Domain

Kate looked puzzled.

'Sorry - intestinal infections could soon reach epidemic proportions. Some of the illnesses will be respiratory -pneumonia, bronchitis, that kind of thing - while others will be disorders such as hepatitis, dysentery, tuberculosis. I think typhoid and cholera will spread. Rabies, too, since we failed to keep it out of the country. Any sickness, you see,

any debilitation, will be exaggerated, and will lead to worse illnesses. Simple measles could become an epidemic. Any childhood infectious disease could wipe out thousands, maybe millions. Meningitis, encephalitis - that's a sleeping sickness caused by inflammation of the brain - even venereal diseases. The list is endless, Kate, just damn-well endless, and I don't think any of us - the government, the medical profession - can do anything about it! They've killed us all, maybe not tomorrow, nor the next day, but eventually. We don't have a hope in hell.'

It was all said in a flat monotone. An underlying hysteria in the doctor's voice would have been less frightening to Kate. Others in the room were looking in their direction and she wondered if they had heard, soft-spoken though Dr Reynolds' words had been.

'Clare, there must be some chance for us. If we can get to another part of the country...'

The other woman sighed deeply. 'I wonder just how much of the country is left. We've no way of knowing how many missiles were used against us. And whatever parts haven't been destroyed will be subjected to fallout drifting on air currents. Oh, Kate, I'd like to have hope, and I know as a doctor I shouldn't be talking like this, but all I feel is a despairing numbness inside, a huge dull-grey blankness. It won't allow room for anything else.'

Kate searched in the older woman's eyes for some sign of inner conflict, a softness, an indication of hidden tears perhaps, or even anger. But the eyes were expressionless. Not cold, not dead. Just void of all emotion.

Kate shuddered inwardly, and a chill Touched her with the knowledge that the nightmare was not over.

It had only just begun.

Culver looked around the sick bay, hoping he might find one of the other 'patients' awake, eager to talk. He was bored, annoyed at his confinement. The others were all asleep, as he guessed they would be, for they had been heavily sedated. Three engineers and one ROC officer had given way under the pressure so far. One of the engineers, a young man somewhere in his late twenties, had sliced his wrists with a razor blade. Only blood spilling beneath the toilet door had saved him. The woman, whom Culver had seen wearing the Royal Observer Corps uniform on the first day inside the shelter, had tried pills stolen from the medical store. The sound of her retching as they forced a rubber tube into her throat had roused him from a deep sleep the night before.

He sank back onto the pillow, an arm going behind his head to prop himself up. Five days he'd been out, according to the doctor, the radiation sickness hitting him first, then reaction from the rat-bite jumping in like some eager bully who wouldn't be left out of the fun. Well, he'd been lucky. The dose was minor although weakening, and Dr Reynolds had found something to counteract the infection. She had explained about the disease the vermin carried and as a precaution had inoculated everyone in the shelter against it. They were safe inside, she had said, but eventually they would have to surface and it was just as well to be prepared

for any dangers that might be out there. Rats would be the least of their problems, Culver had thought.

He lifted the sheet to examine the bite. The wound was no longer dressed and looked an angry red. It felt sore, but not too painful. He'd live.

Letting the sheet drop back over his naked body, he stared up at the bunkbed above. As with the aftermath of any debilitating illness, everything seemed fresh, even the turgid colours of the sick-bay walls. The neon lights shone cleaner, brighter, the wires beneath the bed overhead sharp, their pattern precise. Even the filtered air smelled fresher. He could hardly recall the agonies he had gone through -

save for the acute stomach cramps - but Dr Reynolds had told him he had become yellow as a Chinaman at one stage. Sudden spasms of muscular pains, constant vomiting, and delirium had been the results of the fever, all, she assumed, intensified by the radiation his body had absorbed. Fortunately, the antidote had worked quickly and much of the toxicity had been sweated out or flushed from him within the first couple of days. After that, total exhaustion held him in its smothering embrace and complete rest was the only cure for that.

Culver felt fit enough. Maybe just a little weak, but he was sure his strength would soon return when he was up on his feet. If only he knew where they'd put his clothes.

He pulled the sheets back and swung his legs onto the floor, then rapidly swung them back and covered his lower body, as the door opened. The girl entered and smiled when she saw him half-sitting in the bunkbed.

‘You look good,' she said, walking towards him.

He nodded. 'I feel, uh, okay.'

She sat at the end of the bed, leaning forward a little to avoid the top bunk. We were worried for a while. I never

realized the human body could lose so much waste in such a short period of time.'

"Yeah, well I'd rather forget about that. Did you look after me?' He seemed surprised.

'Dr Reynolds and I took it in turns. Don't you remember? She was with you all the time when your fever was at its peak, though.'

He rubbed the stubble of his chin. 'Sudden images flash into my mind.' He was silent for a few moments, then said: 'I remember you watching me. I remember your face looking down. You were weeping.'

She avoided his eyes. 'I didn't know how serious it was, whether you'd survive. You looked so awful.'

‘You were worried?' Again he looked surprised.

Kate moved closer and ran her fingers through his Tousled sandy hair, using them as a rough comb.

There's a brightness to your eyes.'

'I guess it's all the vitamins our lady doctor is pumping into me.'

'She says that in a strange way you've been luckier than the rest of us.'

He gave a short laugh. This I gotta hear. Just how does she figure that?'

‘You've been away from it. Your mind's been concerned with just one thing over the past few days: self-preservation. Even through your delirium it's been fighting, refusing to let go. And Clare - Dr Reynolds - says your mind's been doing something else too.'

Culver gently caught her wrist to stop her fingers moving through his hair. 'What would that be?'

The brain is a remarkable machine, it can do several things at once. While it was helping you pull through, it was also adjusting.'

'Adjusting?'

To everything that's happened. Oh, you've had your nightmares, some beauties by the sounds of them, but all the time your mind was accepting, going through everything that's happened, and, well... digesting it, if you like. We've had to go through the same stages, but consciously. We've had to live through it over and over again and, as you can see, some of us didn't make it. There are others who still won't.'

He let go of her wrist and her hand dropped into her lap. "Will you?' he asked.

'I'm not sure. At first I thought it would be impossible. Now I don't know. It's incredible what you can learn to accept. I don't mean that this nuclear war will ever be acceptable to any of us, but eventually I think our circumstances will. We'll live with what we have.'

Culver was startled by the change in her. But then she had still been in a state of profound shock in their first few hours inside the refuge. There had never been the chance for him to see what lay beyond that state. He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. 'It seems we've had this moment before. Or something like it.'