by G Johanson
THE HYDRA EFFECT
G JOHANSON
CHAPTER 1 - WRECKS
Inès felt some trepidation as she approached the large building and she examined her reflection in the pane of glass in the door. Her auburn brown hair remained perfectly in place, tied up in a bun as instructed, a style that would take some getting used to. She glanced briefly at her face; she always hated looking at herself, unable to see the pretty girl that many others claimed to see. She looked presentable enough for her purpose here and that was all that mattered. She knocked on the door and a blonde nurse answered, a girl who Inès felt would have no issues with staring at herself in the mirror, partly because she was pretty but more due to the fact that she had no shortage of confidence.
“Come inside. Those who are about to die salute you!” the nurse said boisterously.
“Excuse me?” Inès said. She gathered she was trying to be funny but didn’t understand what she meant.
“You’re the fresh meat, right?”
“My brother’s a patient here and I’ve come to see him. What do you mean by fresh meat?” Inès said indignantly.
“Nothing. I didn’t mean...I’m sorry, no visitors are allowed inside. The disease remains highly contagious,” she said, panicking at her indiscretion.
Inès pushed the door fully open and entered, stating with a wry smile, “Relax, I’m the fresh meat. I’m Inès Videt.”
“Delaney Jacquemin, bitch,” Delaney said, joking with her. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“You’re in the right place. Can you take me to Matron?”
“I can. Would you like me to?”
Inès deduced that working with Delaney was either going to be fun or incredibly tedious. The matron was a different character entirely, very softly-spoken and gentle. She gave a lengthy talk about the nursing home which had only opened for business a year ago in 1917 and was exclusively for brave soldiers wounded in battle. The matron had been there from the first day and she beamed as she talked of their success rates and the vast number of young men that had passed through their doors and walked out back into society. She changed tack suddenly, warning Inès that there had also been many men who they had not been able to save and that they were currently, like most of the world, swamped by the Influenza pandemic. The few patients they had who were not infected by the virus had been transferred to another hospital, to minimise their risk of infection, as they became a centre for Influenza patients. The matron stressed the risks and gave Inès an opportunity to back out, which she declined instantly. The matron gave Inès her uniform and directed her to the nurses’ room.
Delaney entered just as Inès was finishing getting dressed and she whistled at her. “Your boyfriend’s going to love you in that. Not as much as you love yourself in it, mind. It takes a minute to put on. What have you been doing in here? Matron wants you.”
Inès adjusted her nurse’s cap and followed Delaney along the corridor. She had thought they were heading back to the office and instead found herself on one of the wards where the matron introduced her to Aurore, a miniature version of the matron. She was at least 10 years older than Inès and Delaney, in her early 30s, and she was grinning inanely like she was in the happiest place in the world. She was the matron’s personal favourite and the ideal person to show her the ropes and she left them to it, hoping that Aurore could fashion her in her own image. Inès quickly learnt that Aurore’s smile had not been for the matron’s benefit. She really was super cheerful and encouraged Inès to be the same.
“It does them the world of good to see happy, smiling faces. Your natural expression is quite miserable, my dear. Perk up,” Aurore said jauntily. “The war is over. Happy times are ahead.”
Inès attempted to emulate her and Aurore giggled and said, “Oh dear. A work in progress. I’ll teach you. These chaps here don’t need your smile as much as the other wards. This is the recovery wing. They’ve been through the worst of it and will finally go home soon.”
“Not soon enough!” one of the patients quipped.
“We want the same thing, Jacques. We have plans for your bed!” Aurore said. She lowered her voice and said, “We’ll start here this morning and in the afternoon I’ll show you the other wards, which are not as easy as this. Okay?”
Inès nodded and spent the morning folding and washing sheets and emptying bedpans. She had no prior training and accepted she would be used in an auxiliary position for the foreseeable future. She quickly graduated to fetching food and drink for the patients and managed to drop a jug of water in the corridor as she passed Delaney.
“Give me strength,” Delaney said critically, picking up the pieces of the cracked jug.
“Accidents happen,” Inès said, trying to pick it up herself, difficult with Delaney’s body blocking her from doing so. “Or were you perfect on your first day?”
Delaney raised her eyebrows, impressed at her spirit. If she was going to last she’d need plenty of that.
“No, but I didn’t start during an Influenza outbreak so I didn’t need to be. You’re replacing my best friend so you have a lot to live up to.” Relenting a little she said, “How’s it going? Are you thinking happy?”
Inès smiled and said, repeating the instructions she had received, the thought she had to keep in her head, “Today is a happy day.”
“The classic mantra. I know it well. You go and get a fresh jug, I’ll sort this.”
“Thank you.”
After dinner Aurore took Inès round a different ward and the difference was noticeable straight away. In the first ward most of the men had been sitting up and many were dressed in their own clothes and they were lively, interacting with each other and the nursing staff. In this ward almost every man was lying in bed in his pyjamas with only one man sitting at his chair. The ward was quiet save for the ravings of one man, who Aurore identified as Royer. He was involved in some intense conversation with either God, the occupants of the ward upstairs or the ceiling, or possibly all three. Aurore whispered to Inès to watch him before she went into her performance and attempted to fill the dismal room with sunshine, with mixed results. All of the men she spoke to responded to her, save for Royer who was busy talking to another, though Inès suspected that the majority of the patients could only bear her positivity in small doses. She tried talking to Royer again, pausing by his bed and standing over his eye line, asking him, “Would you like a drink, Mr Royer?”
“If you interrupt me again whole place comes crashing down,” Royer said agitatedly. Inès wasn’t sure if he was about to cry or if he was going to punch Aurore, who seemed oblivious to any danger. The wild, darting eyes had been enough to trigger warning bells for Inès and this threat confirmed that Royer was one to watch.
They had started at the left side of the room and there was still one patient Aurore hadn’t introduced Inès to yet, a balding, white-haired man in the far bed who was much older than the other patients, older than the matron even. He had been happily reading his book which he now put down, the deteriorating situation concerning him, and he spoke up.
“Aurore doesn’t see the things that you or I do, remember? Answer her and she’ll let you get back to your work if you let her do hers.” He spoke softly yet with authority and his words had an instant effect on Royer who asked Aurore civilly to repeat the question and he declined her offer.
Aurore moved on to the final patient on this ward, always happy to see this man who returned her broad smile every time. “This chivalrous gentleman is Georges Steil. Georges, this is Nurse Videt.”
Georges bowed his head respectfully and he said to Inès, “You drew the short straw? I hope you’re on good money for this. Charmed, I’m sure, Nurse Videt. Will we be getting the paper today?”
&nb
sp; “It’s coming,” Aurore replied. “Georges is a magician. Show her one of your tricks.”
Georges lacked the energy for anything of late but he was never good at saying no, especially to women, and he reached for his drawer. He wheezed chronically as he moved and Aurore opened the drawer for him and handed him his trademark pack of cards. This pack had served him and his brothers well on the front though some of the cards were a little too racy for the nurses’ sensibilities and Georges removed the queens from the deck and laid them face down on his pillow before shuffling the rest of the pack. He proved he wasn’t at his best by accidentally chucking the cards upwards, scattering them along his bed. Inès and Aurora helped him retrieve them, with Inès picking up the cards from his pillow and examining them before adding them to the pack. The rest of the cards seemed standard while these four face cards depicted four naked women, photographed in poses reminiscent of the cards they represented. An African, an Oriental, a Caucasian and a Nordic were depicted; all tastes were catered for.
“Apologies, Nurse Videt, they weren’t meant for your eyes,” Georges said, his apology hardly contrite for he saw nothing wrong with the cards and merely regretted that she had been embarrassed by them. He shuffled the cards again and had Inès pick a card and he was able to tell her what she’d picked on his second guess. He chided himself, mumbling, “Idiot, Steil. Sorry, ladies, that wasn’t very good. Tomorrow I’ll give you a better trick.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Inès said and she followed Aurore out of the ward where Aurore asked her for her impressions.
“Royer is a concern, certainly.”
“Agreed. Georges can calm him down most times. This is one of two intermediate wards. Those men can go either way. I wish I could say they’ll all pull through but experience has taught me that is not the case,” Aurore said sadly.
“So you have officers and privates together?” Inès deduced.
“We do, just not presently.”
“What about Georges?”
“He was just rank and file like the rest.”
“Isn’t he a little old?”
“54. I know it’s irregular. He’s an irregular chap all round. His nephew comes here most days, I’d better warn you about that. He’s a smooth-talker so watch out. He just wants to see his uncle, which is strictly prohibited as you know.” Aurore debated whether to share the tittle-tattle she’d heard about him and one of her nurses and she decided against it.
“Yes, the matron said.”
“You did really well there. I think you can face the last ward.”
After briefly visiting the other intermediate ward they proceeded to the last ward which was situated next to the operating theatre. The final ward was the worst, as expected and forewarned, as though she were travelling like Dante and Virgil to the centre of hell. This ward was the most hectic and she found Delaney here with two other girls and two doctors. The stench was hard to bear, these men incapable of even using chamberpots and the nurses had to clean them up as they defecated and urinated on themselves. Aurore grinned harder than ever here though did not push too hard for reactions from the men and did not harass those that did not answer her. Inès asked her what she could do and she was directed to ask the patients what they wanted. One poor man was shaking uncontrollably and she realised quickly that this was not due to Influenza. He tried communicating with her and eventually managed to exchange a few words, basic communication a monumental effort to him. His plight tugged at her heartstrings and she was proud of herself for keeping her composure. She had to be strong to encourage him that he could overcome his disease and his shellshock. That would be harder to overcome than the killer disease ravaging his body.
At the end of the shift Aurore took Inès to the matron’s office and gave her a glowing appraisal and the matron told Inès she would be operating alone in the morning though could ask herself or Aurore if she had any questions. She was allowed to take her uniform home and she decided to do so, keen to get home as quickly as possible. Delaney had other ideas, grabbing her arm as she saw her walking down the street and entwining it in hers.
“You survived your first shift! Want a coffee, my treat?”
“I do have to get home. A quick one,” Inès said.
“That’s what the bishop said!” Delaney said rambunctiously. She spotted a small group cross the road purposely to avoid them and she chuckled and said, “We’re marked apart now, toxic sisters.”
“You sound like you enjoy that,” Inès observed. She was a strange girl but the same could be said of her. They were offered their drinks for free in the cafe, which came as a pleasant surprise to Inès. They exchanged small talk for a while, about their families and where they were living, both of them still living at home with their mothers. Inès asked about the girl she replaced, asking Delaney, “So why did your friend leave?”
“She couldn’t carry on in her position. I’ll show you her grave sometime,” she said flippantly, sipping from her cup.
“Genuinely?”
“Genuinely. It’s called a contagious disease for a reason. They suggested making it live-in when it first hit only none of the doctors would do it so that spared us too. I don’t think it’s as bad as it was. Did Royer act up for you?”
“Not really.”
“He will. Watch out for that. He kicked me in the backside once. He’s absolutely crackers. Are you under her wing tomorrow again or are you flying solo?”
“Flying solo apparently. I think I’ll be all right,” she said self-assuredly.
“I do too,” Delaney said.
Inès was home just before six and she entered the small basement flat and saw that her mother had visitors as expected. Gilles Durand virtually lodged with them nowadays and was always going to be there to welcome her at this crucial juncture and it made sense that his other followers would be in attendance. Matthieu and Jeanne Quentin were in their early 40s like Durand and her mother; unlike her they were slightly more equal with Durand, acquiescing to his will while offering some suggestions for the group themselves. Her mother simply followed Durand’s will blindly, just like she herself did.
“Look at her,” Mrs Videt said proudly, taking her daughter’s hands and holding them. She was a little less jittery than normal and Inès guessed she had taken more of her medication than usual. As ever she was dressed entirely in black, as Inès would be too shortly.
“What’s your diagnosis?” Matthieu quipped.
“Let the girl at least take her cap off,” Durand said. “She can tell us over tea.”
Inès went to her room to change and to let her hair down. Her food was waiting for her at the table when she returned though she felt uncomfortable when she saw that everybody else had eaten and she was eating alone with an audience.
“How was Georges Steil then?” Matthieu asked, struggling to contain his rancour.
“A wreck,” Inès said.
“Good. I still think she should kill him,” Matthieu said, letting his personal feelings get in the way of their mission. Georges had slept with his first wife many years ago and he would never forgive that transgression.
“Many have tried. If she succeeds of course that’s the most desirable outcome. If she fails we alert him to our presence, so she refrains, for now,” Durand said. Monitoring the pest was sufficient. When he had learned that Georges Steil was a patient at the nursing home he had briefly had second thoughts and contemplated placing Inès in a different hospital. He quickly changed his mind and realised that everything happened for a reason. Georges Steil had prevented Heaven once before and would now be powerless to prevent it second time around. The Hydra Order would see to that. “How many days do you think we’ll have to wait for our first casualty?”
CHAPTER 2 – DESTROYING ANGELS
Lucien Bastien dropped his cigarette to the ground and put it out with his shoe upon seeing one of the nurses arriving for duty. This was a new face, younger than most and Lucien hoped that this could work to his advanta
ge. Hopefully she’d be naive and easier to talk round than the others who no longer gave him the time of day, ignoring him like he were a particularly tedious picketer bothering them as they came to and fro from work. Inès had already been warned about Lucien and she looked up at him and wished she hadn’t locked eyes with him which made him harder to ignore. He was almost as lean as his uncle, not that she’d seen a fat soldier as yet. Only the generals retained their corpulent states while the poor poilus all looked the same, their bodies showing the hardships they’d undergone as pawns in a rich man’s quarrel. He was much taller than Georges though and had a full head of light brown hair, a dashingly handsome young man, largely due to having the same twinkle in his eye that Georges had. That was the only thing about Georges that she liked; his patter was wasted on her for she knew too much of his past to fall for any of that. He could fool the others with the genial old man shtick and she pretended to feel the same while remaining fully aware that he had fangs.
Lucien raised his hands in apology as he blocked her path yards from the entrance to the grounds of the nursing home and he said, “Can I delay you one moment? Can you tell Georges Steil his nephew is here to see him?”
“I’m sorry, no visitors allowed.”
“These are exceptional circumstances. Lucien,” Lucien said, offering his hand to the nurse.
Inès shook her head and said, “I’d best not shake it.”
“Miss, I’ve just spent four years on the frontline. I think I dare risk shaking your hand and seeing my uncle, infection or not.”
“It’s policy.”
“What, you’re not allowed to shake hands?” he joked.
“The visiting policy. I’m sorry, I really have to go.” She tried to walk around him and Lucien moved to block her.
“Just give me five minutes to let me explain why this is so important. I’ve come a long way. Dijon’s home.”
Inès was not surprised to hear that, having been well educated all about ‘The Devil of Dijon’. Paradise had been lost through his uncle’s malice, though she knew better than to try and educate him to this fact. While Anton was not exactly on Dijon’s doorstep she felt that Lucien’s home city and her small home town were not as far apart as he made out.
