Children of the Cull (5 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

CURE

T
HE DOOR TO
Samuel’s room was open, the observation area full with medical staff, Dr Atkins, Dr Heslin, a smattering of nurses. They stepped back as I entered, clearing a path to Samuel’s quarters.

“Show me,” I told Ed, letting the nurse take the lead. I followed him into the room, Allison and Olive leading the rest of the staff in behind me.

I took one look at what greeted us and ordered everyone out.

“Dr Tomas—” Olive began, but I herded them from the room like cattle.

“Everybody out! If you’re not Dr Harwood or Nurse Dunning, leave immediately.”

Olive tried to argue—of course she did—but she was the only one. The rest of the staff obediently filed from the room, George Atkins glancing over his shoulder to take one last horrified look.

“Clear the observation area, too,” I barked, shutting them out. “We don’t need an audience.”

And then there were three—four if you included the body.

I took a breath and turned to face the boy sprawled on the floor.

Allison was standing with her hands over her mouth, staring down at Samuel. “Jesus Christ, Jasmine.”

Beside us, Ed Dunning flinched, his Catholic upbringing clearly offended—but a little blasphemy was the least of our concerns.

I reached into my pocket. This time I wasn’t going for my meds. I pulled out a small silver voice recorder and, checking the available space on the SD card, hit record.

“Time stamp: oh-seven-forty-three. Dr Jasmine Tomas, Dr Allison Harwood and Nurse Ed Denning present.”

Allison stood aside as I walked over to Samuel’s body. There was every chance that she wanted to pass comment on the need for making a recording straight away, but protocol was all that held us together at times like this.

I crouched beside the corpse, still recording. “The subject has been found lying beside his bed, in a state of advanced rigor mortis. His eyes...” A glance at the boy’s face caused my detached facade to slip for a moment. I coughed, clearing my throat, all too aware of the quiver in my voice as I proceeded. “His eyes are open, staring up at the ceiling. There is... evidence of subconjunctival haemorrhage.”

Behind me Allison reached the end of her tether. “
Evidence?
His eyes are bright red, Jas. Look at them.”

I rose, my cheeks burning. “Allison, please.”

“Sorry, am I interrupting your report? Worried you might miss something. Okay, let me fill you in.” She grabbed my hand, pulling it towards her face. “Samuel’s—that
the subject
, by the way—is dead. Did you get that? An eleven-year-old boy in our care, dead at our feet.”

“Perhaps I should go,” Ed muttered, turning towards the door.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Allison called after him. “Someone else needs to be here. That’s regulation, isn’t it, Jasmine? Three people present at a report. That’s the way we do things? Moore will be proud.”

I shut the voice recorder off. “What is wrong with you?”

“What is wrong with
me?
I’m not the one pretending to be Mister-Bloody-Spock.”

“I’m being a doctor,” I snapped back, louder and with more force than I intended, but it did the trick. Allison clamped her mouth shut, crossing her arms in frustration. She glanced away from me, her eyes wet, biting her bottom lip.

We stood in silence, Ed shuffling uncomfortably.

“I know,” Allison finally admitted, wiping a solitary tear from her cheek. “I’m sorry. It’s just the shock. I... I was with him last night. He... laughed. Or at least, he tried to. To please me.” A sad smile broke across her face. “It was such a ridiculous noise, so false, but I could tell he was doing it for me, to make me feel better about... well, how
I
was feeling. It was the most empathy I’ve received from any of these kids. And now...”

She looked down at Samuel and the tears welled again. “Go on,” she said. “Please.”

I knew that I should reach out, to touch her arm, even pull her into a hug, but also knew she wouldn’t thank me. I restarted the recorder.

“The subject’s features show signs of risus sardonicus, the lips drawn back into a rictus grimace.”

“Tetanus,” Ed cut in.

This time I didn’t bother to stop the recorder. “I’m sorry?”

“I’ve seen it before, in cases of tetanus.” He looked embarrassed, realising that he was telling me things I already knew. He was only trying to help.

“It would explain his back,” Allison pointed out, quietly. She coughed, raising her voice for the benefit of the recorder. “Samuel’s body has pulled into a bridge position, his spine arching.”

“Opisthotonus,” I agreed. “Caused by severe, and usually erratic, muscular contractions.” I could see where they were going—both phenomena were classic symptoms of tetanus—but I had my doubts. Still, it was better to cover all bases. “Had Samuel cut or scratched himself recently?”

Ed shrugged. “Not that I know of.”

I turned to Allison. “And you said he seemed in good spirits last night?”

“As far as he ever did; as any of them do.”

“No signs of a fever? Stiffness of the jaw?”

“He didn’t complain of anything.”

I turned back to the body. “If it was tetanus, you’d expect a four-day incubation period at least, and we’d have seen the signs. And that’s with a normal patient. With Samuel? It’s impossible. And to accelerate so quickly...”

I touched the boy’s throat, feeling the bunched muscles beneath the skin. They were like rock.

“Death appears to have been caused by asphyxia, the muscles in his neck effectively crushing the trachea. Time of death is difficult to place, although I would estimate that it has been no more than two or three hours.”

Behind me, Allison nodded. “Rigor mortis would have set in immediately.”

I pointed at a pool of vomit beside the bed. “And there’s this...”

Samuel had been sick during his convulsions, rolling into the mess as he’d thrashed about. There were traces on the side of his face—but the vomit on the floor hadn’t completely dried, glinting in the light from the ceiling lamps.

“But if it isn’t tetanus?” Ed asked.

Before I could answer, the door was thrown open, Des Moore bursting in without invite.

“Good God.”

So much for keeping everyone out.

The security chief rubbed the back of his thick neck. “I came as soon as I heard. Do we know what happened?”

“That’s what we’re trying to determine. Shut the door, will you?” If Moore was here, I might as well use him. The man had been originally assigned by the Cabal themselves. Soon after he’d arrived in Bristol, we’d got drunk together, one of the last times I allowed my guard to drop. He told me how he’d been a teenager at the time of the Cull, how he’d moved from city to city as the world fell apart, joined various militia. It had been a hard life.

There was something in his eyes when he spoke of the past, a loss I recognised... Before I knew what I was doing, I’d leant forward and kissed him. We never told anyone about that night. Over the years, mutual embarrassment had given way to passive-aggressive sniping on both sides, but I knew I could rely on him when push came to shove—like now.

“Chief, I need you to find out exactly what Samuel was fed over the last week.”

“I can do that,” Ed offered, but I cut him dead.

“No, it’s better that Chief Moore handles this. Get to the kitchens, quarantine any ingredients used in Samuel’s meals, and check the trash, too. They may have been thrown away.”

“What may have been thrown away?” Allison asked, touching my arm. “You’re not suggesting that Samuel was poisoned?”

I ignored her. “Ed, Allison—check if any of the other subjects are exhibiting symptoms. Tightness of the jaw. Difficulty breathing. I’ll perform the autopsy on Samuel myself.” I looked down at the pool of vomit beside the body. “We’ll need a sample of that too, to see what he ingested.”

Allison was running her hands through her hair, not wanting to believe what she was hearing.

“Did you get all that?” I asked, switching off the voice recorder. “Allison?”

She nodded, not looking sure at all. “Yes, got it. Sorry.” She dithered for a moment, before ushering Ed out of the room. “You heard the lady. Let’s go.”

Moore also turned to leave, but I stopped him. “Des, we need to check the storerooms too, specifically any poisons we use for pest control.”

His scowled, the dark skin between his brows forming deep furrows. “You mean like rat poison?”

“I mean
exactly
like rat poison.” I looked down at Samuel’s body. “Especially anything containing strychnine.”

F
IVE HOURS LATER
and the prospect of a dreamless night of sleep had never seemed so appealing.

I sat in my office, staring across the complex. The storm had passed, although the clouds were threatening a repeat performance any minute.

The base was eerily quiet—not that it was ever what you’d call bustling. A complex built for thousands, now home to about sixty. It must have been impressive when it was first opened, with its winding pathways and immaculate gardens, like a university campus. Most of the green spaces were overgrown now, although some were maintained by staff keen to stave off boredom when they weren’t on duty. There were vegetable plots, of course, and a surprisingly healthy orchard near Neighbourhood Three; but some of the gardens were actually quite stunning. Allison and Bets maintained one of the plots, growing roses of all things. It turned out that Allison had quite the green fingers. She’d even asked me if I wanted to join them.

I’d killed every plant I’d ever owned, including a potted cactus. Who kills cactuses, of all things? They’re like cockroaches.

Not that it made much sense to me, anyway. Growing flowers in the midst of all this. I looked up to the horizon, seeing the derelict houses across what was once a busy ring road. Shops, schools, even a sports centre... there would have been people everywhere.

Sometimes I imagined them all. Children hanging around the car park when they should be heading home. Trains thundering past on their way to London, cars navigating seemingly endless roundabouts, shouts from the football fields beside the sports-centre, a plane flying overhead...

It made me smile and ache at the same time. I would have hated it. Weekends traipsing around out-of-town shopping centres. No, thanks. But it still hurt.

Most of the buildings in the base were empty now, although we maintained some of the amenities. From what I’ve read, Abbey Wood had four restaurants when it first opened—the largest now acted as our staff canteen here in Neighbourhood Three. There were hairdressers, a gym, tennis courts and a five-a-side football pitch, which I could see from my office window. We even had our own Sunday league; technicians vs medical vs security and so on. I’d never made it to a match, but had spent many a long hour watching the teams practise.

The puddle-strewn pitches were empty now; not because of the weather, more the threat of being shot during the second half.

Raids stop play.

“Dr Tomas, should we call a general meeting?”

I jumped, looking up to see Olive at the door, clipboard in hand. I hadn’t heard her come in.

“How long have you been there?”

She gave me what she obviously thought was a kind smile. Poor Dr Tomas, lost in thought, cracking under pressure. Losing control.

And all the time Olive stood in her perfect little dress, with her perfect hair and perfect make-up. Where did she even
find
lipstick anyway?

“It’s just that people are starting to talk...”

“I bet they are.”

Olive took a tentative step forward. “There’s talk of poisoning. Rumours are already spreading.” She glanced at her clipboard. “We should clear the rest of the day, hold a town hall, in the atrium maybe.”

The look on my face told her what I thought of that suggestion.

“We need to something,” she insisted. “The last thing we want is people putting two and two together and making five. You know how quickly gossip spreads around this place. Only last week, Nurse Tyler told me—”

“Yes, yes,” I said, raising a hand to stop her mid-flow. “You’re right, we have to do something.”

Olive beamed. “Excellent. Shall we say five o’clock, then?”

“Let’s say nothing, yet.” She went to argue, so I shut her down quickly. “I want to have all the facts at my disposal before we do anything. Some people...”—I let that hang in the air for a moment—“are going to gossip come what may.”

There was a knock at the door and I felt a rush of gratitude for whoever it was.

The door opened and Des Moore entered. I felt my heart sink a little bit, but seized the moment all the same.

“Chief, please, come in.” This was going to be tough, but anything was better than hearing my assistant drone on. “Thank you, Olive, that will be all for now.”

She left with a face like several thunderstorms rolled into one. Chief Moore shut the door behind him.

I let out a sigh, and rubbed my temples. My long-awaited headache was gaining ground.

“Are you all right, doctor?” Moore asked as he strode over to my desk. I nodded, motioning for him to sit.

“It’s been quite a day, one way or another.”

“And it’s not over yet.”

Ain’t that the truth
. Well, there was no preventing the inevitable.

“Any luck with the discs?” I asked.

The subjects’ rooms were all fitted with closed-circuit TV, the feeds automatically burned to recordable DVDs. A dreadful invasion of privacy, but necessary to the project.

“I’m afraid not.”

“They’re still missing?”

“Not just Samuel’s; the entire floor.”

“Every disc? But that’s—”

“Impossible, yes. I just don’t understand it. They would have been swapped for the new batch at 7am, but the cases are empty.”

“The computer back up? All footage is stored on the servers for twenty-four hours. It must be there.”

“Wiped.”

“What?”

“It could only have been done by one of the technicians.”

“Have you asked them?”