Am I Dead?

by C. P. IRVINE, IAN

  A bell goes at the door, and I hurry to open it.

  I open the door.

  “Hello James!” the Home Secretary smiles at me, and sits waiting patiently in her wheelchair for me to reply and invite her in.

  “Home Secr… Caroline, wow… you look nothing like the ‘you’ I met on the video call…”

  “Is that good or bad?” she asks, cocking her head to one side slightly.

  “Younger… definitely younger…,” I reply, wondering if I should add, “Attractive. Much more attractive.” But quickly deciding against it and instead adding, “More in shape. You looked …”

  I realise I’m digging a big hole for myself, so I quickly change tack. “Oh, sorry, please… please come in!”

  I stand back and let her roll past me in the wheelchair.

  “Please… make yourself at home.” I add, probably stupidly.

  “Where are we? Where do you want me?” she asks, a twinkle in her eye.

  “It’s a lovely evening. I was out on the balcony. I stopped drinking, when you said you were coming. I must admit I’m probably not as drunk now as I may have made myself out to be…”

  “Okay. No problem. Let’s take care of that then, shall we?” she says, holding up a bottle of champagne from her lap.

  The Home Secretary wheels herself outside and puts the champagne on the table, and I follow. I feel a little awkward because I don’t know how to handle myself around someone in a wheelchair.

  “Can I help in any way?” I ask.

  “Nope, thank you. I’ve got this.” She replies, drawing alongside one of the posh, comfy chairs on the balcony, then leaning over slightly and hoisting herself out of the wheelchair in a well-practiced manoeuvre.

  As she adjusts herself in the chair she looks across at the bottle of my champagne on the table, and tuts…

  “We’ll drink my champagne if you don’t mind. It’s much better. And plus, I’ve been keeping it for many years in my office for a very special occasion. And you’re it. You’re my first time traveller. Probably my last too. So… if you’d do the honours?”

  I ceremoniously pop the cork, pour two glasses, and sit down opposite her.

  “Before we go any further, James, can I request that you take a test?”

  “A what?” I ask, putting down the bottle of champagne.

  “I’ll take one too, right now, in front of you, so you can trust me as well. Watch.”

  She reaches into a pocket in the side of her wheelchair and takes out two small boxes. She passes one across to me, and opens one herself, extracting a small white flat plastic ‘thing’, which most commonly reminds me of a pregnancy test. It also reminds me of some of the testing devices that were used by the police when I was first picked up. I know what it is for now. It’s a test for the virus.

  “It’s most unladylike, but, I don’t ever really pretend that I’m a lady,” she jokes. “Excuse me whilst I spit…”

  I watch, slightly fascinated, as she spits into a small round hole at one end of the plastic device.

  “Now we wait,” she says, putting the test down on the table.

  I open my box, and repeat the process, mimicking her actions.

  “This is one of the most reliable, and most expensive tests available. Blue-pass holders can’t afford to make a mistake, and get infected. If one of us gets infected, they could infect the others, and then we’ll all fall like dominoes.” She picks hers up and stares at it. “Should be any second now…”

  A smile appears on her face, and she turns the test round for me to see.

  “It’s a tick. Which means I’m good. No infection. I take one twice a day normally. This is my third. It’s very accurate, and can detect any infection within four hours of the body first being infected.”

  All of a sudden, I’m very nervous, and almost immediately start to worry about my meeting with Jane this afternoon. Was I an idiot? Did I expose myself and take too many risks?

  A wave of relief floods over me, as I see a wonderful blue tick appear on my test as well. I show the Home Secretary.

  “Excellent… now we can relax and drink!” she declares.

  As she sips her champagne, I take a good look at her.

  From the moment I opened the door to let her in, I’ve been struck by just how attractive she is. Beautiful blue eyes, radiant skin, a great figure. Much younger and slimmer than she appeared to be on the video link.

  Altogether, almost a different person.

  “You look younger than you were on the video link,” she says to me. And I laugh.

  “So it wasn’t just me then. That’s good to know.”

  “And you’re taller. I thought you were shorter.”

  “A midget?”

  “Not quite. Just more stocky, perhaps.”

  “Okay, now we’re done with physical comparisons, what else can we talk about?” I ask, smiling. I can’t help but feel attracted to the woman in front of me.

  Or is it just the depressed mood I’m in at the moment? Almost ready to give up. Fed up of fighting.

  “From what the Professor told me, I imagine that you’re having quite a hard time… wondering if the universe is against you. And why? What have you done to deserve this?” the Home Secretary says to me.

  Is she reading my mind? Or have I just become so transparent.

  I just hope she didn’t pick up the casual thought which just slipped through my mind at that moment, as I wondered what it would be like to kiss her breasts. A thought that came at me from nowhere, and which I successfully dispelled as soon as it arrived, leaving me partially shocked that I’d had it.

  “I was thinking about that. Imagining what you must be going through just now.” She continues, pushing her head back against the top of her chair, looking up and closing her eyes. “I know what it’s like. You think, why me? What the hell did I do to deserve this? And, even though you know that the only way is to keep pushing forward, to keep going, sometimes it all just gets too much and you lock yourself away in a room somewhere, and cry, or get drunk, or just sleep for days on end… unable to get out of the bed or face anyone else. You think,… if the universe has got it in for me, what hope do I have of fighting back? Why bother?”

  A few tears are rolling down her cheeks now.

  I lean forward, breaking the three metre rule of The ’18, and brush them away with my fingers. Gently. My fingers probably lingering a little too long on the side of her cheek, touching her soft skin and turning the ‘brush’ into a ‘caress’.

  Caroline’s eyes open, and she turns gently towards me, her right hand raising up and gently taking hold of mine.

  For a moment we both look into each other’s eyes, and then she releases my hand and lets me take it slowly back.

  “Oh dear,” she says. “Now I’m going to have to have you arrested. And locked up.”

  I laugh.

  “You mean, ‘locked-in’ like the rest of the population? How on earth do people put up with it? They’re all imprisoned, without having committed any crime.”

  The Home Secretary sits up.

  “It’s strange times. And strange times require unusual responses. And rules.”

  She sips her champagne. She stares at her glass.

  “I mean, you and I are here, now, drinking the finest champagne that money can buy, and out there, millions of people are locked up, some are even dying of starvation in their own homes, or cancer, or depression, or suicide… but for us, just now… this isn’t that bad, is it? Apart from the fact that I’m a cripple. And you’re lost in time and space, with all your loved ones either not talking to you, lost, or unreachable in another parallel world. We all have our own private crosses to bear.” She shakes her head. “Sorry, I’m just waffling.”

  “But it’s true. We’re as fucked as they are, but just in a different way.”

  She looks across at me, and for a moment, it’s as if her eyes are boring deeply into my soul. In that moment, a connection is made. Something both incredibly c
omforting and also deeply disturbing. This is not the time for this.

  I stand up to break the spell, if that is what it is, and walk to the expensive glass barrier that acts as the wall of the patio, preventing me from accidentally falling to my death over a hundred metres below.

  “James, I have to ask you something. And you must give me an honest answer.”

  Resting my arms on the top of the glass wall, I turn and face her. “What’s the question.”

  “Can I trust you?”

  I laugh.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m the Home Secretary. Of the United Kingdom. I’ve just met you. For some strange and bizarre reason which I can’t place at the moment, I feel incredibly relaxed in your company, and I want to know, no, I need to know, that if I let myself relax further, that you will respect any confidences I place in you, and that you will promise not to repeat any aspect of any conversation I have with you. I feel the need,… no, … I want to talk freely with you, to drink more champagne, to get to know you a bit better, but…

  “Will I run to the press and tell them everything you say? Can you trust me?” I shake my head. “I’m sure you’ve probably looked at any files that you hold on me in this world, and I’m sure that from everything you’ve learned about me, or my version of me, in the world, that I’m a right, utter bastard. I’ve probably got numerous criminal convictions by now. I may even have been to prison. So, yes, I can totally understand that you may feel nervous about being here right now…”

  “That’s the point, James, I should, I know I should…but I don’t.”

  “Good. And I would hope that’s because I’m not him. For some reason, the James that lives in this world, the one whose body I now occupy, is a completely different altered ego of the person I think I am in my world…and hopefully also in this.”

  I walk across to her and sit down opposite her, pulling my chair a little closer.

  “I’m not that James. It scares me that he’s anything like me. That I could perhaps, one day, become like him. But for now, I’m not. And I will promise you that anything you let slip or deliberately tell me in any conversation with me, will not go any further in this world.”

  “And in any other you end up visiting?” she asks, half-joking but semi-seriously.

  “I can’t promise you that. In fact, I’ve already said that I might repeat some of what you say, by helping you in my world, when I get back. If I get back.”

  “True. Very true.” She ponders my words. “Okay, for now. This world is good enough.”

  She downs the rest of her glass, and reaches across, picks up the bottle and pours herself another and then tops up mine.

  “I’ve had a hard day.” She says, as if making an excuse for herself.

  “And so have I.” I nod.

  “You must have lots of questions, James. Please feel free to ask any you wish.”

  Settling back in my chair, I rest my glass on my lap, steadied by both my hands, and look at Caroline.

  She’s pretty.

  “I was wondering… is there not a vaccine on the horizon? And if not, why not?”

  “There’s a short answer to that. Which is ‘no’. Not yet, and probably not for some time. That’s not to say, there couldn’t have been. In fact, it’s highly likely that there would have been were it not for a terrorist attack that took place four years ago.”

  “Terrorist attack? Where… ? Was the virus released by terrorists?”

  “No. I didn’t mean that. Let me explain… Four years ago about four hundred… FOUR HUNDRED of the world’s top virologists got together to discuss possible new approaches to how man could or should respond to the expected wave of new viruses that is anticipated to jump from animal species to humans, as a result of climate change. They were working on an idea that started out in the 1990s from a university in Wisconsin… it’s funny how you remember some bits well, but not others…I’m not an expert in this, but I can also remember that their idea was around something called "mRNA" technology. It was all new technology which relied on a man-made synthetic strand of genetic code called ‘messenger’ RNA - hence the ‘mRNA’ to prime the immune system to fight back against real diseases. Anyway, although I sound as if I know what I’m talking about, I actually don’t. I just have a bizarrely good memory for trivia and at the time, I read a lot about it.”

  “Caroline, so what happened to these four hundred virologists?”

  “They were all killed. Blown up by several terrorist bombs that went off simultaneously in their conference centre, before the building collapsed on top of them. There was only a handful of survivors. About one or two. Anyway, bottom line was that the generation of experts who were responsible for saving us from all future pandemics, were all murdered. All the hundreds of accumulated man-years of knowledge and experience was gone in a flash.”

  “Fuck…”

  “Exactly.” Caroline nodded. “We hunted down the ‘terrorists’ responsible. It turned out they were a bunch of mad anti-vaccination groupies who thought that the world was plotting to design vaccines that would turn us into human-robots and remove our personalities and ability to think as individuals. They thought vaccinations were part of some global world conspiracy led by the multi-national corporations. And now, so far, those five terrorists are solely responsible for an estimated worldwide death total of about two hundred million people.”

  “Two hundred million? But’s that’s way more than what I read in the press.”

  “The press print what the National Coalition government tell them to. It may be more. Which is why, going back to your other point, that lock-in is not removing individuals rights to freedom, it’s locking-in their right to live. Sometimes leaders have to lead, and make laws which aren’t popular, but do save lives. Our job is to protect society, not individuals, and to ensure that at the end of this all, we still have a society worth speaking of, and not just a bunch of individuals going around, looting, killing and eating each other.”

  “Could it get that bad?”

  “It already has. In Brazil. In New Zealand. Probably in about ten other countries that we’re aware of. Society has collapsed. Chaos has taken over.”

  “Shit…”

  “Exactly.”

  “And there’s no hope on the horizon?”

  “Of course there is. That’s a different question… you didn’t ask me that one. But…actually, at this time, I can’t talk to you about that. No matter how much I like you. Or am attracted to you…”

  I blink. My mouth opens, but whatever I was about to say doesn’t emerge. I look at Caroline, rendered almost speechless by what she just said.

  She smiles at me, drains the rest of the glass, and holds it out towards me for a refill.

  “Next question?” she asks.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Temptation is just human

  .

  More questions follow. As quickly as she answers one, I find myself asking another. We talk freely. She’s not the Home Secretary, but just a person, who I find really easy to be with. And I think she feels the same as me.

  We start to drink. A lot.

  Far too much.

  “So, what did you tell Mr Pearce when you came over tonight? Or is he just used to you working long nights to save the country.”

  “Mr Pearce doesn’t mind anymore,” she replied, blinking a couple of times, when she says it. “He died over a year ago. Because of me. I gave him The’18. I didn’t really have any symptoms, and the tests weren’t around then. He got it bad. He died within two weeks. He was only forty, but he had diabetes. It was early days then. We didn’t know as much then as we do now.” She swallows hard and shrugs her shoulders, then throws me a fake smile.

  “I’m so sorry…I don’t know what to say.”

  “I hear your mother died of it too?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I am sorry for your loss then, also. But James, you haven’t been here long enough yet, but the longer y
ou’re here, the more you’ll realise that The’18 is a killer. If it doesn’t kill you, it destroys or kills someone you love. And there are thousands of families who have lost loved ones to suicide, or where family members have been driven close to the verge of it after losing a job, or a house, or because they’re starving.”

  “Surely, there’s more we can do to stop it? I mean, we’ve sent a man to the moon…”

  “Mars...”

  “Sorry, yes, I keep forgetting… if we can send a man to Mars, why…”

  “… Can’t we stop The ’18?” she interrupts me. “I think the answer is because Mankind has got too big for his boots. And a wake-up call has been a long-time coming. The Planet has spoken. Either we adapt the way we live, or we die, because nature will just rub us out. One day we’ll be here, and then the next we’ll be gone. In fact, it may already be too late. If we can’t find a solution… if the ‘thing’ that I’m not able to tell you about, doesn’t work…then maybe The ’18 will get us all one day soon, anyway. We can’t spend forever in a lock-in. In fact, most world leaders are beginning to agree that we should just let the virus run wild. The Big Reset, they call it. Let the virus kill millions, and then whoever survives starts again. Once we open the doors, and let everyone out, they reckon it may only be a matter of months.”

  “Do you agree with that?” I ask.

  “I agree with life. At least while we’re in lock-in, people are still alive. But… what sort of life is it? If I was younger, and not a bloody cripple, I’d probably be more of the ‘fuck it, let’s just take a gamble, get on with life, and see what happens’ type of person. But I’m not. Like it or not, I’ve got old. Boring. I don’t climb mountains or surf anymore…”

  “You used to surf?”

  “In Cornwall. And Australia. Once in America…and Brazil…too…” I see the light sparkle in her eyes as she remembers happier times. More adventurous times.

  “Amazing. What was the most amazing thing that you ever did, Caroline?” I ask, wanting to see her eyes sparkle again.

  She’s silent for a moment, then laughs. “It was making love to my husband - before I killed him - on a beach in Cuba. It was midnight. We lay in each other’s arms. We made love. We swam naked in the sea. Then fell asleep naked in each other’s arms. Drunk, but satiated.” She giggles. “The only downside was we were woken the next morning by a beach buggy full of Japanese tourists driving along the beach, who drove past us and took a million photographs. But...that…was living, James. That was when we were both alive. And when I say alive, I mean ALIVE. Not scared. Not worried about what tomorrow might bring. Back then, we were genuinely excited about what each day might bring. We would wake up each morning excited. Just about being alive!” She pauses. “What happened to us?”