by Conrad Jones
Chapter Thirty Three
The Government Bunker
Helen Walsh put down the telephone and rushed to her feet. She had just had a very interesting conversation with an eminent scientist from China about a suspected mustard gas incident in the Northern provinces. He had come to several conclusions following his investigation of the issue. One was that he could never work directly for the Chinese government again without being in fear of his life, and those of his family. The second thing was that the concentration levels of the blister agent varied greatly as the distance from the release site increased. He also had some detailed information about how some of the victims had been treated.
“Major I have some very important information,” Helen approached a huddle of government employees who represented several different agencies.
The Major looked at her and decided that it would be prudent to talk to her in the privacy of his temporary office. He made his excuses and left the group.
“I think we should go into my office,” he guided her gently by the arm. He opened the door where the fat controller was already sat working at his desk. “Now, what is your good news?”
“I have been talking to another scientist about his experiences with a chemical gas incident in the Northern Provinces of China five years ago,” she began excitedly. She was about to carry on when she realised that the Major’s facial expression had turned to thunder. “Please Major hear me out, I haven’t mentioned anything to him about what is happening here.”
“Okay, we’ll discuss the protocol of seeking outside help later. It’s not important now what context you broached the matter with him. For now tell me what information he had for us,” the Major looked seriously concerned about Helen’s naivety.
“Well, the short version of events is that there was an alleged government attack on a rebel town in the northern territories of China. The inhabitants displayed terrible burn injuries which couldn’t be explained because there were no fires. Some of the local doctors swabbed their patients to try to determine exactly what was causing their skin to blister. The swabs showed that they had come into contact with a vapour or gaseous substance with a very high alkaline PH reading,” she was desperately trying to get to the point. “They had no idea what it was that had caused the injuries, but they simply applied a mild acidic solution to the burns and discovered that it gave the victims relief, and in some cases it stopped any further blistering.”
“It would make perfect sense that a solution of an acidic nature would neutralise the effects of the alkaline somewhat,” the fat controller jumped in with his professional opinion. “That is simple basic chemistry,” he added.
“Exactly,” she continued. “We are using the decontamination units to apply a mild acid to all the evacuees at the moment, which is causing major tailbacks across the city’s main arterial routes, but we have over a dozen facilities near to the perimeter where we could speed things up dramatically.”
“I’m not sure that I follow, Helen,” the Major said. He pinched the skin on his nose between his finger and thumb and squeezed his eyes closed tightly. The events of the last few days were catching up on him.
“Swimming pools!” the fat controller shouted. He stood up and patted Helen on the back. He was grinning insanely and there was a blob of spittle at the corner of his mouth, which indicated that he was excited about the concept.
“What?” the Major asked confused.
“Swimming pools, public baths, they’re all laced with chlorine to purify the water. Chlorine in its pure form is a powerful acid which we use every day of the week in some shape or form, therefore we have a certain inbuilt tolerance to it already,” the fat controller grasped the idea by the horns enthusiastically.
The Major looked from Helen back to David Bell and then back to Helen again. He shrugged at her for some kind of confirmation but she was grinning like an idiot too.
“Helen?” the Major said.
“Yes, Major,” she nodded excitedly. “We could open all the public baths and speed up the decontamination process tenfold at least, and the information also gives us an indication as to how we can help those who are affected by vapour internally too.”
“Salt water,” the fat controller anticipated what she was going to say, and he clapped his hands together.
“Yes Major, salt water seemed to help the Chinese victims because it is sodium chloride and we eat it every day, therefore...” she began.
“We already have a tolerance to it?” the Major finished off the sentence. “I get the picture.”
“I’ll get onto it straight away, Major,” the fat controller said excitedly. He picked up the telephone and dialled the number of the perimeter commander. The information would need to be passed on to every member of the evacuation teams and also to every institution which had not been evacuated. The city’s hospitals and prisons could become proactive by treating their patients and prisoners before they displayed any symptoms.
Helen felt elated that her information had the fat controller in a spin. It had been a difficult initiation into the world of counter terrorism for her, and she would only prove her worth by providing useful solutions to the traumas that presented themselves.
“The Doctor was instructed by the Chinese Government to disprove that any chemical weapons had been used against the rebels, but his investigation proved the opposite,” Helen paused and sipped a mouthful of tepid tea before continuing. “His tests showed that there was an area of the town where the blister agent was present in a concentrated form. He also explained that as the blister agent passes over the land, especially buildings, it becomes weaker and weaker very quickly indeed. The moisture in the vapour seems to be absorbed by brick and concrete structures weakening the blister agent considerably with every few hundred yards that it travels,” Helen had gathered herself now and was speaking in the role of the rational well balanced expert that she had been employed as.
The Major looked at the digital screen on the wall. It was displaying an aerial view of the city. Like many historic ports around the globe Liverpool’s waterfront was lined with high buildings. Behind them was mile after mile of shops, multi-storey car parks and the retail and commercial quarters that they serviced. There were millions of tons of concrete and stone on every city block.
“Do you think that the vapour will dissipate as it progresses across the city?” the Major asked.
“Yes I do, Major,” Helen answered in an assured manner. “I also think that the snowfall will have an effect.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Chinese scientist told me that his test results showed that the agent is easily absorbed into whatever chemical elements it comes into contact with. Therefore fresh snowflakes will absorb the vapour as they pass through it.”
“What do you think the effect will be then?” the Major waved his hand over the image of the city.
“The good news is that I think that the contamination could be limited to the riverbank and the city centre,” she explained. “The bad news is that the men on that gas rig have been exposed to the chemical in a very concentrated state. We have to send them a communiqué advising them what to do, it’s the only chance that they have. They are surrounded by seawater, and I think that they could slow down the effects of the blister agent by immersing themselves in the sea.”
The Major glanced at the fat controller and he shook his head almost imperceptibly. “That’s impossible I’m afraid we have imposed a communication blanket on the rig. We cannot risk anyone working out there contacting their families on the mainland. The slightest mention of burn victims and the press would be full of speculative disaster stories.”
“Okay, I can understand that you have to block their telephones, but let me send one e-mail, that’s all it will take,” Helen Walsh looked the Major directly in the eye as she spoke. She couldn’t stand by and let the gas workers die if there was the slightest chance that they could be saved. The Major looked at the fat controller a
gain and this time he shook his head emphatically.
“If we turn their e-mail back on to send a message then everything that is sat in the rig’s outbox, waiting to be sent, will upload automatically. There could be a dozen messages to family and friends describing god only knows what,” the fat controller spoke quietly. “We cannot take the risk I’m afraid.”
He turned back to his telephone calls and the Major blushed red with embarrassment. Helen stared at the Major trying to provoke a crisis of conscience within him.
“We can stop their out mail at the main server,” Helen spluttered. She wasn’t sure if they could but it seemed to make sense. If it wasn’t possible then it should be. The fat controller turned back to her and removed his glasses.
“You might be right, Helen,” he said rubbing his eyes. “There could be a way.”
Chapter Thirty Four
The Explorer
As Sparks swung the fire axe down, Chef back peddled as fast as he could. He had taken a few steps backward when he toppled over the deserted card table, and he landed on his rear end with a thump. The axe missed its target and cleaved a six inch dent into the metal floor. Everyone in the recreation room froze in shock as they tried to comprehend that the resident electrician had just attempted to hit the rig’s cook with a fire hatchet. Sparks wiped spittle from his cracked lips and his breathing became shallow. He was panting like a dog. He turned around quickly and glared at Big Gordon. Gordon didn’t recognise the man who stood in front of him, his face was twisted into a snarl and his eyes were blood red. Sparks seemed to be confused. He looked down and saw the tray of mineral water on the floor, and something flashed behind his eyes. There was a flicker of recognition. He stooped and picked up the water as if it was a baby, and he cradled it lovingly in his arms. Gordon took a step toward him and the twisted snarl reappeared on the electrician’s face. Sparks swung the axe one handed in a lateral arc perpendicular to the floor, and Big Gordon jumped backwards out of its path.
“Sparks! Put the axe down man,” Gordon shouted at the electrician. Sparks looked at his foreman, and then he looked at the axe as if it was the first time he had seen it. He dropped the hatchet onto the floor and backed away from it like it was a poisonous snake.
“Brains,” Big Gordon shouted. He needed to regain some control. He shouted instructions to his men and spurred them into action. “Get Sparks to the sickbay immediately, and make sure that you put him into isolation.”
Brains looked shocked by what had just happened, but he responded quickly to the order. He approached Sparks warily and placed his hand gently on his arm. Sparks looked confused and clasped the tray of mineral water tightly to his chest. Brains didn’t see the point in trying to take it from him. It would only provoke more violence judging by what had already taken place. Gordon had told him to put Sparks into isolation, which was the only room in the crew module that could be used as a cell. It was designed to be used as either a secure facility in the event of a heinous crime, or as quarantine quarters. The explorer had been drilling off shore for over a decade and the isolation cell had only ever been used as a mortuary. Brains had never witnessed it being used as a cell before, but then no one had ever tried to hit the Chef with an axe before tonight either. Brains swallowed and his throat felt like there was broken glass sliding down it.
“Come with me Sparks,” Brains said gently. “Let’s get you to bed and then we can sort your eyes out my friend. They look sore. Mine are a little sore too. We can get some drops from the sickbay.”
Sparks looked at Brains and he nodded his head. Brains led him toward the door without any fuss. Big Gordon picked up the hatchet and stared at it in disbelief. It had been a very strange night so far and something told him that it wasn’t over by a long way yet.
“Are you okay?” Gordon asked Chef. The cook had turned an unusually pale colour, all the blood had drained from his cheeks. He patted himself down and shook his head from side to side.
“I think I’ve shit my pants,” the chef answered shakily.
“You’re not the only one,” Big Gordon said. He turned and headed toward his office. Smokey Pete looked into the kitchen area and saw Harvey pouring half a bottle of water over his head before swallowing the rest of it in two gulps. The skin on Harvey’s face had begun to blister and there was a fat yellow sack of fluid beneath his left eye.
“Hey boss,” Smokey Pete tapped Big Gordon on the shoulder. “Harvey looks really sick. What the fuck happened to them out there?”
Gordon approached the kitchen area cautiously and he watched Harvey closely. Harvey took another bottle of mineral water from a large refrigerator and twisted the top from it with his teeth. He spat the plastic cap onto the floor and put the bottle to his lips. Gordon winced as blood dribbled from the corner of Harvey’s mouth. The skin there had blistered and then cracked as he drank from the water bottle. The skin on the back of the pipe fitter’s hands was a deep purple colour.
“Harvey, we need to get you into the sickbay,” Gordon stayed in the doorway as he spoke, and didn’t encroach on the injured man’s space.
“I’m fine, I’m just really thirsty,” Harvey turned to face Gordon, and the full extent of his injuries became visible. His lips were twice their usual size. They were swollen with blood and yellow pus. The whites of Harvey’s eyes were blood red, and his eyelids had become dark and bloated. At the corner of his mouth, a blister had burst and bloody mucus ran from the wound down his chin. Harvey looked like an extra from a zombie movie.
“Fucking hell!” Smokey Pete said under his breath. “We need to get him airlifted out of here boss.” Pete ran toward Gordon’s office. His intention was to use the telephone to summon a med vac helicopter.
“The system is down Pete, and nothing is going to fly through this snowstorm,” Big Gordon shouted after him. “We need to deal with this situation ourselves until communications are back up and running. Help me get Harvey into the sickbay.”
As Gordon turned back toward Harvey, the pipe fitter kicked the kitchen door closed in his face. Gordon stepped forward and twisted the handle but Harvey had locked it from within. He could hear furniture being dragged across the floor. To the right of the door was a large rectangular window, and Gordon looked through it with dismay. Harvey had jammed a chair beneath the door handle and then he’d returned to the sink where he began to pour bottled water over his head. Chef joined Gordon and Pete at the window and he stared in silence. His hands had started to shake with shock.
“What’s going on Gordon?” Pete stood next to the giant foreman and Chef as they watched Harvey drink a litre bottle of mineral water in seconds.
“I don’t know Pete, but I think that they have been exposed to something outside which has burned them,” Gordon faced his colleague. “It must have been something outside because we are okay so far. My throat is sore and Brains said that he was struggling with his, but he would be worse because he had been outside on the platform doing his moisture tests.”
“My eyes are stinging and I’m getting a sore throat,” Pete said, although he didn’t know if the symptoms were purely psychological. He had read somewhere that rig workers often developed similar symptoms to their work mates, despite not being ill themselves. It was something to do with working in close proximity with one another.
“Maybe we’re not affected to the same degree because we have been inside all night,” Gordon speculated. He looked through the kitchen window again and gritted his teeth. Harvey had opened another bottle of water and he was drinking it greedily. He scratched furiously at the blister beneath his eye and the skin tore like tissue paper. Blood and puss exploded from the ruptured skin and Harvey dropped onto his knees.
“Oh my god! We have got to get hold of the mainland, and get the maintenance crew back inside quickly,” Big Gordon shouted to Pete. Smokey Pete couldn’t tear his eyes away from the horror beyond the kitchen window. “Now Pete, get the crew inside now!”
“What about the safety checks?” Pe
te move toward the platform door. It was second nature for rig workers to think safety first.
“Tell them to shut everything down, and get back inside this module,” Gordon had no choice but to get his men inside.
“What about me boss?” Chef didn’t want to be left alone.
“Try and open that fucking door,” Gordon said. He was struggling to think straight. Gordon placed the fire hatchet on a side table next to the drinks machine, and he moved toward his office as fast as his lumbering bulk would allow him to. Smokey Pete opened the platform access door and snowflakes blew into the recreation module. Gordon could hear his voice bellowing for his work mates to get inside until the door slammed closed again. Chef was hitting the kitchen door with his shoulder in a futile attempt to break it down. Like the rest of the crew module, it was almost indestructible.
