… Really, what are you doing here?’
She looked at him with a steady, level gaze. ‘I’ve come for my baby, Dr Strong.’
The SUV was speeding back towards Roald Dahl Plass, Owen following in his Honda.
Inside the Torchwood vehicle, the glare of the street lights cast strobing orange shapes across the faces of Gwen and Jack.
‘That man,’ Gwen said, staring at the road ahead. ‘I looked at him properly. And so did you.’
Jack glanced at her but said nothing.
‘I saw the way you looked at him.’ Gwen turned her head and stared at his profile as he drove. ‘The way he’d been killed … cut right open like that. Could you survive something like that, Jack?’
‘You know I would.’
‘I know you can’t die. But a wound like that … how would you? How could you? Surely it wouldn’t just … heal?
‘It’d take a while, but it would heal. I’d live.’
Gwen shivered. ‘I can’t imagine that.’
‘Try not to think about it,’ Jack advised. ‘That’s what I do.’
She looked back at him. ‘But … you must think about it. You must do.’
‘Not any more. I don’t think about dying. Only living.’ He glanced across at her and smiled that wolfish grin. ‘Besides, I don’t plan on letting anyone rip me open like that. Believe me. That’s gotta smart.’
She smiled despite herself. ‘Why do you always do that?’
‘What?’
‘Make me feel daft for even thinking something so bad, even when we’re right in the middle of a crisis.’
‘Crisis? What crisis?’
‘Owen’s medical crisis.’ Gwen activated the computer console in front of her and went online, searching for a news update. It wasn’t hard to find coverage of what the strap line termed ‘South Wales Epidemic’.
Owen’s voice crackled over the comms. ‘How come it’s my medical crisis?’
‘The TV and internet are full of it,’ Gwen reported, tapping at the monitor screen in front of her. ‘And they’re still calling it a flu epidemic.’
‘That’s bollocks,’ said Owen’s voice over the loudspeakers.
‘That a medical term?’ asked Jack.
‘It is when I use it.’ The Honda pulled up alongside the SUV as the two cars hurtled along the carriageway. Gwen could see Owen at the wheel. ‘Look, it won’t be long before someone starts calling it an outbreak,’ he continued. ‘That’s different to an epidemic, by the way. The authorities will already be considering it an emergency, the way things are going.’
‘They’ll think it’s germ warfare or something,’ Gwen said. ‘Terrorism.’
‘They’ll check with all the relevant biohazard facilities first — research labs, storage bases, chemical plants, both commercial and government. That won’t tell them much. Even if one of them knew there’d been a leak, they wouldn’t fess up straight away.’
‘What are the chances of it being an accidental leak?’ asked Jack.
‘Slim, but not impossible.’ Owen’s voice crackled slightly as the Honda pulled ahead and moved in front.
‘What if it’s none of those things?’ asked Gwen. ‘I mean, not an accidental leak from a research lab or even a deliberate attempt at biological terrorism? What if it’s something else?’
‘Then they’ll call us,’ said Jack.
‘Baby?’ said Bob. He suddenly felt a lot worse, if that was possible, as he sensed everything suddenly sliding out of control. ‘I don’t understand.’
Saskia just smiled. It was the coldest thing Bob had ever seen. ‘You will.’
‘Saskia, this really isn’t the right time …’ Bob tried to glare at her, but he couldn’t focus properly. He wondered if he was simply hallucinating the whole thing. She looked strangely ephemeral, as if he was seeing her through water.
She pulled off her raincoat, exposing one bare arm for Bob to see.
‘You’re hurt,’ he said, puzzled. The reaction was instinctive. There was a wound — a deep tear in the flesh of her upper arm, crusted with blood. The skin around it was inflamed and swollen. It looked extraordinarily painful, and yet she barely seemed to register it. All this time, and she had not given the slightest indication that it hurt. ‘How did you do that?’ he wondered. He stared at it, unable to take his eyes off the damage, his professional interest suddenly overwhelming every other thought. ‘Is that a gunshot wound?’
This time her lips parted in a tiny snarl. ‘Something metal,’ she said. Even the word seemed to taste bad for her.
Bob sat up, peering more closely at the wound. It was still bleeding, slightly, but there was something else in there, possibly detritus that would need to be cleaned away.
‘You should go to hospital,’ he told her. ‘The best place for this kind of thing is A amp;E, honestly.’
As he spoke, he saw something move in the wound. It was dark green, like a fragment of cabbage or broccoli caught in the scab. It quickly withdrew inside the flesh as he looked, almost as if it sensed his observation.
‘This is too much,’ Bob stammered, looking away. ‘I’m seeing things now.’
‘Really?’
There was something in her tone — a challenge? A hint of contempt?
Whatever it was, it made Bob look back up at her, into her eyes. And then, in the final moments of his life, Bob suddenly realised what colour Saskia Harden’s eyes were.
They were the colour of mucus.
NINETEEN
Jack strode through the giant cog-wheel portal of the Hub and headed straight for the steps on the left leading up to Toshiko’s workstation. He was taking the stairs three at a time when he realised that she wasn’t at her desk.
‘Where’s Tosh?’ Jack called to Ianto, who was just coming through from the Morgue.
Ianto was holding a dustpan and brush. He used the brush to point. ‘Hothouse. Good to see you back.’
‘You too, Ianto, you too. Lookin’ sharp. I like a man who knows how to keep a place tidy — I ever tell you that?’
‘Once or twice.’
Jack doubled back, heading for the spiral steps that led up to the Hothouse. He could see Toshiko now, standing over a complex piece of apparatus in the centre of the room. She was wearing a white lab coat, which stood out among all the plants and bottles. Jack was about to go inside when he realised that the doors were shut, and when he tried to open them he found they were locked.
‘Tosh?’
No answer. She was intent on her work and she couldn’t hear him through the partition.
Ianto followed Jack up the stairway and cleared his throat apologetically. ‘She’s sealed herself inside.’
‘What? Why?’
Ianto knocked politely on the glass and Toshiko looked up, startled.
Jack felt startled too. Toshiko looked terrible. She was drawn, with dark rings under her eyes and a sheen of sweat over colourless skin. Jack looked back at Ianto. ‘What’s going on?’
‘She’s running a temperature and she’s as weak as a kitten. Then she started coughing up blood.’
Inside the Hothouse, Toshiko pressed a switch to activate the intercom. ‘I’ve put myself in quarantine, Jack.’
‘Quarantine?’
‘It’s just a precaution. I think I’ve picked up some kind of infection.’ She coughed hard into a handkerchief, holding on to the workbench next to her for support. ‘I don’t know what it is yet, but I’m trying to isolate it now. I think it could be what’s been on the TV news.’
‘There must be something we can do. I’ll get Owen, he can help.’
