While there was clearly an ever-present risk of attack from outside, the biggest threat was the introduction of the infection into the camp, and its transmission between the survivors within. Everyone was checked head to toe for bites, scratches, flushing or fever before they were allowed in. Anita explained to Lisa that this had been done to her by Rick, while she was still unconscious on the truck. She pushed away the image of his rough hands exploring her body and touching her skin without her knowledge or permission.
A quarantine area had been set up in some buildings outside the main camp. Anyone with suspicious injuries or symptoms was held there in isolation for 48 hours. An occasional burst of gunfire from that direction signified the demise of some poor soul who had proved to be beyond help.
There were still many unanswered questions, mainly around who had carried out the attack and why. Various religious and far-right, extremist groups were the chief suspects, but no-one had actually claimed responsibility. Or, if they had, no-one had been left to hear their message. If someone had been trying to get the world to sit up and take notice, their plan had seriously misfired. What would be the point in destroying the whole country … maybe even the whole world?
Was it just the UK that was affected? No-one seemed to know the full story. Although initial reports had claimed the whole of Western Europe was involved, the word on the ground was that it was just the UK. But then, where was the help from our allies in Europe? Why were survivors not being airlifted out of the country to safety? Geoff raised the point that they might want to avoid the risk of spreading the infection to the continent. As an island, the UK was the perfect natural containment area. Lisa thought he was probably right. They were most likely to be on their own - for the moment anyway. Where was the government? Had they survived? What were they doing?
The only activity the military seemed to be engaged with, and interested in, was getting all survivors to the safe zones to halt the spread of infection. When survivors asked questions about what was going to happen next, they were met with silence and blank looks. If anyone had a plan or an inkling of an idea about what the future might look like, they were keeping it very close to their chests.
The military were constantly busy organising the survivor searches and maintaining the infrastructure and organisation of the camp. Some survivors with particular skills and abilities had been commissioned to help them with specific tasks, but for the majority it was all about existing … and waiting.
Their day began early. Sleep did not come easily in a space occupied by 40 troubled souls. The nights were filled with whispers and quiet weeping, coughing, moaning, and restless tossing and turning on the flimsy cots. Occasionally, nightmares would evoke cries or screams of terror, followed by murmurs and more crying. Throughout the night, there was a steady procession of people tiptoeing barefoot in and out of the tent for a cigarette, to use the portable toilets or simply to get a bit of privacy or fresh air.
As soon as it was light, it was viewed acceptable to get up, and the whole camp was usually awake and up and about just after dawn. There were no showers, as water was largely restricted for drinking. Every survivor was given a plastic bottle containing a small daily allowance for washing and other essentials. People would use the last of the previous day's allowance to freshen up the best they could before heading to the mess tent for a refill and a cup of tea or coffee.
Meals were staggered, with different serving times for different tents. Lisa and Anita's breakfast slot was between seven and seven-fifteen. The queues were long and slow but no-one seemed to mind. It passed the time. Lunch was at a quarter to one and dinner at six-thirty. Food seemed to be plentiful, and drinking water was unrestricted. In between meals, people lingered in the mess tent, lay on their cots or wandered around the camp. After dinner at eight, people would slowly make their way back to the sleeping tents, many just relieved to have made it through another day, content to lie down and invite sleep to envelop and comfort them, ready to see what, if anything, the following day would bring.
This general air of passivity infuriated Lisa, and she could see that it was beginning to irritate Anita, as her initial euphoria was fading. Admittedly, it was early days, and people were shocked and exhausted, but it felt wrong to just be hanging around, waiting to be told what to do. Lisa was itching to leave, but Anita and the medic insisted she stay and recover for at least another couple of days. She knew herself that she was not fully fit. She still had a dull headache and bouts of terrible tiredness, when all she wanted to do was lie down and sleep. She recognised that she wasn't ready and accepted that she had a better chance of success if she was strong, fresh and clear-headed when she made her next move.
And so, she waited. She slept in her creaky cot, she queued for her meals, she sat in the mess tent with the others nursing cups of coffee, and she wandered round the camp and watched the comings and goings of the military.
In the centre of the camp was a small, wooded area known as The Copse. She'd found a quiet spot there, where she could sit, unnoticed, on a pile of discarded
