by Jason Ayres
Deep in thought, he didn’t notice how much quieter the streets were than usual, but he was suddenly shaken out of his gloom by the piercing sound of an approaching ambulance as he walked along Woodstock Road.
He looked up to see it bearing down towards him at high speed, and instinctively moved away from the edge of the road because he could see something was wrong. It was weaving erratically and for a moment he feared it was actually going to mount the pavement and run him down. Was this Vanessa trying to do to him what she had done to Henry? But why bother going to those lengths when she could just have zapped him with her laser gun?
His fears of being run down quickly receded as the ambulance veered across to the opposite side of the road, at which point the rear began to slide out as the driver lost control. It clipped the kerb and flipped right over, crashing straight through the plate-glass window of a large furniture store opposite.
It was only then that Josh noticed that the street was deserted. Something wasn’t right, and he instinctively suspected that Vanessa was behind it.
In the absence of anyone else being around to help, he ran over to the ambulance to see if he could help those inside, but as he reached the driver’s window and looked inside, he was forced to recoil in horror.
It wasn’t because of the woman’s injuries – there was no sign of any blood or any other damage from the accident – but what he saw was arguably worse. The paramedic’s face was almost purple and drenched in sweat, while her mouth was pouring with foam, like a rabid dog. Whatever was wrong with this woman, it hadn’t been caused by the crash.
The helpless driver screamed and clawed at the window, clearly in sheer agony.
Then he heard a gunshot in the distance and what sounded like a burglar alarm going off. Something bad was happening here and he needed to get somewhere safe. It reminded him of when he had been trapped in the multiverse and strange things like this had happened in nearly every world he visited.
“I’m sorry,” mouthed Josh at the stricken paramedic as he stepped back. She was clearly beyond help and he made the gut-wrenching decision to leave her. What could he do? He ran up towards the junction with Little Clarendon Street but pulled up sharp at the corner as he almost tripped over a dead body in the street.
He looked down and recognised the waitress from the café on the corner with whom he had spoken the night Henry had died. She was lying on her back, lifeless eyes staring emptily at him from a purple face. There was dried foam mixed with her red lipstick all down her chin and her mouth was contorted in a grimace. She had clearly died in agony. What could cause something so horrific?
It reminded him of gruesome pictures he had seen on the TV news many years ago of the effects of an advanced nerve gas that some terrorists had got hold of. They had used it to wipe out thousands of men, women and children in a war-torn state in Africa.
Josh reached into his pocket and pulled out a tissue, clamping it over his mouth, even though he knew it would do him little good if this really was some advanced nerve agent. Whatever had killed the waitress and the paramedic could still be in the air and if it was, he had almost certainly breathed it in.
He decided to get off the streets to try to figure out what was happening, but every shop and café was seemingly closed. Desperately he tried each door in turn until, with relief, he found a handle that turned. Coincidentally, it turned out to be the same restaurant where all the trouble had started the night Henry disappeared.
The scene inside reminded him of the Mary Celeste. Half-eaten meals sat on plates abandoned in a hurry, with napkins strewn across the table in the undoubted haste with which the diners had left. None of the food was decaying, suggesting this had all happened very recently.
He took a moment to grab a full glass of wine someone had left on one of the tables. He drained the lot in one go which was something Charlie wouldn’t have approved of. He believed wine needed to be savoured, but this was hardly the time and he needed something to steady his nerves.
Looking around, he was relieved to see there were no dead bodies. The diners must have had some warning of what was coming and got out. He made his way to the back of the restaurant and out into the kitchen to see if he could find more clues there.
The scene reflected what he had already seen in the restaurant. There were several meals in various degrees of preparation which had been abandoned in a hurry.
He noticed a strong smell of burning mixed with a smell that reminded Josh of his childhood and his grandmother’s overcooked Brussels sprouts.
Crossing over to the large stove, he could see it was still on and a metal saucepan was blackened from sitting on the gas in the hours since this place had been abandoned. Inside the pan were some unidentifiable blackened vegetables that had been completely cremated once the water in the pan had run dry.
He switched off the gas and walked over to the office area beyond where he could see there was a television. Locating the remote, he flicked it on to be confronted by a screen that simply read “Temporary fault”. He scrolled through several channels, but it was a similar story with all until he reached the BBC’s news channel which was the only one that still seemed to be broadcasting.
On the screen was the reassuringly familiar sight of the channel’s veteran news anchor, Seema Mistry. Now in her sixties, she had enjoyed a glittering career and had been ever present on Josh’s TV screen throughout his adult life. In another place and another time, he had also had a brief intimate encounter with her.
Her appearance was shocking as she spoke, coughing into the camera. Normally so well turned out, her beautiful Asian features had seemed immune to the ravages of age for so many years, but no longer. It was abundantly clear that she, too, was in the grip of whatever had afflicted the other people he had encountered.
The banner scrolling across the bottom of the screen read “State of emergency declared. UK death toll now over one million”, but from what Seema was saying it was considerably worse than that.
She paused, coughing violently, before continuing her broadcast.
“Doctors say that they are working on a cure for the virus, which appeared from nowhere just five days ago, but it will take time to treat the whole population. In the meantime, the advice is to stay indoors, and if you feel the symptoms, drink as much fluid as possible and stay in bed until the worst is past.”
She paused again, coughing, and Josh could see foam forming on her lips, just like the others. Then Seema decided to drop the pretence. She had always had a reputation for hard-hitting investigative journalism and she wasn’t about to make an exception because of the heavy-handed orders issued to her by the emergency government.
“The truth is, we all know there is no cure. Everyone here at the station is dead, and I expect that I will join them within the next hour. This will be my final broadcast. The government theory is that whoever has brought this pestilence upon us created it in a laboratory and deliberately unleashed it upon the world. Whoever it was has in all likelihood brought about the end of humanity as we know it.”
She paused again, face turning even more purple as she gasped for air, before continuing, desperate to deliver her final report professionally.
“The pain is excruciating. I feel as if I am being cooked from within as if I was in a microwave. I regret…”
She had another hacking coughing fit, causing her to flop forward onto her desk, in a state of near collapse, but she raised her head weakly one last time.
“…I regret, I cannot continue this transmission. This has been Seema Mistry, on behalf of BBC Worldwide, signing off.”
Then the screen went blank, leaving Josh feeling devastated at what he had just witnessed. How many other people had seen it? There couldn’t be that many left.
“Seen enough yet?” said a familiar voice behind him. He turned to see the despised face of his tormentor standing in the doorway that separated the office from the kitchen.
“You did this, didn’t you?” accused Jos
h.
“Of course,” said Vanessa. “The virus was yet another of my little pet projects. I had it brewed up back in Canberra, years ago. It was just a little insurance policy, you could say, in case certain people wouldn’t play ball. My nuclear option, if you wish. I never thought I’d have to use it.”
“But you have,” said Josh. “And you’ve killed millions of people.”
“Oh, billions I should expect,” she said without an ounce of regret. “It’s the perfect virus. It has a transmission rate and a mortality rate of 100%. That is unless you’ve been vaccinated of course, which obviously I have. The most entertaining part is that the victims die in absolute agony. The virus mimics the effects of the chemical weapons they used in the African wars of the 2030s.”
“You’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“I certainly am,” she replied. “I like watching people suffer. It all started when I was a kid and I used to spray insecticide on the flies that used to buzz around on our front porch. I loved watching them die, lying on their backs with their pathetic little legs wriggling in the air. But with people it’s so much more satisfying. You can see so much more. The pain, the despair: it’s quite addictive.”
“You are without a doubt the vilest human being who has ever existed on this planet,” said Josh. “Why would you kill all those people? Is this your latest way of getting me to change my mind because, let me assure you, it’s not working.”
“It was you who gave me the idea in the first place, my love,” she replied. “Do you remember when you said you wouldn’t want me if I was the last woman on Earth? Well, within a few hours I will be, so we can test the theory. That’s if you’re still alive by then, of course.”
Josh sneezed profusely, about three or four times in a row, and immediately knew what she meant. His body had begun to react to the virus already infecting every cell of his body. Right now, he felt exactly as he often did at the start of an attack of hay fever, but he knew this was nothing to do with pollen.
“Oh yes, you’ve got it,” she confirmed. “That’s how it starts. Just like a cold. But it rapidly get worse. Most people are dead within a couple of hours.”
“You won’t let that happen,” said Josh. “You wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble if it meant I’d die, too.”
“Quite right,” she said. “In fact, I’ve got the cure right here. All you have to do is ask for it.”
“Never,” said Josh, determined not to give in to her. “I’d rather be dead than submit to you.”
“Noble sentiments, indeed,” she replied. “But in a few moments, you’ll be begging me to help you. What’s the worst pain you’ve ever felt in your life? Well, multiply that by a hundred and you might be getting close to what your body’s about to make you feel. Now come on, be reasonable. Let me help you and we can stop all this silliness. It’s really gone on far too long, don’t you think?”
“Go to Hell!” he shouted, as the pain began to kick in. It started with the heat building across his skin, starting like a mild sunburn but increasing exponentially until it felt like he was being branded by red-hot irons all over his body. But it was the internal heat that was the worst. Seema had been right. It was like being cooked in a microwave.
“Come on, Josh, why suffer unnecessarily? I’ve got the syringe right here. Just say the word and I can make it all go away. Give in to me and it will all be over.”
Despite his best intentions, Josh simply couldn’t hold out against the agonising pain any longer. No human being could. She had beaten him, and he would have to concede, at least for now.
“OK, I give in,” he panted, barely able to speak through the pain. “Make it stop.”
“That’s not enough,” she taunted him. “I want more. I want you to tell me you love me.”
“Please, just give me the antidote,” he begged, pathetically, through the foam that was now pouring from his lips. He felt disgusted that he had been reduced to this.
“Not until you tell me you love me,” said Vanessa. “And you had better hurry up. In another couple of minutes your internal organs will start turning to mush and then nothing will be able to help you.”
“Fine,” he spluttered, desperate to end the pain. “I love you.”
“Good boy,” she said, stepping over to where he was now wallowing on the floor to stick the syringe into his neck.
“There – that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Josh felt a soothing coolness spreading across his skin but took no comfort from it. He had been defeated and humiliated and felt utterly broken. The pain had taken all the fight out of him, at least for now.
“And now something to help you sleep,” said Vanessa, producing another syringe and injecting him again.
Exhausted, he was grateful to succumb to the relief of sleep, going under very quickly.
Vanessa gazed adoringly down at him. At last he belonged to her.
“Ah, my little sleeping baby,” she cooed. “Don’t worry, everything’s going to be alright now.”
Crazed as she was, she still knew she couldn’t make him love her by any conventional means, but that didn’t matter. She had plenty more in her armoury yet.
“Dani, come here,” she ordered, and Henry’s pet android from Canberra dutifully glided into view behind her.
“What can I do for you, Vanessa?”
“Bring him and follow me,” she commanded.
The powerful android lifted Josh’s body with ease, turned and followed Vanessa back out of the office.
Chapter Eighteen
July 2058
When Josh awoke, the pain was gone, and he was barely aware that it had ever been there.
He felt woozy and disorientated. He had experienced such feelings before in the brief seconds following an exceptionally vivid dream, or when falling asleep at an odd time of day, but this time it was different. Seconds after regaining consciousness he was hit by the shock realisation that he had no idea where he was or even who he was.
He sat up, looking around to find himself in luxurious surroundings. He was in an extremely comfortable four-poster bed in a large, white room, with marble floors and rustic furnishings. Large French windows occupied the whole of the side of the room to his right, through which he could see a beach framed with palm trees. It was a picture postcard view.
The sheets were pure silk, as were his pyjamas. He couldn’t be short of money if he could afford all this.
The shore was not far away judging by the sound of waves crashing. He could hear the squawking of various tropical birds overhead, as well as a strange whistling call from some kind of bird he had never heard before. He was somewhere in the tropics for sure, but any speculation beyond that would be pure guesswork.
There was a low, red sun, right on the horizon, which was either rising or setting, but he had no idea which because his body clock was all out. He sat up and watched for a moment, and saw the sun inching slowly upwards. He knew now that it was just past dawn.
Beyond the waves breaking on the shoreline he could see a relatively placid, blue ocean with the water glittering in the reflection of the rising sun. The sky was red around the sun but already beginning to turn a brilliant shade of blue above. Wherever he was, it certainly wasn’t disagreeable.
Memories of other places flooded through him, crowded cities with noisy traffic and tired British seaside resorts, full of peeling paint and drizzle. He could remember all these places with great clarity, but nothing of his experiences in them. A couple of minutes had passed now since he had woken up and he still had no idea who he was.
He glanced around the room, looking for clues, but there was little to see. Other than the four-poster bed his surroundings were sparse. There was a wooden chest of drawers and wardrobe on the far side of the room, plus a small bedside table to his left, but that was all.
The room seemed devoid of technology, so there was seemingly no way of finding out any information about his identity or his location. He decided
to get out of bed and examine things more closely.
A quick search of the drawers and the wardrobe proved fruitless. He had hoped he might find a wallet, smartphone or anything that might give him a clue to his identity, but there was nothing other than a few clothes, presumably his, inside.
As he closed the last drawer, he noticed the single gold band on the ring finger of his left hand suggesting he was married, but to whom? His memory loss must be serious if he couldn’t even remember his own wife. Despite being awake some time now, there was still nothing coming back to him.
There was a small en suite bathroom to the left of the bed, but there were no further clues there, just a few basic toiletries that could belong to any man.
He opened the French windows and immediately felt the searing heat on his skin, even though the sun had barely risen. Wherever he was, the climate was extremely hot.
The doors led out to a large, wooden decking area, beyond which there was nothing but palm trees and sand leading down to the shore. He walked down to the end of the decking and then turned back to examine the building he had just come from. His room was just a small part of a grandiose, whitewashed villa.
Other than the villa, there were no other buildings in sight. There were no other notable landmarks either. Casting his eyes left and right along the beach, all he could see was more sand and trees. Behind the villa there was more of the same, with no hills leading him to surmise that he was on a low-lying, small island.
It seemed like an idyllic desert island hideaway but what was he doing here? Was this home, or had he been brought here for some other reason?
He heard the whistling sound again and saw a large, strange-looking duck near a palm tree close to the edge of the water. He had never been into ornithology, which was unfortunate, as if he had, he might be able to identify his location by the bird’s habitat.
