Ward Z Read online

  Taking a seat behind my desk, I set the phone down and then put my head in my hands. Every time a problem has arisen, I've been convinced that I could find a solution, but right now it's as if all the solutions have run out. Checking my watch, I see that there are only eighteen minutes left until the missile strike. Sure, I can think of plenty of experiments to try, but none of them seem worthwhile. I failed to come up with a solution, and now there's nothing left to do except sit and wait for the inevitable.

  Staring at the phone, however, I realize that I still have one call left at my disposal. There's no longer any point phoning John Lincoln, but perhaps there's another voice I'd like to hear one more time before the end.

  Picking up the phone, I cautiously dial a number that, even after all these years, I still know off by heart. I'm not even convinced that it'll still be in operation, but it soon starts ringing and I sit in the gloomy office, waiting in case -

  "Hello?" says Catherine as she answers. "Catherine Molton speaking."

  I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out. Suddenly it's as if all the years have fallen away, and I'm reminded of how good things were between us. Just hearing her voice again, I'm transported back to a time when life still seemed to hold so much promise.

  "Hello?" she continues. "Anyone there?"

  "It's me," I stammer, desperate to say something before she hangs up. "It's Andrew."

  "Andrew?" she replies, followed by a pause. "Andrew. Hi, how are you?"

  "I'm..." I pause for a moment, wondering how I might be able to explain the events of the past few days. "I'm okay," I say eventually. "You know, busy... Very busy, actually. You, er, probably wouldn't believe some of the work I've been doing over the past few days. Real cutting edge stuff."

  "That's good," she says, clearly a little taken aback by the fact that I've called her again after all these years. "I... Actually, I spoke to someone about you the other day. A guy named John Lincoln said he was doing some work on a research project of yours, and he had these vague questions about you. It was kinda creepy, but I..." She pauses again. "I wondered if somehow it might spur you to call me again. I don't know why, but somehow it felt as if everything was pointed that way. God, that sounds so terribly pretentious, doesn't it?"

  "Sorry," I reply, glancing at my watch and seeing that we only have sixteen minutes left. "I didn't mean to spook you or bother you in any way."

  "You're not spooking me," she says. "I was just making dinner for..." She stops herself just in time. "I guess you don't know, do you?" she continues awkwardly. "I'm married now. Greg and I have two children."

  "Wow," I reply, feeling as if someone just kicked me in the middle of the chest. "How did that happen? It seems like... Kids? Really?"

  "I'm thirty-six years old," she replies. "We have a boy, he's seven, and a girl, she's five."

  I take a deep breath, stunned by the thought of Catherine having been absorbed into the world of familial normality. It seems like only yesterday that she and I were living together, having fun, going out all the time... She used to occasionally mention the possibility of children, but I never thought she was serious.

  "So," she continues, "did you call for any particular reason?"

  I check my watch. Fifteen minutes left.

  "I just wanted to apologize," I tell her, surprising myself with the choice of words. "I wanted to say that I realized recently... just how much of an ass I used to be."

  She laughs. "Seriously? You're having some kind of meltdown and you decided to call me?"

  "Who else should I call?" I ask.

  "I don't know. Don't people usually call, like, the most important people in their lives or something?"

  I close my eyes.

  "Oh," she adds, sounding shocked.

  "It's nothing," I continue, opening my eyes as a single tear falls down my cheek. "I just realized that when we were together, I acted, on occasion, like a pompous, arrogant, self-important jerk. I realized that you had to put up with a lot of crap from me, and that I made your life more difficult than it had to be, and for that I'm very sorry."

  "What's wrong?" she asks, her voice noticeably quieter, as if she doesn't want someone to hear her talking. "You're worrying me, Andy. You should... Are you sure everything's okay?"

  "I've just had a long day," I reply, leaning back in my chair. "I had some very, very difficult patients."

  "You never had a very good bedside manner," she replies.

  "This was... a little more extreme," I say with a faint smile. "These patients... Some of them, at least... They've been something of a handful in more ways than one."

  "Kept you on your toes, huh?"

  "Oh yeah."

  "Well," she says after a moment, "it's good to hear that you're keeping busy. A great mind like yours, huh?"

  "Yeah," I reply with a grin, "a great mind like mine."

  "I'm glad you're enjoying your work," she continues. "I'm glad you got back on that horse and carried on after all your disappointments. Maybe I'm getting a little slushy, Andy, but you are a goddamn genius, you know, and you've got so much to offer the world. Are you still at that same hospital from a few years back?"

  "Yep," I say, checking my watch again. Thirteen minutes. "Still at -"

  "Shit," she mutters, "the timer's going off. Andy, I have to go, but maybe we can talk some other time, okay? I've still got the same e-mail address as before, so why don't you shoot me a message when you get a chance? We can talk. As friends." She stresses that last word slightly, as if she wants to make sure that I don't get the wrong idea.

  "Sure," I say, figuring that we're not about to have some kind of unlikely romantic reunion over the phone. "I just wanted to hear your voice again and check that you're okay. You still working in publishing?"

  "Yeah," she replies. "Yeah, I am. Listen, I really have to go -"

  "It's fine," I tell her. "Go make dinner for your kids."

  "We'll talk soon," she replies, before the line goes dead.

  Sitting alone in my office, I can't help imagining her, hundreds of miles away, rushing around the kitchen, making dinner for her two children while some guy sets the table. It's a weird, slightly freaky idea, and for a fraction of a second I allow myself to imagine myself as the guy. I guess that kind of life could have been mine, if I'd treated her better and focused less on my own brilliant career. Still, at least she's still out there, and she's happy. Surprisingly, that thought actually makes me feel a little better as I glance at my watch.

  Ten minutes.

  Cally Briggs

  "Mummy?" Emma says. "Where are we going?"

  "We're going to get you out of here," I reply, leading her along the corridor.

  "But we're going round in circles!"

  "We're not," I reply, as we pass the main doors again, "we're -" Suddenly I come to a halt as I realize that she's right. Looking over my shoulder, I see the deserted main doors. Somehow, in some kind of a daze, I've managed to take us along the same route twice, maybe even a few more times. I feel as if I've been drifting into autopilot, while the pain in my belly is getting worse and worse.

  "Mummy, aren't we supposed to go to Dr. Page's office?" Emma asks.

  I look down at her. For a fraction of a second, I feel as if I don't recognize her, as if some other kind of thought process as wandered like a ghost through my mind.

  "Yeah, honey," I tell her, swallowing hard. "I'm not quite sure where it is, though. Do you know?"

  "It's this way," she says, leading me along the corridor.

  Feeling as if we're being followed, I glance over my shoulder, but there's no-one around. It's as if we're being watched from inside my own mind, and I can't shake the fear that sooner or later, I'm going to lose control of my body again. Whatever's been happening to me, this feels like only a temporary respite, and as Emma pushes open the door to Dr. Page's office, I'm starting to wonder if I can trust myself around her.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" Dr. Page says, looking sta
rtled as we enter the room. "You're supposed to be..."

  "I know," I say, wincing as an arc of pain shoots up my side. Reaching down, I move the side of the hospital gown, exposing the huge, gaping hole in my belly. "Whatever you did," I continue, "it didn't work. Not permanently, anyway. I've got the pain again."

  "I tried to help you," he replies, taking a sip of whiskey before getting to his feet and coming over to take a look at my injuries. "There was a tumor in your abdomen," he continues. "I removed it, but the cancer had already spread. You probably have another in -"

  "There's no time for explanations," I tell him. "We need to get my daughter out of here. Even if the rest of us die, she's just a child, and she's healthy. There has to be a way to get her to safety."

  "There's -" He pauses, and as he looks down at Emma, I can see that he's given up. "There's nothing we can do," he adds after a moment. "I've tried. It's hopeless."

  "They're going to destroy this place, aren't they?" I ask.

  He nods.

  "With us in it."

  He nods again.

  "And..." I pause. "And after everything that's happened here, that's probably a good thing. Right?"

  "They're trying to hold the disease back," he replies. "It won't work. Not permanently, anyway. But it might buy them a window, some time to prepare -"

  "Emma's not infected," I tell him.

  "By now," he says with a sigh, "I imagine that everyone on the ward has this thing inside their bodies."

  "Emma," I say, crouching next to her, "you have to be honest with me. Do you have any kind of pain in your tummy?"

  She shakes her head.

  "Wait," Dr. Page says, hurrying over to his desk and grabbing a set of swabs from the pocket of his lab coat. "Emma," he continues, bringing a couple of cotton swabs over to us, "I need you to put this in your mouth for a few seconds, okay?"

  "What is it?" I ask, as Emma takes the swab and does as she's told.

  "It's a test," Dr. Page replies, "to determine if her liver shows any sign of the cancer's presence in her body." He passes a swab to me. "For reference, I'd like you to take one too."

  As soon as we're done, he takes the swabs and dips them in iodine. After a moment, he holds one up to show that the tip has turned blue.

  "What does that mean?" I ask.

  "It's yours," he replies. "It means that your liver's failing. You're infested with this thing. I took one tumor out, but there was clearly another."

  "What about Emma?" I ask, holding back the tears.

  He holds up the second swab, which is still white. "Nothing," he says after a moment. "Absolutely nothing at all." He pauses. "Maybe because she's a child, or maybe it's just pure luck, or..."

  "So she's not infected?" I ask.

  "It doesn't matter," he replies, checking his watch. "We've only got eight minutes left until..."

  "Until what?"

  He stares at Emma for a moment, and once again he has that look in his eyes that makes plain his lack of hope.

  "There has to be a way to get her out of here!" I say, trying not to lose my temper. "She's my daughter, for God's sake! She can't stay here!"

  "I'm not even sure that we should try to get her out," he replies. "It might be monstrously irresponsible. Even though the swab says -"

  "The swab says she's clean!" I point out, taking hold of Emma's hand. "It's not a guess! It's a fact! She's clean, and now we have to get her out of the building!"

  He pauses. "There's only one chance," he says eventually, hurrying to the door. "We don't have much time, so you're just going to have to trust me."

  "Come on," I say, forcing Emma to follow as we head out into the corridor. "Where are we going?" I ask.

  "It's a long-shot," he replies, "but we might be lucky." He pushes open the fire escape door, leading us into a cold concrete stairwell. "In normal circumstances," he continues, leading us down the stairs, "we'd have to rely upon the milk of human kindness. This time, we're relying on something else. We're relying on the fact that sometimes, human beings can be quite irredeemably cruel to one another."

  Dr. Andrew Page

  "Good evening," I say as we reach the blocked-off door.

  Standing on the other side of the door, his face visible through the glass, the soldier turns and stares at me with a look of barely-concealed worry.

  "Remind me," I say. "What's your name again?"

  He pauses. "Colin," he admits after a moment.

  "Hello, Colin," I say, checking my watch and seeing that we only have seven minutes left. Assuming that it might take another minute for the missiles to reach us once they've been launched, I guess we might have eight, but that's a very optimistic way of looking at things. "What are you still doing here, Colin?" I continue. "I thought all the soldiers had been moved out?"

  "A few of us have been left to make sure no-one gets away," he replies, his voice wavering a little. "We're not leaving until the thirty-minute warning is sounded."

  "The thirty-minute warning was sounded twenty-two minutes ago," I tell him.

  "No," he replies, "there's still a little longer before -"

  "Bullshit," I say firmly. "That's bullshit, and you know it. Your commanders lied to you. They've left you here to guard the doors until the bitter end, and you'll still be standing here, waiting for your thirty-minute warning when the missiles come and burn this whole place to a crisp."

  "That's not -"

  "You're expendable," I continue. "I can see it in your eyes, Colin. You know it's true. You've been left here to die, because your superiors believe that it's a price worth paying. They're probably already drafting the letter to your parents, telling them that you died bravely in the line of duty. They won't tell the truth, which is that you're going to die standing in a cold stairwell, blindly following orders until the bitter end."

  "We don't have time for this," Cally says. "You have to get Emma out of here!"

  "This woman is dying," I continue, fixing Colin with a determined stare. "In fact, she's almost died once already. I'm dying too. We're both staying here. It's a goddamn shame, but there's nothing that can be done to save us. Not a damn thing. But this little girl, she's been tested, and she's completely clear. She's like you, Colin. She doesn't need to die."

  I check my watch. Six minutes.

  "I'm sorry," Colin replies tentatively, "but my orders are -"

  "Check your radio, soldier," I continue, interrupting him. "They've probably already jammed the entire area."

  He hits some buttons on his radio, but all we hear is silence.

  "See?" I add. "How are they planning to give you the thirty-minute warning when they've already killed all the communications around here?"

  He stares at me, and I can that he's finally starting to realize the truth.

  "They left you here to die," I continue, "for no good reason. Normally, I wouldn't give a damn. I'd happily let you die here with us, but this little girl needs to get out of here. One good thing has to happen, and saving her... that would be a good thing."

  He shakes his head.

  "Your commanders left you here to die!" I continue, trying to stay calm. "You don't owe them anything anymore. If you follow orders, you'll be killed along with the rest of us, and that's not what you signed up for, is it?" I wait for him to say something, but he's taking too long to make a decision. "You've got about thirty seconds," I add, "before it's too late and there won't be enough time to get out of here."

  He turns and looks back down the stairwell.

  "Open the door," I say firmly, "and let the girl out. Take her with you. We'll stay here. We don't have any other option, but you can at least make sure that Emma Briggs lives." I check my watch again. "It's decision time, Colin. You're a good soldier, but they've left you here to die. They lied to you. They're going to kill you, and your colleagues, and this innocent girl. Are you going to be a party to that, or are you going to stand up and make the right choice?"

  He pauses. "Stand back from the door," he says
finally, reaching into his pocket for a set of keys. "All of you. Stand back."

  I grab Cally's arm and pull her back, and Emma follows. Moments later, the door swings open.

  "You're making the right choice," I say firmly.

  "Come on," he says, reaching out to Emma. "We have to get moving."

  "Go with the nice man," Cally says, kneeling next to her daughter with tears in her eyes. "He's going to make sure that you're okay."

  "What about you?" Emma asks, with fear in her voice.

  "I have to stay here," Cally replies, kissing her daughter's cheek before pressing a finger against her chest, right above her heart, "but I'll always be in here."

  "Can't you come with us?" Emma asks. "Please?"

  Cally shakes her head, before getting to her feet and leading Emma to the door. "You have to go with this nice man. Tell him where Daddy lives, and everything'll be fine. He's got kind eyes, sweetheart. He'll look after you."

  "Don't worry, Mummy," Emma says, giving Cally one final hug. "Everything'll be okay."

  As soon as Emma is out through the door, Colin pulls it shut again, leaving me standing with Cally in the stairwell. We wait in silence as the lock is turned, and then we hear footsteps running down the stairs, heading away. I feel as if I should say something, perhaps something witty or philosophical, but words are failing me right now. After all, there's nothing left for either of us to do other than wait for the missiles to strike the building.

  "At the end of the day," Cally says after a moment, sniffing back the tears, "all any parent can hope for is to know that her child will live on past their own death. That's basically what life is. Sure, it's happening in a pretty unusual way right now, but Emma will carry on without me. I just hope she has a chance to build a proper life." She turns to me. "Do you have children, Dr. Page?"

  "No," I say, unable to stop thinking about Catherine, and about the family that could have been mine.

  "She really was clear, wasn't she?" Cally continues. "You're absolutely sure that Emma isn't infected?"

  "As sure as I can be," I reply. "I certainly wouldn't have tried to get her out of here if I thought she posed a danger to anyone. Besides, it really doesn't make much difference. There are going to be more cases of this thing in a day or two. Even though Emma's out of here, I can't promise that she's safe. John Lincoln is a good doctor, but he's going to be overwhelmed." I can't help but smile. "He should have accepted my offer of help," I add, with a sense of irony, "but I guess he was a little too arrogant."