Decimation: The Girl Who Survived

by Burke, Richard T.

  The return of the nurse pushing a wheeled crib disturbed her moment of reflection. This time, the woman left the door open.

  “If you need to put him down, slide the side down like this, place him inside then raise it again. Got that?”

  Antimone nodded.

  “Right I’ll leave you to it.”

  The doorway revealed a better view of the guard. He wore a brown uniform and sat impassively, facing away from the entrance.

  “What’s he doing there?” Antimone asked.

  The woman glanced behind her then faced the girl once again. “Him? Oh, just a precaution.”

  “What? To keep me in or to keep somebody else out?”

  The nurse smiled but didn’t answer the question. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” She was halfway across the room when a muffled scream originated from the direction of the corridor. The baby tensed suddenly, flinging both arms out sideways.

  The woman quickened her step and closed the door.

  Antimone glanced down to see a pair of unfocused eyes staring upwards, the pale blue irises contrasting against the black dots of the pupils.

  Seconds later, the baby’s mouth opened, and a high-pitched wailing sound erupted.

  Chapter 30

  Nigel Perrin stood outside the girl’s room peering through the small window. “Have the contractions started?” he asked.

  The midwife took her turn at the glass. “No, I don’t think so. She’s just hysterical. Since the operation, we’ve had to keep her restrained. Even though she has no use of her legs, she pushed herself off the bed a couple of times. We had to tie her down for her own safety.”

  “So you’ve no idea what started this latest episode?”

  The woman paused for a second. “I think it’s just a culmination of things – being stuck in the same room for nine months, losing her mobility, being heavily pregnant. I think the kindest thing to do would be to do the C-section now. The baby’s about due in any case. You don’t honestly think severing the spinal cord is the answer, do you?”

  “We won’t know for sure until she gives birth – but no, I don’t. If it was that simple, hundreds would’ve survived. As you know, there’ve been no verified accounts of a woman living through childbirth for over fifteen years.”

  “Still, it seems cruel abducting these women and making them pregnant.”

  Perrin turned sharply to the midwife. “You’re not getting cold feet are you, Rose? We only take subjects with a low life expectancy in the first place, drug addicts and prostitutes. Think of all the women leading constructive lives and contributing to society who die in childbirth. The ones we take are just throwing their lives away. If we want to find a cure, we have to do this sort of work. If somebody doesn’t come up with a solution and quickly, the whole of the human race is finished. At least this way, they’re being productive.”

  “Yes, you’re right Dr Perrin. I just wish it wasn’t necessary. So what’re we going to do about her?”

  “I agree with your suggestion, Rose. I’ll sedate her now. While I’m doing that, can you organise a surgeon to do the caesarean?”

  The doctor opened the door and entered the room. The woman strapped to the bed craned her neck to identify the intruder. “Are you going to untie me, you bastard?”

  “No. I’m sorry, but it’s time.”

  She struggled against her bonds, pulling first one way then the other, her breath coming in frantic gasps. “No, no, no. Leave me alone.”

  Her eyes followed the doctor as he moved to the head of the bed. “Nonono,” the syllables blending into each other.

  As he approached, she opened her mouth, filled her lungs and screamed. The cords in her neck stretched taut like ropes. Her wide-eyed gaze tracked him as he pulled out the injection gun. A deep intake of breath. Another shriek. The short hiss of the instrument. A final “No,” almost a whisper, then silence.

  The tension vanished from the woman’s muscles. Her body seemed to sag back on itself.

  “Sleep well,” the doctor muttered.

  ***

  Nigel Perrin coughed as the stench of the anti-bacterial spray filled his nostrils. It was like standing in a thin, drizzly, chemical rain.

  John Martin drew the electronic blade of the cauterising scalpel towards him. “Spread the incision.” He raised his eyes, frowning. “I said spread the incision.”

  “I’m sorry,” Perrin said from the opposite side of the operating table. “It’s a while since I’ve assisted during surgery. Twenty years at least, I reckon.”

  “Use that instrument to pull the wound apart so I can get to the uterus,” the surgeon snapped.

  “Oh, right.” Perrin fumbled with the metal instrument.

  “No, the other way,” Martin said in mounting frustration.

  The doctor adjusted his grip and used the tool to separate the edges of the cut.

  “Good. Keep it like that.”

  Another smooth stroke and the wall of the woman’s uterus parted.

  “Okay, we’re in.”

  Martin reached inside the deep gash in the patient’s belly and eased the baby’s head out. Using his other hand he grasped the body and guided it into the harsh light of the operating theatre. The midwife stepped forwards to accept the child, and within seconds the boy was exercising his lungs in a reedy wail. She severed the umbilical cord, clamped it and placed the infant in an incubator.

  “I’ll sew her up,” the surgeon said. “If there’s any chance she might survive, we better do a good job.”

  Perrin ignored the implied insult, although he was happy to allow Martin to complete the work. “Check her pupillary response,” he said to the midwife.

  The woman raised an eyelid and shone a bright handheld torch at the exposed pupil. “Very little dilation,” she reported.

  The anaesthetist, a man in his early thirties, peered closely at the readouts of his instruments. “Heart rate erratic,” he called. “She’s crashing … That’s it, she’s flat-lined.”

  The surgeon glanced up from his work. “It doesn’t look like this one’s going to survive Dr Perrin. Do you want me to attempt resuscitation?”

  “No, don’t bother. It was always a long shot.” Perrin focused on the anaesthetist. “But I need you to stay with her for at least an hour, just in case.”

  The man groaned. “Whatever you say, Dr Perrin.”

  “And check her core temperature before you record the time of death, just to be absolutely sure.”

  The room fell silent.

  “Right, I’ve finished here,” the surgeon said.

  Perrin inspected the neat row of stitches. “Thanks, John.”

  He turned back to the anaesthetist.

  “Just remember, we thought the girl who survived was dead as well.”

  Chapter 31

  Friday 7th January 2033

  Karen Atkins sat impatiently in the reception area at Ilithyia Biotechnology, studying the contents of the beige folder. Glancing at her watch, she noted that she had already been waiting for twenty minutes, and there was still no sign of the Chief Scientist, Nigel Perrin. She was about to approach the receptionist for the second time when a bald man wearing a white lab coat burst through a set of doors marked private. He halted and surveyed the room before his gaze alighted on Kat. He navigated the rows of chairs and stuck out a hand.

  She rose to her feet. “Are you the Chief Scientist?”

  “Yes, I’m Dr Perrin. What can I do for you, Ms …?”

  “Atkins, Karen Atkins, but everybody calls me Kat. I’m an Inspector at the Maternity Crimes Unit. Is there somewhere we could talk in private?”

  “What’s this about?”

  “Oh, I’m just checking up on some results from a woman and her baby who died here recently, an Antimone Lessing.”

  “Do you know how long this will take? Only we’re very busy at the moment.”

  “Well, that depends to a certain extent on the answers to my questions but probably no more than a few m
inutes.”

  “Right. Well, follow me.”

  The man retraced his footsteps and upon reaching the door held up a card to the electronic reader. A short beep and the red light turned to green. He pushed through the door, holding it open for her. “Just down here.”

  He marched down the corridor, Kat following two paces behind and struggling to keep up. He entered a room on the left, the lights automatically ramping up in brightness as he crossed to a chair facing the doorway. He gestured to a seat on the opposite side of the polished oak table then sat down.

  “Nice facilities you have here,” Kat said, studying the framed prints and expensive looking furniture.

  The doctor removed a ballpoint pen from his pocket and began clicking the tip in and out. “Yes, well you’ve got to set a good first impression in business. So what can I do for you?”

  “Could you start by telling me a little about the work you do here?”

  “Like I said earlier, I’m very busy just at the moment so I’ll keep it brief. We have a research centre and a private hospital at this site. Most of what we do is targeted at creating drugs to treat the Orestes virus, and the majority of our patients are pregnant. I’m sure you’re aware that we developed a cure a few years ago, but then the virus mutated making it ineffective.”

  “So how’s the research going? Are you close to finding another cure?”

  The doctor returned the pen to his jacket pocket and stared across the table. “I can refer you to our PR department if you need background information on the company, but you’ll find pretty much all of it on our website.”

  “Okay, maybe I’ll take a look when I get back to my office. So, do you run experiments on pregnant women?”

  Perrin frowned. “The patients who come here do so of their own accord. We make no promises, but we do offer them experimental treatments that aren’t available elsewhere. As you know, getting pregnant these days is a death sentence if it isn’t terminated within the first four weeks. We’re doing our best to make sure all that changes in the future. Anyway, as I just said, you can download all this information. You mentioned a specific patient. What did you want to know about her?”

  “Yes, Antimone Lessing and her son Paul. I understand you treated them here.”

  “We treat thousands of patients a year. I certainly don’t remember them all.”

  “Well, this girl was sixteen years old and in a wheelchair. The reason my department became involved was because she claimed she’d been raped.”

  Perrin scratched his head. “Yes, I do remember her. As I recall the baby died of a bacterial infection.”

  “Yes, very sad. I met the girl and her parents several times, a nice family.” Kat withdrew a couple of pieces of paper from the folder. “We requested that your company provide a blood sample from the child, mainly so we could identify the rapist.”

  “Was there a problem with the sample? I’m sorry, there’s nothing much I can do about that. Both mother and child were cremated.”

  “So you do remember them.”

  “Well … yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”

  Kat raised her eyes from the printed sheet. “There was an oddity. Our analysis shows no evidence of any infection. Don’t you find that strange? From what I understand, the child died within twenty-four hours of being born.”

  “Do you mind if I look at that?” the doctor asked, extending a hand.

  Kat passed the report over and studied him as his eyes ran down the page.

  He handed the sheets of paper back and met her gaze. “It’s not that unusual, really. Newborn babies are at risk of all sorts of infections. The blood sample would’ve been taken soon after birth, so there’s a good chance either the child hadn’t yet been infected, or the bacteria levels were too low to detect.”

  “But it doesn’t reflect well on your hospital if he picked up the infection here, or you failed to spot that he was already infected.”

  The doctor’s eyes narrowed. “We go to great lengths to prevent infections. For example, this company made a large investment in anti-bacterial mist systems in all our operating theatres two years ago. You wouldn’t find that in the majority of National Health Service hospitals. You must know that a lot of these bugs have resistance to anti-bacterial drugs. Sometimes there’s just nothing we can do.”

  “But still, to go from no evidence of infection to death within what, just over twelve hours, you’ve got to admit it’s strange.”

  “Like I said, infections can take hold really quickly, particularly in babies where the immune system isn’t fully developed.”

  “I asked our expert, and he said the same thing except that he thought the timescale was extremely short.”

  “What can I say? He’s right, but all cases are different.”

  Kat rose to her feet. “Okay, well thanks for clearing that up. I’ll let you get back to your work.”

  Perrin shepherded her out of the room and back towards the main entrance.

  “Thanks for your time,” she said, shaking hands.

  He watched until she had left the building then withdrew his phone from his pocket. He dialled a number and waited. The ring tone repeated six times.

  “Yes.”

  “Hello, Rosalind. I’ve just had a chat with the police about the blood samples we provided for the child. It seems they might not be quite so incompetent after all.”

  Chapter 32

  Friday 7th January 2033

  Jason Baxter drew back the curtain and stared out of the window. The car headlights dazzled him, but a second or two later the curving drive returned to an inky blackness. As his eyes accustomed themselves to the dark, the vehicle’s interior light came on, and he recognised the silhouette of his mother. He watched as she got out, reached in to grab an attaché case then slammed the door behind her.

  She hadn’t returned home the previous two nights and had refused to accept his calls. His heart rate increased as he anticipated the forthcoming encounter. The key turned in the lock, and he picked up the lightweight virtual reality glasses, slipping them onto his face. The clicking of her high heels approached but didn’t stop. He knew that the light beneath the door revealed his presence, but she had chosen not to talk to him. Not a good sign.

  He heard the kitchen door open and the click of the light switch. For a moment he contemplated going out to greet her but thought better of it. He was still wearing the glasses when the footsteps returned along the hall, and the door opened. His mother stepped into the room clutching a glass of red wine.

  “Hello, Jason.”

  “Hello, Mum.”

  Rosalind took a sip and stared at her son. “Have you eaten?”

  “Yeah, I did a frozen pizza in the oven. What about you?”

  “I’m going to make a salad – after I’ve had another of these.” She lifted her glass. “You can’t beat a Chateau Margaux. It’s not a seventeen eighty-seven, but it’s not bad. What are you doing?”

  Jason removed the glasses. “Oh, you know, just watching a film.” He tracked his mother’s gaze to the headset, noted the absence of a green light and realised she had caught him in a lie. She drained her glass, turned on her heel and headed back through the open door without speaking. Jason fidgeted on the sofa, wondering whether he should follow her.

  Several minutes later, she reappeared carrying a tray containing a plateful of salad and a half-empty wine glass. She crossed to an armchair, sat down and ate her meal, perching the tray on her knee.

  Jason waited patiently until she had finished. “Everything okay at work?”

  Rosalind nodded. “Really busy. Never a quiet moment. I should have called to let you know I wasn’t coming home. I slept at the office the last two nights. Sorry about that.”

  Jason shrugged. There was nothing unusual about his mother staying at work overnight, but it was unlike her not to call. Rosalind rose, placed the tray holding the empty plate on the coffee table then returned to her seat, clutching the glass to her chest. The sil
ence built between them like an invisible barrier.

  Jason leant forwards. If she wouldn’t speak, he would. “So, you heard about the … um … incident at the hospital?”

  His mother stared down as she swirled the contents of the glass then raised her eyes. “I assume you’re referring to the thing with Max. Yes. I can’t say I blame you.”

  “What about Max?”

  “He’ll survive.”

  “That’s not what I meant. What’s going to happen to him?”

  “Nothing. Unfortunately, there’s no evidence. If we go to the police, they’ll discover you’re the child’s father and … well, like I said, there’s no proof you were drugged.”

  “So he’s just going to get away with it?”

  Rosalind didn’t reply. She drained the glass then stood up. “I’m going to get a refill.”

  Jason sat back on the sofa, his mind whirling. She knew about the assault, but why had they been testing Max? It must mean their parents believed that both boys had something to do with Antimone getting pregnant. What puzzled him was the reason for the tests. Why the interest in the blood and DNA samples and why the scan? Something else was going on that she wasn’t telling him.

  Rosalind returned to her chair with a full glass.

  “So what will happen about Daniel Floyd?” he asked.

  His mother’s eyes were slow to find him. He realised that she must have been drinking before she came home.

  “He’s a convicted murderer. If the police catch him, he’s only getting what he deserves.”

  “So you’re not going to let them know they’re after the wrong man?”

  Rosalind glanced up sharply, spilling a drop of wine on her dark skirt. “No,” she said brushing the liquid off. “If I knew where he was, I’d tell them.”