Plague

He had two hours of restless dozing, filled with weird and terrifying dreams. The sky was light when he opened his eyes. Mr. and Mrs. Henschel, Adelaide and Pickles were all still asleep. Dr. Petrie lifted himself on one elbow, rubbing his aching eyes, and looked around.

They had company. Beside the car were two unshaven National Guardsmen in uniform and helmets, their eyes hidden behind mirror sunglasses. They were both carrying automatic weapons, and neither looked in the mood for friendly banter.

'How do,' said one of them laconically. He was chewing gum in ceaseless circles.

Dr. Petrie nudged Adelaide, who was lying snuggled up against him. She stirred, and opened her eyes.

The guardsman stepped forward, and looked around their makeshift encampment. 'You folks travelin' north?'

Dr. Petrie didn't answer. Mr. and Mrs. Henschel had woken up now, and they blinked across at him in silent bewilderment.

'It's kind of inadvisable — travelin' north,' said the guardsman, pacing around them.

'Is there a regulation against it?' asked Dr. Petrie.

The guardsman chewed gum for a while. 'Nope,' he said eventually. 'I don't reckon there's no regulation against it.'

'But it's inadvisable?'

'Yep. That's the word. Inadvisable.'

'Well… what do you advise us to do instead?'

The man shrugged. 'It ain't up to me to advise you to do nothing. What you do is entirely your decision. Is this your car?'

'It belongs to a friend.'

'You able to prove that?'

'I don't think so. He's dead. He died of the plague two days ago.'

The guardsman walked slowly back to where his friend was standing.

'Any of you folks sick, or infected?'

'I don't believe so.'

'How about that little girl? She don't look too bright.'

'She has a cold, that's all. A summer cold.'

'Is that right?'

'I'm a doctor. I should know.'

'You're a doctor, huh? How come you ain't helpin' out someplace, 'stead of sleepin' rough?'

Dr. Petrie said, 'I was helping in a hospital in Miami. Last night, it was burned to the ground, along with the rest of the city. There isn't much I can do there now.' The men were not interested.

'Nope,' said the one with the gum, 'I guess there ain't.'

There was a long, awkward silence. Mr. Henschel eventually asked, 'Are you going to let us leave, or do we have to stay here all day?'

'You can leave if you like,' said the guardsman. 'But you don't recommend northwards?'

'Nope.'

'Are the highways blocked off? Is that what's happening?'

Both men nodded. 'The entire state of Florida is in quarantine, friend. You can drive north if you feel like wastin' your time, but I can tell you here and now there ain't nobody gets through the state line alive or dead.'

'That must include you,' said Dr. Petrie.

The guardsman shook his head. 'No way, doctor. Every National Guardsman has been immunized.'

Dr. Petrie frowned. 'Immunized? What do you mean?'

The guardsman mimed a syringe being squeezed into his arm. 'The jab. Ninety-eight percent effective, the doc said.'

Dr. Petrie looked across at Adelaide, and she raised her eyebrows.

'I don't quite know how to say this,' Dr. Petrie said to the National Guardsmen.

'You don't quite know how to say what?

'Well, whatever they've injected you with, it's useless. There is no way of immunizing yourself against this plague.'

The guardsmen placidly chewed gum, and said nothing. 'Have you tried to get back across the state line yet?' asked Dr. Petrie.

'Nope. This is our first turn of duty.'

Dr. Petrie stood up, and brushed down his clothes. 'Well, I'm sorry to say it's going to be your last turn of duty, as well. There is absolutely no way that you can be protected against this disease. We know it's a type of pneumonic plague, but we don't know how it's transmitted, and we don't have the remotest idea how to cure it.'

'Are you pulling my leg?' said the guardsman, frowning.

'I wish I was. I think you've been conned. They needed someone to keep law and order around' here, to stop things going completely berserk, and so they let you think that you were immune. You're not, and that's all there is to it.'

'He's joking,' said the other National Guardsman. 'Don't you take no mind of him, Cal, because he's sure as hell joking.'

'I can show you my medical papers.' He reached into his back pants pocket, and took out his ID. He held it up, and waved it.

'Don't you take one step nearer,' said the National Guardsman, raising his automatic weapon.

Even afterwards, Dr. Petrie couldn't work out what happened next. It was too quick, too illogical and too spontaneous. He didn't see David Henschel go for his rifle, but he guessed that was what happened. The guardsman suddenly swung round and fired a deafening burst of automatic fire towards the trees, and Mr. Henschel said 'Ah!' and fell to the hard ground with a heavy thud like a sack of flour. Two or three bullets caught Mrs. Henschel, and she rolled over, screaming.

Dr. Petrie, instinctively trying to protect Prickles, ducked forward and wrestled the machine-gun from the guardsman's hands. The other guardsman lifted his gun, but Dr. Petrie caught the first soldier around the neck, and pulled him up against himself as a human shield, He waved the automatic rifle in the other guardsman's direction, and snapped, 'Drop it! Drop it, and put up your hands!'

The man hesitated, and then slowly laid his weapon down on the ground. Mrs. Henschel was moaning loudly, while Adelaide bent over her, trying to see if she could help. Prickles stood by herself, still in her red dressing-gown, and howled.

'Turn around!' Dr. Petrie shouted hoarsely. 'Put your hands on your head!'

The guardsman did as he was told. Then Dr. Petrie pushed the first guardsman away from him, and ordered him to do the same. The two of them stood side by side in the road, their hands on top of their heads, and Dr. Petrie stepped forward and picked up the other automatic weapon.

'Now,' Dr. Petrie said, 'if you don't help me, I'm going to blow your heads off. Where's your first aid kit?'

One of the guardsmen said, 'I've got one right here, in my pack.'

'Put your hand in your pack slowly, lift the kit out in plain view, and lay it on the ground.'

The man did as he was told. Dr. Petrie went across and picked it up, keeping the machine-gun trained carefully on his captives. Then he backed up, and knelt down beside Mrs. Henschel. He handed the gun to Adelaide, and told her to shoot without hesitation if either guardsman moved.

Mrs. Henschel was bad. One bullet had hit her in the chest and pierced her left lung. Every time she breathed, bloody bubbles trickled from her dress. Another bullet had hit her in the ear, and the side of her head was sticky with gore. The pain was by now so intense that the poor woman had passed out.

Working as quickly as he could, he dabbed the wounds reasonably clean, and bandaged them with lint.

Prickles was standing close by, watching her father, quiet and red-eyed. She said, 'Is Mrs. Henschel dead, daddy?'

Dr. Petrie tried to smile. 'No, honey, Mrs. Henschel just hurt herself. Don't you worry — she's going to be fine.'

Prickles pointed to Mr. Henschel, curled up in a stain of blood. 'What about him? Is he going to be fine?'

Dr. Petrie sighed heavily and said, 'Mr. Henschel's gone to heaven, I'm afraid. He's dead.'

'Will he come back?' the child demanded.

Dr. Petrie stood up, and took the gun back from Adelaide. He ruffled Prickles' hair. 'No, baby, he won't come back. But wherever he's gone, I'm sure he's going to be real happy.'