Ken McClure - Pestilence

“There’s no time to lose.” Saracen told MacQuillan of his thoughts about Francis Updale. “He only worked for one day on the heating system in the flats.”

“I’ll talk to Beasdale,” said MacQuillan.

“Tell him we need the architect of these flats, the builder, the site agent or anyone connected with the construction of the block.”

Fifty minutes later the site agent arrived with the plans.

“The heating system,” said Saracen when asked if there was anything in particular he was interested in. He helped the site agent spread out the blueprint on the table.

“Show me the supply to flat fourteen, Myra Archer’s apartment.”

The site agent’s finger traced out a line along the plan. “This is the main duct for the first floor. It has four branch lines, each supplying two flats.”

“Two?” exclaimed Saracen looking closer. “Which is the other flat on Myra Archer’s line?”

“Flat G3.”

“Who lived there?”

The agent checked his list. “A Mr Cohen.”

“That’s got to be it then,” said Saracen quietly. “The bug is in the heating duct. That’s how Updale got it too. He was working on the duct.”

“But how?” exclaimed MacQuillan. “The bug can’t survive on its own. It’s not like Legionnaire’s Disease, living in old water tanks for years or Anthrax lying dormant in the soil.”

“I don’t know how but that’s got to be it,” said Saracen with the bit now firmly between his teeth.

“But what about the other deaths in the building?”

Saracen thought back to what Updale had told him and said to the site agent, “What effect would removing the filters in the system have?”

“There would be an increased air flow and everyone in the building would effectively be on the same line.”

This time even MacQuillan was convinced. “That would explain why everyone in the building got infected at the same time,” he conceded.

“And the enormity of the dose,” added Saracen. “They would be breathing it in constantly.”

“We’ll have to examine the trunking,” said Saracen to the site agent.

“Now?” exclaimed the man in dismay.

“Right now,” replied Saracen. “What do we need?”

MacQuillan relayed the site agent’s requirements to Beasdale who agreed to have them delivered directly to the site. In less than forty minutes Saracen was down on Palmer’s Green donning protective clothing by the light of arc lamps supplied by the military. Two more hours had passed by the time the trunking had been disassembled as far as the branch that served the Cohen and Archer flats. “All ready,” said the site agent to Saracen. He handed him an open ended spanner. “You’ll have to squeeze through there,” he said, indicating to a narrow gap between the trunking and the wall. “You’ll find an inspection cover on the left hand side secured by four hex bolts, that’s what the wrench is for. You’ll need this too.” He handed Saracen a long thin probe. “To check for obstructions.”

Saracen adjusted his respirator and eased himself through the gap. At first he found difficulty in seeing after the glare of the arc lights but, as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom he could make out the inspection cover in the wall of the duct. Three of the bolts gave in without protest but the fourth refused to budge.

In the confines of plastic suit and face mask Saracen felt the sweat begin to pour off him with the effort he was expending on the jammed bolt. He had to blink frequently to clear his eyes of the stinging perspiration that threatened his temper as much as his vision. He heard the site agent calling out to ask how he was getting on but did not reply; it was too much trouble. Instead he gathered himself for one last assault on the bolt.

Holding the spanner as near to the end as possible so as to exert maximum leverage he strained till the veins stood out on his temples. He saw the paint around the bolt begin to crack, so slightly at first that he thought it might be his imagination but then a piece flaked off and the bolt’s resistance was over. Saracen let the cover clatter to the ground and took a breather. He heard the site agent inquire again. “I’m fine,” he replied.

Saracen inserted the probe to the right found it moved freely at all levels along the duct. He removed it and tried to the left. The probe stopped after half a metre; it had touched something soft. Saracen left the probe in position and reached inside with his gloved hand. His outstretched fingers could feel the obstruction. It was a pile of rags…no it was furry…soft…not rags, a body…an animal’s body. He found what he thought was a leg and pulled the corpse back along the duct to the inspection hatch. In the gloom he saw the partly decomposed body of a cat.

Moving backwards, for there was no room to turn around, Saracen emerged through the gap to look down at MacQuillan and the site agent. He held up the corpse and said, “Here’s the obstruction, a dead c…” Saracen stopped himself for in the light he could now see that what he held was not a cat at all. It was the black carcase of a wild rat.

“Jesus God Almighty,” whispered MacQuillan.

“Is that what you were looking for?” asked the site agent, alarmed at the look on MacQuillan’s face.

MacQuillan ignored the question. “We’ll have to seal all this up,” he said.

Back at the General MacQuillan poured whisky for himself and Saracen. He countered Saracen’s look by saying, “We both need it.” Saracen nodded and accepted the glass. “Do you know what I don’t understand?” he said. “If we have plague rats in Skelmore why don’t we have bubonic plague all over the place instead of just two cases with the rest all pneumonic?”

“The answer must be that we do not have plague rats in Skelmore. They must be confined in some way to one area, the Palmer’s Green site.”

“But the boy Edwards didn’t live on Palmer’s Green. He came from the Maxton Estate,” said Saracen.

“Doesn’t mean that he couldn’t have been down at Palmer’s Green for some reason, a delivery boy perhaps?”

Saracen remembered something. “Edwards!” he said out loud. “Edwards’ treasure!”

“What?”

Saracen told MacQuillan about the episode with the glue sniffers and the story of a boy named Edwards who had supposedly found treasure on the Palmer’s Green site. Half way through the explanation Saracen saw the connection with the medallion that Edwards had been wearing when the ambulance brought him in. He gave MacQuillan a quick resume of the legend of Skelmoris Abbey.

“Then the boy must have discovered the site of the abbey!” exclaimed MacQuillan.

Saracen agreed and said, “It could have been plague that wiped out the abbey all these years ago and anyone who went near it afterwards. That would account for the legend of the wrath of God. But how could the bug have survived this long?”

“In the rats,” said MacQuillan. “The bug could live indefinitely in a rat colony and have been passed on down through the centuries.”

“And if the rat colony had remained isolated from the town until developers moved in on the Palmer’s Green site…”

“We would have a sudden outbreak of plague,” agreed MacQuillan.

“But can that really happen?” asked Saracen.

MacQuillan nodded. “It’s called sylvatic plague,” he said. “There have been several recorded instances in the United States and in China where plague has established itself in a colony of small animals in the wild. It’s not a problem until man moves into their area but when he does you then have the potential for disaster.”

“So we have to destroy the rat colony,” said Saracen.

“Not only the rats but their fleas as well. Poisoning the rats isn’t good enough; the fleas will just look for new hosts. Gas is the answer.”