by Amy Cross
At least Dr. Gerrold's death was quick. Depending on what happens to the rest of us, it might turn out that he was the lucky one.
"Nothing else," I say quietly. "Just make sure that we get everything that's on that list. It's vitally important that my patients receive nutritious meals. You can bottle us up in here, but you can't leave us with nothing to eat but goddamn crackers."
"Of course, Sir."
"And stop calling me Sir," I add. "It puts me on edge. I'm a doctor, not a soldier."
"I'll speak to General Kent and see what we can do about your food requests," the soldier replies, clearly avoiding a direct promise. "My mother had cancer, so I know how important this stuff is."
"What kind of cancer?" I ask.
He pauses, as if he's not sure whether he's allowed to tell me. "Lung," he says eventually.
"What was the outcome?"
"She died."
"I'm sorry."
"I shouldn't be telling you this," he replies awkwardly. "I'll see what can be done about your list, though. Thank you for the information."
"Wait," I say hurriedly, feeling as if I've made a personal connection with him, one that I might be able to exploit. "I want to ask you something."
He turns back to me.
"What's your name?" I continue.
He pauses, as if he's making sure that there's no-one nearby on his side to overhear us.
"Come on," I continue. "What's wrong with telling you my name? You might be the last new person I ever meet."
"Colin," he says after a moment, keeping his voice down.
"How long have you been in the army, Colin?"
"A couple of years," he says cautiously. "I signed up for the money."
"You been abroad? Iraq? Afghanistan?"
"Not yet."
"Lucky."
"I'm not scared of getting involved," he says quickly, as if he's offended by my suggestion.
"Have you heard anything about their plans?" I continue. "Just between you and me. No-one's told us anything, and I need to work out what to say to my patients."
"You'd have to ask General -"
"I'm asking you," I say firmly. "I need to plan for my patients' needs, Colin. If your mother was sick, you must know how important it is to give these people the best possible care. I need to know how long we're going to be in here." I wait for a reply. "They're in pain, Colin."
"I really don't know how long you'll be here," he says awkwardly.
"You must have heard something. What are your orders for the next couple of days?"
He stares at me.
"There are hundreds of soldiers in this building," I continue. "I've seen all the helicopters and jeeps outside. What's the end-game in all of this?"
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."
"I'm sure you're lying," I reply. "Maybe you think you're justified, but you're still lying." I wait for him to answer, but although I feel as if I'm starting to get through to him, I can tell that I need to give him another big push. "What did they tell you to do today?" I continue.
"Just to get a list of supplies from you," he replies evasively. "That's all I know, I swear."
"What about my colleague's body," I continue. "Do you know what they did with it?"
"They took it away. For testing."
"Do you know where they took it?"
"I'm sorry," he replies, "I can't talk to you about things like this. I'll make sure you get as many of these supplies as possible, but that's all I can do for you. I'm really sorry."
Sighing, I realize that he's desperate to get going. He knows, as do I, that this is all a pantomime anyway. To the military, we're just a bunch of expendable civilians who happen to have been caught in the middle of this whole goddamn mess. I doubt they care much about our fate, other than a vague worry that the media might spin the story in a negative light. That's if the media ever even learns about what's happening to us. The most likely outcome is that this'll all be covered up. We'll die here, and the world will never know the truth.
"Thank you for your help," I say sarcastically.
"I'm sorry," he mutters.
"Dr. Page," says a voice on the other side of the glass, and as the young soldier leaves, he's replaced by the grander, more confident figure of General Kent, who stares at me with a kind of amused seriousness. "I trust you were able to give Sergeant Osgood a decent list of your requirements? I understand that you might be running short of certain things, and I can assure you that we have a ring-fenced budget for providing items during difficult times."
"I'm sure you'll pay close attention to my list," I mutter. "I look forward to seeing what your ring-fenced budget is able to provide."
"You seem cynical," General Kent replies. "I hope you know that we have every intention of taking very good care of you all while you're our guests." He pauses. "I suppose 'guests' isn't really the right word, though, is it? I can fully understand that there might be some... resistance... to the way we're handling things. How's morale doing in there?"
"You've kept us trapped in here for more than twenty-four hours," I tell him. "How do you think morale's doing? Among a group of cancer patients, many of whom are already counting down the days?"
"Have you explained the situation to them?"
"Not yet."
"Why not?"
"It's hard to know what to say," I point out. "You've told me almost nothing. All they want to know is what's wrong and when they'll be allowed to leave. I don't know either of those things."
"They must be scared," he continues. "According to the records, you have twelve patients, plus six members of staff."
"Plus a couple of visitors who were unfortunately on the ward when you sealed it off." I pause. "Minus one member of staff, who was executed by Dr. Lincoln a short while ago. In cold blood, I might add."
"So that makes a total of nineteen people trapped on the ward," he replies, not missing a beat despite my reference to Dr. Gerrold's death. "Someone should take charge and tell them what's happening. We don't want panic and chaos breaking out. You know what people are like when they develop a mob mentality. It's hardly something we want to witness in this situation, so someone needs to talk to them, and I'm sure that you'd be the best man for that task."
I shake my head.
"Why are you so reluctant?"
"Because I don't want to worry them." I pause for a moment as I realize that maybe I've made the wrong choice; maybe I should stop treating my patients like children and start being honest. "I'll talk to them later," I add. "I was thinking that since this situation seems likely to continue for a while, I should explain everything I know." I pause again. "What about Dominique Ribery? Will you be collecting her body any time soon?"
"Hopefully later today," he replies. "As you can imagine, it's not the work of a moment to arrange secure transportation, and there are also some hoops to jump through in terms of assuring various agencies that we're not going to risk a spread of the contamination zone."
"And what about us?" I ask. "When you've finally moved Ms. Ribery, you're gonna be left with a ward full of people who might spread that contamination zone once they're released. I can't believe that you'll just hose us down and let us walk out the front door."
"We have plans."
"I'd appreciate some honesty about those plans," I tell him.
"It's too early to say," he replies, and it's clear that he's hiding the truth. "I hope to have some information for you soon, Dr. Page. Discussions are taking place at a very high level."
"About how best to kill us all?" I ask. "If you're wondering, I think gas through the air vents would be the most humane approach -"
"No-one's talking about anything like that," he says firmly. "The idea hasn't even been broached."
"Well now I know you're lying," I reply, "because if you're dealing with a possible outbreak situation, and if you haven't given serious consideration to killing us all and incinerating this site, then you're either dangerously incom
petent or you're bullshitting me."
"We should talk later," he replies with the faintest of smiles, "when I have more information. For now, Dr. Lincoln asked me to reiterate his offer to you. He believes your expertise could be valuable, so he was hoping that you might be persuaded to accept the opportunity to accompany Dominique Ribery's body when it's eventually transported to the United States."
"It's a tempting offer," I reply, "but my patients are here. They have to be my priority."
"It could be groundbreaking work," he points out. "You could work with Dr. Lincoln and potentially make great discoveries. He has a very high opinion of your usefulness, and when it comes to such matters, Dr. Lincoln's view is taken very seriously by the powers that be. You could go and join his team."
"Until I've outgrown my usefulness and someone puts a bullet in the back of my head?"
"Why do you assume it'd be in the back of your head?" he asks with a smile. "I'm sorry. That joke was in poor taste. It's a genuine offer, Dr. Page, for you to join some other great minds and work on groundbreaking projects. I've read your files, and I find it hard to believe that an ambitious man such as yourself wouldn't jump at the chance, especially after the setbacks you hit earlier in your career."
"The people here are my patients," I say calmly, determined to make him understand, "and I'm not leaving them. Even if that means..." I pause for a moment; the truth is, there's a part of me that wants to leave, but there's also a part of me that wants to prove to Catherine that I'm capable of caring about other people. For now, it's the latter voice that's winning out. "Whatever happens, I'm staying with them."
"You show admirable loyalty," he replies. "Just remember, the offer is open, but not permanently." He pauses. "For the record, I'd like to express my regret regarding the death of your colleague. I'm sure he was a good man."
"He was," I reply, "until the end, when he panicked. He was an idiot to do what he did, and he des..." I pause before I can finish that last word. "I understand why he had to die," I continue. "If this situation is as dangerous as it appears, you have to ensure that the outside world is protected. Better late than never, anyway. It's just a shame that you couldn't start doing your job properly before this whole mess got started." I pause for a moment, seeing the look of steely determination in his eyes. "Where were you a few days ago," I add, "when you could have intercepted Dominique Ribery's body and prevented this whole mess from happening?"
"There was a school of thought that suggested it would be wise to let her body reach you," he says.
"So Lincoln was lying?" I reply. "You risked the lives of everyone in this hospital, just to get Ribery to me?"
"Believe what you want," he says firmly. "It doesn't change anything."
"You're insane," I tell him. "You, the whole goddamn system that's trying to pull strings and manipulate this situation. If you think you'll be able to control this outbreak, you're wrong. I'm almost certain it's too late."
"Then we'd better get to work," he replies. "So tell me. You got any ideas about how to cure this thing?"
Emma Briggs
"No no no," June says, "Roswell's in America. Don't they teach you kids anything at school these days? Roswell's in New Mexico. That's where they keep all the crashed flying saucers. There was a big cover-up in the 1940's when they found the wreckage of one of these things. Big, big cover-up. That's something you need to learn, kid. Conspiracies happen. Not all the time, but sometimes. And then they try to pretend that people like me, people who see through all their bullshit - pardon my language - are the crazy ones!"
I stare at her. June's the weirdest person I've ever met. She talks about stuff that other adults don't talk about, and she seems to believe every word. I can't tell if she's really good at pretending, or maybe she's totally crazy. Either way, it's fun listening to her talk.
I glance over my shoulder, looking at the door. There's still no sign of my mother, and it's been a while since she left me here.
I hope she doesn't come back soon.
"So the aliens were taken to Roswell," June continues, "where there were these autopsies, yeah? They picked those gray little men apart. You can find the photos online. Some people like to claim that it's all a big fake, but you only have to do a little reading to see that the whole story is as true as the fact that I'm sitting next to you right now. Seriously, some people are just so deluded, they can't recognize the truth when it whacks 'em in the face."
I smile politely at her, before looking over at the door again.
"Don't worry," she says, putting a hand on my shoulder as we sit side by side on the bed, "Mummy's just having a rest. She's very tired, you know."
"I know," I reply, still staring at the door.
"She'll be back soon, though," she adds. "I promise. She's just been through a lot lately. It's not your fault."
I smile, but the truth is, I don't want my mother to come back. Something just seems different about her lately. It's like, over the past couple of days, something's changed under her skin. I can't really explain it, but she smells different, and there's a strange look in her eyes. I'd really rather just go home. At least when I'm at my father's house, I can kind of forget about everything that's happening at the hospital. I know Mummy's going to die, so I don't see why we're all waiting around for it to happen. It's not like she's enjoying herself. I love her, but sometimes I wish she'd just get it over with.
I guess I'm a bad person for thinking things like that.
"You're a very brave girl, you know," June continues. "I don't think I could have been as brave as you when I was younger. I was a scaredy-cat little girl when I was your age."
I turn to her, and suddenly I realize that she looks so old and sick. I don't think I've really looked at June properly before, but it's clear now: she's dying too. In fact, this whole place is full of people who are dying. Apart from the doctors and nurses, I'm the only person here who isn't sick. Not yet, anyway. I hope it isn't something you can catch, like a cold.
"Can I ask you a question?" I say after a moment.
"Of course, honey."
I pause. "Are you going to..." I pause again. "I mean, are you going to die, like Mummy?"
She stares at me for a moment, and then she smiles. "Well," she says cautiously, "I'm not sure how to answer that one, honey. You've kind of put me on the spot." She pauses. "I don't know about Mummy, but... Yes, I'm going to die. Not today, probably not tomorrow, but within a few months, yeah. Does that scare you?"
I stare at her.
"It scares me," she continues. "And do you want to know the worst thing? It's like the whole thing is this secret that everyone has to keep, even though they all know it anyway. My family are all very much aware that I'm gonna pop my clogs sooner rather than later, and they know that I know, but none of us is ready to talk about it. So we talk about everything else. The weather. The news. Sport. Television. The flowers they bring me. Anything except the fact that I'm going to die." She pauses. "I like that you're so honest, Emma. Even the doctors around this place tend to pussyfoot around the subject of death."
"Mummy's going to die," I say after a moment.
"Has she told you that?"
I shake my head.
"Then how do you know?"
"I can just tell," I reply. "I'm not stupid. I'm nine. But..." I pause, wondering whether I should say the next thing. "It's like something's changed," I continue. "She's different. It's like she's not really herself. Just in the past day or two, she's really become... different."
"She's just worried," June says with a sad smile. "And scared, maybe."
"No," I reply, shaking my head, "it's not like that. She's changed. I don't like it."
"In what way has she changed, honey?"
"She's just different," I say quietly, aware that I'm not really explaining this very well. "She doesn't look like herself. She's wrong."
"Maybe we should go to her room," June says, getting up from the bed and taking a moment to rearrange the tubes ru
nning from her arm to the drip-bag. "Are you tired, honey? Would you like to slip into bed with Mummy and have a nap? I'm sure she'd be very happy if she woke up and found you tucked in with her."
I shake my head.
"Why not? You look tired."
"I'm scared to touch her too much," I reply. "She's got all those tubes and things coming out of her, and I'm scared I'll knock one of them out and it'll leak." I pause for a moment. "She caught one on the side of her bed once, and lots of blood came out everywhere. She had to hit the button on the wall, and lots of doctors and nurses came running in so they could fix it."
"I'm sure that won't happen if you just have a snooze with her."
I shake my head again.
"Are you sure?"
"I just want to go home," I say firmly. "Can I go and find my Daddy? He'll be coming to pick me up soon. Tell Mummy I had to go while she was asleep. She'll understand."
"Would you really do that?" she asks. "Would you just go without saying goodbye to her?"
I nod.
"Well," she continues with a sigh, "unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately in this case, the option isn't available to you. I don't know how much your mother has told you, but at the moment no-one's allowed in or out of this hospital ward."
"I know," I reply, even though I'm not sure that I know the whole story, "but maybe my Daddy is different?"
She shakes her head.
"Why not?" I ask.
"Maybe I'm being a bit harsh," she continues with a sigh, "but my piles are acting up and I figure I should just be honest. I believe in laying things on the line, you know? You're a lovely, sweet young girl, Emma, but you need to give your mother a hug now and again, because..." She pauses. "You need to spend time with her while you can," she adds, "because you're right, she's going to die, and I promise you, if you don't make the most of these last days and weeks, it'll haunt you for the rest of your life. I wish I could go back and hug my mother and father, but they died years ago. You still have a mother, at least for now, so why don't you let me take you back to her room so you can give her a cuddle. Do we have a deal?"
