Ward Z

by Amy Cross

  "Another fuck-up," he mutters.

  "The same fuck-up," I continue. "More or less, anyway. What are the odds of two hospitals making the same basic mistake on two separate patients?"

  "Low," he replies, "but still possible. Just because two unlikely things happen close together, they don't have to be linked."

  "I want to do the next panel on Cally Briggs myself," I tell him, putting the print-out back onto his desk. "Just to be sure. I'm sick of having to doubt other people all the time. If I do it myself, I'll know that it's been done right."

  "What's wrong?" he asks. "Don't you trust your staff?"

  "I trust my own eyes," I reply, "and I trust myself to do the job properly. If there's a possible problem, I'd rather get rid of the middle-men." Seconds later, hearing the sound of boots above us, I look up at the ceiling. It's pretty clear that large numbers of soldiers are moving across the roof of the building, and a distant thump indicates that another helicopter has landed. "All of this can wait -" I start to say.

  "No," he replies firmly, "that's exactly my point. It can't wait. Even if this mess lasts for another couple of hours, that's time we don't have, Andrew. Our patients demand our undivided attention, and as medical professionals we have a duty to give them the best possible care, no matter what else is happening around us." He pauses. "I want all members of staff to get back to their posts and continue their duties, and I want all patients to stay in their rooms until such time as we tell them that it's okay to leave. I won't allow this ward to descend into chaos." He pauses again. "Whatever's going on out there, we're powerless to stop it, so let's just keep our heads straight, okay?"

  "And sit here like sheep?" I reply. "Just waiting for the army to decide what to do with us?"

  "But if the -"

  "Do I need to remind you that I'm in charge here?" he snaps. "I'm the senior figure on this ward, so you'll do what I say. Is that understood?"

  Before I can reply, there's a knock at the door. Turning, I see that Nurse Aubry is waiting nervously outside.

  "Dr. Page? Dr. Gerrold? There's a man at the main door. He's from the military, and he wants to talk to you both."

  "A soldier?" I ask.

  "I think..." She pauses. "I think he's, like, in charge or something. He asked for you both by name."

  "Finally," Dr. Gerrold says, sighing as he gets to his feet. "Let's find out what this whole mess is about, shall we?"

  Cally Briggs

  "Mummy, are you coming out soon?"

  "Just give me a minute!" I call back to Emma as I sit on the bathroom floor, waiting for the pain to subside. It's been a few minutes since I left Emma on my bed and came in here; now I'm starting to sweat as the pain in my side starts to once more radiate through my entire body. I know it'll pass eventually, but I need to make sure that Emma doesn't know that anything's wrong.

  When I first got sick a couple of years ago, it was my leg that hurt. I hid the pain for as long as possible, but eventually I had to see a doctor. Although no-one has said it to me in so many words, I'm fairly sure that by delaying that moment, I reduced my chances of survival. Maybe if I'd gone to the doctor as soon as my leg started to hurt, I'd have been cured by now. Instead, I pretended that everything was okay until, finally, it was too late to do anything. That's the hardest part: knowing that my cowardice might have made things worse.

  This new pain, though, is different. For one thing, it's in the side of my belly rather than my leg; for another, even if it is a mistake to keep it to myself, I figure there's no real risk. After all, I'm dying anyway, and the last thing I want is to spend my final few weeks being cut up and exposed to yet more drugs and radiation. I want to spend quality time with Emma. I want to make sure that her final memories of me are strong and positive, not fearful and traumatic. That's why I still want to take her to get roast dinner, just as soon as we can get the hell off this ward. It's all I want. One final trip out of this damn place with my daughter.

  "Mummy?" she asks, her voice sounding quiet as she stands on the other side of the bathroom door. "What are you doing? Is something wrong?"

  I try to answer, but the pain has taken my breath away for a moment. I just need Emma to leave me alone for a couple of minutes.

  "Mummy?"

  "I'm okay," I reply, trying to hide the pain in my voice. "Just give Mummy a few minutes, okay? Deal the cards and we'll play another game of Snap. Doesn't that sound like fun? You're getting pretty good at that, you know. I hope you don't think I'm letting you win, because I'm not. In fact, I -" Before I can finish, the pain flares through my body again, but I manage to keep myself from crying out; instead, I wait a moment until the agony has plateaued. "It's okay," I say, trying to stay calm. "Emma, sweetheart. Everything's okay."

  "The soldiers are shouting outside," she continues.

  I pause for a moment, before realizing that I can hear raised voices in the distance. "Don't worry," I say eventually, with sweat pouring down my face as the pain gets worse and worse. "Everything's going to be okay. Everything's..." I try to finish the sentence, but suddenly I start to feel dizzy and when I try to get up, I slip down onto my side, banging my head on the bathroom floor. Something's different this time. It's as if the pain has finally got a proper grip on me and won't ever let go. Although I try to fight it, I start to black out.

  "Call..." I whisper, hoping that Emma can hear me. "Call someone. Sweetheart, call someone to come and help Mummy."

  Dr. Andrew Page

  "Okay," I say, as Dr. Gerrold and I stand by the small door at the back of the supply room, "maybe you can start by explaining exactly why you've decided to pen us up like a bunch of prisoners?"

  Standing on the other side of the door's glass window, flanked by two armed soldiers, General Kent pauses for a moment, as if he's studying us and trying to get a better understanding of our motives.

  "First of all, gentlemen," he says eventually, "I'd like to thank you for agreeing to meet me in this slightly less public position. I'm glad we can avoid having this conversation with a baying mob listening in."

  "That baying mob," I reply firmly, "consists of patients and staff-members who would very much like to know why they're not being allowed to leave."

  "I understand their concern," General Kent replies with a faint smile, "but I hope that you will understand the need for extreme caution. As panicked and worried as those people might be, I'm sure the situation would be much worse if they were to learn the information that I'm about to share with you."

  "Why don't you start," I reply, "by -"

  "I'll handle this," Dr. Gerrold says firmly, interrupting me.

  Sighing, I realize that there's no point arguing with him.

  "Why were we given no warning?" he continues. "There was no need to just slam the doors shut like this!"

  "There wasn't time to warn anyone," General Kent replies calmly. "Three hours ago, Central Command became aware of the nature of the emergency. Two hours ago, the initial deployment of military forces began. One hour ago, we arrived at the hospital. As I'm sure you'll understand, there was no time for courtesy calls. Besides, we had to make absolutely certain that no-one left this ward in advance of our arrival."

  "And why is that?" I ask. "Can you get to the point?"

  "Do you recognize this woman?" he replies, holding up a tablet computer. On the screen, there's a photo of a strikingly attractive woman, wearing what appears to be a lab coat while sitting behind a desk.

  "I've never seen her before in my life," Dr. Gerrold says, sounding a little annoyed.

  "Wait," I say, peering more closely at the photo and realizing that the healthy, happy woman in the image looks strangely familiar. "That's Dominique Ribery."

  "Correct," General Kent replies. "This photo shows Dominique Ribery back when she was working in Haiti. As you can no doubt see, she looked a lot more robust in those days."

  "I didn't recognize her," Dr. Gerrold replies. "She was so thin and gaunt when she arrived here yesterday."

/>   "She should never have been brought to this hospital," General Kent replies. "Unfortunately, the French authorities failed to inform us of her condition until she had already landed, by which point it was too late to turn her back. Believe me, there are some very strong words being exchanged on the diplomatic level. London is very annoyed with Paris right now"

  "Dominique Ribery is dead," I tell him. "She died shortly after she arrived."

  "Of course she did," General Kent replies. "She never had a chance of survival, not once the symptoms kicked in. The French just wanted to get rid of her. They passed the buck to us."

  "And would you care to explain precisely why Dominique Ribery is so important to you?" I ask.

  He pauses for a moment. "How much of an opportunity have you had to study Ms. Ribery's body?" he asks eventually, with tension in his voice. "For example, how long did she spend under your care before she passed away?"

  "Long enough," I reply.

  "For what?"

  "Hold on," Dr. Gerrold says, clearly worried about the direction that this conversation is taking. "I'm sure you'll understand that my colleague and I would like some answers. Exactly why has this hospital been placed under martial law?"

  "What was wrong with Dominique Ribery?" I ask.

  General Kent turns to me, clearly finding my question more interesting.

  "I've seen the papers that were sent from France," I continue. "I also had an opportunity to conduct some tests of my own. I thought I'd be disproving the French results, but in fact I discovered something far more interesting. Dominique Ribery's body contains a type of cancer that shouldn't even exist."

  "Hence our interest in the case," General Kent replies. "There are certain elements of the woman's corpse that have rung alarm bells around the world. Our job is to secure the hospital and ensure that there's no possibility of contaminants escaping from that corpse and reaching the outside world. To that end, a five-mile exclusion zone has been set up around the perimeter of the hospital, and everyone who has tried to leave since 9am this morning has been prevented from doing so."

  "So who's ultimately in charge?" I ask. "The British government?"

  "We were asked to assist with the quarantine arrangement," General Kent replies evasively. "In approximately one hour's time, a team of specialists will be entering the ward wearing protective clothing. You will lead them to Dominique Ribery's body, and they will perform a series of tests. You will assist them, but you will not interfere, and under no circumstances will you discuss anything that you see or hear. Is that understood?"

  I glance over at Dr. Gerrold, and it's clear that, as usual, he's going to bow down in the face of authority.

  "It would be easier if you agree to work with the team," General Kent continues. "It would also be beneficial to your own fortunes. However, I can't make you agree, so I can only reiterate that it would be in everyone's best interests for you to cooperate."

  "You have our full cooperation," Dr. Gerrold says calmly.

  "And then what?" I ask. "Once we've finished being useful to you, what happens after that?"

  "If all goes well," General Kent replies, "the quarantine order will be lifted once Dominique Ribery's body has been removed to a safe location. At that point, all restrictions will end and you can get back to your vital work."

  "And if all doesn't go well?" I ask.

  He pauses. "I'm sure that a number of options have been discussed," he says cautiously, "and I'm quite certain that all necessary steps will be taken to -"

  "There's something in here," Dr. Gerrold says suddenly, interrupting him, "isn't there? A disease or a virus, something in that woman's body that you think might escape and cause a pandemic."

  General Kent pauses. "I'm sure that, as men of science, you can understand the need for absolute caution. It's better to be a little too careful than to run the risk, however small, of anything escaping from this ward."

  "But Dominique Ribery was flown from France," Dr. Gerrold points out. "It's ludicrous to bolt this place down when there were so many other opportunities for anything contagious to leak out."

  "We've taken certain precautions to go back and deal with that problem," General Kent replies. "Besides, based on previous data, it's believed that the condition is only contagious once the host body has passed away. In the following twenty-four to forty-eight hours, the sickness has optimal conditions to spread, before..." He pauses again. "I'm a military man. I think I'd better leave the medical explanations to the specialists who'll be entering the hospital later. I'm sure they'll be better placed to inform you of the risks, as well as the nature of the situation that we're dealing with."

  "And they'll be here in an hour?" Dr. Gerrold asks.

  "It might be beneficial," General Kent continues, "if you could arrange for a room to be made available so that the autopsy can begin at once. Time is of paramount importance, so we need to work as quickly as possible."

  "We'll help in any way that we can," Dr. Gerrold replies.

  "I just have one more question," I say, interrupting them. "Just suppose for a moment that this... thing, whatever it is, proves to be dangerous. I mean really dangerous. Is there a cure or a vaccine?"

  "Not that I'm aware of," General Kent replies.

  "So is that why you're here?" I continue. "I mean, you must have enough firepower to blow this place sky high."

  "I'm sure it won't come to that."

  "But if it did," I reply, "and the people inside the hospital were deemed to be of sufficient risk... Do you have orders to kill us all?"

  General Kent stares at me for a moment, as if he's trying to decide whether or not to answer truthfully. "I have orders to secure the hospital and prepare for the arrival of a team of specialists who'll assess the situation," he says eventually. "Beyond that, anything else is merely speculation, so I think we'd be better off sticking to the facts. If you two gentlemen could prepare a space so that the autopsy can take place, that would be greatly appreciated. It would also be better if you could get all non-essential individuals out of the corridors. The last thing we want is any kind of a scene." As he finishes speaking, his radio crackles into life. "I'm sorry," he continues, "but I have to go and attend to another matter. Please, clear the area around the main door. On the hour, a team will arrive, and they'll be able to tell you more."

  "But if we don't -"

  "Dr. Andrew Page," he says, interrupting me. "I've read your file. You've been involved in some very interesting work in the past, although I have to say, your career seems to have gone rather poorly of late."

  "That has nothing to do with any of this," I reply, sick of his dumb games. "You need to be straight with us."

  "No," he replies, "I need to make sure you don't go anywhere. There are other people coming, and maybe they'll be straight with you, but that's not really my priority. I'm only following orders."

  "I guess that'll make it easier," I say bitterly, "if you have to kill us all."

  "Prepare a room for the autopsy," he replies with a faint smile. "Your cooperation is greatly appreciated."

  Once he's gone, Dr. Gerrold and I stand in silence for a moment. I feel as if I've just met the most arrogant man in the world, and I swear to God, I want to smash this door down, run after him and throttle him.

  "We should do what he said," Dr. Gerrold says wearily. "There's no point fighting this."

  "But -"

  "They're not doing this for fun, Andrew," he replies, interrupting me. "I'm sure that whoever's in charge, they know what they're doing. We need to help in whatever way we can, and avoid jumping to paranoid conclusions. If everything goes without a hitch, there's no reason to be scared. There are procedures in place for this kind of eventuality. We need to play our part and ensure that they're followed."

  "But they -"

  "They're in charge," he adds. "And in here, I'm in charge. So let's just give them what they want."

  As he turns to head back through to the main part of the ward, I can't help bu
t feel that he's capitulating too easily. I understand that there's an emergency, but I'd like to be treated as a mature, intelligent adult, rather than being ordered around by a bunch of guys in uniform. I'm afraid I don't share Dr. Gerrold's faith in authority. If they think it's necessary or 'for the greater good', those assholes will incinerate this hospital and every single one of us.

  Cally Briggs

  "I'm fine," I say, pushing Nurse Aubry's arms away as she fusses with my pillow. "It was nothing, really."

  "Finding you curled up on the bathroom floor is not nothing," she says firmly as she fixes my drip-bag back up on the metal hook above the bed. "What would you have done if Emma hadn't been here to come and get help?"

  "I'd have done what I always do," I reply. "I'd have waited it out."

  "That's not smart," Nurse Aubry replies. "Don't be stubborn, Cally. Please. There's so much going on today already. Just..." She sighs. "Work with me, okay?"

  Glancing over at Emma, who has spent the past few minutes sitting patiently on a chair in the far corner of the room, I realize that my daughter has a look of genuine fear on her face. When she found me in the bathroom a few minutes ago, she immediately ran out of the room to find someone to help. I wanted to get through this latest bout of pain without drawing any attention to myself, but I guess that's out of the question now; I fucked up again, and Emma got hurt again. Without wishing to sound maudlin, I can't help thinking that on a purely practical level, she'd be better off spending less time around me.

  "How's it going out there?" I ask, glancing over at the door as I hear someone shouting in the distance.

  "It's fine," Nurse Aubry replies calmly as she checks the machine next to my bed.

  "Doesn't sound fine," I tell her. "Are we still locked in?"

  "Things are progressing," she continues. "There's no use worrying about it. There's a minor situation, and it's being dealt with."

  "By hundreds of soldiers," I point out.