“Bray. His name is Bray. He grew sick three days ago. Just the sniffles at first, but last night he got a terribly high fever. He hasn’t come out of it—doesn’t even know where he is. We already lost James last night… If my boy…” The man struggled to contain himself.
It sounded serious, and Kamiyo tried not to show concern. In the old world, the world that existed just three or four months ago, a fever was not the end of the world—most could be managed with cool baths and paracetamol—but now, and especially with delirium-level fever, there might be a battle to contain it. Kamiyo eyed the lake and its frigid waters. “Take me to your son.”
Sensing the sudden authority in his voice, Jackie stepped away and took his arm. She, along with the worried father, led Kamiyo up a series of wooden steps into the large log cabin that was deceptively framed in steel and only adorned with timber. It was a sturdy, impressive building.
Their footsteps thudded as they headed across a deck and between two large glass doors which lay open, inviting them into the warm reception area. Kamiyo took it all in quietly, not wanting to miss anything. A canoe hung from the rafters, and fishing nets lined all four walls. A wooden reception desk stood to one side, with a muscular swordfish mounted on a chestnut shield behind it. Topping things off was a quaint brass bell on top of the counter. Kamiyo had to resist tapping it.
The worried father was right behind Kamiyo and hurried to the front now. “My boy is in here.” He moved in front of a door with a plaque reading: FIRST AID.
Jackie opened the door for them.
The stench of sweat and sickness wafted out like a slap to the face. The air inside the small room was stifling and muggy. The smells oddly comforted Kamiyo, reminding him of the hospital and his days of being a simple doctor. Two children and a grown woman lay asleep on cot beds. All three of them were clearly unwell, and heat radiated off their bodies. In the flicker of nearby candles, their skin appeared grey and lifeless. “We should move them outside,” Kamiyo urged. “This room is too small. There’s no ventilation. It’s a petri-dish for whatever we’re dealing with.”
Jackie appeared disturbed by that, and she stepped back into the doorway. “Are we in danger?”
“I don’t know, but the weather’s mild at the moment so we should move the sick outside to help keep them cool.” He wiped his forehead with his forearm. “Can’t you feel how hot it is in here?”
The father didn’t seem to have been listening. He pointed at the young boy on the left, a kid just into his teens. “This is my son. This is Bray.”
Kamiyo nodded. “Any diarrhoea? Sickness?”
“No, the opposite. Just fever.”
“Same with Michael and Carol.” Jackie spoke from the doorway. “Except Carol has a rash.”
Kamiyo frowned. “Show me.”
Jackie fidgeted with herself like she didn’t want to come inside, but she summoned the courage and shuffled over to the grown woman on the right, lifting up her t-shirt. The woman was half-awake but didn’t seem to notice being interfered with. She murmured to herself and stared up at the ceiling. The rose red rash covered her entire trunk. Jackie stepped back and folded her arms. “She had a cough as well, but that’s died down.”
“A cough?”
Jackie nodded. “Before her fever got bad, Carol was hacking and coughing constantly. Had to sleep in a tent on her own to keep from waking everyone up.”
Kamiyo groaned without realising and saw the concern it caused the others.
“Oh god,” said the father, clutching at his unruly brown and grey hair. Behind his broken spectacles, his eyes were panicked. “You know what it is, don’t you?”
“I can’t be certain,” said Kamiyo, trying to keep his tone even and calm. “It could be several things, but there’s a chance it’s Typhoid Fever.”
“Oh god.”
“Now, don’t panic.” Kamiyo put a hand on the man’s arm. “Sir, can you tell me your name?”
“Philip.”
“Okay, Philip. Typhoid Fever more often than not clears up on its own. It sometimes affects adults worse, which is why Carol has more symptoms. We need to keep Bray and the others cool, so I suggest we take them outside as soon as possible. There’s a nice breeze tonight.”
“Is that all?” Jackie asked. “They’ll get better? Doesn’t Typhoid kill people? We lost James last night. He had the same symptoms as Carol.”
“In a few cases, yes, Typhoid can be fatal. It’s easily treatable with antibiotics, but I’m guessing nobody is in possession of any?” They shook their heads at him. “Okay, then we’ll have to manage them through their fevers and wait for them to fight it off on their own. In the meantime, we need to isolate them from the rest of the camp. Typhoid is bacterial in nature, and highly contagious.”
“How did my boy get it in the first place?” Philip was on the verge of tears as he spoke.
Kamiyo shrugged and sighed. “Contaminated food or dirty water, perhaps. Typhoid is uncommon in the UK, but the country has taken a step back recently in terms of health and sanitation. You need to boil any water before you drink it, even rain water, but especially if it comes from the lake.”
Jackie groaned. “In the first couple of weeks, we were a disorganised mess, as I’m sure you can imagine. Some of us wanted to leave and find our families. Others argued about who was in charge. It was a while before we reached a consensus about keeping the children safe here and staying put. While all this arguing was going on, the kids were drinking straight from the lake. Once we realised, we started collecting rainwater. Every night we build a fire and boil the water.”
“Good. What about food? What are you all eating?”
“You saw the fish drying, I assume? We’ve been catching whatever we need from the lake,
