The Trespassers by Meg Mundell

Author:Meg Mundell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: University of Queensland Press
Published: 2019-06-28T03:14:48+00:00

BILLIE

Their new overseers swung into action with military zeal. Billie was marched onto a transfer boat where Kellahan and Owen waited. A soldier gunned the engine across the water to the hospital ship.

A floating cordon now encircled the Steadfast: yellow tape affixed to buoys, the words Quarantine zone – do not cross repeated in a loop. Soldiers hoisted the cordon aloft to let them through. A shadow skimmed the water, and Billie spotted a drone’s black silhouette overhead.

The hospital ship was immaculate, all white paint and orderly signage: Authorised Personnel Only. Sterile Zone. Infection Control Station. Outbound Waste. Officials trussed up in full PPE escorted them to the local incident commander’s office.

A no-nonsense man with minimal small-talk, the incident commander kept his audience standing and his summary short: the entire patient cohort had been transferred to this medical vessel. Several patients were still in serious condition, one deemed critical, but most had stabilised, and those in recovery appeared to be out of danger. There were grounds to hope the virus could be contained, any further deaths prevented.

‘But we need to remain vigilant,’ he warned. ‘There’s no guarantee this thing has run its course. That we won’t see further cases.’

The entire incoming cohort, present company included, would be fitted with subdermal tracking devices as a precautionary measure. Regular fever scans should weed out any potential viral exposure, but their own responsibilities were not over yet.

‘You’ve seen firsthand how this sickness manifests,’ said the incident commander. ‘We need you to actively monitor the population, be alert for any early signs. Keep your eyes and ears open.’

Owen tried to get a word in, some bluster about the limits of visual diagnosis, but the commander spoke over him. ‘You can discuss the details with my medical staff,’ he said, turning away. They were dismissed.

Two local medics in full protective gear led them to a state-of-the-art donning chamber. This was to be a ‘briefing tour’ of the onboard clinic – the briefing part, as it turned out, a largely one-way affair; the three of them were to provide verbal case notes to supplement the patchy written record. They were shadowed by silent lackeys in headcams, recording everything.

‘You’ve done an incredible job,’ said the female medic as they left the donning chamber, hazmatted to the gills. She’d introduced herself as Jane, but was badged as Doctor Hart. She paused before the door to the isolation ward.

‘We helped with the evacuation,’ said her colleague, Sullivan, who hadn’t offered a first name. ‘The conditions you were working under …’ He trailed off.

‘And with untrained staff,’ the woman added. ‘I can’t imagine how tough that must have been.’ Sympathy in her voice, an invitation to elaborate.

Owen took the bait. ‘No training for a scenario like that. You just do what you can.’

Billie rolled her eyes behind her visor, saw the female medic notice.

The door opened onto a long white room. The local medics encouraged them to do the rounds, stop at each bed, chat briefly with their former patients. This contact would help to ‘personalise the transfer of care’, as Hart put it.

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