by Robin Crumby
Zed had driven the Mitsubishi round the corner, its back tyre deflated, bumping along on the rubber and rim. He was gone for a couple of minutes, long enough for Riley to look concerned watching the street the way he’d gone. She was just about to say something when he jogged back into view. He’d parked the Mitsubishi in a small residential cul-de-sack that ran parallel to the main road. It was well hidden in a carport attached to a semi-detached retirement bungalow. It would be safe there. At least for a while.
Zed climbed back into the driver seat. Looking over his shoulder, he checked everyone was ready and slowly pulled away. He stayed in first gear as they continued as quietly as possible on their journey. If his hunch was right they were no more than a mile at most from where they were heading. He was following the most likely trail of the other group. Before the outbreak and on any normal day, the one-mile journey would have taken them a few minutes. But things had been far from ‘normal’ for some time, thought Zed.
Road surfaces had degenerated quickly without anyone to repair them. From smaller potholes, vegetation spreading out from verges and walkways, weeds and tree roots pushing through the tarmac and whole sections collapsing, it was treacherous to the unwary to say the least. Another few years and some of these roads through the Forest that had existed in some form since Roman times would be completely overwhelmed, reclaimed by nature.
They were heading for the hospital on the other side of Lymington. Zed had heard talk of another group holed up there and thought he recognized one of the men who’d taken Will. He knew him by reputation only. A former policeman, given the imaginative nickname Copper by those who knew him locally. Supposedly one of the good guys. Or at least he used to be. Who knew what he had become.
Chapter Thirteen
Will woke up and blinked rapidly, rubbing his eyes. His sleepy gaze fixed on a poster promoting safe sex with a picture of a young smiling couple holding hands. Above the couple and superimposed on a fluffy cloud was a list of clinical conditions and names for sexually transmitted diseases. Will recognized some of them but puzzled over others. Chlamydia? What the hell was that? His head was still pounding and the words danced a little, making his vision swim. He shook his head to try to clear his thoughts. A sharp pain made him reach up and touch the back of his scalp. His fingers came away damp with blood that was leaking from the crude gauze and tape, surrounded by matted hair crusted with dried sweat and blood. He tried to raise his other hand but it jerked back, handcuffed to the bedpost.
Memories of earlier events came flooding back into focus. The scavenging trip. Being discovered by the other group. How had they found them hiding? Of course, Will you idiot. The cigarette butt. Stupid school boy error, he thought to himself. He remembered the hood over his head. A short drive in a large diesel vehicle. Yes he was sure it was diesel from the sound of the throaty engine and the distinctive smell. They had taken him to a large building which he assumed was a hospital from the overpowering stink of disinfectant that masked something else he couldn’t place. The sound of boots on linoleum tiles and what little décor he could see under and through the hood confirmed his hunch. He closed his eyes and tried to remember. It was all a jumble. The interrogation. The man they called ‘Copper’ who slapped him hard when he failed to answer their incessant questions, one after the other in quick succession. They had asked him about Hurst, how many were there, how they were armed. So many questions. They had injected him with something. That explained why he was still a little woozy, light headed. His thoughts remained cloudy, muddled. He sat bolt up right, adrenaline surging through him as one painful memory broke through the fug. They had killed Bob. Why, why? They didn’t need to kill him. Shot him in the head. The neat circle in his forehead, the blood on the carpet. His anger boiled over and he slammed his fist down against his knee. The self-induced pain helped clear his head and brought his situation in to sharper focus.
The hospital room was virtually bare, a private overnight room for one person. Other than a tired looking hospital bed, there was a cheap pine wardrobe and a side table with flowers in a vase that had long since wilted and died, the water green and stagnant. In the corner was a plastic-looking chair with brown vinyl upholstery with ridges running vertically. A grey metal wall bracket for a TV screen long since removed and an aerial socket, were all that remained of creature comforts.
He checked the drawers of the bedside cabinet. There wasn’t even a bible. But wait. Was he getting confused? Maybe only hotels had bibles next to the bed? He couldn’t remember, it was all such a long time ago since he’d stayed in a hotel on holiday. The clean sheets, the buffet breakfasts. A thin layer of dust covered the whole place. The broken blinds allowed through a few shafts of sunlight that struck the whitewashed walls next to the door. Dust hung heavy in the stale air. Other than the pervasive smell of disinfectant, there was something else bad that lingered. He couldn’t quite place it. His mind wandered momentarily as he thought of his first job helping out in a meat processing plant in Sandton, back in South Africa, working with chicken carcasses. It was the smell of death and it made him swallow involuntarily, his mouth suddenly dry and devoid of saliva. The window rattled a little on its hinges, not quite closed, cool air seeping in. He got to his feet and leaning as far as the cuffs would allow him, he managed to flick the corner of the white aluminium blinds, allowing a fleeting glimpse of outside. He was on the second floor and down below he could make out a series of heaps on the tarmac. The blinds fell back into position again and he stretched and flicked them again. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he realized that one of the heaps was piled with shoes. There were hundreds of shoes, of all shapes and sizes and colours. Children’s shoes, high heels, brogues, slippers. So many shoes.
He flicked the blinds again, leaning as far as he could reach without the handcuffs cutting too badly into his wrist. The heap next to the shoes was even larger and towered precariously with what looked like clothes of every description. There were trousers, shirts, dresses, coats, hospital dressing gowns, and socks. It reminded him of a scene from a war movie he had seen years ago. What was it called? When Allied soldiers had liberated prisoner camps, they had found heaps just like these of clothes and shoes, gold teeth, reclaimed from the bodies, surplus to requirements. It made Will shudder remembering. He looked again beyond the piles where smoke was billowing from a fire pit.
He turned away quickly as the blinds fell back into place. He realized with horror that the discernible shapes he could make out in the smouldering remains were human.
Will closed his eyes and wept.
Chapter Fourteen
A time later, Will wasn’t sure how long, but he was beginning to feel better. His head had stopped throbbing so much. There was a light tap on the door and the sound of keys rattling in the lock. The heavy fire door with a small viewing window swung open and the large frame of a bearded man filled the doorway. He had a rifle with a wooden stock slung just visible behind his back. He stepped inside and glanced around the room, checking that Will was still cuffed to the bed. He moved aside to let in a young man with glasses and thin stubble on his chin. He was wearing a white coat, moderately tall, black hair, dark complexion, Asian and seemingly awkward to Will, as if he were somehow uncomfortable in his own skin.
The heavy metal door swung back and clicked closed behind him, sealing them off from the bustle of the hospital beyond. Will heard the key turn and heavy footsteps walk away down the corridor.
“How are you feeling?” asked the new arrival, his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his white coat. Will sized him up before answering.
“You don’t look old enough to be a doctor,” barked Will in a gruff voice. He swung his legs back up on to the bed, putting his hands behind his head and looked at the ceiling, ignoring the doctor.
“Hey listen, if you don’t want me to take a look at that cut on your head. Fine by me. I’m just doing my job.” He made to leave turning his back on Will.
“Don’t kid yo
urself, yah. You’re as bad as the rest of them. First you beat the crap out of me, and now you want to fix me up? What kind of hospital is this? Don’t tell me, you were just ‘following orders’. Don’t make me laugh,” he mocked.
“Whoa there mister. I’m one of the good guys. Don’t lump me in with that other lot, will you, please? Those new guys are off their rockers. Nut jobs. I’ve been here since the beginning, before those guys arrived and took over. We could have got out, they gave us that chance, but we chose to stay. They made this place secure and for that they get my gratitude. For the record, that doesn’t mean I like what they do or how they do it. Give me a break yeah?”
Will shrugged his shoulders and looked back at him, unrepentant.
The young man dumped his bag on the floor, strode over to the chair and sat down purposefully, unrolling the tools of his trade on the bedside cabinet. The surgical kit contained scalpels, scissors, what looked like a sewing kit and syringes, all neatly secured in their Velcro holders and fabric loops.
Will inclined his head submissively towards him and the doctor firmly grabbed hold of both sides of his head, like a veterinarian might grab hold of a wild beast. He ripped off the gauze and tape without warning, ignoring the patient’s howls of protest. He leaned in close to get a good look, peering through the glasses perched on the end of his nose at the nasty looking cut behind Will’s left ear. Some heavy bruising surrounded the wound. He donned a pair of disposable surgical gloves and gently pressed either side of the wound.
“Yes, you’ll definitely need stitches. How did you get this, dare I ask?”
“One of your boys hit me from behind. Won’t forget him in a hurry. The others called him ‘Copper’.”
“OK, I know who you’re talking about. Friendly chap. Like I said, I don’t condone violence. I just get to patch people up. More work for me, you might say.”
Will winced as the doctor worked away efficiently behind his head, gasping a couple of times when gloved fingers pressed too hard. For a big hardy builder, who had been a labourer all his life, he hated needles, and blood. At school, he was forever the boy who fainted in the playground after slicing his shin open on a rusted nail. He’d been balancing on a plank of wood when he’d slipped and fell, but his classmates knew better than to make fun of him. He had always been just a little taller and heavier-set growing up which made others fear him. His physique and imposing presence had made him a promising rugby player until he clean broke his wrist when he was barely twelve and never played again.
Looking down at his feet, Will mumbled into his chest, his voice sounding awkward and strained. “You’re Indian right? Never been treated by an Indian doctor before.”
“Well you clearly haven’t lived long in this country then. My father was a dentist, my brother a surgeon, my sister a paediatrician. You could say it runs in the family. Anyway, I’m British, born and bred.”
“Fair enough. I don’t have a problem with it. I was just making conversation. So what do you know about this virus?”
“You’re asking the wrong person, I’m afraid. I mostly look after old people here. Routine stuff really. Dementia, Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, palliative care. Don’t get to see many killer viruses or tropical diseases here on the south coast. Big city hospitals get those high profile cases. Ebola, malaria. Shame really. Might spice things up a little round here. My knowledge of viruses is really dated, goes back to medical school and stuff I picked up from the press and medical journals they had in the staff room. I know bits and pieces, but nothing of any use.”
“But as a medical man, you must have some idea what we’re dealing with. What if you had to make an educated guess?”
He pondered the question thoughtfully and then launched in to his answer with growing confidence. “Well if you put me on the spot. I’d say it sounds a lot like the Spanish flu outbreak after the First World War. Killed millions, more than the war itself. But this is more lethal and spreads quicker. Of course, cheap airline travel and tourism probably accelerated that spread considerably. Based on the patients we saw and treated, I’d say around one in ten people have some degree of immunity. Some were worse affected than others, but most died within three to five days. Some survived longer, but very few got better. We threw everything we had at it. Antibiotics were useless. We did little more than prolong their agony for a few hours or days. The outcome was almost always the same. It’s a very effective killer.”
“It sounds like you admire the virus?”
“Oh I do. Don’t you? We’ve known something was coming. Mother nature has been perfecting the flu virus over millions of years and looks like she’s cracked the code this time. Of course, if the CDC, you know the Centre for Disease Control in the States, or the World Health Organization are still functional, then they may have developed a vaccine. By now you might expect them to have inoculated health workers and the military. Right now they may well be mounting a rescue mission to save us ‘Brits’. Who knows?”
“But could it be done if they have the right resources?”
“Sure if we had a lab here with all the kit, samples of the virus, an electron-microscope, bio hazard suits, air purifiers, then no question, we would keep trying till we found something that worked. Might take decades though. All we’d need would be an army of scientists, unlimited money and resources. Hey throw in someone with immunity, patient zero…while you’re at it, perhaps find me Elvis and Lord Lucan. But take a look around you. We’re mostly working in the dark ages here. We barely have enough power from the emergency generator to keep the lights on, let alone anything discretionary. We have a skeletal team and the man in charge is a psychopath, but apart from that, we have everything we need,” he lamented sarcastically.
The young doctor finished up the stitches behind Will’s ear and patted him on the head like a dog. “There you go. Good as new.”
“Thank you. I owe you one. What’s your name?” asked Will.
The doctor smiled. “Doctor Ganesh, but you can call me Raj.”
“Well Raj. If I figure out how to get out of this hellhole, I’ll come and find you.”
The doctor packed up the plastic case with the syringe, scissors, bandages and other assorted items, paused at the door to say something and thought better of it. He knocked twice and heard the guard on the other side jangle his keys and unlock the door. The rotund guard opened the door just wide enough to let him pass and ushered the doctor out. Will sat on the side of the bed smiling, opening and closing his fingers in a childlike goodbye. The guard curled his lip and slammed the door shut, relocking it.
Will puffed out his cheeks and slumped back against the wall, exhausted.
Chapter Fifteen
“Quiet please. This meeting of the Hurst council is called to order. Nathan, can you bring us up to speed on today’s business.” Terra leaned back in the ornate oak chair, positioned at the head of the table. It was a beautiful Victorian antique from Lyndhurst in the New Forest. Its wood was dark and richly stained. Its back and headrest ornately carved with stags and holly. She leaned heavily to the right against one of the arm rests and shuffled some of the papers spread out in front of her with her other hand.
Nathan’s body visibly stiffened with the responsibility conferred on him. He began to reel off the agenda items he had carefully noted on a pad of yellow lined paper, taken from the office upstairs. Terra yawned and looked out the small window of the upstairs room across the inner courtyard. The wind and rain squalls were sheeting intermittently against the glass. Her thoughts were elsewhere as Nathan’s monotone droned on in the background. He worked through various day-to-day household matters ranging from how few eggs had been laid this past week, how stocks of flour were running low, clarification on rotas for who was on night watch and scavenging duties for the next week.
The other heads of department nodded, leaning forward. Each took it in turns to give their own quick updates, going round the table, sharing their questions and concerns before Nathan handed thi
ngs back to Terra.
Terra leaned forward, blinking rapidly as she organized her thoughts. She looked slowly round the council at her seven lieutenants, all hand-chosen by her or Jack, each loyal and true, but by no means ‘yes men’. They were selected as much for their competence and practical natures as for their alternative viewpoints, unafraid to challenge when opinions differed, which they invariably did.
“There is one other matter I need to raise,” opened Terra. “Last night, the door to the food store was forced and a number of items taken.” There was a small gasp from the two women at the far end. “The inventory we took last week confirms that we are missing the following...” Nathan passed her the yellow pad and she fumbled with the spectacles that hung around her neck. She peered down past her nose, running her finger along the listed items: “two packets of biscuits, one bar of chocolate, three bags of crisps and one tin each of pineapple and tuna.”
The two women at the far end exchanged glances and one of them, Liz, mumbled something Terra didn’t catch. It was Liz who ran the kitchen and was more than a little protective of the meagre stores and ingredients her team had at their disposal. Perhaps she had her suspicions already, there were a number of likely suspects, new arrivals, those who had not yet earned Terra’s trust. Liz leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. Her partner had flowing blonde hair that reached down to her shoulders, which she wore in two plaits. Greta was around thirty and spoke with only a hint of a Swedish accent in otherwise flawless English. Her short unsuccessful stint as a trainee detective in Gothenburg had earned her the position as keeper of keys and head of security at Hurst. That made sorting this out her responsibility, but why had Terra not spoken to her first before speaking to the council? Did that make Greta and Liz suspects? Terra ignored their private discussion and continued undeterred.