How else do you plan to get everyone to leave?”
King strode to the top of the stairs, taking them two at a time, clearly irritated by Terra’s refusal to leave. She instinctively retreated towards Victor.
“You’re a little nosy parker, aren’t you?” he snarled, grabbing her by the throat and almost lifting her off the ground. Terra glanced at Briggs as she struggled to breathe, imploring him to intervene.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” was all she managed to get out.
“That’s enough,” commanded Briggs. “Let her go.”
King released his grip, and Terra clutched at her throat, gasping in pain. Far from rushing to her defence, Briggs seemed almost amused by King’s response.
“Go on, Terra. Say your piece.”
“I know these people.” She coughed. “I know how they think. Armstrong, Peterson and all the others. Remember, I was on the other side. I know their plans for Camp White, their quarantine measures. Don’t you think I might be able to help?”
“Why do you think we kept you around till now,” said King.
“I told you already,” added Briggs. “It’s safer this way. The fewer people that know what’s planned, the better.”
“But surely…” she started and then thought better of it. She knew from experience that once Briggs had set his mind to something, there was no changing it. It would be like trying to prise a mussel from a rock with your bare hands.
“Go and find the professor, will you.” demanded King. “I’d like a word.”
The momentary look of alarm on Terra’s face betrayed her complicity. A few minutes later the guard returned, pushing forward the professor. He was still in his lab coat, frowning in annoyance.
“Perhaps you’d like to explain why Terra here is asking so many questions about our plans?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We barely know each other,” batted back the professor dismissively, avoiding eye contact with Terra. There was a fresh welt under his left eye.
“Didn’t I warn you what would happen if you betrayed me?”
“I’ve told no one,” he insisted wearily.
“So it’s done?”
“I did everything you asked. It’s too late to stop them.”
“Stop who?” challenged Terra.
“You still here? I thought I told you to head back to the school,” barked Briggs, taking her by the arm and leading her towards the front entrance. She wrestled her arm free and pulled up.
“Stop keeping me in the dark, Briggs. I’m not stupid. I know what you’re up to. I just need to hear it from your own lips.”
He motioned for her to head outside. “What more do you want me to say? That you’re right?”
“Right about the virus? That you intend to start a new outbreak?”
“The volunteers were chosen at random,” he admitted. “I don’t even know their names.”
“Volunteers?”
“Yes. To receive the experimental serum. We told them it was a prototype vaccine, and packed them off on the last ferry to the island.”
“But they’ll never make it through quarantine.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. We found a strain with a longer incubation period,” said Briggs, checking his watch. “With any luck, they’ll clear quarantine long before the symptoms present themselves. No one will ever know.”
“My God. How many of them are there?”
“It only takes one to make it through.”
“So what are you going to do now?” She blinked, feeling suddenly faint.
“Sit back and wait for nature to take its course.”
“No, I meant how are you going to stop the virus spreading back to the mainland?”
“You let me worry about that.”
Terra’s knees almost buckled, and she sank down on a nearby bench. She looked up at Briggs, searching out any sign of compassion. “But you’ll kill everyone. It will be genocide.”
“Not everyone,” conceded Briggs “But in a few months, those that don’t die of the virus will be dead of starvation or some other disease. Then we can start the clean-up process.”
Terra was momentarily speechless. As the impact of Briggs’s words hit her, she mumbled, “Men, women and children.”
“They should never have gone there in the first place.”
“They were promised sanctuary. A fresh start.”
“Yeah, on my island,” added Briggs. “Look, one day you’ll understand. It’s better this way, believe me.”
“I’ll never understand—”
“You’ll see, eventually. There’s a war coming. We can’t match the allies in a fair fight. When we’re finished, the island will be free again. They’ll be no one left to challenge us. You’ll have everything I promised you, Terra. Everything.”
“But, Briggs, you’re going to a place I can’t follow you,” she cautioned, fighting back the tears, trying to hide her despair. She broke free of his grasp and backed away, shaking her head.
She was dumbstruck, realising the implications of what King and Briggs had set in motion. She stumbled towards the car, tears streaming down her face. She was desperate to get as far away from these people as possible, back to the school, anywhere but here.
Looking back through the semi-opaque glass doors as she waited for Victor, she watched them all laughing, pointing in her direction. Their features were distorted by the glass. The door was still ajar, and King’s voice sounded almost demonic, racked by coughing. In a moment of clarity, she saw them for what they really were. The horror of what they planned was now plain to see.
Something made her think of Jack and Hurst. For all his faults, she missed Jack’s pragmatism, his ability to determine right from wrong. Terra’s moral compass had been a spinning dial since his murder. She could no longer deny that she was in league with criminals, men so depraved they had consciously cast aside all remaining vestiges of compassion. What remained was barely recognisable as human.
She now knew that they calmly planned to plunge the whole region into a Biblical hell. Like the four horsemen of the apocalypse, pestilence and famine, death and destruction would be unleashed on the allies.
She could no longer stand by and do nothing. Her only chance was to somehow get word to the allies. She just wondered whether Peterson and Armstrong were any more trustworthy than the
rebels who plotted against them.
Chapter Twenty
After what seemed like an eternity, the unmarked staff car carrying Riley finally reached the outskirts of Ventnor, in the south of the island.
With time running out before the evening curfew, her driver threw caution to the wind, taking the most direct route through the picturesque seaside towns of Sandown and Shanklin, roads he seemed to know well.
There was little traffic to speak of this far south from the militarised zone, but successive checkpoints had resulted in unforeseen delays. Their final destination was the Royal Hotel in Ventnor where they were hoping to find Zed’s daughter, Heather.
Riley was still seething with anger at Sister Imelda for interfering. She was wracking her brains, trying to remember whether she had mentioned her planned trip to Ryde when they last met in Freshwater. What possible reason could the sister have had for removing Heather from the school?
The roads narrowed as they entered Ventnor. The sweeping sea views were replaced by stone-built houses and trees overhanging steep-sided slopes as their route snaked back and forth, heading down towards the waterfront. Riley pressed her face against the glass, trying to catch sight of the Victorian-era hotel.
Another sharp corner and Riley’s stomach lurched. She opened the window a crack to get some fresh air. The smell of the sea reminded her of Hurst. Other than the apple she had brought with her, they had skipped lunch to save time.
The driver veered off the main road and screeched to a halt outside the hotel porch. Riley flung the door wide, striding up the drive with her rucksack slung over her shoulder. There was a gaggle of women chatting near the front entrance, whispering into their sleeves. One of the women seemed to recognise Riley and ran off to find one of the sisters. The crowd parted, clearing a path towards reception.
“Riley,” exclaimed Sister Imelda with genuine surprise, “I didn’t expect you so soon. Stella will be thrilled.”
“This isn’t a social visit.”
“Sorry?”
“I’ve come to collect Heather Samuels. Zed’s daughter? You collected her from Ryde Boarding School yesterday.”
“Heather? Well, yes, I vaguely remember a girl by that name. I had no idea she was Zed’s daughter.”