Alien Virus (20 page)

“We’re already doing things,” Kate
interrupted impatiently “that’s what the website’s for.”

“I know that. It’s only… what direct action
are we going to take? Okay, we’re telling people about the virus so
they can say – ‘Hey, I’m infected – I’ve got to get rid of this.’
But what if they can’t do anything about it – even if they want
to?” Frank nodded in understanding.

“It’s a good point Gareth – I’m glad you
mentioned it. Perhaps it’s something that needs clarifying for
everyone. I know this may sound crazy, but the virus can only
affect its host by invitation. Once it’s accepted, it starts to
control things in the body. Over time, the host cells become
powerless to stop it. It’s a bit like the wooden horse of Troy. Or,
to give a more–up–to–date analogy, a virus invading your computer.
Once you accept it as benign – or even beneficial to you, as in the
case of our virus – then you’re allowing it free reign to do
whatever it wants. You’ve assumed its motives are good and
honourable
and welcomed it as a friend.
So much so, that when things start to go wrong within your
computer, or your body, you look for other causes – never thinking
it could be the enemy within.”

“So the first step is to recognize what it
really is – an invading enemy that has breached your
defences
,” added Gareth.

“That’s right,” continued Frank. Once you do
that, you’re on the road to recovery. Your new thought processes
will countermand the old orders and instruct your own cells to seek
out and destroy – or eject – the invading virus.”

“And it’s possible to do that?” queried
Kate.

“Yes,” answered Frank. “That’s how we got
rid of the virus from our Universe. We discovered a substance that
had the effect of boosting each being’s immune system, you could
say, and that combined with the understanding that virus was an
invading enemy provided an impenetrable barrier for the virus.”

Kate then recalled something Frank mentioned
at the Bothy bar before we came over to Papay.

“That’s the substance you started to talk
about when we were in Kirkwall! You said it was being channeled to
Earth to help us.”

“That’s correct Kate… but now the virus has
taken such a strong hold, I don’t think it’s going to help.” Frank
replied solemnly. “Once the body is completely overrun by the
virus, it’s too late. The invading army is too large, or too
strong, and there’s nothing your
defences
can do about it – with or without that special substance. That’s
was how we lost millions of beings on my planet – on
y
our
planet.”

Gareth was now much more alive. “I get it
now – thanks Frank. To be honest, I hadn’t realized the value of
the website until now. I thought we had to go out and do something
– give out leaflets or something.”

“Well, thanks for bringing up the question
Gareth. It’s clarified everything for me too,” I said.

“And me!” said Kate.

Liz brought us a treat for dessert – home
made ice–cream and strawberries she kept in the freezer from the
last harvest.

“Not as good as fresh – but I hope you like
them.” We certainly did.

*

As we were clearing up after the meal,
someone mentioned Eday. It was now safe to go back to the island,
but we’d become so settled on Papay that we didn’t want to move.
Liz and Hamish were like part of the family and were enjoying our
company as much as we enjoyed theirs. However, memories of Eday
brought with them thoughts of Harry and Jo.

“I do hope they’re all right,” said Audrey
as she brought in some freshly brewed tea. “Is there any way we can
contact them?”

“I’ve tried phoning Harry’s mobile many
times,” replied Tony, “but he never answers. He could have left it
on Eday. I don’t have Jo’s number. At the time, we all thought
they’d be coming straight back from London. Then the virus hit the
capital.”

“If I know Jo and Harry, they’ll be all
right,” Kate said to comfort Audrey. “They’re very independent and
resourceful. Look at the way they dealt with the Police on Eday.
They’re probably helping folks down South.” Audrey smiled and
kissed Kate on the cheek.

“Thank you hen,” she said. We chatted about
Harry and Jo for a while before turning on the television for the
latest news. Things were getting worse.

***

Twenty
-
Eight

Eight weeks had passed since the flu virus
had hit London, and the capital had all but ground to a halt.
Public transport was almost totally abandoned, people preferring to
travel in the relative safety of their own cars where possible.
Those who did brave the underground trains and buses, wore mask
specially made to keep out the virus by some enterprising company.
They did little good, but everyone agreed they were better than
nothing. Those who could still hold down a job, were disinfected
and screened for flu symptoms as they arrived at work. But almost
everyone had the virus and it seemed just a matter of time before
London society collapsed altogether.

With Council services running at emergency
level only, rubbish had accumulated in the streets and was an
additional health risk. Rats, seemingly immune to the virus, were
carriers of it. But then, so was just about every animal in London
– including Man. The news services that were still running, drew
comparisons with the flu epidemic of 1918, and the Black Death of
the sixteen hundreds. But this was not just any ordinary flu virus…
it was an alien parasite that was feeding off humans, affecting
their minds.
‘Eat more meat and stay away from salt – it’s
poisonous’
, people were repeatedly told – doing exactly what
the virus wanted. Newspapers and magazines had virtually stopped
running because it was thought that the virus could be transmitted
by paper. Most people got their information from the Internet,
which was still in operation, though sites were not being updated
as much as usual. The worst place was Central London, which was
rapidly becoming a no–go area. It wouldn’t be long before it was
closed down altogether.

After leaving Sandi in Finchley eight weeks
ago, Harry and Jo had hardly left Carshalton where Jo’s mother
Valerie lived. They’d phoned Sandi a few times to make sure she was
all right, but they’d not looked up any of their old friends. Val
was not well at all. She lived alone, with her husband dying of
heart disease some five years previously. Val’s
neighbour
Mary had been looking after her since Val
became ill. Now Mary was sick with the flu, and was struggling to
look after Val and herself. Mary was therefore greatly relieved to
see Harry and Jo.

“You know, I don’t know what I would have
done if the pair of yous hadn’t come down from heaven,” she said in
her Londonised Irish accent.

“Actually, we came down from Orkney Mary,”
Harry jested. “Heaven’s a bit further north.” Harry always liked to
have a bit of fun with Val’s
neighbour
.

“Now, you go and get yourself to bed with a
stiff brandy and a good book. We’ll look after Val from now on,”
said Jo.

“Ah, you’re so good to me Jo, so you are.
Just like your old ma. And I won’t say no to the brandy.” Val left,
coughing into her paper tissues. Harry involuntarily moved back to
avoid any bacteria, or whatever it was coming out of Mary. But it
was no different to that which had come out of Val during the past
week. Only now Val was struggling to get rid of anything. The virus
was sinking its teeth into her weakened body. Jo went to the
bedroom and smiled at Val.

“Mary’s gone home…” the startled look on
Val’s face made Jo realize straightaway what this meant to Val. “I
mean, back to her own house. There’s nothing wrong with you mum –
this was just a ploy to get us to visit you, right?” Jo knew that
was far from the case, but lightening the situation seemed to be
the best thing. Val might not have many days left.

“You’re right, of course it was dear,” she
replied weakly. “But it worked, didn’t it?”

Jo got Val some hot soup whilst Harry began
to tell her about their latest adventure on Eday. When he mentioned
salt, she interrupted him.

“You know, I always used to think salt was
good for you – that you needed it. They used to tell us it was
essential for life. But you see how wrong people can be – it’s not
good for you at all, it can kill. It’s probably what’s killing me
now…”

“No,” said Harry firmly. “That’s not true
Val, it’s the complete opposite. Salt
is
good for you, it’s
essential for life. They’ve got it all wrong today.” But nothing he
said to try to convince her had any effect. Jo brought in the
steaming hot soup for Val as Harry was shaking his head. Seeing her
face light up at Jo, he smiled at the old lady. “Enjoy your soup
mum.”

*

Sandi didn’t know what to do with all her
things. In one way, she wanted a completely fresh start, throwing
out everything she didn’t use. But when it came to sorting the ‘in’
from the ‘out’, she just couldn’t do it: the ‘in’ pile got bigger
and bigger. ‘Oh this is useless, fucking useless’, she thought.

As regards her job, Trevor had fallen
seriously ill with the virus; and with no editor – and no–one to
take his place – no magazine. Not that she would have wanted to go
back to Central London – now the virus was overrunning the City –
but the money would have been nice.

Life retained some semblance of normality in
Finchley, though few people walked the streets. When they did, they
were mostly alone, and nearly always wearing masks of some kind,
either the commercial variety or home–made protection. She’d been
to ATMs a couple of times to check her balance and withdraw cash;
but apart from that, she didn’t go out. Except to one particular
place.

Just past the golf range on the High Road
was now the busiest place in East Finchley: the local cemetery. It
was somewhere Sandi had visited every week for the past five years,
rain or shine, whenever she was at home. It was where her mother
was buried. And now with the virus ravaging Londoners, business was
brisk for the undertakers. Only the bodies were not being buried –
cremation was thought to be the safest means of disposal.

Sandi walked through the entrance, with
opened wrought–iron gates at either side and headed for the place
she could locate with her eyes closed. She leant over the
well–tended grave and replaced the dead roses with bright red and
yellow tulips. She smiled down at the headstone and whispered a few
words. About ten
metres
away, a
dark–haired woman was standing over a gravestone, her head in one
hand. She was crying. Her sobbing attracted Sandi’s attention. At
first she tried to ignore the woman, respecting her privacy. But as
the crying became louder, she walked over to the woman.

“I’m sorry to intrude – but I couldn’t
help…” The woman’s all–consuming grief had made her oblivious to
Sandi’s presence.

“Oh, I’m sorry – I didn’t realize…” she
quickly dried her eyes.

“It’s okay, I think I know how you feel.
Sandi looked back to her mother’s grave, and the woman followed her
gaze. She nodded in understanding. “Look,” said Sandi, turning back
to face the woman, “I’m just going for a coffee – or something
stronger...”

“Something stronger sounds good,” the woman
replied with a brave smile. Sandi returned the smile, and they
walked out of the cemetery back to the High Road.

“I’m Sandi, by the way.”

“Sara.” They stopped momentarily and shook
hands.

“Aren’t you worried about the virus?” Sandi
asked, referring to Sara’s willingness to shake hands.

“No – not from you. I can usually tell. And
if I do get it and die, it won’t be so bad.” Sandi said nothing.
They walked in silence to the first pub and looked in. The
atmosphere was not good and a couple of people were coughing. They
closed the door and left quickly.

“I tell you what,” said Sandi, “I’ve got a
bottle of something back at my place – and I live just down the
road.” Sara hesitated, so Sandi added, “Okay, okay – the truth is
I’m a serial killer and I need just one more victim to make the
Guinness Book of World Records.” Sara’s frown quickly turned into a
laugh.

“Well, all right then – wouldn’t want to
deprive you of a world record.”

Sandi’s rented flat was above a dress shop.
She used to share the apartment with a friend from College, until
she left London to work for some Government agency in Cardiff. And
after that there was me, of course.

“Here – let me take your coat.”

“Thanks.”

“Red or white?” Sandi asked.

“Whichever’s the strongest,” replied
Sara.

“Red then.”

Whilst Sandi got the wine and glasses, Sara
perused the lounge. Sandi had photographs of Marti and me, and one
of her mother.

“Thanks,” said Sara as Sandi handed her a
glass of Chilean Cabernet–Merlot. She sipped the deep red wine.
“Mmm, nice.” She paused for a moment whilst Sandi settled down.
Then, indicating the photograph of me, she started, “You said you
understood… at the cemetery…was he the reason?”

“Kevin? Oh god no. I wanted him dead a few
times, but he kept bouncing back. Not enough rat poison I guess.
No, it was my mum,” Sandi picked up the framed picture and showed
it to Sara, who looked at it carefully.

“She’s got kind eyes.”

“Thanks,” nodded Sandi. “A pity they didn’t
rub off on me.” Sara smiled. She liked Sandi from the moment they
met – she felt relaxed in her company; and with both women
experiencing the death of somebody close to them, there were no
pretentions, no political correctness and no false sympathy.

“It was my husband – John. One year to the
day. But it seems like just last week. I don’t know where the
months have gone.” Tears began to well in her eyes again with the
recollection. Sandi moved over to sit next to Sara on the sofa and
put an arm around her.