by Serena James
“Your wound is red and swollen, infected. I’ve told Quayle about hygiene. Bloody amateurs. I am going to do some tests and get you on a strong course of antibiotics before this gets out of hand. There were complications in your surgery, we shouldn’t take any chances. We still need to hydrate you as well.”
He stood up from her and checked the drip in her arm. He barked some orders at a nurse in Bundenese and she quickly left the room. Rebecca seized her chance.
“Whom was my kidney given to?”
Jonathan looked at her. He was silent as though considering the propriety of giving her an answer. “I can’t say. That is confidential.”
“Great. My kidney is stolen and given to someone else, someone in my family - and I am not even entitled to know who it has gone to.”
Jonathan smiled. “Yeah bummer isn’t it. Look all I can say is that it went to someone worthwhile. A kid, someone you would approve of.”
“Really. Do they or their parents know what you did to get the kidney?”
“Yes they do. They were desperate enough not to care. That is what happens to these people. They spend years living with the threat of imminent death, waiting for a chance off the donor register and it never comes through. The end approaches and they will do whatever it takes. She was about to have renal failure and die. Her father did what was necessary to help her survive.”
“So that’s the gap you fill. When the donor register fails you offer an alternative. A criminal alternative. But a second chance to cheat death.”
“Yeah something like that.” He started to take her blood pressure. She felt the band he’d placed around her arm constrict.
“How many people have you operated on Jonathan?”
“Your blood pressure is up. I want to take your temperature. I’ve done more operations than I care to remember.”
“Do you do transplants or take organs?”
“The term is harvest. I harvest organs. I do both.”
She decided to push it and get a reaction. “You don’t feel guilty when they bring them in kicking and screaming and you rape their bodies. What about the children?”
He was silent again. He looked uncomfortable, guilty. Got you. He took her temperature via her ear. He told her, “Your temperature is high. I’ll get a fan brought in to help you cool down.”
“Aren’t you going to answer my question? You had such high hopes of being a good doctor and making a difference when you went to university with Michael. You were so political and passionate about medical care. You wanted to go to Africa and help the charities. You wanted to bring good medical care to all the poor of the world.”
“I was naive.” He sounded tired, weary. He didn’t look much different from how she remembered him apart from the grey on the sides of his dark brown hair. He was a tallish man but he looked bowed as though he carried a heavy weight on his shoulders. He studied her heart monitor.
He started to speak again. His tone sounded non-committal as though he were merely narrating events that he did not have any emotional opinion on. “I went to Africa for too long. I spent time in some of the worst deprived areas in Kenya, Botswana and Ethiopia. I became disillusioned. Nothing I did made any real difference. There were so many of them, all wanting help. We hardly had any funds. People died of basic disease that we could treat easily back home, and starvation. The number of children I treated that died. There was so much suffering. I began to think that it would be better if they didn’t exist.”
It was Rebecca’s turn to be silent and pensive. Then she said, “How did you get involved in all of this?”
Jonathan wrote something on her chart. He didn’t look up as he spoke. “How did I get involved with Quayle and your brother, Michael,” he corrected before continuing.
“You know the old, friend of a friend. I got drunk one night with a bunch of doctors at a conference in London. We were all talking about our experiences in Africa. I said how I felt. Your brother was there. The next morning Quinton and Michael approached me. Soon I was on a plane to South Bundhara and working in one of Blue Dove’s clinics until we got this place. The government built it for us.”
“That was then. You look tired Jonathan. What do you think about what you do now? Are you still as enthusiastic?”
He didn’t look at her as he started removing his latex gloves. His tone was sarcastic as was his smile when he eventually did look at her. “I do what I do for the benefit of mankind. There have to be sacrifices. It’s survival of the fittest out there. The people we take organs from have no purpose, no quality of life. They are better off dead.”
“You don’t sound so convinced about that. It sounds more like Quayle’s speech than yours. I asked you how you felt about the children?”
He stood looking at her from the end of her bed. His expression was harrowed. For just a moment his eyes glazed with a trace of moisture. He opened his mouth to speak and then paused. He smiled. “Always the journalist Rebecca. Always with the questions.”
“Indulge me.”
“Very well. You might not like what I tell you. The children we harvest organs from are orphans, strays, disabled or mentally impaired and unable to function as a proper human being. In South Bundhara the orphans are left to run wild in the streets without food and water to sustain them. They are forced to steal, to scavenge, just to stay alive. They sell their bodies to paedophiles for money.”
He leaned over the bed commanding her attention. His speech was more impassioned but he still didn’t sound as convinced as he was trying to impress upon her.
“There is a cult in North and South Bundhara of kidnapping orphans and mutilating them for witchcraft and other illegal religious purposes. Families won’t adopt orphans or take them in because they see them as a bad omen of death. The government won’t help them and there are so many of them. They are better off dead.”
Rebecca felt her heart beat faster with her anger. “So the end justifies the means? Everyone has a right to exist. You can’t make that choice. You are not God.”
He shouted at her making her jump. “No, but God doesn’t help. This is a solution.”
Still she had to have the last word. “I don’t know how you sleep at night.”
“You were always so forthright Rebecca. We are ensuring the survival of people who have more of a chance at life, who can look after themselves and benefit the world.”
“You mean to ensure the survival of those who can afford to pay!”
She hadn’t heard the door open. It was Quayle. He’d heard part of the conversation. Jonathan visibly tensed the moment he realised the man was in the room. He opened his mouth to speak with anger but he closed it quickly. He moved away clearly uncomfortable and distasteful of Quayle’s presence. He wasn’t the only one feeling tense.
Quayle stood over her and removed his mask and hood. He folded his arms behind his back and peered down at her. Yes, he still had that bad breath. His grey eyebrows tweaked with amusement when she turned away from him.
“Benefiting the world, sounds very quaint now doesn’t it? As you suggest, it’s nothing so grand. It really is about money. Isn’t everything these days? This is a fantastic money spinner. I leave the more noble sentiments to men like your brother Michael and Jonathan here.”
She reached out to Jonathan once more. He obviously had doubts about his role in Quayle and Michael’s organization. She wanted to exploit them further. Hopefully she could make him an ally against Quayle.
She made sure her voice was full of contempt, “I take it you are on a good salary Jonathan with added benefits of course. Maybe you get commission for the number of organs you harvest. What good does that do for the preservation of the human race? I don’t know how you work with men like Quayle? They must make you sick. I know he makes me feel that way.”
Quayle chuckled. Jonathan didn’t answer. He wouldn’t even look at her. He busied himself with a task. Quayle leaned over her further, coming closer to her face. One of his hands slipped under th
e covers. She struggled as she felt his ageing fingers find her breast and squeeze hard. She squirmed. She was taking a hell of a chance provoking him.
“You know Rebecca. I have been quite smitten on you since the ATM Ball. I am going to enjoy having you in my bed. I like feisty women. I like breaking them down to nothing.”
She squirmed as his other hand travelled under her hospital gown to between her thighs. When she started making it difficult for him to touch her there his hand gripped her throat to hold her still. It didn’t stop her fighting him as he pushed his fingers inside her damaged vagina. The pain was unbearable and he was constricting her air. He started to kiss her trying to force open her unwilling mouth. There was a varnish to his fading grey eyes that told her that he was getting off on her pain and distress.
She wasn’t sure but she thought she heard something, a bang. Then there was another noise, something blunt hitting bone. Quayle fell flat over her face. She felt the pressure around her throat relax. She started to cough and reach for air once more. She tried to move her body upwards to shake the slumped unconscious man off her. Somebody did it for her. Quayle’s body slid to the floor.
Rebecca looked to her side to see Jonathan standing there holding a small steel cylinder filled with oxygen in his hand. He had obviously struck Quayle with it hard across the back of his head. His face was white and he was shaking.
He said quickly, “I didn’t sign up for this. I wanted to help people not be party to sexual assault.”
He put the cylinder down and started to undo her restraints.
He helped her sit up. “Come on we don’t have much time before he comes round. I am getting you out of here.”
Rebecca rubbed her wrists as they were freed. Her eyes shot up to the corner of the room suddenly remembering the camera she’d seen there when she woke up. It was bashed in, twisted to one side and hanging precariously off the bracket that fixed it to the wall. Her relief sprung her into action. She pulled the drip from her arm and pulled the heart monitor pads off her chest.
Jonathan had put surgical tape over Quayle’s mouth and was tying his hands and feet. He dragged him to the bathroom and came out of it carrying some clothes. He locked the door from the outside. Rebecca swung her legs over the bed and tried to get off. Her hand flew to her side when she felt a sharp pain there. Jonathan rushed to help her.
He informed her, “The morphine you’ve been given is going to wear off soon and you are going to feel like hell. You need to get to a hospital as soon as you can. You are at risk from postoperative pneumonia and that infection is flaring. I wish I could take you but they will miss me.”
“What about when Quayle wakes up? What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I will think of something. It’s time I got out. Hurry. Get dressed. These are the clothes they were going to give you. They probably won’t fit well but you will have to make do.”
He thrust the clothes at her nearly knocking her off balance. She could hardly stand. She started to dress grateful he’d turned his back. It was a task she managed with great difficulty.
He disappeared into an adjoining room and returned with a wheelchair. “We are going to have to make it look as though I am taking you into the camp. I will take you through it and then through the incineration room. There is a door in the electric fence there. It is never guarded. It should be but the army are lax. I will be able to turn the power off for a minute and make it look as though there has been a short in the system.”
She laid her hand on his arm. She had to ask. “Why are you helping me?”
He looked down at her hand. He said quietly, “It’s like I said. I didn’t sign up for sexual assault. I want to help people. Besides your brother and I have always been close friends. He doesn’t want you in here. He never wanted to hurt you and he will never be able to set you free. I am not just doing this for you.” He patted her arm. “Come on we have to be quick. Sit in the wheelchair.”
She sat in the chair. He went to a small safe situated on the opposite wall and turned the lock to the correct combination. He took out a handgun and checked it was loaded. He handed it out to her. She stared at him with confusion.
“The army make us keep one of these in here for protection from donors becoming violent. Take it. You will need it; it’s a dangerous road to the border. There are wild animals to contend with as well as the army and some of the local rebels and gangs. I wish I could do more.”
She did as she was told with a shaking hand.
“What’s the camp Jonathan?”
“The camp is where they put the people who they have harvested organs from and are still alive. They leave them to die. They starve them; people are killing each other to survive. It’s full of disease and many have infections and deformities from their surgery. The government insist they are used for work until they die. It’s nothing short of a concentration camp. Something else I didn’t sign up for.”
He covered her with a blanket and then covered his head again with his hood and his mouth with his mask.
He pushed her to the door and reached out for the handle and paused, his hand hovering there. “Listen. I’m not sure this is going to work but it’s the best I can do. You aren’t exactly fit enough to run off. You may die trying to escape. They might catch you before you even get very far...”
“I know. But it’s a chance. A chance I didn’t have before. I’d rather take it than be in here with Quayle. But you do know I am going to have to expose you if I make it back, don’t you?”
“You won’t get far. There are forces at work in England that will stop you. This is beyond even you. Even if you succeeded the Board would just set up somewhere else and start again. You can’t beat these people.
He opened the door and pushed her out. They hurried along the claustrophobic narrow white corridor. There were no windows. She lowered her head afraid to meet the eyes of the other men and women in white masks as they passed. She felt the cold metal of the handgun against her palm under the blanket. The last time she had shot anyone was in Afghanistan. It was an experience she had never wanted to repeat. Guns terrified her. She felt sick just having it in her hand. But her life was at stake and she needed to get out, get away, and expose what she had learnt. Bring this story to the attention of the public.
The corridor seemed to stretch for miles. Jonathan remained silent and she was reluctant to speak for fear of giving them away. They turned a corner and she could see glass doors ahead. Two soldiers stood guard in front of them. She stared in fear as they kept moving and headed straight for the guards. Jonathan leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Do exactly as I tell you. They will just think that you have been operated on and I am taking you to the camp. They won’t see anything unusual going on.” She nodded.
He stopped just short of the doors. The soldiers acknowledged him as he took her arm and roughly told her to stand. She spied the camera and kept her head averted as the glass doors automatically parted for them.
It was dark outside. Jonathan pulled her down the steps quickly. The pain in her side was beginning to pulse but the morphine kept its full force at bay. She was so hot, so weak; it was an effort to keep up with Jonathan. Once or twice she thought she was going to pass out on him.
Jonathan pulled her across a sandy courtyard to a large wooden gate with heavily armed guards. There was a tower next to it like the ones you saw on war movies or guarding violent prisons. They passed through the gate without being stopped and entered the area beyond. It was surrounded by a tall electrified fence. Soldiers paraded around a wide rectangular platform keeping watch over four rows of tents. Jonathan pulled her through the middle of them. He hissed, “Don’t touch anyone.”
The camp smelled of excrement and urine. A multitude of people milled around the tents. She could hear a female screaming somewhere and a baby crying. Jonathan hurried, half dragging her towards the rear of the camp.
The camp held people of all ages, races and colours. They watched h
er with suspicion as Jonathan pulled her along. Their faces were drawn, weary, battered. Quite a few of them had an eye missing.
Out of the blue one of them was up close and personal in her face. She reeled back in shock. He yammered at her in Bundenese, spitting in her face. But she couldn’t understand a word he said. He began punching at her shoulder. She could hear herself cry out from the brutal pain. He also had one eye missing. It was just a gaping bloody dark hole where his eye had been. The skin had vainly tried to grow back over it but infection had curtailed its progress. It was red and inflamed. There was pus oozing from a large sac inside the hole giving him a monstrous appearance.
Jonathan pushed him off and he backed away instantly. “They won’t touch me. They call us the angels of death. To touch one of us is to be cursed with death. No one wants to be anywhere near me.”
They headed for a large single storey white washed building in the far corner of the camp. It had no guard but they had to go through a locked door. Jonathan punched in a combination on a small keypad at the side. He made sure no one was watching them and dragged her through.
Jonathan said, “No one will follow us here, especially at the moment. The incinerator is broken. Not even the soldiers will guard it. They are suspicious of demons rising from the dead.”
The smell hit Rebecca the moment she stepped into the building. It was the smell of death, widespread death. The odour of decaying flesh assaulted her nostrils. She began retching. Jonathan ignored it and dragged her on. He said, “It will be over in a moment. I’ve learnt to lose my sense of smell. I’m sorry but I can’t prepare you for what you are about to see.”
He pulled her through a deserted office to another room and headed across it. Rebecca stopped dead and dug her heels in when Jonathan tried to keep dragging her. She looked all around her. She was standing amidst a sea of bodies, each one encased in a black body bag.
She noticed a pyramid of smaller bags. One of them was open a little way displaying the decaying remains of a child. Vomit rose and splattered through Rebecca’s mouth onto the ground in a torrent. Something inside made her move towards the bag. She reached out to touch the small boy unaware that she was sobbing with grief. Jonathan grabbed her hand.
