by Terry Tyler
"I reckon it's something else. Another virus, d'you think?"
Not all worker bees are as gullible as you think, Big V.
From my position at the back of the room I'm surprised to spot Princess Juno herself, Flora. She looks out of place with her shiny hair and smart clothes, a beautiful gem in the mass of grey. I don't know her to talk to, but I remember her from Lindisfarne.
I see her again as she is leaving. She looks most distressed, with one hand over her stomach as if to keep her baby safe; I touch her on the arm to stop her.
"Don't worry," I say. "You and your baby, you'll be safe."
The fear in her eyes shocks me. "I don't think any of us are safe here," she says, and dashes off. I'm intrigued; I thought she was Miss Happy Smiling UK2 personified, but her face looks sort of haunted. I follow her. Despite her condition she moves quickly, and I have to weave in and out of the crowds to catch up with her; people are milling about everywhere, chattering, pulling their collars up as protection against the biting wind, but despite the cold they have too much to talk about to go straight back to their jobs and apartments.
I catch up with her as she crosses the road by the Supplies Zone, and move in front of her, so she has to listen to me. "What do you mean, you don't think any of us are safe?"
I wasn't imagining it. Close up, she looks even more frightened.
"It's okay. I'm not one of Verlander's spies!" I smile, trying to put her at her ease.
"I didn't think you were," she says, in a wavering, little-girl voice. "But this place—people mislead you. They don't tell you the whole truth."
She colours up, looks from side to side as if terrified she's said too much, and hurries off.
Interesting.
Everywhere I go for the rest of the day, the atmosphere is tense. I continue to wander, because I'm looking for blind spots in the perimeter. For me. Aside from this, I haven't got a great deal to do; Verlander seems to have forgotten about the employment of new data analysts, and I doubt anyone will be doing anything they shouldn't, not now.
Keep 'em scared, keep 'em in line.
Next morning, posters appear on the walls of the Rez Zones. Dark, graphic novel style, marauding Outliers bearing axes dripping with blood.
'Outliers—the biggest threat to our security'.
'Don't stop to talk. He won't'.
'If you see him, don't hesitate. Alert Security'.
History repeats itself, except this time the demon is not the Jews or the Muslims, but an ordinary guy in a cagoule and Timberland boots who wants to live in his own house and grow his own tomatoes.
On one, the word 'Outlier' is spelled 'Outliar'. Wonder whose idea that was?
Or perhaps Verlander just can't spell.
March 8th, 2026
Big V has been notified of my wandering, and has given me an unofficial new role: his 'Eyes on the Street'; he's sussed out that people will reveal to me stuff they won't say to Dex. I'm summoned to yet another meeting, this time with Dex, Harry and psychologist Libby, so I can tell them what the mood 'on the street' actually is.
I'm just about to spin them a line when the door bangs open and one of the Hub security guards bursts in.
It's Jake Treleaven. Nice chap, I've had a beer with him once or twice, during which he bent my ear about his passion for Abbie, the nurse from Lindisfarne.
Not everyone welcomes the distraction.
"The fuck?" Verlander stands up. "What the hell d'you think you're doing? Get out of here, now! This is a management meeting!"
Big V's secretary appears behind him. "I'm sorry, Mr Verlander, he said it was urgent—"
"Get out, you stupid girl!" The secretary scuttles off, but Treleaven doesn't budge.
"It's Miss Thiessen," he blurts out. "She left France 'cause some folks have got ill over there, some virus, she said. She arrived on the helipad a minute ago and she said she wants to see you, right now."
He points upwards. There is also a helipad on Hub Residential; a few times I have gazed wistfully at those birds flying away.
Verlander goes white, and actually sways, as if he might fall down from shock.
"How close were you? Have you had physical contact with her?"
"No." Jake grins, a bit nervously. "I'd, like, stopped to tie my bootlace. I was, what, no closer than twenty yards away. Grimes and Walsh, they talked to her."
"Right, well, she has to stay up there, I don't care what it takes!"
"Uh, yeah, I radioed Lennie and he said not to let her off the roof without speaking to you, but, well, you know, we can't manhandle Miss Thiessen, can we? She's making a right bloody stink, insists you come up. I don't know how long we can stop her coming down here without using force."
"You have my permission to use it," Verlander says, grimly. "She needs to be taken straight to the lab and put in a secure room, under quarantine conditions, high risk level. Fucking hell, she knows all this, what the hell is she doing?" He stops, frowns, thinks. "How many of you are up there?"
"Just me, Grimes and Walsh."
Verlander breathes in and out, slowly, as if to calm himself. "Okay. Okay." He clicks on his intercom and asks for four Level A hazmat suits to be delivered to the access point for the roof. Then he turns back to Treleaven. "Wait outside until they arrive, you put one set on, then you go out and give the others to Miss Thiessen, Grimes and Walsh. Grimes and Walsh stay up on the pad until I decide what to do with them. That's imperative, d'you hear?"
He turns back to his comms system and warns Jared to get himself and his staff into full hazmat chic, too, because a subject will be arriving for quarantine, high risk level. "Check that the intercom in quarantine is working, and give me the all clear once she's locked up tight. You know the procedure." He looks back at Treleaven. "You: suit, roof."
"Got it, guv."
Treleaven shuts the door, and Verlander flops into his chair.
"Crazy bitch. How dare she come back here and endanger us all? And I told that stupid fuck André to employ CRC—Jesus!"
"Alex, Erika's not stupid," Libby says, stretching out her hand towards him. "She wouldn't come back if she'd put herself at risk, wouldn't she? I'm sure everything will be fine."
I think he's going to kill her. "You're sure everything will be fine? Really? Based on what? You mean, fine like someone turning up here who's been in contact with a deadly, highly contagious disease? She could have passed it on to the people on the airstrip, the pilot—even if she hasn't got it herself, how do we know she's not carrying it? We don't know any fucking thing, do we?" He's screeching. Then he sits back, exhausted.
Libby's face is the colour of beetroot. "Sorry, I—"
He shakes his head. "No, I'm sorry. I lost it. Uh-uh, not cool." He's looking at the desk, frowning, thinking; we all wait, in silence, for his next words. When they come, I'm shocked, but I'm also kind of not, because I always knew he was a total shit.
"Okay. Let's work. So, first we see if Erika is infected, or possibly a carrier. We believe the vaccine is no longer effective for this new strain, but what we don't know is whether those who were immune to Type One are immune to Type Two. So we need to test that." He turns to his laptop, starts clicking back and forth. "We need a couple of immunes in with her."
My mouth drops open. So does Libby's. Dex and Harry, though, are nodding.
"You can't do that," I say, weakly. "You can't play Russian roulette with people's lives."
"What Doyle said," says Libby. "And who on earth would volunteer?"
"You don't need them to volunteer," says Dex. He and Verlander lock eyes. "Medics, right?"
"Yep." Verlander clicks away, starts to scroll down lists. "Most had the vaccine, but some missed out when everything went tits up. Ah, here we are. Qualified nurse. Abigail Hayes. Abbie. One of your lot from Lindisfarne, Dex. Works at Juno Medical, sister Mandy is an auxiliary in the main centre. They're perfect. Dex, you know her; I'll leave this in your capable hands."
"Consider it done," says Dex.
I'd like to say I can't believe my ears, but unfortunately I can. "And are you going to give them a choice? Do you think they're just going to agree?"
Verlander doesn't look at me. "I was under the impression you were fully on board these days, Brian. If you're not, we can always make alternative arrangements for your accommodation. Okay. Dex, inform Abbie and Mandy they're to give personal attention to Erika, on whom we're running tests as per standard procedure on arrival back from an overseas location. If she's clear, all well and good. If she's not, we'll find out soon enough if immunity to Type One can equal immunity to Type Two. Abbie will take blood and urine samples, monitor blood pressure, blood sugar levels, all the usual crap. Mandy will take her temperature, provide her meals, change her towels and sheets. They'll sleep in the next room, kept completely isolated from other staff, and be the only people who have direct access to her." He types a few lines. "I'd say four days should do the trick."
I spot a major flaw in his plan. "Yeah? And what happens when Erika tells them why she's really in quarantine, and advises them to get the hell out?"
"Erika's a professional. She understands, but I'll remind her, just in case. If she's got it, she's already dead, and she knows that sometimes you have to sacrifice the few to save the many. If not, this is an invaluable chance for us to ascertain whether the healthy can be carriers. If she is infected, we can see if some might survive, should the virus reach UK2. Which we're going to make damn sure doesn't happen."
I'm still not convinced. "The greater good of UK2 might not seem so important if she knows she could be passing on a death sentence to two innocent girls."
He smiles like the snake out of The Jungle Book. "Audio will be on in her room at all times. She gets chatty, we ex all three of them. Then she really will be responsible for their deaths. This way, they all have a chance. I'll go see her as soon as she's settled. Dex, go find Abbie and Mandy. Let's get this show on the road."
On the way out, I ask Dex to tell me what CRC is.
"I know it's above my pay grade, but don't I need to know this stuff if I'm sitting in on these meetings?"
He looks at me for a while, then says, "I agree. Don't tell Alex I told you. It's Code Red Containment."
"Which is?"
"Use your imagination."
I do. "Okay, I just have. Now confirm it."
He puts his hands in his pockets. "Fine, but remember you asked. If there exists a potentially contaminated group or area, it has to be removed, pronto. It's about saving the many. Unfortunately, some people can't see the bigger picture. Especially if they have friends in said contaminated group or area. I imagine this is what has happened in France, and doubtless elsewhere." He pats me on the back, Verlander style. "With luck, we've acted quickly enough to avoid doing it here."
A few days later
Abbie turns her head to look at her sister, who lies on the low, narrow bed just a few feet away. She hasn't moved for some hours, and Abbie does not have the strength to get up and see if she is still breathing. At least she is not crying with the pain any more.
Abbie assumes Miss Thiessen must be dead; by the time Mandy became ill, Erika was in and out of delirium, sweating, dry-heaving because there was nothing left in her body to bring up.
No one has told them what the illness is. Medical staff come in, heavily protected, and take blood samples, administer painkillers, change soiled sheets, refill water jugs. When Abbie speaks, they ignore her. Except for Jared the microchip man, who strokes her forehead with his gloved hands, and smiles through his mask; she can just make out his eyes. The last time he came in, she is sure she saw tears in them.
She hopes there really is an afterlife, and that she and Mandy will be with their mum and dad again on the other side. She thinks of Jake Treleaven, who told her he'd fallen in love with her the night before she was forced into this hell. She fell asleep in his arms, dreaming about their future together; they'd talked about going back to Lindisfarne, and taking Mandy, too.
Next day she was filled with renewed hope. She floated around with a daft smile on her face, counting the hours until she could be with her love.
She never saw Jake again. She saw Dex, instead.
Her life was not supposed to end yet. She'd expected to be a mother, a grandmother, and die in her own bed, many years from now, with her family around her. She cries for her children and grandchildren who will never be born.
She pulls herself up, and drags her body over to the other bed.
"Mandy?"
She lifts one of her sister's eyelids. Mandy's eye stares back, glassy, unseeing, lifeless.
The next morning, guards Grimes and Walsh take them away. Abbie is not yet dead, but they shoot her, anyway; the research team has enough samples.
Grimes was told by Verlander that this is a kindness; she will suffer no more.
He and Walsh have been in isolation since escorting Erika into quarantine; Grimes is still healthy, but Walsh began to feel ill the day before. They are not given protective clothing for the job of Abbie and Mandy's disposal, and perform their tasks at gunpoint.
They take the bodies and all the bedding, clothes and towels down a back staircase and into a courtyard, where they are incinerated. Once they have done this, the other guards (safely hazmatted up) shoot Walsh, and tell Grimes to put his body into the incinerator, too.
Grimes weeps; Walsh was best man at his wedding. They were like brothers.
He dare not disobey, in case he is next.
He isn't.
He is locked in the room where Erika lay, where, he is told, he will be observed. If he does not fall ill within ten days, he will be allowed out.
Grimes sits on the bed. And prays.
Doyle
March 14th, 2027
When Verlander told us about the results of his little experiment, I felt as though I was going mad, as if I'd walked into some alternative reality, possibly Hell.
I'm leaving. I have to get out of here, save myself, and warn Travis and his friends about the mutated virus, about everything that goes on down here so they can escape. Scotland, maybe; one of the islands. Lindisfarne is too close.
I've sat around, knowing what was happening and doing nothing, for too long.
I'm going.
Chapter Thirty-One
Lottie
Hawk and Seren come round this evening—looking a bit shifty, I notice, as I open the door.
"I'm afraid this isn't a social visit," says Seren. "There's something we need to tell you. About why we're here."
Kara looks kind of satisfied, like she always knew there was something dodgy about them. "Let's have it, then."
Mum stands up. "Would you like a cup of tea or some wine, or something?"
Kara puts her hand out to stop her. "Not yet. Let's hear what they've got to say, before we hand over more of our supplies."
"Fair enough," says Hawk, "but can we sit down?"
So we sit around the dining table, the two of them and me, Mum, Kara and Phil. Mac leans against the windowsill.
"It's nothing bad," Hawk says. "It's good. Potentially."
"That's what they say about UK2," says Kara. "Spit it out."
"Okay." Seren speaks. She shuts her eyes, and breathes in. "You know we come from a community in Denmark. That's all true, but we weren't totally honest about it, and we know that honesty is all important here, so we thought it was time—"
"Cut the preamble," says Phil. Wow! Phil's usually dead patient and tolerant. "Just spit it out, like Kara said."
"Sorry." She blushes. "It's this. We told you we'd left the community because it had gone bad, but—okay, we made that bit up because we wanted you to let us stay, but I promise on my life that everything else we tell you will be the truth."
"Jury's out," says Kara, "but okay, we're listening."
Seren looks dead nervous, but she clears her throat and carries on. "Our community is a wonderful place. Baldur Island is in the Baltic Sea, between Jutland and Swe
den; it's about two thirds of the size of Lindisfarne, I'd say. It was bought by a property developer called Hugh Nash, in the late 1960s; he loved it so much he decided to keep it as his private island, and named it after the Norse god of love, peace and forgiveness, in the spirit of the time—okay, sorry. You want us to get to the point, I know." She nods. "When Hugh died, he left the island to his daughter, Jewel."
"Jewel's the boss lady," Hawk says. "She's run the place since Hugh died in the late eighties." He smiles. "She's an amazing woman; she has this incredible strength and vision."
Sounds a bit Naomi-ish. But I'll keep quiet.
"But there's no messing with her," Seren continues. "Hawk and I have lived there for some years. People have come and gone during that time, but mostly we have a stable community. We think seriously before we take in new people, because they have to be the right fit."
"How many people live there?" Mum asks.
"Ah—this is why we're here. Before the virus, we numbered eighty-three. Now, not so many." She frowns. "The last trip to the mainland was the death knell. Our friend Jahn brought it back. He was one of our fishermen; he became ill, as did his wife and daughter, almost before we knew what was happening. Then others on the fishing crew, so Jewel sent the rest of us over to the opposite end of the island. With a quarantine cabin for those who'd been in contact with the infected, like you've told me you had." She looks sad, remembering. "I don't need to tell you what an awful time it was. Those who were ill had to bury the dead and burn the cabins—it was just terrible, a nightmare. When it was over we'd lost thirty-two people. A few left, because they wanted to find out if loved ones on the mainland were still breathing, or to see if they could get hold of the vaccination. Of course, they never came back."
"So we're down from eighty-three to forty-two," Hawk says. "And we've struggled on, but there just ain't enough of us to keep our community functioning, and Jewel has faced up to the fact that we need to bring in new blood. Now that we can't go to the mainland for supplies, which, before the virus, we did every few months, we have to grow more food, catch more fish. We need more security, too, because survivors are looking for sanctuary."