got up and walked over to the wall. She turned to lean against it and said, “Don’t worry. You don’t have to pretend to love me. You don’t have to say anything at all. No suburban foreplay is required. If you want me you can have me.”
Saracen swallowed hard as Claire with a sudden movement of her hand tore her blouse open. She smiled at the look of surprise on Saracen’s face and started to hoist her skirt above her thighs. “Call it rest and recreation if you want. If you want me come and take me…right now.”
Saracen had not felt so sexually aroused since his teenage years. He moved towards Claire and pinned her to the wall while he tore away her underclothes.
“That’s it…any way you want me.”
Saracen took Claire hard against the wall with a single mindedness that could not be diverted. He felt an alien desire to hurt her for exposing in him such weakness and the cries from her throat only spurred him to greater efforts but Claire’s passion rivalled his own and her finger nails dug deeply into his back as he came within her and buried his face in her hair.
“Don’t feel bad,” murmured Claire as though reading Saracen’s mind. “I want you to enjoy me. I want to make all your fantasies come true…every schoolboy dream you ever had.”
Saracen’s bleeper went off at three thirty when Jamieson called from A amp;E to report that a number of people had been admitted with gunshot wounds.
“What happened?” asked Saracen.
“They were trying to leave Skelmore and the army opened fire.”
Saracen cursed.
“I’ve never dealt with this kind of injury so I thought I’d better call you,” said Jamieson.
“I’m on my way,” said Saracen.
Resentment against the military was rife in A amp;E when Saracen arrived. “Fascist bastards!” snarled one man who had been hit in the thigh. “Good God, this is England!” protested another.
“They’re Russians if you ask me,” added a fat woman, nodding her head wisely. We’ve been invaded. That’s why they wear them fancy suits. It’s to disguise the fact that they’re Russians.”
Saracen did not attempt to interfere for antagonising an already incensed mob was going to be nothing but counter productive. Instead he and Jamieson got on with the business of cleaning and dressing wounds. He knew little of arms and ammunition but quickly saw that the wounds he was seeing had not been caused by high velocity bullets. In addition they seemed to be confined to the lower limbs of the victims, indicating that intention on the part of the soldiers.
“If it’s a bloody fight they want,” continued the man with the thigh wound, “that’s what they’ll bloody well get. Next time we won’t be empty handed. My brother in law owns the sports shop in Griffin Street. We’ll give them bloody guns! Two can play at that game. Fascist bastards.”
Saracen decided that things had gone far enough. He told the man to shut up and added, “You got what you asked for.”
The man was outraged. “I’m an Englishman,” he said, “I have a right to go where I please.” Murmurs of agreement ran round the room.
“The soldiers are Englishmen too,” said Saracen. “They were only carrying out their orders.”
“That’s what the SS said,” crowed the loud-mouth. There were more sounds of agreement and Saracen had to wait until the noise had died down before saying, “There’s a world of difference. If there wasn’t you wouldn’t be sitting here on your fat arse running off at the mouth.” The noise rose again.
“Here, what kind of a doctor are you anyway?” demanded the man.
“The kind who’s fed up listening to all this crap. This town has a big problem and it’s our problem. Spreading it to other towns and villages is going to help no one so here we stay. All of us! Get used to the idea. Nobody leaves Skelmore until it’s all over.” Saracen could sense that he had won over most of the crowd, perhaps all of them with the exception of the loud-mouth who continued to mutter threats under his breath.
The trouble was over for the moment but Saracen was worried. He wondered how widespread ill feeling was in the town. Local radio had taken to assuring people that the arrival of an antiserum was imminent and had appealed for calm during the interim but the interim was being sorely stretched. Please God the loud mouthed man was the exception rather than the rule and please God there would be some news from Porton in the morning.
Saracen arrived early for the staff meeting and found MacQuillan unshaven and in his shirt sleeves. He was preparing filing cards and moving name tags around on a chart in front of him. He threw down his pen when he saw Saracen arrive and rubbed his eyes saying, “It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense. They don’t know each other, they don’t live beside each other, they don’t work together and they have no common friends and yet they all get plague. This whole bloody thing…” He made a sweeping gesture towards the chart. “is a complete waste of time.”
“Anything from Porton?”
“Nothing.”
“Damnation,” said Saracen. He told MacQuillan of the would-be escapers.
MacQuillan said, “I’ll call Porton again after the meeting.” The others started to arrive.
“First the figures,” said Saithe. “Despite thirty nine deaths during the night there are of this moment one hundred and twenty nine confirmed cases of plague in the wards.”
MacQuillan let out a long sigh and let his head rest on his chest. Saracen remained impassive but the numbers depressed him.
“Then the general quarantine order has made no difference,” said Jenkins the hospital secretary.
Saithe replied, “We don’t know that yet and we won’t for another four days.” In answer to Jenkins’ puzzled look he said, “The disease has an incubation period of up to six days. The cases that were admitted yesterday were people who had picked up the infection before the order came into force. That will be true of the cases today and those we see tomorrow. Only after that can we expect to see a fall.”
“But the numbers by then…”
“Quite so,” said Saithe, cutting Jenkins off. “I was rather hoping for some good news on the vaccine and antiserum front.” Saithe looked to MacQuillan who shook his head and said, “Nothing yet.”
“In that case,” said Saithe slowly, “I think we have to admit that things are slipping away from us. We have a serious space and staffing problem and things look like they are going to get worse.”
“We could open up ward 8A,” said Jenkins. “It’s been closed for re-decoration but in the circumstances…”
Saithe shook his head and said, “It’s not just a question of space. 8A is in the heart of the main hospital.”
“I’m sorry. I should have thought. I’m afraid there’s nothing else.”
“I know,” replied Saithe. “That’s why I propose recommending to Col Beasdale that we open up two of the local schools as temporary plague hospitals. There are two that stand in their own grounds and are therefore isolated from the rest of the community.”
“Makes sense,” said Saracen and MacQuillan agreed.
“But you will need staff,” said Olive Riley.
Saithe smiled and said, “I was coming to that Matron. We will need more nursing volunteers.”
“I am sure you will not find my nurses wanting,” said Olive Riley.
“I am sure we won’t,” agreed Saithe.
“What about equipment?” asked Jenkins.
“Frankly we don’t need much. Without antiserum there is little or nothing we can do for these people save let them die with a little more dignity and in a little less discomfort than might otherwise have been so.”
“I see,” said Jenkins.
“Can we agree on the schools?” asked Saithe. There was universal approval. Saithe called Beasdale to make his report. When he had finished speaking Beasdale asked, “Is Dr MacQuillan there?”
MacQuillan cleared his throat and said, “Yes, I’m here.”
“The antiserum, Doctor. Where is it?”
