The Anthrax Mutation (v1.0), page 20
“Just what the boy needs, Glen. See how happy he is. He’s forgotten everything for a few moments.”
The Major pushed himself from the wall. “Now just a minute, Sir Joseph. First I end up with this adopted son and now you’re planning my marriage.”
“I’m only thinking of you all,” he smiled without looking at him. “You might do well to take a couple of memories back home—good memories.”
The Major was interrupted before he could reply. The sentry entered and said the car was waiting.
Point of No Return. 17:15 Hours GMT
Air France had managed to persuade the authorities to let some of its overseas flights depart despite the quarantine. Orly had been packed and overflowing and since passengers would be leaving Paris rather than entering, it could do no harm to reduce some of the burden on the airport authorities. One of the first flights out was a New York bound 707 with a full complement of passengers and crew. Most of the travellers were Americans, but a few French, German and Swiss had managed to squeeze onto the passenger list with the hope of avoiding possible contamination. As dangerous as the bats were and however strong the disease they carried, even the best of them could never reach America.
Three hours into the flight the airplane crossed the point of no return. It was then the first six passengers became delirious and a noticeable swelling on their arms and necks appeared. The crew were powerless to act. They were powerless to allay other passengers’ fears. Within an hour everyone knew they were doomed, and the most the cabin staff could hope for was to bring the plane down safely at Montreal and perhaps save those least affected. But the disease was their better and just thirty-five minutes from the coast of Newfoundland the 707 fell from the skies and was lost forever in the depths of the Atlantic. What the pilot never knew was that not one of his passengers was alive when he could no longer fight the agony in his arms. What no one could know was that no one was alive when the sea opened up to swallow the dead.
Hillingdon, Middlesex. 17:45 Hours
Sir Joseph’s car had reached the roundabout where the turning to Ruislip swept off to their right when the radiophone buzzed. He seemed reluctant to answer. Trevor, like the Major, followed his gaze to the phone. “Sir Joseph here.”
“Comcent, Sir Joseph. We have an unofficial report of anthrax at Wexham Hospital near Slough. Can you have Major Thomas investigate and confirm?”
“We’re on our way. I know the hospital. You can tell them to expect us in fifteen minutes.”
The phone clicked dead.
“More trouble?” asked the Major as he watched Sir Joseph slowly replace the receiver.
“Suspected anthrax case.” He pushed a button on his armrest as he picked up a small microphone. “Randall, straight across the Denham Roundabout and head for Wexham Hospital. Put on your lights and make this a fast one, eh?”
Randall nodded from behind the glass partition. They felt the smooth acceleration of the Bentley thrust them gently back in their seats and the steep hill leading from one roundabout to another evened out. Quickly they crossed at Denham, swung past the next roundabout towards Slough and past Black Park and the film studios.
Sir Joseph awoke from his thoughts and turned to the Major. “Must be a case just in. First for Wexham.”
“Doesn’t Slough already have a confirmation?”
He shrugged. “There’re other hospitals. Any of them could have handled it.”
“Do you think we’ll see a lot of bats around here?” asked Trevor, deciding whether he wanted to or would rather not.
“Not if you do as you’re told,” the Major replied, rubbing his charge’s neck. “Those bats are as deadly as anything you’ll ever come across. And that injection doesn’t last forever.”
Trevor grew silent again and poked his finger at the radiophone, drew a pattern on the spotless plastic body, then sat back and toyed with his fingernails. Sir Joseph returned to his own worries until they reached the Stoke Road, turned into Stoke Green and pulled up sharply at the hospital.
“Keep the lad with you, Randall,” Sir Joseph ordered as he pulled open the door. “Take him for a sweet or something.”
“You better leave this to me,” Thomas said. “If it’s anthrax, it’s not going to be pretty to watch.”
They had reached the hospital steps. “I intend to. But I want to be around when you make your confirmation— Comcent’s expecting it. Your boys have asked for a minute by minute plot so they can figure out how much dust they’ll need to bring over.”
A doctor saw them as they approached Casualty. “Are you the team from London?”
“This gentleman will help you,” Sir Joseph replied. “This way, please. You’ll have to hurry.”
“I’ll wait out here, Glen. Good luck.”
The Major nodded before he followed the doctor through a maze of curtains, down a short corridor and into a small room. There was another door beyond at which he stopped. He looked at the red banner, ran his fingers through grey strands of hair and looked at Thomas. “It’s a child, Sir. Young boy. *We have the antidote ready as soon as you confirm it, but if it’s what we suspect, my guess is we’re too late.”
“I’ll do whatever I can,” he said simply, wondering why the hell it always had to be over-adventurous boys who managed to contract the disease. He put his hand on the door to enter. The doctor stopped him.
“You have seen this sort of thing before?”
“I diagnosed the same thing two days ago—another boy. I’ve seen it before.”
The doctor seemed satisfied and pushed open the door. A nurse sitting at the bedside arose. She moved quickly into the corner as Thomas walked silently to the foot of the bed. Another kid, he thought. Another kid who couldn’t be more than twelve and draped in white sheets. He lay still, but he saw tears running down his cheeks as he rolled his head slowly from side to side, crying softly to himself. His long brown hair was matted and moist and clung to his fevered forehead, and Thomas noticed that when he tried to move his arm, it had been strapped to the bed.
“How long has he been in here?”
“Ambulance picked him up at four twenty-eight. His mother rung. We think he found it somewhere in the park.”
“What park?” he asked, tapping the metal frame of the bed.
“Baylis Park—about two miles from here. It’s a big place where the lads play football. There’s a swimming pool there as well.”
“Have you informed the police?”
“They know the boy was brought in, yes.”
“What about closing the park?”
“I couldn’t tell you about that. I suppose they’ll rope it off when we give them a confirmation.”
“Then you better tell them to move,” he snapped, angered by this risky delay. “If it is what you suspect, Doctor, this whole damned place of yours is going to be crowded with kids.”
The doctor stared at the boy.
“Well, move, man! I can handle things here—that’s what you called me up for isn’t it?”
“Nurse, see that he gets what he needs,” he replied hastening from the room. “And call me if anything happens.”
Thomas moved to the bedside. Sister looked at him. He smiled. “I’m Major Thomas. Gan you give me a hand here?”
She returned the smile and crossed to the opposite side of the bed. “I’m afraid they tend to be a bit slow around here.”
He looked up.
“The doctors, I mean. They always play it careful.”
“Pick up your side of the sheet and lift it—slowly. Yes, I’ve noticed that.”
The boy’s eyes opened very slightly. He tried to focus and when he found he could distinguish two hazy figures, he tried to sit up. The binding on his arm hurt and he winced.
Thomas gripped his shoulder gently. “Easy, son. Lie still and we’ll get these handcuffs off.” Carefully he unbuckled the strap and as he lifted the left arm free, he noticed the tell-tale bluish-black swelling had begun immediately below the elbow. With infinite care his fingers ran over the swelling, pressing softly until he determined the extent of the infection. His fingers moved upwards to examine the lad’s neck and shoulders, under his arm and in the lymphatics. Finally, he took both the boy’s hands and held them in his own. “Can you grip my hands?” he asked.
Satisfied with his findings, he turned to Sister who was still holding the sheet. He motioned for her to remove it entirely and as she did, he unbuckled the clasp of the lad’s belt, popped open the snap on his faded jeans and slid them over his legs. The boy was only vaguely aware of his presence, but in his semi-consciousness he felt the pain in his arm and the fever in his body.
Once again Thomas began a methodical examination, his first and he prayed his last. He probed the ankles, the slender calf and below the knee. There was no swelling—anthrax rarely attacked the lower limbs. A good sign. He felt deep into the thighs, the sartorius, adductor and vastus muscles, and below the gluteus medius and maximus. This done, he advanced to the abdomen, searching below the inter-costal arch, down to the sartorius again and iliopsoas. There was nothing. The infection was still localized. There was a chance to pull the lad through. He knelt down, remembered Ralph, and whispered, “Can you tell me where it hurts most?”
The boy tried to turn his head. “Me arm,” he choked. He tried to raise it to show the Major, but the pain knifed through him and it fell useless.
“How about anywhere else—your tummy or your legs?” Stiffly he shook his head. -
Thomas pushed himself back slightly and glanced around. He was looking for an ashtray. There was none. Though the implication was definitely “No Smoking,” he ignored the unwritten notice and struck a match to his cigarette. Suddenly he realized how good it felt, and how long he had been without one. “You had better tell the good doctor to bring the antibiotic,” he said at length. When Sister had gone, he returned to the boy. “Can you tell me what happened to you?”
Without opening his eyes he mumbled softly, “I was swimming. Then I began to feel funny.” He stopped. He hoped it was enough.
“How long had you been swimming?”
“All day. I brought me lunch.”
“Was anyone else feeling funny?”
He thought, and shook his head.
“And you never left the poolside—you were around the water all day?”
He nodded.
Sister re-entered quietly and let the door close behind her.
Thomas stood up and rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, son. The doctor will be here again soon and he’ll fix you up.”
“We have the mother outside,” began the nurse. “Shall I order an injection for her?”
Thomas nodded. “And for anyone else who’s been in contact with the boy. That includes you and the doctor.” She smiled. “We’ve had ours. Just to be safe.”
He turned back to the boy and ruffled his hair. “You’ve gotten yourself into a right old pickle, haven’t you?”
He tried to turn his head again. “A pickle?”
“Yeah, a pickle. A mess.”
The doctor suddenly appeared with the syringe. Thomas rolled the boy onto his side, slid the side of his pants down, and looked away as the doctor wiped the skin in ether and plunged the needle deep into the muscles. He felt the boy jerk.
“He’ll be all right now,” said the doctor. “I’ll have the wound dressed now that we know what it is.”
“I’ll do that. I know how it should be done.”
“Well, tell Sister what you need and she’ll see that you get it. If you’ll excuse me, I must make my report.
Sister wheeled a trolley near the bedside. “This should do.” She paused, curious. “You seem to know quite a bit about all this—your job?”
“Military research mostly. It just happened that I was here when the trouble began. I’m not a doctor if that’s what you mean.”
“No, I could see that. I mean the way you looked at the boy. You’re feeling sorry for him. It hurts you to see him hurt.”
Thomas frowned. “It’s not that I’m entirely innocent of what’s happened to him.”
“He’ll be all right. Unless the infection spreads, he’ll be well enough in a week or so. You’ll see.”
“Know about this, huh?”
She handed him the dressings. “I know Dr. Stead is good.” She found her scissors and. handed them over. “By the way, I’m Sister Charlotte and this is John. We really haven’t been introduced yet.”
“I’m Major Thomas—or did I tell you?”
“Your friend out there seems rather impatient. Is he from the military?”
“Sir Joseph—no, the government. Here, give me a hand with this.”
“Ointment first?”
“Yes, just on the swelling. Easy now, John.”
The boy winced.
“That’s fine. Now, I’ll support the arm while you stick the pad over the ointment. A little higher. Good. You might want to lance that pustule in a day or so. Help drain out the poison.”
“The gauze?”
“Around the pad.”
John was crying softly.
“I guess most of the staff will be inoculated as well,” said the Major.
“They’re doing it now. It’ll cause chaos when the night shift comes on. I think they’re planning on doing most of the patients, too.”
“Not much longer, John. Just keep your arm steady. You relax and let me hold it.”
“But it hurts,” he cried.
“It won’t be much longer,” Sister Charlotte replied, handing the Major a syringe. “You know how to do this?”
“What is it—morphine?”
“Yes. I’ll tape it up if you jab him.”
“There,” he announced when he had finished. “I bet that feels better.”
He shook his head.
“He’ll be asleep soon,” said Sister Charlotte. “He’ll probably be going through the worst of the fever tonight. Might just as well go through it asleep.”
The doctor looked in. “Everything all right?”
“Fine,” replied Thomas. “I told the Sister here she might lance the wound tomorrow if it’s any better.”
He nodded. “I’ve told Sir Joseph the situation. And he gave me his number so I shall ring you when there’s any news on the boy.”
“Thanks. I’d like to know.”
“Yes,” he smiled. “Well, good luck on the front lines, eh?” He swung the door shut and left.
“Front lines?” inquired the Sister.
“You might say I deal with this stuff direct.”
She cocked her head with a safety pin between her teeth.
“You know what the boy’s got? It’s springing up pretty much everywhere.”
“I heard about this anthrax and the bats and so on—but we don’t get much time for all the news in here. Most of it comes from the patients.” She pinned the end of the dressing and lay the arm down.
“The less you know the better off you are.”
“Shall we cover him?”
“Have you got one of those hospital gowns?”
She went to the dresser and pulled open a drawer. “One of these?”
He nodded. “Yes, that’ll do nicely. Come on, John, time to wake up again.”
John was feeling too much the effects of the drug to care much what was going on and he let himself be hoisted up long enough to have his pants removed, and draped in the baggy gown. His eyes were still closed tight when the Major laid him down again and pulled the sheet and blanket up to his neck.
The Major continued explaining. “It’s simply that a war research station lost a few of its experiments and they’re beginning to find them.”
“The bats?” she replied, picking up the loose dressings.
“Not very nice, is it?” _
“That’s why Heathrow has been closed?”
“And every other air terminal. You should listen more.” He smiled. “Some people think it’s kind of exciting.”
“Not if they saw John here, they wouldn’t,” she replied flatly.
He finished tucking in the sheet. “You don’t seem very surprised.”
“Why should I? You aren’t surprised by bombs exploding and guns going off six inches from your head—I’m not surprised by this. Call it professional callousness.” She wrapped the leftover dressing around her finger and pulled it off.
“Twentieth century Florence Nightingale.”
“If dear old Florence could see what goes on today, she’d soon snuff her little candle out.”
He laughed. “Progress.”
“Well, that’s that done. I guess we can leave little John to rest. He’ll be pretty miserable the next few days, poor nipper. I suppose we can expect to get a few more in like him.”
“If what’s happened that I think may have, this place will be crawling with kids soon,” he said, holding open the door for her. “This anthrax has come from the swimming pool. Every kid who was in there will be infected.”
“I don’t mind it so much when older people get involved in all this, but it’s the kids that bother me. Never have a fighting chance.”
“Maybe John will. I hope so.”
“So do I,” she sighed.
They grew silent as they walked through Casualty and into the corridor. Sir Joseph noticed them and hastened over.
“Is he all right, then?”
“Should be,” the Major replied. “He seems to be in competent hands.”
Sister Charlotte smiled. “Dr. Stead is very good with children.”
“I wasn’t referring to the good doctor. Anyone can jam a needle in.”
“I must go,” she blushed. “I’ll let you know how he gets on.”
“Thanks.”
“Pretty chummy all of a sudden,” Sir Joseph said as they walked from the building.
“It’s the Army influence,” he smiled. “But we’ve got a serious problem now.”
‘Yes?”
“That boy in there had been swimming all day. My hunch is he caught that anthrax from the pool. Why the hell the damn thing wasn’t closed I don’t know.”
“Then that means—”
“Precisely. Every person in that pool could have been infected. Look, I think you’d better get onto the Army and police and get word around that anyone who’s been in that pool better come in for a check-up. How you’re going to do it without causing a panic is beyond me, but you’ve got no choice. If the anthrax has come from the water, you’ll have an epidemic.”
