“That would be all we need,” groaned Moss.
“I better check with MacQuillan,” said Saracen. “Can you give me the batch number of the vaccine you are using?”
“Hang on.”
Saracen waited for Moss to return to the phone and used the time to uncap his pen and flick over his desk pad to a new page. He was absent mindedly drawing a clover leaf in the top right hand corner when Moss came back on the line. “It’s WHO 83 YP 761. Got it?” Saracen confirmed that he had and said that he would contact MacQuillan immediately.
As he was about to dial MacQuillan’s number Saracen saw Jill Rawlings pass the glass door panel. She was walking along the corridor with another nurse. Saracen opened the door and called her back. “Do you have a moment?” he asked.
“Of course,” replied Jill, indicating to her companion that she should carry on without her.
“I haven’t seen you for ages. I’m sorry,” said Saracen, closing the door.
“Don’t be. I know how things are but I’m here if you need me.”
“I need you,” said Saracen.
Jill seemed taken aback. She said, “Well Doctor, it took something for James Saracen to say that didn’t it.”
“Maybe,” conceded Saracen. “Can I see you tonight?”
“I’m on duty until eight thirty. I’m free after that.”
“Good, perhaps we can go out to dinner and…”
Jill put a finger on his lips. “No,” she said. “You were on call last night in A amp;E.”
“Yes but…”
“And the night before?”
“I’m fine, really I am,” insisted Saracen.
Jill would have none of it. “Stay home,” she said. “I’ll come round when I’ve finished and we’ll eat in, then we’ll relax with a drink and then we’ll make love and then, my dear Doctor, you will go to sleep. Understood?”
Saracen looked down at Jill’s smiling eyes and said, “You are a very special lady.”
“See you later,” said Jill backing out the door.
Saracen called MacQuillan and told him of his worries about the vaccine. “Could you ask Porton to check it?” he asked. “I’ve got the serial number of the batch.”
“The check is already being done,” said MacQuillan. “Our people thought of it as soon as they discovered the altered cell wall.”
“I should have realised,” said Saracen, feeling foolish.
“I’ll let you know when I hear the result,” said MacQuillan.
“There is one other thing,” said Saracen tentatively.
“Yes?”
“If the vaccine should turn out to be ineffectual, what then?”
“A new antiserum and vaccine would have to be prepared from the Skelmore strain.” replied MacQuillan.
“As simple as that?”
“Yes. It would take a little time of course but preparing a bacterial vaccine is no great problem. We can be grateful that plague is caused by a bacterium and not a virus. Viral vaccine are a different ball game.”
“You said antiserum as well as vaccine?”
“Now that we have a problem with antibiotics we can inoculate animals with the Skelmore strain and then use their serum to treat cases with. There’s always a risk of serum sickness of course, even anaphylaxis but it’s a lot better than nothing.”
“Quite.”
Saracen left A amp;E at six and despite a threatening sky decided to leave his car and walk home for he felt the need for fresh air. Jill would not arrive much before nine so there was no reason to hurry. He took a detour through Coronation Park and sat for a while beneath the trees feeling depressed. There was no specific reason for the feeling; he just had a sense of foreboding; it was almost as dark as the sky. Perhaps it was the weather, he reasoned, heavy, still air, trees absolutely motionless as if holding their breath while they waited for something to happen. The sky grew even darker; the clouds were almost black and the failing light made the grass seem a much richer green than usual. What few people there were in the park at that time started to scurry away as the first large drops of rain speckled the path.
Saracen was soaked to the skin by the time he got back to the apartment but showed no irritation for he had taken no steps to avoid it. True his first impulse had been to run for cover when the rain had started but tiredness in his limbs and the general feeling of depression had changed his mind. He had opted instead to walk through the rain, knowing that a warm bath and a change of clothes were to come. In the event he discovered that the timer on the water heater in the flat had failed to trigger and there was no hot water. He switched it on manually and towelled himself dry while he waited in front of the gas fire for it to heat up. After twenty minutes or so he settled for a lukewarm bath with a large whisky propped up on the soap bar.
At eight thirty Jill phoned; she seemed distraught. “It’s Mary Travers,” she said. “She collapsed on the ward.”
“What’s the matter?”
“They don’t know yet but I want to stay with her till they find out.”
“Of course,” said Saracen. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I don’t think so. I’ll still come round later if that’s all right?”
“Whenever,” said Saracen.
Saracen turned on the television and flicked through the channels until a programme about the Amazon River caught his attention but after a few minutes drowsiness began to compete with his interest and the soporific hiss of the fire colluded with the slow monotone of the narrator to induce in him an overwhelming desire to sleep.
He was rudely awoken by the telephone and the crick in his neck, when he sat up, told him that he had been asleep for some time. The clock confirmed it; it was a quarter to midnight.
“James? It’s Jill; I’m still at the hospital.
It took Saracen a few seconds to clear his head and gather his thoughts. “What’s the problem?” he asked.
“Mary is very ill and Dr MacQuillan thinks it would be a good idea if I didn’t leave the hospital right now.”
Saracen was suddenly wide awake. “What’s MacQuillan doing there?” he asked in alarm. He was aware of Jill breathing quickly as if she was very upset. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Take a deep breath and tell me.”
“They think Mary has plague.”
Saracen felt his stomach go hollow. His mind started to race but he kept a tight rein on his tongue while he considered the implications. Mary Travers had been the nurse on Medic Alpha on the night it had brought in Myra Archer. She, like the others, had been given tetracycline cover. It seemed that all the drug had done was slow down the development of the disease. An outbreak among the other contacts could be imminent.
“James are you still there?”
“Sorry. You say that you are staying on at the hospital?”
“Dr MacQuillan thinks it would be a good idea if those of us who have been in contact with Mary stay here for the moment. They’re opening up Ward Twenty as an isolation unit and asking for volunteers to staff it. I thought that as I was here anyway…”
“You volunteered.” Saracen closed his eyes for a moment. “Take care,” he said softly.
“You too,” said Jill.
“Can I speak to MacQuillan before you hang up?” asked Saracen.
“Hang on.”
After a few seconds MacQuillan’s voice came on the line. “Dr Saracen?”
