The Peco Incident

by Des Hunt

  The interview section of the news had started, and there on the screen was Colin Saxton, speaking in his slow, deliberate manner.

  ‘Yes, those photos do raise serious questions. They demonstrate that the security at Peco was breached in the days immediately before we became aware of the influenza outbreak.’

  Jim Black, the interviewer, leaned forward. ‘That’s right! So someone could have entered the sheds illegally and taken the disease in with them.’

  Saxton shook his head slowly. ‘That is extremely unlikely. Today we confirmed that the virus was in some eggs that we discovered on the site. These eggs had white shells, whereas all of the hens at Peco laid brown-shelled eggs. Thus, these eggs must have come from somewhere else. A place where H6N3 exists, which means somewhere overseas, as it has never previously been detected in New Zealand.’

  ‘But that doesn’t mean that Bryce Shreeves was necessarily responsible,’ said Jim. ‘Someone else could have planted those eggs in there knowing they were diseased. Couldn’t they?’

  ‘Yes,’ Saxton said drawing out the word. ‘But why would anyone else want to do that? The simplest explanation is that the eggs were brought into the country and hence to Peco to provide a new variety of—’

  ‘Yes, yes!’ Jim Black interrupted. ‘We know that. However, Bryce Shreeves is saying that the eggs were found broken in his laying sheds. If they were brought in for breeding purposes, they’d be found in an incubator or something. Wouldn’t they?’

  A brief smile passed over Saxton’s face. ‘Yes. I suspect we would have found some in the incubator room. Unfortunately it burned down just as we were entering the premises.’

  ‘Mr Saxton, are you not prepared to consider that somebody other than Peco people might be involved in this matter? Animal activists or terrorists, such as the people who took those photos?’

  Saxton gave a brief snort. ‘There is no need to invent a conspiracy theory when there is a very simple explanation which is supported by the evidence. Evidence which, I must say, is growing day by day as the investigation continues.’

  Jim Black nodded. ‘Right. Thank you, Mr Saxton. I’ll let you go and continue with your investigations. But I should tell you that we also will be continuing with ours.’

  The programme moved on to some story which involved a brave dog. None of us paid any attention. We were still processing Jim Black’s last comment. After a minute or so, Dad swore loudly. Immediately Harriet repeated the word — not once, but several times. It sounded so funny we couldn’t help but laugh, Dad included.

  ‘You’re one smart bird, aren’t you?’ he said, chuckling as he got up to get another beer. ‘Smarter than some humans we know, eh?’ he added, looking first at Nick and then at me.

  ‘Too right!’ said Harriet, bobbing her head up and down. ‘Too right!’

  CHAPTER 14

  As Christmas approached, we lived dreading a visit from some form of authority. During the day we kept Harriet locked in the bedroom with the curtains closed. She was let out each evening when we thought it was too late for visitors. Unfortunately, we were wrong. The Ministry of Health people arrived the second night following Murph’s admission to hospital.

  We were all at the dinner table when there was a knock on the back door. For a moment everyone froze. Then Nick jumped to his feet, grabbed Harriet still on her stand and took off for the bedroom.

  ‘Coming!’ Dad called out, slowly walking to the door.

  He returned accompanied by a man and a woman, both wearing white coats and surgical masks. We were about to be swabbed.

  After they’d introduced themselves, Dad went down the hall towards our bedroom. Shortly afterwards Nick returned, so I assumed that Dad had volunteered to look after Harriet. I smiled to myself: he always disappeared whenever something medical was going on.

  The two health officials showed nothing to indicate that they had seen anything out of place. They just opened their bags and got on with their routine.

  Had we been coughing?

  No more than normal.

  Any fever?

  No.

  Or feeling cold?

  No.

  Sore throat, runny nose, sneezing?

  No, no, and no.

  And so it went on through the various parts of the body. It seemed that the symptoms could be any one of the things that indicate you are sick: headache, stomach upset, loss of appetite, diarrhoea, aching muscles, or limb or joint pain.

  After the questionnaire came the swabbing. This involved a long wire with a cotton-wool tip. It was fed into the nose, up and around the bends until you could feel it at the back of the throat. As it was pulled out, it was rotated so that it swept over most surfaces. The effect was weird, rather than painful. After the wire was removed, it was sealed in a tube. Then a second wire was used for the other nostril.

  ‘What about my husband and me?’ asked Mum as the health people began to pack up.

  ‘That won’t be necessary at this time,’ said the woman. ‘These boys have been in contact with someone who has symptoms. The disease is only infectious when symptoms are presented.’

  ‘However,’ said the man, ‘if symptoms do show in either of them, we must be contacted immediately.’ He handed Mum a piece of paper. ‘This has all the contact details, plus a list of the symptoms. The golden rule is: if in doubt, give us a call.’

  ‘What about us?’ I asked. ‘Do we have to do anything special?’

  The woman nodded. ‘I was just coming to that. Until you hear from us, you are to stay away from other people. Basically, that means staying at home.’ She looked out the window. ‘I suppose you could go walking along the beach by yourself, so long as you keep clear of others.’

  ‘How’s Murph?’ asked Nick.

  For a moment they looked puzzled.

  ‘Ah! Mr Murphy,’ said the man. ‘His condition is serious, I’m afraid. He will remain in isolation until we have the results of the H6N3 tests.’ He paused. ‘They should be through a little before yours.’

  ‘Can he have visitors?’ asked Mum.

  They both shook their heads. ‘Not a hope. Not until he’s cleared of the virus.’

  After that they left, saying that we should hear one way or the other by Christmas.

  In the end, they were our only visitors. If Jim Black was continuing his investigations, then we couldn’t have been suspects. We never heard from him or anybody associated with his programme. He wasn’t even on television anymore, as the channel had moved into their summer holiday mode with lots of repeat shows.

  Dad had also started his holidays. He spent his time pottering around in the workshop, and making sure Nick and I didn’t break isolation. We weren’t allowed to go anywhere unless he was with us.

  I didn’t get any symptoms, except for the need to cough a bit when I got up in the morning. But that happened throughout the year, so I didn’t think it was related to the flu. On the other hand, Nick got every symptom on the list. He had bad coughing fits, splitting headaches, aching muscles, and even the runs. At first I thought he was really sick. That was before I noticed that it only happened when either Mum or Dad were around. In the end they sat him down and grilled him until he admitted he was just faking it as a joke. He was surprised when Mum and Dad didn’t find it all that funny.

  Being forced to stay at home gave me plenty of time to finish my Christmas gifts. The only one that gave me any problems was the pendant for Nick, and that was because I wasn’t sure if I wanted to do it anymore or not. By then he was acting as if he owned Harriet, and she was responding as if that was indeed the case. It was annoying more than upsetting. In the end I decided to go ahead and finish the thing, hoping that it might somehow replace his need for real contact with her.

  Maybe if it worked out right, then Harriet and I could return to the way things were before he came.

  Our forced isolation was relaxed on Christmas Eve. By then we’d been three days without any genuine flu symptoms, so the chance of us having i
t seemed small. Mum was working at the Albatross Centre all day, and in the afternoon Dad decided he wanted to go to the Portobello pub. After spelling out the rules about keeping away from people, he gave us permission to get out on our bikes for a while. We went to Allans Beach, because Nick had been pestering me to show him the penguins.

  It was evening when we got there; the time when the yellow-eyed penguins return from the sea, and hence a good viewing time.

  We were surprised to see Brio and Roost’s van in the car park. Five days had passed since they’d told us they were heading to Australia, and yet it looked like they were still around.

  I chose a sand hill a little south of where the penguins come ashore. There, you can hide in low bushes and get a good view down to the sand without disturbing the birds too much. They can be quite timid creatures, and if they think they’re being watched they’ll just stay in the water where they feel safe.

  We sat on the ground and waited. And waited and waited. I quite enjoyed the stillness of the evening and the sounds of the birds at the end of the day, but the wait was far too long for Nick to stay still. He started fidgeting and peering around the place. Then something caught his eye. Something on the hill opposite us.

  He nudged me with his elbow. ‘Look,’ he whispered.

  I turned and saw that there was something new on the slope rising up to the top of the cliffs. It was a bird-watching hide made from broken-off pine branches. Somebody had gone to a lot of trouble to drag stuff up from the trees around the car park. There wasn’t much to it: just branches arranged so that anything on the beach wouldn’t see the occupants. But we could see into it from our sand hill, and what I saw caused all my enjoyment of the evening to disappear.

  It was Brio and Roost.

  Brio was scanning the area through a telephoto lens on her camera, whilst Roost seemed to be drawing in an exercise book.

  ‘What are they up to?’ I asked.

  ‘Penguin-watching?’ suggested Nick.

  ‘Can’t be that,’ I said. ‘They haven’t arrived yet.’

  I followed the line of Brio’s lens. She seemed to be studying the lupins. As I watched, she stopped scanning to concentrate on one spot. She said something to Roost, who made a note in the book. Then the scanning resumed.

  The only thing I could think of was that they were looking for sea lions. I knew Brio hated the things. Maybe she wanted to make sure she never came across one by accident. It was either that or they were trying to spot places where the penguins might roost.

  My thoughts were broken by another nudge from Nick. This time he was looking towards the sea. A penguin was coming out of the water. When it got to the shallows, it stopped to sense its surroundings. Soon it was joined by two more. They stayed there as a group for several minutes, checking for danger. Nick took out his phone and pointed it at them.

  ‘They’re too far away,’ I said.

  He nodded, but took a photo anyway. When we looked at it, all we could see were some tiny dots on an empty beach.

  Eventually the penguins were satisfied that all was clear, and began waddling up the beach. At the high-tide mark, they stopped again. This time only a few seconds passed before the waddling continued. There were no further stops before they reached the lupins and disappeared from view.

  I looked across to check on Brio and Roost. Obviously they could still see the penguins, for Brio was tracking them through the lupins, giving Roost a running commentary on their progress. Roost seemed to be recording all the details. Whatever they were up to, it seemed to involve locating where the penguins would spend the night. Maybe they were hoping to find nests and photograph them.

  For the next half-hour we watched both the penguins arriving on the beach and the couple on the cliff behind us. The penguins always went through the same routine, and so too did Brio and Roost. When the birds got into the lupins, Brio would start talking and Roost would start recording. We couldn’t see the penguins, but I figured the talking and recording stopped only when the birds reached their destination.

  Nine penguins arrived in total, which wasn’t too bad for a public beach. It was more than I’d seen before on Allans Beach. It seemed that all the work done to help the yellow-eyed penguin was getting results. That was some good information I could pass on to Murph whenever we got the chance to go and visit him.

  It was dark when we got back to the car park. Brio and Roost were already there, sitting in deck chairs, arranged in a way that suggested they were waiting for us. Roost was sucking on a bottle of beer, while Brio was chewing as usual.

  ‘Saw you down there,’ said Brio as we walked up.

  ‘Saw you, too,’ I replied.

  Brio nodded. ‘I noticed that.’

  ‘What were you doing?’ asked Nick, taking the direct route when I was hoping they’d offer the information themselves.

  ‘Mapping the penguin locations,’ replied Brio.

  Nick pulled a puzzled face. ‘Why?’

  ‘So I can get a photo of them leaving in the morning,’ said Brio. ‘I’ve tried other mornings, but they’ve always been too far away. This time I’m determined to get real close to them.’

  That sounded reasonable.

  Brio looked at Nick as if expecting more questions. There weren’t any, so she asked, ‘What about you? Did you get anything decent with that phone of yours?’

  ‘Nah, they were too far away.’

  ‘Those were great shots you took at the chook farm.’

  My whole body went rigid. Nick’s eyes opened wide. His mouth gaped, but nothing came out.

  Brio and Roost looked at each other and laughed — loud and long.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Brio when she’d recovered, ‘your secret is safe with us.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Roost. ‘We’re very happy that you showed Shreeves up for what he really is.’

  I was trying to think of ways to deny it when Nick asked, ‘How did you know?’

  ‘It was pretty easy, really,’ said Brio. ‘First up, we knew we hadn’t done it, although I wish we had. That didn’t leave many others. Everyone we came across seemed to want to ignore the dead sparrows, hoping they’d go away. You were the only two who showed any interest whatsoever. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to work it out, did it, Roost?’

  ‘Nah, it was dead easy,’ said Roost. A pause. ‘Hey, did you see the news last night?’

  We shook our heads.

  ‘You should have watched. Your photos have gone global. The whole world now knows what it’s like in a battery farm. This is really going to change things everywhere.’

  ‘Those photos are pretty horrible,’ said Brio. ‘But what was it like for real?’

  Nick shook his head in disgust at the horrors he had seen. ‘It was gruesome,’ he said. ‘Wasn’t it, Danny?’

  But I wasn’t admitting anything. Not to these people. Instead, I turned to Brio. ‘I thought you were going to Australia?’

  She gave me a knowing smile, recognizing that I was changing the topic. ‘Still are,’ she said. ‘We heard today that we’ve got a booking on Boxing Day. So, one more day and we’re off. It’ll be good to get away from this place and its filthy disease.’

  ‘What are you doing for Christmas Day?’ I asked, determined to keep the conversation away from anything to do with bird flu.

  ‘We’re going to have breakfast on the beach, and then we’ve been invited to a barbecue,’ said Roost. ‘Should be good. Never had a barbecue for Christmas before. At home it’s usually so freaking cold that you wouldn’t dare go outside.’

  After that we talked about New Zealand Christmases for a while, and never got back to the photos. At the first opportunity, we said our goodbyes and left.

  CHAPTER 15

  Christmas Day dawned cold, windy and wet. So cold that it was snowing on the mountains inland. I looked out the window and wondered if Brio and Roost were still planning to have breakfast on the beach.

  For our breakfast we made pancakes: I did the mixing,
and Nick did the cooking. After smothering them with maple syrup, we delivered them to Mum and Dad, who were still in bed. This was followed with coffee, which I think Dad in particular appreciated, as he had a bit of a sore head after his evening down at the pub.

  Gift time was just before dinner in the middle of the day. The gifts that our family exchanged seemed miserable in comparison with what Nick and his parents gave. A big parcel from Aunty Yvonne had come in the post a few days after Nick had arrived. In it was the latest game console for Nick and a hand-held one for me. I’d never received a Christmas present like it before: a gift that was brand-new and in its original box was almost unheard of in our family.

  I could see that Mum was a little put out by the gifts. I’d often heard her say that Nick was spoilt stupid, and I gather she considered these gifts supported that view. I felt a bit embarrassed when I handed Nick the carved pendant of Harriet, but his reaction when he unwrapped it made me feel much better.

  ‘Look at that, Harriet,’ he said holding the pendant up to the real bird sitting on his shoulder. ‘That’s you!’

  ‘Hello!’ said Harriet to her carved image. ‘Who are you?’

  After we’d finished laughing, Nick put the pendant over his head and arranged it so that it sat nicely at the top of his chest. He turned to me. ‘Thank you so much, Danny,’ he said. ‘Now she’ll be with me wherever I go. Thank you!’

  Midway through the afternoon Mum got a call from the hospital. Murph was being taken out of isolation. Tests had not found any hint of the H6N3 virus in his body. Although he was still seriously ill with emphysema, there was no reason why he couldn’t have visitors. Mum and Dad decided it would be good to go and see him and try to cheer up his Christmas.

  While they were getting ready, another phone call came through. This was from the Ministry of Health to say that Nick and I were clear of the virus too. We pretty much knew that already, but it was good to have official notification. It meant we could start living a normal life again, which started straight away by going with Mum and Dad to the hospital.