Fragmented Evil

by Craig Wrightson

  The initial death count was low; they saw three elderly corpses unceremoniously stacked on top of each other at the outskirts of the village, ready for rapid disposal. Livestock was still alive, weak but surviving. The villagers that had not succumbed to their beds were all displaying maculopapular rashes, vivid red, raw, with a smattering of enraged papules visible in the centre. The constant burning itch would be slowly driving them insane.

  As they waded through the rapidly deteriorating bodies of the sick, soulless eyes gazed upwards in desperation and feeble hands fumbled against their protective suits as they pleaded in vain for mercy. As accustomed and hardened as John and Dr Reay were to the devastation caused by Ebola, these futile gestures from the sick had still brought a lump to their throats and a tear to their eyes.

  After ten minutes in the village, John had taken blood samples from a small number of sick villagers whose symptoms were more advanced and who had zero chance of survival. He and Dr Reay left the village as quietly as had they entered, both aware that they need to act quickly to save the remaining villagers and contain the outbreak.

  Back at the command centre, the blood samples were whisked away for rapid testing. The lab set up in the back of a sanitised emergency vehicle would work overnight to generate the results. They had called the rest of the team together and laid out their plan. They were to go back to the village the next day, to isolate as many patients as they could and pump them full of REGN-EB3 and perform swift detection and contact tracing which was critical to their investigation.

  The team immediately rallied around, pulling out the necessary equipment from the makeshift stores which soon made up a decent load. John and Dr Reay were casting one last eye over everything to ensure that nothing had been missed, knowing that the slightest error could result in tragedy in the field when Dr Cameron Wright entered the room, stern-faced and serious.

  Much to the shock of everyone, he had instructed them all to stand down with immediate effect. The team stood, dumbfounded, as he had explained a directive from above had just been received, to await further instruction while the new samples were tested and the results sent back to the top brass for analysis and discussion. He listened to their arguments, but he was loathed to go against orders; he was their boss and like them, he had his own superiors to also answer to. The team were all hardened professionals, each outstanding specialists within their own field. They did not agree or like the order but they accepted the decision.

  Now, as John emerged from the shrub with the clean zone in sight, he hoped the decision from above had been the correct one.

  John pulled up short of the clean zone, correctly referred to as the donning and doffing area, which was set up like a futuristic field station for the control of PPE and the prevention of cross-examination. John smiled as he noticed Ben Grant emerge from a small tent. Ben was a burly ECDC veteran with thinning hair and weathered skin. They had worked together for many years and knew how each other operated. As expected, Ben had carefully prepared the area to the highest standard and had over the last few days transferred all of the kit and equipment needed for the operation up from the main camp. Ben switched on the makeshift showers as the team arrived closely behind John.

  Once everyone was washed, they signed for their PPE and began to dress in silence. Now was not the time for joking or idle chit-chat. It had been methodically drummed into them that meticulously adhering to the doffing and donning procedure would save lives, their own lives.

  John observed his team working in silence then strode over to Ben who was closely observing the activity.

  ‘Great job, Ben. I didn’t think we would be waiting so long to get out there.’

  Ben nodded solemnly. ‘I’ve had everything set up good to go for a few days. You need to be careful out there. It’s been deathly quiet since yesterday.’

  ‘It’s been driving me mad sitting at camp,’ confessed John and turned around to prepare his own kit. The sickening feeling had returned to his stomach.

  Behind him, Ben called out, ‘What took so long?’

  John didn’t turn round. He just made a play of shrugging his shoulders. He had his own judgement on what had caused the delay, but he would never be able to prove it.

  Ever since Ebola had been classified as a Biosafety Level 4agent, rumour had been rife that the yanks were experimenting with the virus in the hope of developing Ebola for future use in biological warfare. As soon as his boss, Dr Cameron, had informed them that the holdup had been issued by his superiors, John had become suspicious. Superiors equalled the yanks and the yanks equalled war. He knew he would not be far off the mark if the yanks were currently testing the new stronger strain of Ebola in the hope of taking the lead in biological warfare, something every nation in the world was striving to achieve. A country with Ebola in its arsenal was unstoppable.

  John climbed into his thick impregnable yellow hazmat suit and pulled it up to his waist. He had changed into his wellingtons and pulled the comical-looking booties into place to complete the look. He looked over to Dr Reay, pleased that she was with him; there was no one else in the world he could trust as his number two. He had known Claire professionally for five years. They had dated for two, which was to be expected with the closeness they shared at times, and they had remained friends for the last three years. They had inevitably separated via a mutual decision. It was always hard in their field, not knowing when the person you loved was going to be called away at a minute’s notice or if indeed they would return again. That had never once soured their friendship or respect for each other. Claire caught him staring and winked at him, snapping on her double gloves to prevent against the dreaded needle stick.

  Soon John was ready. He took a deep breath and popped on his hooded respirator and strapped the air-purifying respirator around his waist. Soon the suit cooled as the air circulated. A quick communications check with the team, and he knew it was now or never. Once the team were dressed, they all performed a buddy check. A final look for splits and tears, loose connections and exposed areas, no matter how small. Again, this was performed under the presence of Ben, who, once satisfied, merely nodded and signed off their release paperwork. John waddled out with the rest of his team spread out, following him into the unknown.

  They followed a worn path for twenty minutes. The going was slow due to the weight of their suits and the equipment they were carrying. They stopped before a bend that would lead them to the village and regrouped.

  ‘Now, before we go any further, is everyone clear on our priorities?’ John asked through his throat mic.

  Everyone nodded, and he continued the briefing.

  ‘I want no one to panic in there. If we lose one person, we lose the team. Dr Reay and I will assess the village and look for the virus’ starting point while you two start triage on the victims. Once you have prioritised the sick, start administering the REGN-EB3, and we will join you and assist as soon as we can. I repeat, no one is to panic. Do your jobs just like we do every day.’

  Without waiting for confirmation, John headed around the corner. He stopped after two paces from the turn and surveyed the scene in front of him. A thin wisp of smoke was being blown across the harsh ground. He was unable to identify the source by smell due to his hooded respirator but slowly continued with caution as the rest of the team brought up the rear.

  As he approached the source of the smoke, he looked down, biting back on the bile in his throat that had appeared from nowhere. A pit had been roughly dug into the dry earth, no more than one-metre deep and three-metres wide. The dead from the village had been unceremoniously deposited there and set on fire. The villagers knew that cremation had to be performed as soon as possible after death to prevent further spread of the virus. The fire had not taken hold and had petered out after what looked like only a few hours, leaving behind blackened and charred bodies exposed to the elements. Birds and insects hovered around the bodies, pecking away at the unexpected barbecue. John did no
t dwell on the cremation pit and brushed the image to one side, edging even closer to the village.

  Close to the entrance, cats, dogs and chickens who had once roamed the village freely, lay fallen and bloody, needlessly executed by the panicking villagers in the erroneous belief that they carried the disease. They were slain with knives, throats sliced or bodies stabbed if they were lucky. If they were not, then they had endured a cruel, slow death, heads beaten to an unrecognisable pulp with heavy rocks. The real carriers of death, fruit bats, the true and original hosts, were now suspended high above the jungle canopy in their thousands, observing the carnage below.

  As a team, they all took a deep breath and entered the village. It was an eerie sight; nothing moved, there was no sign of life. A few bodies lay crumpled on the floor, clearly dead. The team spread out and walked through the village that consisted of six wooden huts and a small schoolhouse. Examination of the huts revealed nothing and the team met up in the centre of the village to confirm their next move. John was just about to address the team when a small cry came from inside the school hut. Everyone remained silent and listened. Sure enough, the cry came again, louder this time. As one, they ran to the school hut and opened the thatched doors. Squinting through the darkness, row upon row of the dead lay before them, spread out on makeshift hospital beds.

  Next to him, John heard Claire exclaim to no one in particular,

  ‘Oh my God. Please, no.’

  John stepped through the opening, waving his arm away in an attempt to clear away the swarms of flies that were obscuring his vision. Everywhere he looked bodies lay stiffened and blue. From the back of the school, the cry came again. He reached the source of the noise, a small cot covered with a greying, torn mosquito net, in seconds and looked down.

  A child, possibly a girl, not yet aged one, lay alone in soiled bedding. Tears were streaming down her face and sweat ran freely from her body. Brushing the net aside, John lifted the child, cradling her gently in his arms.

  The baby girl, confused and afraid, clearly severely malnourished, stopped crying and peered up quizzically at the strange face concealed by a mask that was staring down at her with sorrow in its eyes.

  The girl smiled, then suddenly, out of nowhere, she vomited up thick mucousy blood onto the Perspex of his visor, and died in his arms.

  Chapter 4

  John screamed and erupted from his nightmare, almost crashing his head into the seatback in front of him. He inhaled deeply and glanced around to see if any of the other passengers on the almost deserted flight had noticed his bizarre antics. Luckily, there was no one sat near him. He had escaped the cringing embarrassment of being witnessed by a stranger. The few people seated closest to him were either dozing or looking out of their window. It was dark in the plane; the lights had been dimmed shortly after take-off. John glanced out of his window and saw lights looming on the horizon. He looked at his watch. It was twelve-fifteen. He guessed, all being well, they would be landing soon. As if to confirm this, the seat belt light above activated and a sultry woman’s voice, with a sexy East European accent, announced over the speaker that they would be making their descent in a few moments. John closed his eyes and slumped back into his seat, massaging his forehead.

  It was just after one in the by the time John cleared customs. The unshaved border guard casually looked up at him as he presented his passport, more concerned with rejoining the card game taking place at a table a few metres away, where he was eager to win back the money he had already lost before the flight arrival had pulled him away from his seat.

  During a tense five-minute call at Charles de Gaulle Airport, Dr Cameron Wright had divulged as much information as he had on the suspected outbreak including details from Dr Reay’s last field report and the coordinates of her last known location. As promised, a representative from ECDC was stood lounging against a stone pillar near the passenger information stand with his name, barely legible, roughly scribbled on a board.

  As John approached him, he stood up straight.

  ‘Are you Dr John?’

  John nodded, but before he had the chance to strike up any conversation, the rep took his holdall from his grasp and turned foot, heading for the exit and car park. John sauntered behind. After being cooped up on the plane it was nice to take in the fresh breeze as he followed his host. The car park was empty, save for a gleaming white 4 x 4 emblazed with the ECDC logo. The back door was opened and his holdall was placed on the floor. The seats were piled high with various supplies, test equipment and PPE.

  ‘Christ!’ thought John. ‘They aren’t messing around with this one.’

  A large brown envelope was waiting for him on the passenger seat. John grasped it tightly on his lap as the driver made his way out of the car park.

  It was only after he was safely in his room, after being dropped off at the Hilton Hotel by the driver who had left him the keys and sauntered off into the night, that he felt ready to look at its contents. He tipped everything out on the bed and was surprised to see his registration and ID card from the ECDC. He thought this would have been shredded the minute he had punched Dr Cameron Wright square in the jaw, back in the Congo, before resigning his post and disappearing. A small bundle of euros came out next followed by a satellite phone and a thick folder. He poured himself a small whiskey which he sipped as he trawled through the reports, graphs and photographs contained inside.

  After going through everything twice, he poured a second whiskey, which he downed in one. He climbed into bed fearing the worst, expecting the night terrors to return. As he eventually succumbed to exhaustion and drifted off, his last thoughts were about Claire.

  What the hell had happened to her?

  Why had he not told her he still loved her by now?

  Was she still alive?

  Chapter 5

  After a fitful sleep, John awoke just before dawn. He was up and out after a quick shower. He grabbed a coffee to go, a warm croissant and two small bottles of water from a table in the reception and set off, wanting to be well clear of the city before it came bursting into life.

  It wasn’t until he cleared the city that he began to relax, pleased with his judgment call. The first section of the journey had taken longer than he thought to complete; even in the deserted streets he had found himself hindered by his general lack of knowledge of the area and his unfamiliarity with the cumbersome 4 x 4 and its controls.

  After a while, the dual carriageway petered off into a single-lane road whose conditions deteriorated the further he advanced. Soon John was forced to put the 4 x 4 into the off-road mode as potholes became more regular. Road surfaces completely disappeared for metres at a time, tossing him around the confined cab like a rag doll. He felt the need for a stiff drink but promptly pushed the thought to the back of his mind. He would not have another drop until his assignment was completed and until he knew that Claire was safe.

  Passing through the countryside, John was surprised at the natural beauty of the landscape. Rolling hills gave way to vast mountain ranges, whose peaks climbed as high as anything he had viewed in Europe. Woods and forests were divided with plentiful, fast-flowing, fresh rivers and streams. Birds hovered and swooped from above into the lush green, grassy fields, all filled with healthy looking livestock.

  At lunchtime, after John had not seen any other traffic for a good hour, he pulled over to stretch his legs and check on his location. Peering over his map, laid out on top the 4x4’s bonnet, John drank his second bottle of water. He guessed that he was perhaps thirty minutes from his destination – the last known transmission from Claire.

  Flinging the empty bottle into the passenger-side floor, he started off again. A familiar feeling of dread had appeared unexpectedly from nowhere.

  The road veered inland, and soon he found himself travelling through an enclosed section of woods, whose trees bowed down together from either side and blocked out any light. The temperature in the 4 x 4 dropped and John was forced to
turn on the heating.

  The darkened, enclosed road was hypnotising and the car exited with John unaware, blinking madly as the return of daylight blinded him.

  Within seconds. John saw the start of the lake and smiled to himself. He looked back to the road and slowed down. Something struck a nerve, and John again glanced out of the window before slamming the brakes on and bringing the 4 x 4 to an abrupt halt.

  He put the 4 x 4 into reverse and sped back, stopping just a few metres from the exit from the woods. He looked again, this time taking in everything that was in front of him. He shook his head and turned off the ignition.

  It was as if everything from the start of the lake onwards had died and he had unwittingly made the smooth transition from life to death.

  The hedgerows and roadside, where only a mile back were awash with colour, flourishing in full blossom and teeming with butterflies, were now devoid of life, their living green stripped bare to a pitiful grey.

  The crops in the farmers’ fields adjacent to the road had wilted away to nothing in the bone dry earth. Deep cracks zigzagged in every direction. Leaves, flowers and fruit lay discarded where they had been cast from the dying branches, leaving the naked roots and stalks exposed.

  The start of the lake was less than one hundred metres away from where John was parked. He could clearly see a luminescent yellow foam forming at the edges of the shoreline. Looking up, he could see that it stretched around the lake like a child’s snake for as far as the eye could see.

  John had only one thought in his head.