by Robin Crumby
“Hey Irish girl, O’Reilly. Come sit with us. We brought some of that guacamole you like so much. What’s the matter? Us grunts not good enough for you now?”
She kept walking, ignoring their jeers and whistles, keeping her eyes fixed forward. She had remembered Zed’s advice: keep them onside. Anyway, she had Sergeant Jones to thank for the brand-new Glock pistol, spare clips and a flare gun packed in her rucksack, still in its case.
The soldiers from Porton Down were the only ones who really knew what lay outside the perimeter fence. Riley was reassured by their relaxed professionalism. They looked bored and lethargic as if the trip they were about to make was routine. Their squad leader, a swarthy Corporal, chewing gum, remained alert and ready, his weapon kept in front of him as if he expected trouble at any moment. It was said that a mob was lurking inside the compound, which in part determined their dawn departure. They hoped to catch them napping.
Riley looked around at the rest of her fellow travellers. They were a sorry party of socially inept scientists and lab workers. Several were peripherally aware of her staring and seemed to avoid eye contact. She imagined this was the first time they had been outside the facility for many months, their skin pale and blemished. The scientists showed little interest in their surroundings, tapping away at the laptops on their knees.
As the APV swerved and bumped over some debris in the hangar loading area, for a moment, one of them looked up irritated as if jolted awake by the violent movement. Pushing his glasses back up the ridge on his nose, he squinted through the rear panel to the outside world. She wondered whether these guys really were as smart as they were cracked up to be. They certainly didn’t look like the saviours of humanity, let alone capable of inventing a vaccine.
Alongside the APV they could hear raised voices as the Staff Sergeant walked down the line of vehicles banging the flat of his hand against their doors, checking they were ready to leave the relative safety of the hangar. Engines in gear, they nudged forward so that they were all in a line.
The reinforced bay door in front of them remained sealed shut until the last minute. Riley unclipped her seat belt and crouched low behind the partition that separated the cabin so she could see out of the front windscreen. The red light above the hanger door turned green and a warning siren sounded, as the bay door slid back. Either side of the convoy walked a dozen soldiers wearing body armour and combat helmets. They would escort them to the edge of the base and clear the way of any locals who tried to get in their path.
It was first light, a pale dawn. A grey, cloudy start to the day with rain clouds threatening in the West. The APV rolled slowly forward. The central console between the front seats housed what looked like a short-wave radio transmitter, a larger version of what Jack used on the Nipper. Riley leaned forward, trying to listen in to the radio chatter between the base commander and the convoy. It was garbled and full of static. The co-driver twiddled one of the knobs and adjusted the gain until the interference cleared and they could hear the other vehicles reporting in and ready to head out.
Riley sat facing forward trying to see out of the windshield, but they were so close to the Humvee in front, she couldn’t see much. The soldiers jogging alongside kept pace for the first few hundred meters before the convoy picked up speed on the open tarmac. Their escorts started dropping back and stopped. In the rear-view panel, she could see the Corporal’s hand raised as a goodbye. She watched as the squad turned their backs on the convoy and double-timed it back to the safety of the hanger bay.
A heavy object smashed against the side of the APV, jolting her back to the here and now. It was followed by a series of smaller noises, stones most likely, as a crowd emerged from behind a grass bank.
“Here they come,” shouted the driver. “Bloody hundreds of them.”
A volley of shots rang out from far behind them as the turret of the Humvee provided some covering fire, scattering the mob.
The convoy slowed again as it reached the main gate. A double fence with a small chicane and speed bumps designed to slow the approach of vehicles entering the base. When the gate had been fully manned, cars and trucks would have entered a holding area inside the first fence where a pair of security guards checked the occupants’ IDs and security passes under the watchful eye of CCTV cameras. Today there was no one in sight, the front gate misshapen, pushed to the side, as if hanging by a single hinge.
The compound was no longer secure, its fences repeatedly breached. Strong points and observation towers had been abandoned some time ago. Ahead of them the gates stood open. A series of speed bumps slowed their progress, followed by a narrow concrete chicane. Beyond, running alongside the perimeter fence, the tarmac of the main road beckoned.
As the convoy approached the chicane, a wine bottle with a burning rag stuffed in the end arced towards them and shattered against the Humvee. Flames engulfed the roof and right side as more people emerged from their hiding places to bombard the convoy with bricks and masonry. Riley was startled by the noise. She could feel the searing heat from inside their own vehicle. The Humvee in front braked hard and the APV almost rear-ended them.
Zed barged Riley out the way to look through the narrow gap, watching the equipment strapped to the top of the lead Humvee smouldering, thick clouds of smoke spewing from a burning spare tyre.
“Why are they stopping? Keep going for God’s sake.”
The convoy picked up pace again as a voice from the lead vehicle said: “Sorry about that. Some kid just ran straight in front of us. I had to swerve to avoid hitting him.”
“Don’t stop for anyone or anything,” said a voice over the radio.
“Copy that.”
The gap with the Humvee in front grew again as they accelerated out of the front gate and alongside the fence heading for the main road. The road ahead was clear, the crowd of people beyond the perimeter ran for the tree line, leaving the APV to drive over the speed bumps, through the chicane and out on to the main road beyond the base.
“Stay alert. If the Sergeant’s right, that was just the friendly send-off. We can expect plenty more interest like that along the way.”
Riley sat back in her seat and sighed, reattaching her seat belt. She realised she had been holding her breath for large parts of their departure. Zed resumed his reading, forcing a smile, noticing Riley staring at him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
For the first couple of hours, the convoy stuck to narrow country roads that ran alongside lush farmland, overgrown with wild flowers and poppies. The meadows round here were some of John Constable’s favourite tableaux. The landscape he had painted almost two hundred years ago was as English as you could find, unchanged and beautiful.
Catching glimpses of Salisbury Cathedral in the distance, they progressed south. Skirting the city centre, they avoided the main roads, following the meandering line of the River Avon. They passed through the picturesque village of Aldebury, its duck pond flooded and overgrown. The convoy continued on to Charlton-All-Saints and the surrounding farms and fields where cows and sheep had been left unattended for too long. They could see several beasts had fallen in the stream, unable to get themselves out, rotting carcasses infecting the water downstream. Along a barbed-wire fence, several sheep had become entangled, bleating for a farmer who never came, slowly starving to death. The smell was overpowering even now, so much so that they kept their windows closed and switched the air-conditioning over to recycled air.
Leaving the open fields behind them, they approached the edge of the New Forest. With every mile of their uninterrupted progress, Riley allowed herself to hope. Did her travelling companions really hold the key? Zed had said that it might take years to produce a vaccine. Would generations to come know a world without the virus? Could things ever return to normal, after all this time? Looking out the window, she imagined she might see soldiers waving them forward, guarding the road. They were already way ahead of schedule. At this rate, they might even make it back to the island before n
ightfall.
Riley relaxed back into her seat, listening to the Professor and the scientists arguing about something to do with genetics. She found their back and forth almost impossible to follow, preferring to watch the others tapping away silently on their laptops. She tried to engage Zed in conversation to pass the time, but he was buried in another of the reports he had brought with him, scribbling notes in the margins.
The Professor looked up and caught Riley’s eye. He had a kind face, greying hair and sharp eyes that betrayed a keen mind.
“Has there ever been anything like the Millennial Virus before?”
The Professor seemed initially puzzled by her question, blinking back at her. Zed looked up and gave her a knowing smile.
“Yes and no,” said the Professor. “Mother Nature has been perfecting the flu virus since the dawn of time, but trying to predict the next outbreak is like trying to predict the next earthquake or tsunami. We live on a fault line and it’s always been a question of when not if. Every now and again, she tries something new, something different. Just when modern medicine thinks we’ve got everything under control, that’s when she unleashes hell. Some would say it’s all part of a natural process. Homo Sapiens has been dominant on this planet for quite some time. Not quite up there with the dinosaurs, but a good run.”
“So you think this could be our defining moment? Like the meteor strike they say wiped out the dinosaurs?”
“Well, a pandemic virus is nature at its most terrible. The strongest force of natural selection there is. By targeting the frail and the weak and killing them off in their hundreds of thousands, a virus has the potential to fundamentally shift social structures. Depopulation of whole regions will bring about changes in the landscape, a return to nature, not seen since medieval times. The very psychology of the country will be deeply scarred for centuries to come.”
“Does that mean that history can tell us what’s likely to happen next?”
“Put it this way, we already know the long-term effects of a pandemic outbreak of this size and scale. The Black Death is probably the closest precedent, albeit a bacterial infection. It wiped out nearly one third of the British population in the 14th century.”
“Sorry, you’ve lost me there. What’s the difference between a virus and a bacteria again?”
The Professor seemed amused by her question. Some of the scientists around paused whatever they were doing and stared at her.
“Sometimes, it’s hard to tell them apart as their symptoms can be so very similar. At its most basic, bacteria are single-celled organisms that tend to live in the gut and help digest food. Bacteria are normally killed by antibiotics. Whereas a virus is smaller and requires a living host to survive, invading cells, reprogramming their software to produce a virus. Lots of common infections like pneumonia or diarrhoea can be caused by either bacteria or a virus, which makes them hard to distinguish sometimes.”
“So if the Black Death was bacterial then I assume it was spread by rats and fleas. Where did it come from in the first place?”
“Good question. Again, there are parallels with our friend the Millennial Virus. Historians reckon that the bubonic plague originated in central Asia and arrived in mainland Europe around 1347, spreading quickly from port to port until it reached England in 1348. You will remember from your history lessons that the bubonic plague was pretty disgusting, characterised by black swellings under the arms and in the groin. Victims died quickly, typically within three days. Less well known was the fact that there was a pneumonic variant of the plague also doing the rounds. It was even more deadly. Spread by direct contact with the infected. Some say that what made this variant so devastating was its hybrid nature, combining the worst of the bubonic plague with the flu virus.”
Zed had stopped his reading and was listening intently to the Professor.
“So how did people survive the Black Death? Is there anything we can learn from what worked back then?”
“Oh plenty. The rich and members of the upper classes did best. Many of them managed to avoid contact altogether by escaping to the countryside. Some even indulged in hedonistic pursuits, believing the end of the world was justification for one last party to go out on a high. But the poor and lower classes stood little chance. They lived in appallingly unhygienic conditions that allowed the plague to spread unchecked. That is, until the introduction of plague pits to dispose of the dead. Before that, bodies were left unburied, wherever they fell.”
“So how did the Black Death die out?”
“Well, unfortunately, the British climate with its long cold winters and wet summers provided the perfect conditions for the Black Death to survive for several decades, resulting in a second pandemic years later. Fortunately, the generation that had survived the first outbreak had developed increased immunity to the virus, but their children were not so lucky. Many of the victims of the second outbreak were children born without immunity. To the extent that they called that second outbreak ‘The Children’s Plague’.”
Riley noticed that Zed was leaning forward with a far-away expression on his face, as if an idea was forming in his head, his curiosity piqued.
“But surely immunity is in part genetic, Professor?” asserted Zed. “The children of those that survived the plague would inherit their parent’s immunity.”
“Yes, that’s most likely true. Modern science suggests that genetics plays a significant role in immune response, affecting our ability to fight off a disease. The immune system has evolved over time to provide an improved line of defence against some pathogens, even some cancers, but the flip-side is that this heightened immune response makes the body more vulnerable to autoimmune diseases, where the body produces antibodies that attack the host’s own healthy cells and tissue. I’m talking about diseases such as Rheumatoid arthritis or Multiple Sclerosis.”
He took a sip of water from a canteen at his feet before continuing.
“We know from analysing skeletons from medieval graveyards like the one at Winchester Cathedral not far from here, that in the aftermath of previous pandemics like the Black Death, there were actually beneficial effects to the health of subsequent generations. People tended to live longer and be healthier, with diet significantly improved by the wider availability of fresh vegetables and meat following the elimination of a third of the population.”
“You can tell all that from their bones?”
“Yes, we look at the skeletal markers of physiological stress. Things like how tall they were, enamel hypoplasia, tibial periosteal lesions, that sort of thing. Or to put it more simply, people who were already in poor health had a more elevated mortality risk than their healthier peers.”
“So you’re saying that the next generation will not necessarily benefit from this outbreak through improved immunity but that the survivors, by their very nature, will be stronger, through a process of natural selection.”
“Yes, spot on. I would wholeheartedly agree with that summary, wouldn’t you?” he turned to address Doctor Hardy, who pushed his glasses up his nose and was just about to pick holes in that argument, when the driver jammed on his brakes.
The convoy slowed to a halt on a narrow lane with high hedges and trees lining the roadway on each side. The branches of ancient oaks reached high above them forming a green canopy that blocked almost all the light. Sunshine broke through ahead of them, falling on the road surface in dappled patches. The driver switched on his headlights, illuminating the rear of the Humvee in front of them.
“What’s the hold up?” he shouted, leaning out the window. “Why have we stopped?”
The driver of the vehicle in front, cracked open his door, poking his head out for a better look up the road. A runner squeezed through the gap between the hedge and the wing mirror and passed the message back.
“Corporal, the road ahead is completely blocked. We’ve got trees down. Looks like we’re going to have to back it up. What do you want us to do?”
“Go take a look will yo
u. See if there’s a way round. Williams, there was a junction about a mile or two back. Check the map and find out where that leads will you?”
After what felt like an age, one of the soldiers from the Land Rover at the front jogged back to the Humvee and leant through the open window talking to the driver before moving back down the convoy to the APV. The driver wound down his window and waited for the man to catch his breath.
“There’s no way round. We need to reverse all the way up this road. There was a turning about a half mile back, an entrance to a farm. Try and turn round where you can.”
“You’re joking yeah? Have you tried reversing one of these things? They’re not exactly built for going backwards.”
“You there,” he said pointing at the solider in the passenger seat, “get off your arse and walk him back. It’s not difficult. Or do you want me to send the Sarge back to explain how it’s done?”
The two men shook their heads. Reluctantly, the driver engaged reverse gear and checked his mirrors. With foliage either side blocking his view, he slammed the steering wheel and cursed his luck. Riley looked outside and noticed the clearance on each side was no more than a couple of feet. Reversing a half mile backwards would lose them a lot of time but they didn’t have much choice.
It was slow-going but after some time they found the farm entrance to a field with a rusted gate that wasn’t padlocked. They were able to lift it open, providing just enough space to manoeuvre the APV around to face the direction they’d come.
