The Anthrax Mutation (v1.0), page 5
Staging into the almost total darkness of the ditch, he could barely discern the prostrate cyclist who was gasping heavily. Thomas glanced around him and realized how near Stumford he was. He felt his pockets for what he knew was his only chance. He withdrew the pencil-like object, whipped off its cap, and .plunged it into his thigh. That done, he leaned into the ditch, holding onto a fallen branch with his free hand. His other hand worked its way beneath the cyclist.
“Just try to keep still,” he whispered between clenched teeth. “Lie still and let me do the work.”
But Thomas felt the gas reaching him. It had penetrated his clothes and slithered into his lungs. His grasp was weakening. He could neither lift the cyclist nor hold the branch firm enough. Sweat poured from his forehead, and his lips trembled convulsively. He knew he couldn’t hold on any longer and let himself fall into the ditch. He stopped to rest and looked down at the figure next to him. Whoever he was, he was crying softly.
“Keep it up,” Thomas choked. “Keep crying. But don’t move.”
He wiped the tears from his own eyes and swallowed hard to rid his mouth of the excess saliva. His head was clearing slightly. Once again he tried for the branch. His hand missed first time, but caught it on the second. The muscles in his arms were barely controllable. He forced himself, willed himself, to pull while he tried with equal force to convince the other arm to grasp the cyclist. But the effort forced the dizziness back, his eyes refused to focus on what he was doing. He shook his head and tried to breathe harder, concentrating only on the hand that would pull him free of the ditch. He managed to get halfway up. His feet dug into the side, but a “clump of earth gave way and he lost his balance. Still fighting to keep hold of the branch, he commanded his feet to anchor themselves. Every inch upwards counted and every lost inch meant more time exposed to the deadly effects of the gas. The cyclist couldn’t survive much longer, even if the concentration was weaker this far from the village. His fingers clawed viciously into the branch. His mind was losing control. There seemed little hope left. His strength and will were fading.
Suddenly he felt another hand pulling upwards. He raised his head and tried to focus.
“Hold on to the boy,” a voice was shouting. “We’ll get you out.”
Thomas closed his eyes. With the little strength he had left, he gripped the cyclist’s waist and held tight. Somehow in some incredible way, they were hoisted free of the ditch and bundled into a car parked just beyond the motorcycle. He was barely conscious when a mask was pushed into his lap and he heard a vague voice instructing him to put it on. He shook his head drunkenly and looked at the boy beside him. “What about him,” he slurred.
“We only found three—he’ll have to chance it.”
He felt the car quickly reverse, then surge forward towards Chesterly. At the same time he leant over the seat and pushed the mask against the cyclist’s face, pressing in his chest as he did so. “Breathe,” he mumbled. “Breathe.” He heard the strangled sobs grow stronger.
“You can forget the mask, now, Major,” said the driver, glancing over his shoulder and slowing the car down. “We’re clear of the danger.”
Thomas struggled upwards to look out. He rolled down the window and stuck his head out. Slowly, the burning sensation left his throat, his eyes cleared and his own breathing became more rhythmic. Vaguely, he picked out two men sitting in the front seat dressed in strange white suits. “How,” he gasped. “How did you fellows get here?”
“Inspector Morris told us to hop down here and see if we could help. We borrowed these masks and suits from the brigade. Lucky break for you.”
“Yeah,” he grinned. “Damn lucky.”
“Well, we’re back. The Inspector has London waiting for you. Want me to hold it off till you’re a bit stronger?”
“No,” he replied, pushing open the door moments before the car drew up in front of the station. “Bring the boy in and lay him on something flat. Got any oxygen or something?”
“We don’t, but the brigade has. Ted, run over and pick up a bottle. Here, you’d better let me give you a hand.”
As the Major stumbled from the car he stripped off his jacket, shirt and trousers as the two policemen scrambled out of their isolation suits and grabbed Thomas’ arms. “You’re still not up to it, Sir.”
“I’m all right. Just strip the boy and get him into oxygen.” He pushed away from the officers and made for the station. The Inspector spotted him and ran down the steps to help him. Two other policemen ran to help the boy.
“Christ, man, you look horrible,” said the Inspector. ‘I’ve got Chadwell on the line, but—”
“I’m all right, Inspector,” Thomas insisted. “Just find me some clothes.”
“Take these here/! he replied, snatching a uniform which hung on a peg behind the front desk. “You can take the call from the desk.”
“Hello, Mr. Chadwell?” shouted Thomas as he fought to dress himself.
“This is Chadwell here. What’s going on up there?” Thomas shook his head. He must ^ think clearly. “Dwarf Hill’s exploded. Stumford is wiped out. There’s gas everywhere. You’d better get some of your men up here right away—gotta get this area sealed off.”
“What are you talking about? Who is this?”
“You remember me—Major Thomas from the Detrick group.”
“Oh, yes, Major. Saw you in London. Now what’s all this you say—Dwarf Hill has exploded?”
“Exploded—blown up. It just isn’t there anymore. But worse than that, nerve gas has spread all over the area.”
“You must be joking, Major. Must be a mistake. Dwarf Hill can’t simply blow up. It’s designed not to. There must be a mistake.”
“Do you call a few hundred dead people a mistake?” he choked heatedly, his own words searing his throat. “I’ve seen what’s happened. I’ve just come from outside Stumford and if one of your police here hadn’t pulled me out, I’d be dead, too. This isn’t any joke, Chadwell.”
“Hang on a minute, will you?”
Thomas heard mumblings, something about raising Dwarf Hill on the telephone. His fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.
Chadwell came back to the phone. “I can’t seem to get an answer,” he said vaguely. “You’d better give me the Inspector.”
Thomas held out the receiver. “He doesn’t seem to believe me. You’d better tell him.”
“Morris here. What the Major says is quite true. Stumford’s gone, Sir—at least the people are. I saw two cars smash themselves up even before they reached the place. Well, no, I’ve not actually been into Stumford. Well all I can say is that something bloody strange is going on and it isn’t safe around here. Two of my men just pulled the Major out of a ditch not half a mile from Stamford. There’s something in there and I just hope whatever it is stays there.”
There was a pause. Thomas looked up and shook his head. “Damn fool.”
The Inspector nodded.
“There’s something amiss, all right,” Chadwell announced. “We can’t seem to raise Dwarf Hill on the security line, either.”
“Of course you can’t,” snapped the Inspector. “It’s bloody well blown sky-high. We saw the explosion from here—there’s nothing left standing.”
“All right, Inspector Morris. I’ll get someone on to it straight away. But I’m sure you’ll find it all a mistake—a small fire or something. These research places just don’t blow up like that. If I can’t raise them in another hour, I’ll pop up there myself. Goodnight, Inspector.” The Major snatched the phone. “Hello, Chadwell? Look, I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I do know’ there’s something more than a little fire. Little fires don’t scatter brick buildings all over the place.”
“Now see here—”
“You see here, Chadwell. I may not be exactly in my rights to say this, but you better do something more than make a personal visit up here. I know nerve gas when I get hit by it, and I also know that Stamford is wiped out. You forget I work with this stuff.”
“But—”
“Then for the sake of your people you better get the Army up here to seal off the area. If anyone decides their son or daughter is late coming home and goes to investigate, they’re gonna end up just like the rest of. them—dead. That gas just doesn’t walk away.”
“Let me get this straight, Thomas. You think that Dwarf Hill has exploded and released an unknown quantity of nerve gas. You also believe that the village of Stumford has been affected. You yourself have experienced a poisoning of some sort or other. The Inspector says he saw something like an explosion. And on this you want me to send in the army?”
“Have you got any better suggestions? I’m not exactly an amateur at this sort of thing.”
Chadwell paused. He seemed to be talking to someone. “All right, Major. I’ll have a detachment sent to Stumford at first light. I suppose I better instruct them to wear masks and isolation garments, eh?”
“If you want them to come back, you’d better.”
“And I’ll be- down there as soon as I can get away in the morning. Meanwhile, you better have Inspector Morris set up some roadblocks around the village. And don’t let the press get onto this. I don’t want any publicity until I know exactly what’s going on.”
“Naturally,” Thomas replied sourly. “The safest thing in that case is just to send them into Stumford to see for themselves, huh?”
“Pardon?”
“Never mind. I’ll be here at the police station when you arrive. And you’d better not see Stumford first—you might not come out, either.”
“Yes, Major. And Major—you appreciate that if this is a mistake, your country will have to assume full responsibility.”
“I’m not worried about that. It’s no mistake. I’d stake my reputation on that.”
“Major?”
“Yes, Chadwell.”
“You have. Goodnight.”
Thomas rang off and turned to the Inspector. “God, if he’s responsible for the defense of this country…
The Inspector made to answer, but the Desk Sergeant interrupted him. “The boy, Sir. He’s coming round.” Morris glanced at Thomas. “You’d better see to him. You seem to know all about it.”
“Anybody know who he is?” he asked, walking towards the front of the station where the boy lay on a blanket thrown across the floor, and covered with a policeman’s coat.
“He’s a lad from Deignby,” the Sergeant replied. “Must have been meeting his mate in Stumford.”
As the Major leant over the boy, he suddenly realized how stiff his muscles felt, how every nerve cried painfully from exposure. He had to steady himself against the wall, but declined help from Morris. “My first time,” he smiled weakly. “Never really been so close to that stuff before. Do you think one of your men could get my case? It’s in my room at the pub. The grey one on the bed—it’s got some pain killer in it.”
Morris nodded at the Desk Sergeant who left immediately. “Not to rub anything in, but now you know what the blazes you’re throwing around. Not very pleasant is it?”
The Major glared at him. His face softened and he smiled again. “No, not very pleasant.” He looked down at the boy who was barely conscious and he looked about him. “Do you think we could carry him onto the enquiry desk? More light up there.”
“Tomkins, Wendover, carry him over. Easy now!” The Inspector picked up the blanket and laid it across the desk. Wendover slipped off his jacket, folded it carefully, and placed it under the boy’s head.
Several of the policemen gathered around to watch.
They were apparently stunned by what they saw for they could only stand and stare at the pale flesh and quivering body. They felt helpless for they knew they could do nothing—whatever was hurting the child was beyond their knowledge. When the Major put a gentle hand on the boy’s wrist, the policemen looked up at him, expressionless. Some were no doubt thinking that this prostrate figure could be their own son. Thomas returned their piercing gaze for a moment. “Gould you give me some light?”
Inspector Morris seemed to wake up. “Come on, lads. Hop it. There’s more than enough work to do and I want some extra patrols laid on. McKinley, take Watts and Anderson with you and reschedule the patrols.”
“Yes, Sir,” McKinley replied awkwardly. He paused. “Will he be all right—the boy, Sir?”
The Major sighed. He nodded—more to himself than to McKinley. “I think so. He’s still alive anyway.”
Slowly the lad’s eyes flicked, squeezed shut and opened slightly. He turned his head, winced and suddenly tried to raise himself. The Duty Officer put his hand on his shoulder and eased him down. “Easy on, lad,” he said kindly, “You best not be moving for awhile.”
Thomas observed the boy’s movements—obviously, he was in much pain, and his breath came in hiccough-like gasps. His body twitched erratically every few moments, his right arm trembled continuously. Undoubtedly he was feeling the effects far more than himself, and with far less understanding of what was causing his suffering. As he grasped his wrist and placed his free hand on his forehead, the boy turned his head and peered up through bleary eyes.
“Am I going to be all right?” he asked in complete uncertainty.
“You’ll be right as rain before you know it,” the Sergeant said. “Won’t he, Major?”
“Yes,” he said slowly. “Of course he will be.” He looked about for his bag when he saw that the Duty Sergeant had returned. Morris handed it to him, and he quickly withdrew a small metal case. From it he took a syringe and needle and drew two ccs of a cloudy serum. “Lie still until your head clears. This will make you feel better.” He looked towards the Sergeant. “Hold his arm tight just above the elbow, will you?” The lad looked up at him. Thomas smiled assuringly, and the boy managed a faint smile back. “This won’t hurt. You’ll just feel a slight burning sensation in your arm.” He eased the needle against the skin in the boy’s forearm until it burst through the flesh and penetrated the vein. It was over in a moment.
“What’s your name, laddie?” Morris asked.
“Trevor, Sir,” he whispered, again trying to push himself up. “Trevor Brecon. I was late for me mum and dad—in Stumford. They won’t be half mad.” He became aware of the trembling in his right arm and he watched it curiously.
At the mention of Stumford, the Inspector looked sharply at Thomas who was fiddling with his hypodermic “We’ll have to keep him here, you know,” he began quietly.
“Yes, you will. He’ll need a lot of attention. He’s had a bad dose of that gas. And Chadwell’s coming along—he’ll scream blue murder if you let him loose.”
“All we’ve got are the cells. They’ll have to do.” He paused. “How bad is he?”
“He’s had enough nerve gas to knock hell out of his nervous system. His body’s lost a lot of the control it normally has. I just hope it hasn’t affected the sympathetic nerves.”
“The who?”
“The nerves controlling involuntary movement—digestion and so on.”
“What about me mum and dad—can’t I go home now?” Trevor cried, sensing the gravity of the whispered discussion. “Mum’ll be dead worried if I don’t.”
The Sergeant ruffled the boy’s hair. “You’ll just rest here for a while and we’ll sort things out for you. I’m sure the Inspector will send a car around if you think it’ll help.” He glanced at the Major. “Think we can move him now?”
Inspector Morris stepped forward. “Put him in the end cell for the moment.”
“Think you can walk?” Thomas asked, helping him slip down from the desk. “Feel a bit dizzy, eh?”
He nodded shakily.
“Take his arms,” Morris suggested as the Sergeant and Duty Officer moved to help him. “And leave the door open. One of you stay outside—just in case he needs anything.” He looked at Thomas. “What about it?”
“It’s gonna be rough,” he replied, boosting himself onto the desk. “He’ll have to know.” He paused to look at the clock. “Anyone know his age?”
“Oh, about thirteen. I’ve seen him around here once or twice. Goes to the secondary modern in Deignby. Nice enough kid.”
“Local orphanage for him, I suppose.”
“Or relatives. Tell me, how is it you managed to stay alive in that ditch—and why is the boy’s arm trembling so?” ‘X
“I used atropene. Counteracts the effects of nerve gas. It’s just lucky that I didn’t change my coat this afternoon or I wouldn’t have been carrying it. It’s the only thing we know of that has any effect on VX.”
“VX?”
“If that’s what I think it is. VX is a type of nerve gas—one of the deadliest. Dwarf Hill had just finished storing a batch of it before shipping it on to Porton. As for the boy’s hand, it could be an effect of the nervous damage from the gas, or it could be brain damage. It’s difficult to tell until he’s been thoroughly examined. He’ll need very special treatment, you know.”
“Where does he get this treatment—in a hospital?”
“Only place I know of is at Detrick. There’s a special center there for nerve gas and biological weapons contamination. I suppose Porton has one.”
“Not that I’ve heard, but that isn’t really my department.” He thought. “Do you think any of that gas will reach us?”
“I hope not, Inspector. If the wind stays as it is, most of the gas’ll stay where it is. If it changes, well, odds are we’ll never know about it.”
Morris sighed, looking at his watch. He wasn’t looking forward to the morrow.
“I want to give that boy a shower.”
Morris frowned again.
“A good hot shower’ll get rid of the traces of this stuff. Obviously our clothes were contaminated.”
“There’s a staff shower in the cell block. You can use that. I’ll have the Sergeant see to some clothes for the boy. I think his kid’s about the same size.”
He nodded. “I suppose I better start, then. The sooner we finish up, the sooner we can get some sleep. I think it’s gonna be a long day tomorrow.”
