The Anthrax Mutation (v1.0), page 8
“Well, Major, I’ll be honest with you,” he began, leaning across the table. “We have more than enough to cope with right now here in Chesterly without worrying about itinerant bats. But what you say is important so I’ll notify London when I make my report. I can’t honestly see them warning people over television and radio not to touch any dead bats they might find in their back gardens, now, can you?”
“I know,” sighed Thomas, raising his hand. “Mass panic.”
“Panic nothing,” Chadwell exclaimed. “They’d think it was a bunch of rubbish!”
For the first time in his life Thomas felt utterly defeated. He couldn’t help hating the British and their damned stiff upper lips. He mused to himself that the stiff upper lips of a few million people might be attached to rather stiff bodies if this fellow from London didn’t get off his pompous ass and do something. Wearily, he looked up and sighed. “Have you heard enough?”
“For the moment, yes, thank you.”
The Major began to rise.
“Oh, before you go, London has said that you should feel free to stay in England until this thing is over. In fact, the Home Secretary would be very grateful indeed to have you helping in the inquiry.”
“Oh would he. Well, Mr. Chad well, you tell your bully boys in London that I shall be most pleased indeed to help you with your inquiry provided I get a little more say in what’s going on. And you can also tell them to remember that I’m the only one who knows exactly what Dwarf Hill was up to when your so-called bang banged.”
“I’ll convey your sentiments when I ring,” he answered drily. “And one more thing. Do you know the name of the gas which may have affected you?”
“May have my ass. It did. And I think is was VX or sarin. The effects were similar to the same stuff we use.” “Oh, that’s another thing. Do you think you could let me have a report on precisely what effects the gas had on you? I think Porton would be very interested.” “Yes, and I’ll have Trevor write one, too. I think he’d be delighted to assist you. Give him something to do while he’s thinking about his mother and father.” Chadwell hadn’t looked up from his file. “Trevor?” “The boy in the cell.”
“Oh, of course. Yes, well thank you very much, Major. I’ll see you later, I daresay.”
“Yes,” he thought to himself. “I daresay you will.” And he slammed the door behind him.
“Glen,” called the Inspector who had by now decided that first names would perhaps relax the formalities insisted on by London. “Glad you’re through in there. Listen, Dr. Phipps has seen the lad in there and you’re quite right.”
“About what?” he asked, leaning on the inquiry desk and fumbling for his cigarettes.
“About the effects. He’s never seen anything like it. Couldn’t begin to offer help. Except he says that the lad needs someone now. Someone to look after him for awhile—you know, take his mind off things. I’d try to find one of his mates in the village, but the Army’s evacuating everyone for miles around. And since Mr. Chadwell’s sort of impounded the boy, well, I thought of you.”
“Christ, that’s just when I need now. I’ve just heard enough crap from Chadwell to keep the wheat country in manure for a year. What I need is a drink—not a son.”
The Inspector hesitated. “He asked for you.” He searched for the right words. “I can’t assign any of my men—they just haven’t got the time or experience. Except maybe McKinley, but he’s too worried about his wife and kids. I’ve still got Chesterly to run and what with the whole British Army traipsing around and half the world’s supply of reporters trying to weasle in, my hands are tied. Say you’ll do what you can—and you can still have that drink.”
He stared at Morris. Unconsciously, he knew he wanted to help the boy. Somewhere something told him that he was in part responsible for the death of the parents and for the boy’s pain—responsible for the deaths of hundreds of parents. He wanted himself to be comforted: to be told that it had nothing to do with him; that the research in England and America was unconnected; that his hands were clean. But no one would comfort him. No one would say what he wanted to hear because he knew it wasn’t true. He was responsible. He was a small but vital part of what had killed hundreds of innocent people. He knew he must help the child. It was his only chance to assuage a painful conscience. Still staring at the Inspector, he said, “He asked for me, did he?”
He nodded. “You’re the only one who’s been honest with him.”
“Now all I gotta do is be honest with myself.”
“Feeling the weight a bit, eh? Maybe you feel like your predecessors did when they dropped the Bomb on Japan. It’s in all of us old enough to have fought in the War. I wiped out a few square miles of German cities in the War. How many people died thanks to me? How many kids were mangled, or burnt or buried? Someday we all meet up with our past—our work.” He paused to rest his hand on the desk. “Go on. Face a result of your work. Face the boy and help him make something of his life. You were old enough to carry on when your wife died, but he’s only a child. Right now his future looks about as bright as those four cell walls. He’ll have to start again, and I think you might like to help him try. That’s why I thought of you—it’s a chance for you both.” Thomas searched the floor. “It’s the treatment. He needs treatment.”
Morris felt helpless. He was out of his depth.
“I figure Trevor’s received a mild dose. He seemed better this morning, but it’ll take months before his body’s fully recovered. It’ll take the best care anyone can give. He’ll need cerebral taps—like haying a goddam knife twisted in your back. He’ll need hydrotherapy and physiotherapy and masses of recuperative serum. If he’s not kept on drugs, there’ll be times when he’s in agony —when every muscle fights conscious control, when his head will ache so bad it’ll make migraine seem enjoyable. And there’s the chance he’s suffered brain damage. I doubt it looking at him, but there’s that arm.” He paused. “You’re not kidding when you said he’ll have to start again. That’s what that poor devil’s up against. I can’t help thinking he’d be better off if the gas had wiped him out, too.”
“And you, Major—wiped you out, too?”
He shook his head and rubbed his sweating forehead. “It’d be easier wouldn’t it? It just…He struggled for words. “It kills me to see a kid hurt like that—knowing what he’s going to have to face before he’s better.” “And he’d get his treatment at Detrick?”
“Only if your country asks for it.”
“You think they will?”
“No. I remember reading about cases you had—in this country. We were asked by the families of these men who had suffered exposure—we were asked to help cure them. But we couldn’t. We couldn’t unless the government made the request official. And they wouldn’t. Oh, I don’t know. What a goddam mess this whole thing is.” “Well, you better make up your mind what you’re going to do,” Morris replied more firmly than before. “If you refuse the kid help, you more than anyone know how long he’s got. If you don’t take him with you, you’ll be his executioner. Don’t you think life is something for the boy to decide? Do you think he wants to live? To be cured? Or does he want to suffer a slow and painful death? If the government won’t help him, don’t you think he’s worth fighting for on your own?”
Thomas pondered the situation. He knew what was ahead’ at Detrick if he took the kid home. He knew he would be a part of it—the cure. The cure. He wondered if he could face it.
“He’ll be a reminder, Glen. He’ll always remind you of what you and men like you can do. But maybe that’ll bring you closer together.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know a lot of things. But I’m usually a pretty good judge of character. Of people. You’ve got a lot of heart, and Trevor’s a fine lad.”
Thomas took out another cigarette. He thought he must try to give them up again. “Will I represent what killed his parents? Is that the reminder?”
“No,” he replied slowly. “He’s too numb to blame anyone or anything. He’s lonely and frightened. If you can help him feel happier—forget a little of his grief, it’ll be your interest in him that he’ll remember. Your love, if you like. You haven’t got a son, have you?”
He shook his head. He would have had if…“Ordinarily I wouldn’t mess about in this sort of thing —it’s not my business. But I can see the hurt. I can see that you feel somewhat to blame, or that you’re involved in some way. At least I think so. And I can see how Trevor is hurt. That doesn’t take much. Put the two together. Sometimes it works.”
Thomas looked up. He smiled. “I wish we had more cops like you.” It was the only thing he could think of.
Morris put his hand on the Major’s shoulder. “It’s not me, Glen. It’s all of us. Maybe there’s too little emotion in this world, too little caring. It’s easy to look the other way.” He paused. “Will you do it?”
“Yeah,” he sighed heavily, plunging his cigarette in the ashtray. “I’ll do it. I suppose it’s about time I took my head out of the sand.”
They began walking towards the cells.
“You know, I think we all must be like ostriches—the ones who work on this stuff. We’re really afraid of what we’re doing. But we bury our heads and do it anyway. McRoberts called it our job. I’m almost glad this happened, but I wish to hell all those people hadn’t died.” “And you will take him to America—see that he’s all right?”
“Yeah, I’ll take him. After all, if he’s my son or something, I don’t need your government’s request, do I?” Chad well emerged from the Inspector’s office, waved to them and made for the desk.
“All that moron’s worried about is the press,” Thomas mumbled. “Stick a camera in his face and he’ll have heart failure.”
“That’s another reason why I think you should look after the boy.”
Thomas turned his head.
“Chadwell’s going to see to it that Trevor is as far away from the outside world as he can get him until this blows over. He’s already mentioned to me about sending him to Great Ormond Street. If he’s with you, he stands a chance of getting out of here without being locked in an isolation ward in London.”
They were in the cell block. “I wouldn’t let that bastard have the satisfaction of it,” Thomas swore. He stopped outside the cell. “Well, here goes.”
The Inspector gripped his shoulder and nodded.
Thomas walked in. The lad was laying on his back. Hesitantly, he sat on the edge of the bed with unaccustomed hands he gently pushed back the wet strands of hair from the boy’s eyes. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out. “Feel any better?”
Trevor took the handkerchief, but only to grip it in his trembling hands. “What happens now? he choked.
“Happens?” he repeated softly.
“To’ me.”
“That’s a rough question, son,” He recalled the Inspector’s words. Of anyone in this, world he was the only friend that boy had at the moment. “How old are you, Trevor? Thirteen?”
He nodded, fighting hard to keep back the tears.
“You’re getting on, then?”
He nodded again.
Thomas took a deep breath and stared at the floor. “I suppose you mean where are you going.”
Trevor closed his eyes.
“Well, you’re not going to a home or anything like that if that’s what you’re thinking. I mean, well, no one’s going to send you away.” He felt lost. His words sounded empty, out of place. “I thought maybe we could move out of here together. I mean, well—” but Trevor cried out and flung himself over, burying his head in the pillow. Thomas turned him back and pulled him close. He could feel wet cheeks on his neck, and his own chest vibrated with the shuddering sobs of the boy’s. He pushed Trevor’s hair back in gentle strokes, and gripped his neck assuringly.
“Don’t leave me alone,” he whispered through his choking cries. “Please don’t leave me alone.”
“I won’t, son,” he replied. “I won’t.”
Stumford. 14:30 Hours
Major Thomas had never seen anything like it. Not in pictures, nor in life. Everywhere bodies were scattered like human debris; bodies fallen without purpose or direction. He looked at the Inspector and Chadwell who was tisktisking behind his mask as he scribbled hasty notes.
“I simply cannot understand how all this could have happened,” Chadwell said as he glanced from his pad to the gruesome scene before him. “I mean it just wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“You sound disturbed, Mr. Chadwell,” the Major replied. “Perhaps what you needed was some first hand experience.”
“It’s terrible, Major. We shall most probably have to redesign every single plant—the public will demand it.”
“The public outcry will call for the closure of your bases—not their reconstruction,” Thomas smiled, hidden behind his mask. “Yep, you’ll have plenty to explain.”
“I thought you were involved in this research—not against it.”
“Perhaps we could all confine our research to just one station in the middle of nowhere.”
“Our research?”
“You do realize that the implications of this disaster will be worldwide? Nobody working on this sort of thing will come away unscathed. I should think the UN might even have a say for all the good it’ll do.”
“You’re a very difficult person, Major,” Chadwell said angrily. “You come to our country to inquire of our research, then leave with the idea of confining everyone’s work. I shouldn’t think your people will be very pleased with your attitude.”
“In America, Mr. Chadwell, when we don’t like something we say so.”
“Yes, very undisciplined lot you are. But that’s going to get neither of us anywhere.” He began picking his way across the bodies, shaking his head and jotting his observations.
The Inspector was walking towards the pub. There were some people he recognized, some he had often seen, but never knew by name. There were children he had often stopped to talk with, whom he had picked up for minor offences. The scene would have sickened him were it not for the disbelief and lack of comprehension. It could have been a set on a macabre stage ready for the principle character to appear. But the principle character had appeared, and its name was death. Invisible and unknown, it had-played out its role and disappeared.
Something caught his eye and he called out. “Hello, what’s this? Major? You better have a look.”
Thomas found his way across and stared into the dim light and musky odor. “Looks like an animal. You wait out here. I’ll have a look.” Carefully he stepped through the narrow doorway and knelt down. “It’s a dog. Looks pretty messed up. Must have been trampled on or something.” He was searching the floor for a stick to turn the animal over when he saw the man. He froze, and the Inspector saw his face turn pale behind the mask and protective hood. His eyes enlarged with fear, and for the first time in many years he felt his stomach lurch with surprise and shock. Nothing he had ever seen in a laboratory resembled the sickeningly disfigured man who sat against the wall before him. His hands were quivering uncontrollably as he looked slowly up at Morris and pointed to the corpse. “Take a look,” he gasped. “But not too close.”
Morris stepped in and shone a torch against the wall. The puffy face and arms bloated beyond recognition, covered in blackened pustules and dried blood stared back at him. He wanted to be sick, but he found himself unable to tear away from the haunted stare, the expression of terror and pain. At length he managed, “You, you know what this is?”
He nodded. “You’d better get our friend in here.”
The Inspector backed slowly away into the door. He turned abruptly and peered out. “Chad well? Chad well, come here. There’s something the Major wants you to see.”
“What have you found—not something new I hope,” he called back, moving quickly towards the pub.
“I don’t know what it is, but you’d better take a deep breath before you go in there.”
“More bodies, I suppose,” he said, cilmbing the step.
“No, just one.”
“Well, what is it?” He noticed the dog. “Oh, that’s bad luck. Is this what you wanted to show me. He does look rather—”
“Not the dog, Chadwell,” said the Major through clenched teeth. “Him/”
Chadwell followed the Major’s pointed finger until he spotted the figure. His notebook dropped from his hand and in his retreat backwards he tripped over the dog. Thomas caught him and stood up.
“That isn’t gas poisoning.” said Thomas. “That is anthrax.”
“Anthrax,” he whispered. He hesitated, and when he spoke again his voice carried the weight of realization. The impossible had—for Mr. Chadwell—become reality and it was more the shock of this than possible National infection that made him repeat simply, “Anthrax.”
“Anthrax. Look at those lesions,” directed Thomas.
“I must get on to London straight away. I shall take the land rover. Are you coming?”
Thomas pushed him out the door. “No. I want to look around. There may be more of this. It could be spreading all over.”
“Be careful, Major,” he warned and the Major thought for a moment that he meant it sincerely. “That is horribly dangerous.”
“I know, Mr. Chadwell. I know it very well. By now you and I and the Inspector are contaminated with it. When you get to Chesterly get rid of that isolation gear. Burn it. Make one mistake with it and you’ll end up like that man in there. Got it?”
He nodded. “I think so. Can I send anything down to you?”
“Send down a jeep to get us. Then order everyone out of Chesterly. I mean everyone—the Army, the lot. And clear this area for ten miles. Complete evacuation. This stuff is so powerful it could spread everywhere in hours. The more carriers there are about, the bigger the chance of a pandemic.”
“Major?” began the Inspector slowly as Chadwell made for the rover. “If this is anthrax, if anthrax is spreading…
“It’s spreading from those bats they were working on.” He kicked a stone and listened to it rattle along the pavement until it came to rest outside a doorway. Thomas reached where it had stopped and glanced idly into the hallway. “Look,” he said, pointing. “There. Just a couple of kids, Inspector. They couldn’t be more than eleven or twelve. Look at their expressions.”
