Chris Ryan - Outbreak

'But I've been in contact with it and I haven't got ill. Surely that proves-'

'Don't prove a thing, son. These things can take up to twenty days to become symptomatic.'

Twenty days . Ben felt a sickness in his stomach.

'And what if I'm not immune?'

The doctor hesitated before asking. 'Then I'm afraid you're going to have to stay in the village until the virus has run its course.'

Ben nodded gravely, before he asked the question that had been on his mind ever since he arrived back at the village. 'Um, you know the big tent – the one leading to the incinerator?'

The doctor nodded.

'The people they take there, are they all going to die?'

Again a pause. 'Most of them, son,' he replied. 'We're giving everyone antipyretics to reduce their body temperatures and antibiotics to deal with the virus, although it's too early for us to say whether they will have any effect. My own opinion is that they probably won't. In the end it'll come down to chance. A few people will make it, but it's impossible to say who.'

Ben went quiet.

'What's the matter, son?' the doctor asked quietly. 'Someone you know in there?'

'Yeah,' Ben replied. 'Yeah, you could say that.'

He walked away from the doctor and followed the line of people to a nearby tent. A sign outside said in big letters ' Quarantaine Masculine '. Male quarantine.

He took a deep breath, and walked inside.

The first few hours in quarantine were the worst.

Ben had only been in the tent for a very short while when, beyond the hubbub of frightened voices, he started hearing distant screams. At first he thought that they were human, but soon he realized that the sounds were too high-pitched for that, and too herd -like. In an instant he realized what it was. The village's livestock – the mangy cows and goats that he had seen wandering around – would be an infection risk. They had to be slaughtered. Ben couldn't work out if what he was hearing was the sound of animals having their throats cut, or their squeals of terror as they witnessed what was happening to their fellow beasts. Either way, it curdled his blood.

But it had to be endured. Now that there was nothing for Ben to do but sit and wait, his mind started working overtime. What if he had the virus? What if he was only a few days away from death? He wanted to think that he was brave enough to put up with the agony those who fell ill with this awful disease went through; brave enough to face up to it like his dad had; but he couldn't be sure that he was.

He was just going to have to wait. Wait for the result of the test, or the telltale signs that the virus was taking hold of him. It was like some awful game of Russian roulette, only someone else was pulling the trigger. He felt horribly alone.

They had not been in the area for long when a pungent, stomach-churning smell hit their noses. The villagers all started talking to each other in frightened whispers, but Ben couldn't understand what they were saying. He didn't need to, though. Somehow, without knowing how he knew, he realized that the stench that had filled the village was that of burning flesh. The incinerator had begun its grisly work, and the smell did not let up. It seemed there were plenty of dead bodies to feed the fire.

Although he could not understand the villagers, he could tell that they were confused and frightened, and he understood why. They had never seen a television programme or a magazine. They had no idea who these masked intruders were, or why they were doing these things to them. There were advantages, though, to not speaking English. Ben realized that shortly after the smell of the incinerators hit him and he overheard the guards talking.

'It's started,' one of them said grimly.

'Yeah,' one of them agreed. 'Just thank your lucky stars you're not on grave detail.'

When Ben heard that, he stared at them in horror, remembering the sight of the mass grave outside the village. Of course, the bodies there would have to be incinerated too. What would these poor people think when they realized what was going on, that their dead relatives were being exhumed and cremated without ceremony? What would Halima think? Her parents were there.

And what would she say about the ancestors…?

Then there was another sound – a huge explosion this time that shocked everyone in the tent into silence. When he heard it, Ben jumped to his feet. He was not the only one; once the villagers had shaken off the momentary shock, many of them also stood up and started shouting – scared, no doubt, that something was happening to their families and homes. Sensing a potential riot, the guards started waving their guns towards them, shouting at them to sit down. Gradually the panic subsided; but then there was another loud bang.

This time, Ben pushed through the crowd. 'What's going on?' he asked one of the guards.

'Nothing for you to worry about, sir.'

'There's plenty for me to be worried about,' Ben shouted. 'What's going on.'

'Dynamite explosions,' the guard told him.

'Where?'

'The mine. They're closing it up. Making sure nothing can get in or out.' Suddenly he pushed past Ben. 'Everyone sit down!' he yelled. ' Asseyez-vous! Tout de suite! '

But Ben hardly heard the instructions he was giving the villagers. For the first time in a long while he had allowed a grin to spread across his face.

The mine was shut.

The virus was contained.

They had done it.

It did not take long for the smile to fall from his face, however. As he turned round, his eyes immediately settled on Suliman, who was gazing at him implacably from the other side of the tent. Suliman had not appeared distraught at the sound of the explosions; it was clear that he knew what was going on.

He remained calm; he spoke to nobody; he just kept his eyes on Ben, his gaze steady. He looked for all the world like he was waiting for something.

Waiting for his chance.

Ben stayed close to the UN guards, unsure what Suliman was planning, but certain that he was planning something. Suliman realized that Ben knew what he – and his bosses – had been up to. One word from him to the right person could incriminate them all. Ben knew what Suliman was capable of; he knew that Suliman would do whatever it took to silence him.

Time passed, and Ben grew increasingly nervous. The strain of waiting for Suliman to make his move became increasingly hard to bear in that hot, crowded, terrifying place. Eventually he couldn't stand it any more. He stood up and approached one of the guards who were standing at the entrance to the quarantine tent. 'I need to get out of here,' he said quietly.

The guard shook his masked head. 'No one leaves,' he stated sternly.

'Look, you don't understand. I'm not safe here. That man…'

' No one leaves ,' the guard repeated. He was joined by his colleague, and they both clutched their rifles. Ben looked at them in desperate frustration before furiously turning his back on them and going back to find his place.

The hours ticked slowly by. As darkness fell, the tent became quieter, but somehow Ben knew Suliman was not asleep. He did his best to stay awake, but as the night passed, his body became overcome with exhaustion, and no matter how many times he told himself to remain wary, his heavy eyelids soon started to flutter and close.

It happened just before morning. Ben, along with everyone else in the quarantine camp, had been drowsing, and the UN guards on duty were standing outside of the entrance to the tent. Suddenly Ben was awakened by a fist across his mouth and his neck in a deadlock. 'Make one noise,' Suliman's voice said, 'and I will break your neck.'

Ben's eyes shot open and he struggled to breathe.