by Robin Crumby
“It’s not right,” shouted another woman in a headscarf.
“No one’s leaving, not until we get the all-clear. The whole island is on lockdown. We can’t risk the infection spreading.”
“But if we stay here any longer, we’ll get sick, won’t we?”
“No, you won’t. You’ve all had your flu jabs. You’ve nothing to be worried about.”
“Then how do you explain all the sick people? We’ve got rights, you know. You can’t keep us here.”
“I’m warning you, anyone tries to leave here will be shot.”
“We’d rather die trying than wait here.”
The base commander turned away, shaking his head. There was no reasoning with these people.
“Corporal, double the guard. Anyone approaches the gate, you have my authorisation to shoot them, am I clear?”
Chapter Thirty-seven
As night began to fall, the padre tapped Riley on the shoulder and pointed to his watch. “There’s nothing more we can do today.”
Riley broke off from her vigil, holding the hand of a young Somali girl laid out on a stretcher. She tucked the limp arm under the blanket and joined the padre by the tent door.
“Can we come back here first thing?”
“Of course. The medical team will stay overnight and help.”
It had been a long day. They had all witnessed scenes that would never be erased from their memories. The strain on the padre’s face was plain to see.
The number of new cases still showed no signs of slowing. In a little under seventy-two hours, the quarantine zone had been transformed from a sanctuary to a scene from hell. Out of some six hundred refugees, there were now only three hundred and forty who remained symptom-free.
“What’s going to happen if this new strain can’t be contained?” Riley asked when they were outside.
“We just have to pray that doesn’t happen.”
They wandered back towards the main gate where the medical team from St Mary’s had set up a field decontamination unit. One by one they entered a simple tented area where they were sprayed with something that smelled like disinfectant, and their suits scrubbed clean. After washing their hands in a washing-up bowl filled with freezing cold soapy water, they were instructed to remove their hazmat suits and continue on to the waiting transport.
Driving back to St Mary’s on the nearly empty minibus, Riley could not hold back the tears, her sobs muffled by the new clean mask she was given.
“Thank you for coming today. I know it wasn’t easy,” the padre consoled, squeezing Riley’s shoulder.
“If that’s not hell on earth, then I don’t know what is.”
“I served in Rwanda and Somalia, and this is the worst I’ve seen. Suffering beyond imagination.”
“I would struggle to believe it was real if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”
“My grandfather was serving in South Africa after the First World War when the Spanish flu pandemic hit. He used to tell us stories of that time before he died. People dying in their hundreds struck down without warning. The colonials called it Kaffersiekte or ‘black man’s sickness’.”
“Why?”
“I suppose they blamed the locals. The truth was the reverse: the new arrivals were the carriers of the virus. The locals thought the Spanish flu was divine punishment for the white man’s oppression.”
“Sorry, padre, I respect your beliefs, but my family were never very religious.” She shrugged half-apologetically. “I suppose I’m a bit of a fatalist about these things. Surviving the first outbreak made me realise that I was being given a second chance, to live my life on my own terms, not someone else’s.”
“You should consider yourself lucky. We Christians call that beatific vision. So few people experience that. It’s a serene and exalted state. The feeling of rapture.”
“Epiphany, maybe. I wouldn’t call it rapture.”
“Trust me, it’s God’s plan.”
“I choose to believe that we have a duty to reject what went before. I don’t know, to learn, to choose a different path, not just to survive. That’s why life at Hurst was so special. The sense of community, of interdependency, living in harmony with nature and all its cycles. I miss all that.”
The padre nodded, staring out the window at the passing fields and woodland to their right. “Once you’ve stared death right between the eyes, it changes you.” His voice was soft and distant. “During the breakdown, I chose to stay with my men at the barracks. Many of them were too ill, too weak to walk.”
“Where were you?”
“Barker Barracks, just outside Paderborn in Germany. When people heard about what was going on in the big cities, in Hanover, Frankfurt and Bonn, the local town just emptied of all human life. What they left behind was heartbreaking.”
“Go on.”
“Scenes so pitiful it almost broke my heart. Dogs left chained in kennels, barking for their owners. Children banging on doors and windows, shouting at passers-by to let them out. Some of those who knew they were infected took their own lives and the lives of their families, rather than wait for the virus to take hold. I saw one man set himself on fire, others too inebriated to care any more.”
“Why didn’t you leave too, when you had the chance?”
“Where could we go? By then it was too late to leave. We did what we could. We patrolled the city, helped those we could, saw things that no person can forget.”
“What did you do?”
“Not much. We used earth-moving equipment to dig trenches and bury the bodies in their hundreds. After a few days, it simply became impractical to move the dead from where they had fallen. That’s when the cholera started.”
“We’ve all witnessed terrible things. It was a lottery.”
“Perhaps, but our experience was determined by more than simply luck.”
“In what way?”
“Never has the gulf between rich and poor seemed so stark. The rich and powerful escaped before things got too bad, to their second homes in the country, or wherever they could find where there was no infection. People came here to the island, thinking they would be safe too.”
“We did our best to keep the virus at bay.”
“The virus drained all the love and compassion from the world. It made people cold and selfish.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you? None of us can survive on our own. We need each other now more than ever before.”
“Perhaps you’re right. Sorry, it’s been a long day.”
“When did you finally come to your senses and leave the barracks?”
“It was a day I’ll never forget. I woke late, to an eerie silence. The normal bustle of the barracks was strangely absent. People in my block had not emerged for the day. The bugle never sounded. I knocked on doors trying to raise people, but most of them had stayed in their beds. Of course, I knew straight away what it was. I suppose it was only a matter of time before it reached us too.”
“What did you do?” asked Riley.
“What anyone would have done. We made the sick comfortable. The men were too afraid to fraternise with each other any more, to eat together, to pray together. We lived in a constant state of fear. I suppose we all retreated into a private world. In the end, we could no longer stay. It was fear that tore our brotherhood apart. We packed our bags and left for the transports waiting to take us home. It was one of the hardest days of my life.”
The padre looked at his shoes, trying to hide his tears.
Riley patted his back. No words of comfort would come to her.
****
When they reached the approach road to St Mary’s the convoy stopped while they radioed ahead for the main entrance to be cleared of protesters. As the seconds stretched into minutes while they waited for the guards to respond, Riley had a waking vision of the base overrun, imagining they had suffered the same fate as Camp Three.
There was a collective sigh when they all heard the clipped voice of t
he base commander ordering the convoy to hold in position until the all-clear could be given.
It took around ten minutes to disperse the crowd before the convoy was able to continue up the tarmac. They were greeted by a welcoming hail of bricks and stones thrown by the protesters. Despite the protection of the metal grids on the windows, a large piece of masonry cracked the reinforced glass, sending spiderweb lines snaking in all directions from the point of impact.
Riley found herself breathing shallow, looking around nervously until the heavy gates clanged shut and they were back within the relative safety of the military compound.
Several figures wearing biohazard suits were waiting in the courtyard to debrief them. Riley noticed Captain Armstrong and the sister among them, listening with pained expressions to their first-hand accounts.
“Sergeant!” the captain shouted towards the soldiers standing nearby. “I want you to set up a defensive perimeter around those camps. Anyone who tries to enter that cordon without permission should be shot on sight, do you understand? Relay that command. We must contain the virus, at all costs.”
“Yes, sir,” said one of the orderlies, hurrying off to make the necessary arrangements.
“Any news from the Americans?” asked Riley.
“They’re still upstairs in Operations waiting for Sergeant Jones and the Seahawk. They’ll refuel and turn them around. We need Doctor Hardy back here as soon as possible.”
“Did you pass on my request to Lieutenant Peterson?”
“I did. We were both agreed. I’m afraid it’s much too dangerous for a civilian.”
Before she could answer, Captain Armstrong turned his back and began speaking with one of the staff officers.
****
Just after 8pm, the Seahawk helicopter roared over St Mary’s, landing lights flashing, announcing its return to base. Riley hurried out to meet Sergeant Jones, but by the time she reached the helipad in the darkness, the Americans were already heading inside for the debrief. She called after him, but her voice was lost in the noise of the rotors as they powered down.
She sat on a plastic bench seat in the corridor that led to the debriefing room, straining to hear their muffled voices. From the heated exchange, she assumed that things had not gone to plan, and she wondered what they had been asked to do.
Sergeant Jones had once used the expression “wet work” to describe an operation. She remembered how hard he had laughed when she asked about diving gear and wetsuits before he went on to explain the reference to covert missions involving extraction or target elimination. She preferred to think of him rescuing people.
After what seemed like hours, the meeting broke up, and the rest of his unit trooped out of the conference suite, laden with equipment, helmets under their arms, weapons hanging from their clips. They had clearly been gone some time.
Sergeant Jones remained inside remonstrating with the lieutenant. Their body language suggested discord. Jones was not in the least bit happy about something. Peterson brushed past him, shaking his head.
“Next time, just follow your orders, or I’ll find someone else who will.”
Peterson seemed surprised to find Riley outside and delivered a polite but curt “ma’am” before leaving. When he was out of earshot, she heard Jones bang his fist on the table in frustration, sweeping paperwork onto the tiled floor.
Riley gave him a moment to calm down before sticking her head around the corner. He looked up with a forced smile.
“Hey, I thought you’d be gone by now.”
“I would, but Adele’s only just out of intensive care. She needs some time before she can travel.”
He didn’t respond and seemed preoccupied.
“I can come back if this is a bad time?” she said apologetically.
“Sorry, it’s been a really long day.”
“Same here. I’ve been helping down at Camp Three,” she said, still shaken by what she had witnessed.
“Oh, so now you believe me?” he replied tersely.
She studied him carefully, puzzled by his hostility. “Look, if you’re angry that I didn’t follow your advice…”
“It’s not that. You know I can’t talk about it.”
“I suppose it can’t be easy,” she said sarcastically, an edge to her voice.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Whatever it is you do. Taking lives, eliminating threats.”
“You think you’re the only one dealing with shit around here?”
“Hey, you started this.”
“I’m not in the mood, okay. We’ve all had a crappy day.” Jones hesitated.
He seemed desperate to unburden himself of something, but she knew he would never disclose operational details. Her breath caught in her throat, hands trembling so much she thought something was physically wrong with her. She hadn’t realised how fragile she was feeling. The emotion of the last few days had sneaked up on her.
“Look, I said I’m sorry,” he relented, seeing the tears in her eyes. “Come here.”
He pulled her in tight and wrapped his arms around her.
“The things we saw,” she sobbed. “I never thought I’d see people suffer like that again.”
“There’s so much more you don’t know.”
She looked up into his eyes, trying to step outside her own private grief. He patted her on the back, rubbing her shoulders. For a few moments, she gave in to her anger and frustration, her inability to help those people.
“I just want the world to stop spinning for a day, so we can all catch our breath.”
“I know. That time will come, but not now.” He checked his watch and cursed.
“Do you have time for that coffee?” she asked. “I could really do with someone to talk to. If I promise not to ask you any more questions,” she added, almost laughing.
“We’re heading straight back out again. Sorry.”
“Back to Porton?”
“How did you—”
“The captain briefed us earlier. I volunteered to go with your unit, but apparently, it’s too dangerous for a civilian, let alone a woman,” she said playfully.
“He’s probably right too. Anyway, I wouldn’t be able to do my job properly if I was worried about you.”
“So what am I meant to do? Just sit here and read a good book?”
“I told you. I don’t want you to wait for me. Get out of here while you still can.”
“They’re saying St Mary’s is the safest place on the island.”
“They can’t protect you here.”
“I heard one of the officers talking about Operation Cleansweep.”
“Cleansweep is the last throw of the dice. Believe me, you don’t want to be anywhere near here when that happens.”
“Then where?”
“As far away from here as you can. Just go. Head back to Freshwater. The west of the island is your best bet. Things are only going to get worse. The virus is heading this way, and nothing’s going to stop it this time.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
Terra sat in the darkness of a doctor’s office on the first floor, staring at the lifeless screen of a television set in the corner, surrounded by dusty medical volumes.
She was so angry with herself for becoming isolated. She had allowed King to come between her and Briggs. With King hospitalised, her path to reconciliation was now clear. Then there was the small matter of Victor’s betrayal, and for what? Some small advantage that wasn’t worth the price paid.
The door creaked open to reveal the skulking shape of Victor standing rock still, peering into the gloom. She clicked on the portable lantern and motioned towards the visitor’s chair, drying her tears.
His ear and neck were strapped up with surgical tape. It was plain to see how much the wound had bled.
“You’ve got a nerve coming back.”
“I’m sorry. Copper told me what happened.”
“You sold me out, Victor.”
“What King told you, h
e’s lying. He’s trying to turn you against me.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Terra, what possible reason would I have to sell you out?”
“Isn’t it obvious? To curry favour with Briggs and King. Suddenly Copper thinks I had something to do with the attempt on King’s life.”
“I’m telling you this is all King’s doing. Anyway, Briggs knows it was a lie.”
Terra was so confused she didn’t know what to think or who to trust any more. All that mattered now was winning back Briggs. “If King was behind this, then it backfired badly. How is he?”
“Still critical.”
“Then who do you think was behind the attack? You really believe those boys had something to do with it?”
“There’s no other plausible explanation.”
“I know Tommy and Sam from my time at Hurst. They couldn’t organise a school trip, let alone an assassination attempt.”
“So you’re saying they’re scapegoats?”
“Maybe. It just sounds a little too convenient. Copper was too quick to blame them.”
Victor blew out his cheeks. “If not them, then who?”
“I need to speak to the boys. They must know the truth.”
“It’s not going to be easy. If Copper catches us…”
“You owe me, Victor.”
****
Victor checked the coast was clear and smuggled Terra along the dark corridor towards another storeroom three doors down. He nodded at the guard and handed him something.
“Five minutes, that’s all you’re getting.”
Inside, Sam and Tommy were dead to the world. They didn’t even stir when she shone the lantern in their faces. Terra leaned down and whispered in Sam’s ear. There was still no response.
Eventually, she shook him awake, watching him tenderly as his eyes flickered open and consciousness returned. He licked his lips and squinted around the room, unfamiliar with his surroundings. His gaze landed on Terra, and there was a lazy recognition.
“Terra.” He smiled. “Is it time to get up?”
“Yes, Sam. I need your help. I don’t have much time.”