Islands - The Epidemic: An Airborne Ebola Disaster Page 5

  “Dr. Bexster and his wife are in the cart behind,” Jane informed, when she noticed Isabelle struggling to see. “You’ll be neighbours.”

  “I thought the domes were made of plastic,” Harry said.

  “Yes, they are,” Jane replied.

  “So why can’t we see the sea?”

  “In most of the areas the plastic is frosted. It was originally clear but during construction some of the workers found it unnerving. That prompted a decision to make only certain parts of the domes completely clear. Each of the living quarters has a window which can be opened or closed – not literally of course,” she laughed, “and the leisure complex has a room that’s transparent.”

  “Are there only two floors in all of the domes?” John asked.

  “The dome that houses the living quarters has six levels and the dome containing the farms has, of course, only one. You’re presently in Aquarius, where you’ll find the leisure complex, several cafés and bars, a cinema, a shopping mall and of course the main port. Any food which is produced naturally on site can be bought here. Professor Cramb wanted to demonstrate complete self-sufficiency so we’re producing the bulk of the food within the complexes. Although some items which aren’t easily produced, but have a long shelf-life, have been transported down for the comfort of the residents.”

  Jane stopped the cart next to a map attached to the wall. “I’m sure you’ll soon be able to find your way around unaided, but in the meantime there’s a guide every hundred yards or so to keep you right.”

  The cart pulled away again, turned left and entered a long tunnel.

  The light up ahead glistened strangely. Bouncing off the walls and floor, it rippled as though it were alive.

  Isabelle opened her mouth to ask why, when suddenly the party found themselves surrounded by water. Shocked, the words instead caught in her throat and escaped in the form of a choked gasp.

  Jane glanced back to find Isabelle’s eyes tightly shut. “I’m so sorry. I forgot to mention the connecting tunnels are also transparent,” she said, her voice bouncing noisily off the semi-circular walls.

  Briefly, Isabelle, risked a peak before dropping her gaze to the floor of the cart.

  “You do get used to it,” Jane assured. “I promise.”

  Harry craned his neck back and looked directly up. “Can you see the surface?” Then, “Gosh, you can!”

  “There, that’s over,” Jane informed them a short while later, as they passed out of the tunnel and moved into another dome. “We are now entering Neptune. This is the heart and soul of the entire system. It’s where the oxygen is produced, the food processed and the power generated. It’s also the location of the labs and hospital. Beyond Neptune, off to our left,” she indicated with her hand, “lies Tundra. That is the dome which houses the farms,” she turned to face John, “and, where you’ll be working, Professor Young.”

  “Were huge oxygen cylinders brought from the surface?” Harry asked, spreading his arms as wide as they would go.

  “No,” Jane laughed. “Oxygen is extracted from the surrounding waters and pumped at the correct level into the domes. Filters and scrubbers are then used to remove carbon dioxide, which is transferred to Tundra to be put to good use by the plants.”

  Once their tour of Neptune was complete the group left through a different tunnel.

  This time, Isabelle tried to take in the natural spectacle. As she looked around she saw sea dwellers lingering near the edge of the structure, illuminated by light seeping beyond the tunnel, and looking in on the residents like visitors to a zoo. Crabs scurried amongst the sand that encroached upon the tunnel walls and a school of fish, propelled by the tide, washed over the man-made obstacle before disappearing into the darkness at the side of the dome.

  Encouraged by the spectacle she looked up and was delighted to find she could still see natural light.

  “We’re now entering Pisces,” Jane announced, “which is where the living quarters and schools are based. Your apartment is on the third floor.” The cart stopped beside a lift. “We walk from here.”

  The family vacated the vehicle and entered the elevator behind the guide.

  “As all the domes are interconnected,” Jane continued, “you don’t have to go through Neptune to reach Aquarius. You’ll find another tunnel at the far end of this complex that will take you there instead.”

  The lift bounced as it arrived on the third level and the doors opened to reveal a plaque opposite, which read ‘Florentine Way’. Jane led the family into a corridor directly ahead, then stopped halfway down. “Here we are,” she said, swiping a card through a reader on the wall.

  The door clicked open and John led the way into their new home.

  “Further copies of these can be made for the children if you wish,” Jane said, handing over the key to Isabelle. “Professor Cramb has asked me to tell you he’ll collect you at 9.30 in the morning to give you a tour of the farms,” she said to John, “and,” a chorus of groans from Harry and Sasha greeted the final piece of information, “the school starts in four days time.”

  Jane smiled, “But in the meantime,” she said, “you’re welcome to have a look around and talk to the teachers. Now, I’ll leave you to get settled in and hope you all have a very pleasant stay.”

  “Are you going to be all right?” John asked Isabelle after the guide left. “You and the children can return to the surface when the last of the subs leave tomorrow, if you want.”

  Isabelle shook her head. “As you know, I wasn’t exactly delighted at the prospect of being here, but,” she nodded, “it’s actually not too bad now I’ve arrived and to be honest with you, I do think it might all be rather exciting.”

  John swept her into his arms and kissed her. “That’s my girl.”

  Chapter Seven

  The Border between Ugarvia and Bulvaga

  Dmitry Kozar activated his night goggles then, crouching low, made his way from the trees to follow his three colleagues down the hill.

  They were close to the border now and would cross into Bulvagian territory within the next half hour.

  The mountain range on their left, which straddled the borders of the two countries, was silhouetted against a star sprinkled sky.

  The snow, eerie grey in the full moonlight, helped lift the landscape beyond a darkness that would have been so black it allowed hollows and dips to remain unseen. Despite this, the men still ran in single line as the white blanket could hide any number of hazards, undetected until the first man fell. When the ground levelled out, their pace increased. There were no more barriers between them and their mission, which needed to be completed that night.

  At twenty-one Dmitry was the youngest member ever to be accepted as a part of the Ugarvian Elite Force and had qualified on his second attempt. Usually, when they were young, they had the stamina but lacked the maturity required to pass the stringent training to the level that earned them the title USF. Dmitry had proved himself throughout and had only failed the first time due to a mild fear of heights, which saw him hesitate briefly during a parachute exercise. He later worked hard to overcome this and proved himself a worthy warrior. When talking with his colleagues about the worst part of their job, they all agreed it was keeping what they did from their families. This was particularly true for the young soldier, who only married six months ago, and found leaving his new wife with little or no notice and no indication of when he would be back hardest of all. The food crisis and rioting had made this difficult situation even more stressful and he worried every time they were apart.

  It was just past three in the morning and they were estimated to arrive at their target at around about four; a time when more people are born and more people die than any other, as the body is at its lowest ebb.

  Dmitry pulled back his sleeve to check the GPS system strapped to his wrist. There were no barriers, roadblocks or fences to tell them when they were inside foreign territory, but as the display changed to N55 45.36906 E37 37.03619, he knew
if they were caught now the repercussions would be very serious.

  The land, surrounded by forests and high mountainous crags, was perfect for this sort of reconnaissance and gave the Special Forces all the cover they needed. The outstanding natural beauty was obviously also the reason the Bulvagian Prime Minister, Bvoktac Juntokev, had his holiday home here. Although there would still be security around the property, intelligence had informed the Special Forces it would be greatly reduced, making their mission – to kidnap Prime Minister Juntokev and hold him to ransom in order to force the government to agree to share their food with the Ugarvian people – a lot easier.

  Forest on the Edge of the Jorradan Mountains

  Private Ilia Maslov moved closer to the flames. “What the hell are we doing out here?” Despite the fire being stacked high, he was struggling to feel any heat. It was minus ten in the forest, even colder beyond the relative protection of the trees, and they had been camped out near the border for the last two days. “First they make massive cuts then they waste money doing exercises. They haven’t got a clue what they’re doing,” he snorted in disgust. He looked at his watch. It was ten past four; it was going to be a long night.

  His colleague, Private Ruslan Norin, stamped his feet to return the circulation. “How did we end up with guard duty on the coldest night of winter so far?”

  “Do you want a drink?”

  Ruslan’s eyes glistened in the light from the fire. He grinned, “What you got?”

  Ilia slapped his arm, “Tea, you nit,” he laughed. “What did you think? Vodka?”

  Ruslan shrugged; he looked towards the forest. “Can’t help hoping,” he muttered.

  The two boys glanced up when the sound of a jet engine flying low in the sky hissed overhead.

  It was a crystal clear night in the forest edging the Jorradan Mountains. The brightness of the moon, the glistening stars and the fire which held back the worst of the cold were the only lights between them and the nearest city nearly a hundred kilometres away.

  Two vapour trails left by the retreating jet, illuminated in the reflected glare of the lunar landscape, were beginning to disperse as the boys returned their attention to more basic needs.

  Ilia bent to pick up the kettle. “Let’s have that tea,” he suggested – then stopped just short of the pot and returned his attention skyward.

  The jet had grown loud again as it swung around and headed back the way it had come. As it flew towards them, the boys stood silently watching, a primeval foreboding gathering momentum. Then suddenly the plane throttled up and began to accelerate away. Climbing high into the atmosphere, it soon disappeared from sight.

  “What was that about?” Ruslan asked, then, “Look!” he pointed upward to a small object, falling rapidly. Glistening in the moonlight it seemed to be spinning uncontrollably as it plunged towards the Earth.

  The two boys shot each other a frightened look, before scrambling into their jackets.

  Ilia found his whistle first and, raising it to his lips, began to blow as Ruslan screamed, “Incoming! Incoming, one o’clock!”

  “What is it?” their commanding officer, Captain Oleg Osin, called over the alarm.

  Ilia pointed to the projectile.

  Oleg looked up, yelling: “Out of your canvas! Take cover!” He watched to ensure the warning had been heard as the soldiers rushed from their tents in various states of undress and followed the sentries in their dash away from the trees towards the safety of rocks a short distance from the camp. Running for their lives, they sprinted through the snow as fast as untied boots and flapping jackets would allow.

  Briefly, Oleg glanced up as he followed his men, to see the canister, its descent slowed by a deployed parachute, nearing its optimum detonation altitude. “Get down!” he screamed as he dived for cover, just short of the protection of the boulders.

  Inside Bulvaga Territory

  “Are you sure he’s here?” Dmitry hissed as he dropped to the ground next to Sergeant Yefim Rodin, who was leading the mission. “It’s too quiet.”

  The Officer glanced sideways, “Intelligence said he would be here from the 4th to the 10th,” he whispered.

  “Then where are the guards?”

  Suddenly they froze, their heads dropping to the ground as night turned to day. Initially, they thought it was flood lighting but, when the shock wave hit, they realised it was the result of an explosion. As the air rushed back to fill the void left when the firebomb sucked all of the oxygen out of the immediate vicinity, the first shots rang out within the grounds.

  “It’s a trap!” Yefim called as the Special Forces dived for cover.

  Chapter Eight

  Ugarvian Government Headquarters

  The Deputy Prime Minister hurried down the corridor until he was level with the Minister of Defence. “What the hell happened, Yan?” he hissed. “This situation couldn’t get any worse.”

  Yan looked sideways, out of the corner of his eye. “You would be wise to not speak to me in that manner, Vadim,” he warned.

  “We’re on the brink of starvation and now we’re on the brink of war,” Minister Orin hissed, refusing to be silenced. “We might have to surrender. We don’t have the food for a conflict.”

  Yan stopped and abruptly faced the minister, boiling with fury. “Over my dead body,” he spat.

  Vadim’s eyes hardened. “It may well come to that,” he said ominously, before turning and continuing towards the room at the far end of the corridor.

  ****

  Prime Minister Rumentev stood and addressed the meeting. “I have demanded the Bulvagian government give me an explanation for the attack on our regular infantry, but so far the only response we have had has been to ask what our Special Forces were doing at Prime Minister Juntokev’s holiday home. We have, of course, denied all knowledge of their presence and unfortunately can only presume our USF soldiers are either being held for interrogation, or are dead along with the rest of the troops camped at the border.”

  The Agricultural Minister raised his hand.

  “Yes, Minister Ludcov.”

  “How many men died in the diversionary exercises?”

  “Three hundred and seventy five,” Viktor said. His voice became hushed as he quoted the figure. “Those numbers don’t include the Special Forces, whose fate, as stated, is still unknown.”

  Ducan turned his face away from the Prime Minister, his mouth tight, his eyes narrowed, and looked at Yan in fury. He hoped to see some glimmer of remorse, but found there was none. He refrained from directing his anger verbally for fear of being removed from the meeting. Still, he wondered if a man like Yan Brukov was capable of feeling shame and would even lose a moment’s sleep over the blood spilled into the melted snow in the Kilshbek Forest.

  The clean-up job had been distressing enough as it was, without the added stress brought about by the soldiers’ families who had rushed to the border in terror for their loved ones. They were desperate to know if their children, husbands, wives or lovers were safe and had to be kept at bay whilst troops and volunteers moved in to collect the scorched bodies and transport them to a nearby warehouse for processing.

  Yan kept his attention on the Prime Minister, firmly refusing to be goaded by Ducan.

  “Maybe Minister Brukov could enlighten us as to how this turned into a bloodbath?” Ducan continued, his voice carefully steadied and controlled.

  Ignoring the challenge, Yan addressed the Prime Minister. “We found we had a double agent in our midst, who has since been removed and is being questioned to unearth the full extent of their betrayal.”

  Suddenly, the meeting was interrupted when the door opened and a young woman entered with a message. She whispered something to the Prime Minister as she passed a piece of paper over, then immediately left, securing the door behind her.

  Viktor stopped and opened the sheet silently, reading the urgent, confidential message within. When he was finished, he turned a grim face to the ministers waiting expectantly for hi
m to continue. “Well, it seems gentlemen, whether we like it or not, we will be going to war. Troops are amassing on Bulvaga’s border and jets have already crossed into our airspace. I suggest we disperse to gather more information. I’ll contact Prime Minister Juntokev and demand to know his intentions.”

  As the ministers stood and started from the room, Yan approached Viktor.

  “A private word, Prime Minister.”

  “Yes, of course. In my office.”

  Yan followed him out of the room, sweeping past Ducan along the way and down a corridor to an office at the far end.

  Viktor crossed to a cabinet by a window on the opposite wall. “Drink?” he said, pouring a good measure of whisky into a glass. Diluting it only with an ice cube, he handed it to Yan.

  Yan grasped the tumbler and took a large mouthful.

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  He glanced at the door. “Is the room secure?”

  “Of course.”

  Yan moved closer, “I propose that we launch an attack on the Bulvagian Military Headquarters. An attack so devastating it will leave the forces scattered and in too much disarray to continue with this offensive.”

  Viktor took a sip of his drink. “Go on...”

  “If we hit them with a small nuclear device at Brokenshcov, we will vaporise their headquarters and destroy most of their military capability. By using a nuclear device we just have to get close to the target, removing the need for a direct hit which might not be possible if their air space is restricted due to their high alert state. It will take months to re-group, even if they were willing to risk another attack, and in the meantime we will have gathered this year’s crops and be ready for them if required.”

  “How do you propose we deal with the present food crisis?”

  Yan raised his brows and looked pointedly at the Prime Minister. “We may have to consider selective rationing.”