“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?”
“I’m just about to call Porton.”
“Call me back when you have.” The line went dead and people exchanged surprised glances at Beasdale’s abruptness. Saithe said, “I think we are all interested in the outcome of that call. Shall we wait?”
MacQuillan left the room to call Porton and was back after less than a minute. “They will call me back this afternoon,” he said.
“Is that all?” asked Saithe.
“Yes.”
Saracen was as disappointed as everyone else but he was more than disappointed, he was afraid. He had just seen that look in MacQuillan’s eyes, the one he had first seen on Palmer’s Green.
Chapter Thirteen
Saracen found Tremaine in the locker room. He did not look up when Saracen came in but instead continued to stare at the floor. His general demeanour made Saracen wait for the younger man to say something first.
“God knows what we are going to do with them all,” murmured Tremaine, still hanging his head. “It was just an endless stream of people passing through on their way to the grave. There was nothing I could do…” Tremaine looked up and Saracen saw the look of despair in his eyes.
“Absolutely nothing. I might just have well been a plumber or a postman… “
“There’s nothing any of us can do until we get the antiserum,” said Saracen, resting his hand on the other man’s shoulder. He told Tremaine about the opening up of the schools to cope with the increasing numbers of patients. He had intended to ask Tremaine to work on for a bit had now changed his mind after seeing how hard he was taking it. He would cover plague reception on his own and ask Jamieson to work a double shift with Prahesh Singh in A amp;E.
Saracen found that the list of known plague contacts was two days out of date. He phoned the Public Health Department to find out why. When he got no reply he called Saithe’s office and asked about it. He was told that there would be no more lists. “Dr Braithwaite has suffered a complete nervous breakdown,” he was told by Saithe’s secretary. No fewer than four of his staff had gone down with plague and to all intents and purposes the Public Health Department had ceased to function. “Bloody marvellous,” said Saracen under his breath.