The disk contained a single Microsoft Word file with no title. Steven clicked it open and watched the first page come up under the header SNOWBALL 2000. Beneath it was a list of names in a vertical column, each aligned with the address of a hospital or clinic listed in a column to the right. His first impression was that the locations were pretty much spread over the entire UK. There was also a date assigned to each entry. Steven quickly scrolled to the bottom of the list to see what other information the document held, but there was nothing there. The list was all there was.
He recognised some of the names as those of wildcard patients so he felt confident that he had got hold of the right disk. In fact, when he examined the list in more detail, all eighteen wildcard patients were there but what he found puzzling was that there seemed to be no correlation between donors and recipients. If this was a record of the donors used in the supply of heart valves, as he supposed it to be, why weren’t the donors matched up with their respective recipients? There was nothing to indicate who was what.
In all there were fifty-six names, an even number, so at least in theory they could be twenty-eight donors and twenty-eight recipients, but there was no way of telling. Steven felt a tide of bitter, hollow disappointment sweep over him. There was nothing here to help him establish what had caused the outbreak, and nothing to suggest why Greg Allan should have committed suicide when someone had routinely asked for details of donors. Steven logged off. He’d had enough of puzzles for the moment. He decided to go and see how Caroline was.
Kate Lineham had already come off duty and left for home by the time he got to St Jude’s, so he had to explain all over again — this time to the night staff — who he was and why he was there.
‘Dr Anderson’s not too well, I’m afraid,’ said one of the nurses. ‘She had a bad afternoon, according to Kate, but recovered some ground later on and she’s resting quietly at the moment. Kate left instructions that we should call her if there’s any change.’
‘Maybe I shouldn’t disturb her?’ asked Steven.
‘No harm in sitting with her for a while, if you’ve a mind to,’ said the nurse. ‘It often helps to wake up and find a friendly face there.’
Steven agreed that was what he would do and got changed into protective gear before moving through the airlock into the nave. When he saw Caroline, he was shocked at the change in her appearance since earlier that day. Her skin had taken on a yellowish pallor and her lips were thin and cracked, though beads of sweat were trickling down either side of her nose.
He squatted down, rinsed out a sponge in the basin beside her and gently wiped the sweat away. Caroline stirred slightly, so he stopped for a few moments, shushing her with ‘Sleep, my lady, sleep easy. Everything’s going to be just fine.’
Caroline moved again, as if she were in discomfort.
‘Think of sunshine… golden corn, white sails on blue water… the picnics we’ll go on in the summer…’
One of the nurses came up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Everything all right?’ she whispered.
Steven nodded as he saw Caroline settle down again and heard her breathing become deep and regular. Once she was sleeping easily, his gaze drifted up to the memorial board above her bed and to the names of those who’d died in the ‘bloody slaughter of war’. As he read through them, he couldn’t help but think that they at least had had a tangible enemy, one they could see and fight against, unlike the poor souls in the church, who had been stricken by a colourless, odourless, invisible enemy. Its only function was to replicate itself and, in doing so, kill the body that harboured it. All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small…
Steven had been sitting with Caroline for about half an hour, holding her hand and soothing her, when she became restless again, as if in the throes of a bad dream. He tried shushing her through it, but this time to no avail. After a few more moments, he felt a convulsion ripple through her body and just managed to get a papier-mache bowl up to her face in time to catch the bloody vomit that erupted from her mouth.
‘Easy, my lady,’ he soothed.
Caroline continued retching until there was nothing left in her stomach, her face reflecting her pain as the spasms racked her. When they at last stopped, her head flopped back on the pillow in exhaustion, blood trickling from her nose. He wiped it away and rinsed the sponge. Her eyes flickered open and recognition registered in them.
‘It’s you,’ she said. ‘God, I feel awful.’
‘But you’re winning,’ said Steven with every ounce of conviction he could muster. ‘Hang in there.’
She started to answer but another convulsion ripped through her and Steven held up the bowl again. Although her stomach muscles contracted so violently that her whole body heaved, she brought up only a trickle of bloodstained mucus.
‘Jesus,’ she complained, seeking relief from the pain of the spasms by wrapping her arms tightly round her stomach. Her nosebleed restarted with a vengeance and this time, when her eyes opened, Steven could see that conjunctival haemorrhages were turning the whites of her eyes red. He got up and waved his arm to attract the attention of one of the nurses. He asked her to stay with Caroline while he emptied the sick bowl and washed out the blood-soaked sponges at the sluice.
When he returned, the nurse said, ‘I’d better call Kate.’
Steven knew the crisis had come. He sank to his knees beside Caroline again and did his best to make her as comfortable as possible with tender words and loving care. When she had a momentary respite from the spasms, she said haltingly, ‘I remember telling you I hoped someone would be there to look after me if I ever needed them… I didn’t realise it would be you.’
‘I guess you drew the short straw,’ said Steven.
Her attempt at a smile was cut short by another convulsion.
‘I think I’m going to have to get some fluid into you, my lady,’ murmured Steven, reaching for a saline pack. ‘You’ve been losing too much.’
‘Be… careful,’ she cautioned. ‘I’m not… too responsible for… my actions… right now.’
‘Just try to relax.’
‘You’ve no idea… how ridiculous that sounds,’ said Caroline, grimacing with pain and drawing up her knees involuntarily.
A nurse appeared at Steven’s shoulder and whispered, ‘Kate’s on her way. Can I do anything?’
Steven asked her to hold Caroline’s arm steady while he inserted the needle. When it was secured in place he looked around for something to hang the saline reservoir from and settled on a corner of the memorial board. He pinned it next to the name of one Sergeant Morris Holmes who had died for King and Country at the battle of Ypres. He said, ‘Just you hold that there for the time being, Morris.’
Steven’s spirits rose as Caroline’s spasms gradually became more infrequent and finally stopped, and she was able to relax into the margins between sleep and consciousness. But his optimism was short-lived: another wave of nausea overtook her and she started to retch all over again. When she at last settled again, she murmured, ‘I think something just snapped inside me. I could feel it go.’
‘What sort of feeling?’ asked Steven.
‘I think it was… my rubber band,’ replied Caroline with a smile so distant that it froze Steven with its poignancy. It was the moment when he knew that she was drifting away from him.
‘You’re going to be just fine,’ he said, although the words stuck in his throat and he had to swallow before he could say any more. ‘You’re over the worst now; the convulsions have finished and you’re on the mend. You must rest and build up your strength.’
He was aware that Kate Lineham had arrived and was standing there with one of the other nurses. She chose, however, not to move into Caroline’s line of sight or to say anything.