by Peter Hall
A distinguished professor of contagious diseases presented a reassuring picture with confidence that came from being labelled an expert. He claimed this was only mass panic, fuelled by media conjecture. The Coronavirus pandemic had sensitised the public, and consequently we were seeing a massive overreaction to the latest new story. The only thing viral is the spread on social media. Infectious diseases could not travel as fast as news reports showed. Thus, the vast majority of cases will prove to be everyday ailments such as the common cold. Blah, blah, blah.
That sounded all fine and reasonable—if this was a genuine expert sharing his genuine views and not some government stooge reading a script prepared years ago with the express purpose of avoiding panic.
John switched off the television, feeling none the wiser and with a sense of unease. Everyone had underestimated COVID-19. Would this be the same?
For the next two days, the crisis in America dominated the news and continued to worsen. The US President confirmed rumours this was a variant of the ‘Black Death’ plague and said the disease responded well to antibiotics. He assured the nation the situation was under control and there was no need to panic.
Meanwhile, medical services in several US cities became overwhelmed. Many towns took matters into their own hands by putting up blockades and declaring quarantines.
On the third day, social media was rampant with reports of cases turning up in London hospitals, displaying similar symptoms to the so-called Yellow Death. At a press conference, the Prime Minister called for calm. The UK was prepared for any eventuality. He assured the nation the situation was under control and there was no need to panic.
The Secretary General of the World Health Organisation pitched in. She announced the WHO was monitoring developments closely and specialist teams had been dispatched to assist and provide first-hand reports. The public should know that since the Coronavirus pandemic, a number of robust measures had been introduced to monitor and manage new infectious diseases. She assured all citizens that the situation was under control and there was no need to panic.
So many reassurances. So why was nobody reassured?
John soaked up as much information as he could, whilst his mother strove to avoid it. Hence, it was a subject he never raised in her company. Normally a loner, he itched to talk about this with somebody else—but there was nobody.
His back pain reduced daily and so he continued to take breakfast with his mother in her house. She always had a reason to walk to the local shops, and he gladly agreed to escort her for company. Today, the mission was to stock up on baking products.
The day was overcast and cool but dry, as John and Sarah strolled the couple of hundred yards towards the parish boundary, where hedgerow gave way to picturesque cottages.
Sarah took a deep breath. “Oh, just smell that.”
John sniffed the air. “Smell what?”
“The air. It’s so clean and fresh. The flowers, the grass. Nature’s fragrance. We’re so lucky to live in this part of the world.”
John sniffed again. He could discern the sweet aroma of some flower or other, and the air did indeed feel fresh. He usually took it for granted—it was just air.
“What on earth’s going on down there?” Sarah said, pointing further down the road.
John had been fiddling with his mobile phone and looked towards the village. “Has there been an accident?”
They could hear shouting.
“No, John, I don’t think it’s an accident. It looks like a tractor was trying to turn around and got stuck. What a silly place to turn, with the road being so narrow there.”
The tractor was ancient, with most of its blue paint replaced with rust. It pulled an even more decrepit trailer, and they were completely blocking the lane, preventing a silver BMW from getting through. The BMW’s horn sounded several times.
“Somebody’s impatient,” Sarah said.
The BMW driver and his female companion were standing by their car with the doors open.
“You’ve got no bloody right!” the driver shouted.
John recognised the farmer in the tractor as a local man called Eddie. John knew he was in his forties, but his weather-beaten face made him look much older. Curly ginger hair poked out from under a flat cap.
The tractor’s engine was not running and Eddie brandished a double-barrelled shotgun. “This gives me the right,” he shouted back at the driver.
“Better stay here, Mum,” John said.
“Nonsense, this is the most exciting thing to happen for years.”
She quickened her pace.
“Listen here. My name’s Travis Stiles and I own a bloody house next to the church. I’ve got every right to come through your blockade.”
“I’m sorry, mate,” Eddie said. “I’ve got my orders. Nobody gets past. Nobody.”
“Whose orders?” Sarah shouted as she approached.
“Oh, hello Sarah,” Eddie said. “It’s the Parish Council. Had an emergency meetin’ this morning. Most of the villagers turned up. Sorry, you didn’t get an invite. It was all a bit of a rush, like. Anyway, they voted to quarantine us for the time being as a precaution. ‘Till we know more about what’s happening. Nobody comes in and anyone who leaves, don’t come back.”
“Oh my God!” Sarah said. “That’ll be Michael Moore, the officious little toad. It’s ridiculous.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Travis said.
“Ridiculous or not. That’s how it is,” Eddie said, brandishing his shotgun.
“And what are you going to do—shoot me?” Travis challenged.
“Well, maybe I will and maybe I won’t,” Eddie said. “But I’ll start by shooting that pretty set of wheels of yours.” He lowered his shotgun and pointed it at the car windscreen.
“You wouldn’t bloody dare,” Travis shouted, pulling his mobile phone out of his jacket. “This is fucking insane, it’s illegal. I’m calling the police.”
Eddie looked a little uncomfortable. They all stood around while Travis listened to his phone whilst tapping his fingers on the car roof. “Whole bloody country’s gone to pot, they’re not even answering a 999 call.”
“Let me try, Travis,” said his passenger, pulling out a large smartphone in a pink jewel encrusted case.
Sarah also took her phone from her handbag. “I’ve got the direct number of the local police station,” she whispered to John.
Travis threw his phone on the car seat in disgust. “Look here, man, I’ve driven six hours solid from London to get here. You wouldn’t believe what the roads are like.”
“Well then,” Eddie said. “You’d best get started back soon, ‘cause you’ve got a long way to go.”
Travis reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet. “If it’s a question of money, I’ve got… let me see—”
“Put that away, sonny. Now you’re really pissin’ me off.”
A young man appeared from behind the tractor’s trailer and jumped on the tow bar. He was dressed in scruffy clothing and had a mass of curly ginger hair, making him look a younger version of Eddie. John recognised him as the guy in the pub who had tried to flirt with Britney on their first date together.
“What’s going on, Dad? Oh, hello there, Mrs C.”
“Nothin’ to worry about, son,” Eddie said. “This here gentleman is just deciding he doesn’t want to visit our village after all.”
“Oh, hello Jack,” said Sarah. “How’s your Mother doing?”
“Mum’s much better now, thanks, Mrs C. The doctor gave her a tonic yesterday.”
Travis’s companion piped up. “Travis, I can’t get through to the police either, they’re just not answering, it’s disgraceful.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Travis said to his companion. “This is turning into some sort of social… fucking gathering. We’ll drive to the Police Station and demand some service. I don’t know what we pay our sodding Council Tax for.” The car doors slammed, and the engine revved as it reversed.
Travis shouted through the window. “You haven’t heard the last of this.”
Jack shouted back. “Mind you, don’t scratch your shiny paintwork on the hedgerow, now.”
Eddie chuckled, “Sodding blow-ins.”
Sarah whispered into John’s ear. “I’ve tried phoning the station direct and they’re not answering either. It’s very strange.”
She glanced up at Eddie. “Now that we’ve got them out of the way, how do we get past?”
“Sorry, Sarah, nobody comes past. Nobody. Not even you, I’m afraid.”
“Surely you can’t mean that?”
“Mr Moore was most insistent. Anybody who’s out of the cordon stays out.”
“And what would you do if I just walked past your little road block? Are you intending to shoot me?”
“Oh come on now, Sarah. You know I won’t do that. But you’ll get me in terrible trouble with Mr Moore. A quarantine’s no good if folks just keep ignoring it.”
“He’s right, Mum,” John said. “It makes sense.”
“Well, it makes no sense to me. We’re both perfectly healthy and we’ve been nowhere near anywhere that could have the disease.”
“So you’ve not been near Exeter, or Barnstaple, or Ilfracombe, in the last fortnight, eh?” Eddie said.
“Barnstaple? Surely they’ve not gone down with it in Barnstaple?”
“T’was on Radio Devon this morning. They say they’re lookin’ at a dozen cases in Barnstaple. And Exeter, Ilfracombe, South Molton—it’s poppin’ up everywhere.”
“Oh my God, John, I was in Barnstaple last week and Exeter the week before.”
“Calm down, Mum,” John said. “Those are big places and they might be false alarms.”
Sarah thought about it. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I’m getting carried away.”
“I reckon we’re all getting a bit jumpy just now,” Eddie said. “Let’s hope this’ll be like that Russian flu last year. Turned out to be nothing.”
Sarah nodded and dabbed her handkerchief on her forehead. “Oh dear, well, this is very inconvenient. I was hoping to buy some bread and flour from Diane’s Pantry.”
Jack piped up. “Tell you what, Mrs C. If you give me your shopping list, I’ll run to the shops and get your stuff for you.”
“Oh, would you dear? You’re such a good boy. Here we are then. I just need to explain a few things to you.”
While Jack raced off to the village centre, John and Sarah sat down on the trailer.
Sarah looked at Eddie. “Well then, you’d better tell us about this meeting.”
“Okay, it started with Mr Moore walking around the centre first thing this morning with his bleeding bull-horn, calling everyone to the village green for a special meeting. He’d heard about the cases in London and a friend phoned him to say it was in Exeter.”
Eddie propped up his shotgun inside the tractor cab. “So him and the rest of the parish council gathered next to the war memorial and most of the villagers joined them. He said once the news of the spread was out, people would flock from the towns and cities looking for safe havens. There could be millions on the move and it would only take one infected person to come here and the entire village could be wiped out.”
John laughed. “He doesn’t pull his punches, does he?”
Eddie continued. “Anyway, he said we couldn’t count on the authorities to act fast enough, so we had to take matters into our own hands. He called for a quarantine, and there was an enormous cheer. I reckon most people were glad to be doing something.”
“Pity nobody thought to tell us,” John said.
Eddie sat down. “Sorry, John, it all happened so fast. Mr Moore organised a special convoy to get as much food as they could from Barnstaple. Everyone in the convoy was to wear a face mask the whole time they were out, or we’d not let them back through the cordon.”
“Well, it sounds completely over the top to me,” Sarah said.
“Better safe than sorry,” Eddie said. “If you two stay in your cottage, you should be safe enough. And if you run short of food, I’m sure we can arrange to leave some here for you. We won’t abandon you.”
John believed Michael Moore to be an arrogant, officious, pompous twit. But, on this occasion, he had judged the situation well and behaved absolutely correctly. John only wished they were not outside the cordon looking in.
The village had turned John and Sarah into outcasts. All non-essential travel had been prohibited. They returned home to watch events unfold on the TV.
John sat it out with his mother in the cottage rather than return to his chalet. Naturally, Sarah was anxious and needed company. He was the only available choice and, unusually, being alone did not appeal to him either.
John filled every water carrier and bucket he could find and then filled the bath with water. Then he checked on their food supplies. Food in the freezer would feed them for a fortnight—if the electricity continued to flow. Sarah had a large larder, and canned goods were lined up on every shelf. Sarah loved baking, so they had good supplies of basic stores such as flour, eggs and dried fruit. At least they would not run short of homemade cake. Being late summer, Sarah’s small vegetable patch was in full production, and they harvested salad and fruit daily. They could even pick apples and blackberries if they wanted. The cottage had an open fire, and the cooker used bottled gas.
All in all, not a bad situation. They could stay here in comfort for quite a while.
John worried about unwelcome visitors. Anyone travelling to the village would pass their cottage before being stopped at the roadblock and sent back. Those people would be angry and frustrated. Probably tired and hungry after a long, fruitless journey. What if they noticed Sarah’s cottage and called in? Before his back injury, John used to practise archery in the garden. He brought his bow and arrows into the hallway, along with the axe from the shed. Sarah frowned at the sight of them, but said nothing. It was a worrying time.
Sarah filled a couple of hours making phone calls to friends and relatives. A surprising number did not answer. Those that did were afraid. Everyone was afraid. Sarah’s sister experienced several short power cuts. Sarah’s best friend saw youths throwing stones at an ambulance. The world had gone bonkers overnight.
Nothing seemed certain. The Government churned out reassuring statements (which were disbelieved) and instructions (that were ignored). Conflicting and unsubstantiated tales of horror abounded. Rumours were rife. Even Cabinet ministers contradicted each other. Lacking reliable facts, people filled in the gaps with stories and speculation.
On the television, a string of BBC foreign correspondents took it in turns to confirm cases appearing in countries around the globe. There was no pattern or perception of the disease progressing from one place to another. It was springing up everywhere.
In the UK, queues formed outside beleaguered hospitals. A Channel 4 reporter claimed that folk with mild symptoms hoped to be first in line for antibiotics, or antiviral drugs.
This baffled John. Antibiotics and antivirals? Were they dealing with a bacterium or virus? Most reports indicated the Yellow Death was a variety of plague—a bacterial disease. If so, antivirals were worse than useless, yet people clamoured for them. Nothing made sense any more.
The Health Minister announced the Territorial Army and other reserve units were being mobilised to help with roadblocks and crowd management at hospitals. John wondered if he would get a telephone call. Although no longer on the active list, these were desperate times. Fortunately, the call never came. John was relieved, because he would not leave his mother alone at this time. If his father had been here, it might be different. But his father was never here when it mattered. It had always been just John and Sarah. He could not abandon her now.
Sarah looked from the television to John. “I don’t think all this is doing me any good. It’s a perfectly nice day. The sun’s out, the birds are singing, I’m going out to do some weeding. The lawns need mowing too, if you’re up to it?”
“Well okay, but it might rain later, so best do it while the weather is good.”
The world’s falling apart and she’s bothered about the lawns. I suppose there’s comfort from familiarity.
“Okay, Mum, I’ll be out in a few minutes, just finishing my coffee.”
“Is there anything in particular you’d like for dinner, love?”
“No, not really. But maybe we’d better use something from the freezer—how about a curry?”
“The freezer? Why is that, dear? Oh… I see. Yes. If you think that’s best.”
Sarah did not stay outside weeding for long. She developed one of her nasty headaches, probably because of the sun, she told John, so she went inside to cool down. When John returned after mowing the grass, Sarah was sitting hunched in the armchair. Her face had a sheen of sweat and she clutched her armpits as if they were painful.
She looked up pitifully. “Oh, John.”
CHAPTER 22
Cal Meets Ken & Sue
TIMELINE: 18 months after the Yellow Death
Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.
Carl Jung (1875–1961)
The day after Cal promised Juliet he would be more sociable, they were driving North-West along the A361 towards South Molton, which had a good health centre which Juliet thought was worth checking out for supplies. The day was proving to be unusually warm, and the sun shone in an almost cloudless sky.
Juliet drove as usual, since Cal was best suited to shoot back if they came under attack. Despite Juliet looking ahead, she spotted a column of smoke a couple of hundred yards off to the right and reduced speed.
“Look Cal, over there.”
Cal’s heart sank, but he steeled himself. “I suppose you’d like to have a look?”
“Yes, please.”
Using only the electric motor, they crept along a narrow, overgrown lane towards the smoke, stopping while they were still too far to be heard. Cal started checking his weapons. “I don’t expect there’s any hope of you waiting for me in the car?”
