Wildcard sd-3

by Ken McClure

  Judy made her way to the front of the aircraft and shortly afterwards the captain asked that any doctor on board should make himself known to the cabin crew. Carol, still holding the tissues to Barclay’s face, relaxed as she heard the call bell ring at the back, and relief flooded through her. To hide this fact from the passengers, she looked down at the unconscious Barclay’s lap. Her smile faded as she saw that his trousers were soaked in blood. She knew instinctively that this hadn’t come from a nosebleed.

  Judy walked down the aisle to meet a short, bald man being ushered from the rear of the aircraft by one of the other cabin crew. They all paused at the junction between front and rear cabins, where they had a little more privacy.

  ‘You’re a doctor?’

  ‘I’m Dr Geoffrey Palmer. What’s the problem?’

  ‘One of the passengers at the front has passed out. He has a nosebleed and he… was sick.’ She couldn’t avoid looking down at her skirt.

  ‘Joys of the job.’ Palmer smiled, guessing what had happened. ‘Probably just airsickness followed by fainting at the sight of his own blood. I’ll take a look at him, if you like.’

  ‘We’d be very grateful.’

  Judy led the way up to the front of the aircraft, but her feeling that things might be returning to normal deserted her when she saw Carol’s face: she was close to panic.

  ‘What’s up?’ Judy whispered.

  ‘He’s bleeding heavily… down below.’ She emphasised the point with a downward nod.

  ‘Let’s have a look, then,’ said Palmer, who hadn’t heard the exchange and seemed keen to take command of the situation.

  Both stewardesses moved a little way up the aisle to allow Palmer access to the unconscious man.

  ‘Gosh, you are in a mess, aren’t you, old son,’ said Palmer, taking in the state of Barclay’s shirt. ‘That’s the trouble with blood, it gets everywhere.’

  He felt for a pulse and then pushed up one of Barclay’s eyelids with his thumb. His demeanour changed in an instant. His self-assurance evaporated as he straightened up and unconsciously wiped his hand on the lapel of his jacket.

  ‘Doctor, he’s bleeding down below somewhere,’ whispered Carol. ‘Look at his trousers.’

  Palmer looked down at the dark spreading stain on the thankfully dark material. ‘Oh my God,’ he murmured, taking a step backwards.

  This from a doctor did little to promote confidence in the stewardesses, who exchanged anxious glances.

  ‘What do you think, Doctor?’ asked Judy, more in trepidation than in anticipation.

  ‘We must wash,’ replied Palmer, his wide eyes fixed on Barclay.

  Barclay’s head lolled to face the inside and the woman passenger gasped. ‘His eyes,’ she stammered. ‘Look at them! They’re bleeding! For God’s sake, do something.’

  ‘Christ, it’s the real thing,’ said Palmer, sounding like an automaton. ‘We must wash.’

  Judy signalled to Carol with her eyes to stay with Barclay. She herself led Palmer away to the galley area at the front, and closed the curtain.

  ‘Just what is it, Doctor?’ she hissed. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘I think it’s haemorrhagic fever,’ replied Palmer, clearly shaken.

  She looked at him. ‘That doesn’t mean anything. Can you be more specific?’

  ‘There are a number of them. It could be Ebola.’

  ‘Ebola? Oh my God.’

  ‘We have to wash ourselves and keep well away from him.’

  ‘But you’re a doctor. Aren’t you going to help him?’

  ‘I’m a radiologist, for Christ’s sake. What the hell do I know about Ebola? Apart from that, there’s nothing anyone can do,’ snapped Palmer. ‘Ask the captain to radio ahead. Tell him to report that we have a possible case of viral HF on board. I’m going to wash. I suggest you and your colleague do the same.’

  Palmer disappeared into the lavatory, leaving Judy looking after him in bemusement. ‘Well, thanks a bundle,’ she muttered, before rejoining Carol at Barclay’s seat.

  ‘What’s going on?’ demanded one of the passengers in the row behind.

  ‘We have a sick passenger,’ replied Judy. ‘There’s no cause for alarm, sir.’

  ‘No kidding,’ came the acid reply. ‘Just what the hell’s wrong with him?’

  ‘That’s impossible to say at the moment, sir. But the doctor thinks it could be… malaria.’

  ‘Poor bugger,’ said the passenger. ‘That can be nasty.’

  ‘Is it infectious?’ asked his wife in a loud whisper.

  ‘No, love, it ain’t,’ came the reply. ‘At least, I don’t think so

  … Maybe we should ask the doctor.’

  Palmer emerged from the lavatory and started down the aisle, still looking shaken. Judy seized the initiative and said, ‘Doctor, I was just saying to a concerned passenger here that you think our sick passenger may have malaria.’ The look in her eyes drilled home the message.

  ‘Malaria’s not infectious, is it, Doctor?’ asked the passenger.

  ‘No,’ replied Palmer a little uncertainly and then, more decisively, ‘No, it’s not.’

  He squeezed past the stewardesses, keeping them between himself and Barclay as he made to return to his seat. The surrounding passengers seemed surprised.

  ‘Isn’t there something you can do for the poor guy?’ asked the one who had done all the talking.

  ‘No, er, nothing,’ replied Palmer. ‘They’ll be ready for him when we land.’ He continued down the aisle.

  ‘Whatever happened to mopping the fevered brow?’ said the passenger.

  ‘Changed days,’ said a woman.

  ‘I have to talk to the captain,’ Judy told Carol. ‘Are you still okay?’

  Carol nodded and gave a wan smile. She still held a wad of tissues to Barclay’s face. The red stains on it reached up to her flimsy plastic gloves.

  ‘Are your gloves okay?’

  ‘I think so. Why?’

  The look that passed between them explained all. ‘Keep checking them. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  ‘Hi, Judy. How’s our casualty?’ asked the captain as the flight-deck door closed behind Judy.

  She got down on her haunches between the two seats and said, ‘Our “doctor”’ — she endowed the word with distaste — ‘thinks it may be Ebola. He’s not an expert, he’s a radiologist, but he seemed pretty sure it was one of the “viral HFs”, he called them. He asks that you radio ahead and warn London.’

  ‘Shit, that’s all we need,’ said the captain, all trace of humour disappearing from his face. ‘They’re highly infectious from all accounts, aren’t they?’

  ‘Actually, no,’ interjected the first officer. ‘Everyone thinks they are, but in reality they’re not as bad as some less exotic diseases. They’re spread through contact with bodily fluids.’

  ‘Good to know, John. How come you know this?’

  ‘I went to a seminar on the spread of disease through air travel a couple of months ago. It scared me shitless, but I do remember them saying that about Ebola.’

  ‘You haven’t been exchanging bodily fluids with chummy, have you, Judy?’ asked the captain, his sense of humour returning.

  ‘He was sick all over me.’

  ‘Shit! Have you washed?’

  ‘Not properly.’

  ‘Do it now. A complete change of clothes. Put everything you’ve got on into a plastic bag and seal it.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Is our doctor looking after him?’

  ‘No, Carol is. He’s bleeding heavily from his nose and eyes and somewhere down below.’

  ‘So what’s the doctor doing?’

  ‘Shitting himself.’

  ‘Like that, is it? Look, if Carol got soiled in any way, get her to change, too. When you’re both done, cover up chummy with plastic bags and blankets.’

  ‘He’s running a high temperature,’ said Judy. ‘He’ll cook.’

  ‘Can’t be helped. Your priority m
ust be to contain all bodily fluids. Understood?’

  Judy nodded.

  ‘Go on, get washed. I’ll tell Heathrow the good news.’

  ‘ETA?’ asked Judy.

  ‘Seventy-five minutes.’

  Judy left the flight deck and locked herself in the lavatory with a change of uniform and a plastic sack to put her soiled clothes in. When she came out she put on a new apron and a pair of fresh plastic gloves, which she inspected carefully for holes or cuts. Satisfied that they were undamaged, she took a deep breath, put on her smile and opened the curtain. She beamed at Carol, and rejoined her at Barclay’s seat. They spoke in guarded whispers.

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Sleeping or unconscious, I’m not sure which.’

  ‘Go and change your uniform. Put all your old stuff in a plastic sack and seal it. What have you done with the used tissues?’

  Carol looked down at her feet, where she had a plastic disposal sack. ‘In there, but we’re running out of tissues and I think he’s running out of blood. Can’t we stop the bleeding?’

  Judy shook her head. ‘Not in the circumstances. We’ll just have to contain it. Okay?’

  Carol nodded. She let Judy take over holding the wad of tissues to Barclay’s face, picked up the sack at her feet and went up front. Left with Barclay, Judy watched the tide of red spread up through the tissue to where her fingers hid behind a thin layer of clear plastic. The thought that the Ebola fever virus might be coming with it induced a shiver of panic inside her. Her concern for the passenger was momentarily replaced by the wish that he would just die and stop bleeding. When Barclay moved his head her pulse rate soared over 150. Please God, don’t let him come round and start moving about, she prayed. Barclay’s seat companion showed similar signs of concern. She caught Judy’s eye and each knew what the other was thinking, although the passenger’s concern was for aesthetic reasons — she simply didn’t want to have a sick, blood-covered man rolling about beside her. Judy was concerned for her own and everyone else’s life.

  Barclay was not going to recover consciousness; he was far too ill for that. But somewhere inside his head some automatic warning, instilled in him since childhood, said that he needed the toilet. His head moved from side to side and he made an effort to get up from his seat. Judy restrained him as best she could with one hand while the other held the tissues to his face. Barclay became more and more agitated, and Judy more and more alarmed. She looked anxiously for Carol’s return but as yet there was no sign.

  The passenger behind Barclay noticed her discomfort and said, ‘Maybe you should fasten his belt?’

  It was such an obvious solution that Judy had to smile at her of all people not thinking of it. She tried to fasten Barclay’s seatbelt with one hand but he kept moving restlessly at the wrong moment. The woman in the seat next to him leaned over to help. After all, she had a vested interest in Barclay staying put.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Judy as she pressed down on Barclay’s shoulder to keep him still. The woman fastened the buckle, then took up the slack with a sharp tug. She looked at the backs of her hands and saw that they were red from blood soaked up by the blanket in Barclay’s lap. Judy looked at her wide-eyed and then recovered her composure. There was no room for the woman to get out without unbuckling Barclay and trying to move him. She would have to stay put. ‘I’ll get you some tissues, madam,’ she said calmly.

  Carol returned from her clean-up, and Judy said, ‘Would you get some wet tissues for this lady, Carol, and a bottle of mineral water? Quick as you can.’

  Carol returned with the items and a plastic sack. She handed them to the passenger, and Judy said, ‘Please rinse your hands thoroughly, madam, and put everything in the sack.’

  ‘But malaria’s not infectious, is it?’

  ‘No, madam, it’s just a precaution.’

  ‘A precaution?’ repeated the passenger anxiously. Then she understood. ‘Oh, the blood. My God, you mean he might have AIDS?’

  ‘AIDS? Who’s got AIDS?’ came an angry enquiry from the seats behind. ‘I thought he had malaria.’

  ‘No one has AIDS, sir. Please calm down. It’s a misunderstanding.’

  Barclay chose this moment to abandon his semi-conscious struggle to go to the toilet, and relaxed his bowels. The smell brought rumbles of protest from the nearby passengers and pushed Judy and Carol to their limits of coping.

  ‘Please, everyone, I know this is all most unpleasant,’ announced Judy, ‘but we’ll be at Heathrow in less than forty minutes. We have a very sick passenger to deal with, so please bear with us and remain calm. There but for the grace of God and all that? Open your air vents and Carol will hand out scented tissues. Hold them to your face.’

  Carol looked puzzled, and Judy said, ‘Use the duty-free perfume.’

  TWO

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. As some of you will already be aware, we have a sick passenger on board and unfortunately for this reason none of us will be disembarking immediately. I know it’s inconvenient, but we have been asked to taxi to a position some distance from the terminal building and await further instructions. I will keep you informed. In the meantime, please be patient and bear with us.’

  Judy felt as if a firework had just been lit and she was waiting for the explosion. It came soon enough. A general rumble of discontent was followed by an angry assertion of ‘I thought you said it was malaria’ from the man in the seat behind Barclay. ‘You were lying, weren’t you?’ he accused. ‘Just what the hell is going on? What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘We do have a very sick passenger, sir. More than that I can’t say right now, but please be patient.’

  ‘Patient be damned. There’s something going on here and we deserve to be told. Just what are you keeping from us? Tell us what’s wrong with him.’

  ‘I’m not a doctor, sir-’

  ‘But he is,’ said the man angrily, gesturing down the aisle with his thumb. ‘What did he say it was?’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, I can’t really discuss-’

  ‘It all makes sense now,’ interrupted the man. ‘He wanted nothing to do with him, did he? He buggered off to his own seat pretty smartish, as I recall. Just what the hell’s wrong with this guy? Bugger this — I’m going to go back there and ask him myself.’

  He started to undo his seatbelt but Judy was spared an argument to stop him by an exclamation from his wife, whose eye had been caught by flashing blue lights outside the window. ‘Oh my God, Frank,’ she exclaimed, ‘there are spacemen out there!’

  The hubbub died as passengers looked out of the windows and saw that the plane had been surrounded by emergency vehicles, their lights blinking into the night sky. In front were a number of men standing on the tarmac: they wore orange suits, which covered them from head to foot. The flashing lights reflected off their visors.

  ‘Hello, everyone, this is the captain again,’ said the calm, friendly voice on the cabin intercom. ‘I understand that when the airport buses arrive we will all be taken to a reception centre, where we’ll be given more information about the situation and the opportunity to make contact with friends and family. Thank you for your patience. I hope it won’t be too long before we can all be with them. Please remain seated until the cabin crew instruct you otherwise.’

  The captain’s voice was replaced by Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.

  The sight of what was on the tarmac outside seemed to have a sobering effect on the passengers. The general air of belligerence was replaced by anxiety and an acceptance of the situation. Angry protests and muttered threats of compensation claims were supplanted by real fear of the unknown.

  Barclay was the first to be taken from the aircraft. He was enveloped in a plastic bubble by two orange-suited men and carried down the steps to the tarmac, where he was loaded into a waiting ambulance. The passengers immediately behind Barclay for four rows and those in the rows in front were next to leave. They were directed down the front steps to an airport bus driven b
y another orange-suited man. The smell of disinfectant was everywhere; the floor of the bus was awash with it. There was a short hiatus while a decontamination crew boarded the aircraft and sealed off the newly evacuated area with plastic sheeting before spraying it all down thoroughly. The remaining passengers were then evacuated through the rear door on to more waiting buses. The flight crew were the last to leave the aircraft. They were ushered on to a separate bus to follow the others to the emergency reception centre. They looked back as the bus moved off, and saw that their aircraft was being sprayed down both outside and in.

  ‘Wonder what happens now?’ said the captain quietly.

  ‘The word “quarantine” springs to mind,’ said the first officer.

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Can’t be too careful.’

  ‘Suppose not.’

  ‘Any idea how long?’ asked Judy.

  The first officer shook his head. ‘Maybe they won’t keep everyone, just those who were closest to chummy or had contact with him.’

  ‘A comfort,’ said Judy ruefully.

  ‘Come on, Jude, won’t be so bad. Think of all that daytime television.’ The first officer smiled.

  ‘I think I’d rather have the disease,’ retorted Judy.

  ‘You two did well, handling that situation,’ the captain told Judy and Carol. ‘Couldn’t have been easy.’

  ‘I’d like to say it was nothing really,’ said Judy. ‘But I think it was one of the worst experiences of my life. He seemed to be bleeding everywhere.’

  ‘Ditto,’ said Carol. ‘I once considered nursing as a career and now I’m awfully glad I didn’t. Trolley-dollying isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, but having to deal with that sort of thing day in, day out? No thank you.’

  Passengers who had had no contact with Barclay before or during the flight were allowed to leave the reception centre after giving their home addresses and being instructed to contact their GP should they feel at all unwell. Passengers sitting closer to Barclay were subjected to hospital quarantine as what the authorities called ‘a sensible precaution’. To this group were added the two stewardesses and Dr Geoffrey Palmer, twenty-six people in all.