Outbreak (24 page)

'You're going to be OK, Abele,' Ben shouted, his voice wavering. But he didn't know if that was true. And of course, Abele didn't reply. Ben listened as his noisy breathing disappeared into the night, before he was led silently back to the quarantine area, his body shaking with the brutal horror of what had just happened.

The doctor had told Ben he would be in the quarantine tent for two days before he received the result of his test. In the event, it was three.

It was gruelling. Every couple of hours, someone would start displaying the signs of the virus; they would instantly be removed by the faceless medics and taken, often shouting and screaming, to the medical tents. Word had got round now that few who entered that place would return, and the constant acrid smell from the incinerators served as an ever-present reminder of what would happen to them. Ben felt like he was in some kind of concentration camp, waiting for the inevitable call, and he started to share the increasing panic that the occupants of the tent were experiencing. Arguments began to break out as the villagers demanded to know what was going on; occasionally the guys from the UN had to settle them by force, which did nothing to ease anyone's fears.

On the second day - when Ben was just thinking to himself that he never wanted to see another bowl of the mashed cassava root that was given to them from a huge cauldron three times a day - the guards were approached by two more masked UN men. They spoke briefly and Ben watched as one of the guards pointed in his direction. The masked men started walking towards him and he stood up to receive them.

'Hi, Ben,' one of them said. Clearly they had spoken before, but the fact that these people were all wearing masks meant that one American accent merged into another for him. He nodded. 'Ben,' the man continued. 'I'm afraid I have bad news for you.'

Ben closed his eyes as a sudden hotness ran through his veins.

'The man called Abele. He was a friend of yours, I understand.'

Ben nodded again. 'Kind of,' he said, his voice clipped so that it didn't reveal the emotion he was feeling.

'I'm sorry, Ben. He died about an hour ago. He was too far gone - there was nothing anyone could do.'

Ben took a deep breath. 'Thank you for telling me,' he whispered, doing his best to keep his wavering voice steady. 'Do you have any information about my father?'

There was an ominous pause. 'I'm sorry, Ben. No. It's too early to tell.'

Ben nodded, then turned and walked to the edge of the tent. He desperately wanted to be alone but, since that was not possible, he wanted to get away from anybody who could speak to him in his own language. From the corner of his eye he watched the UN men leave.

He could not get the image of poor Abele that first time they had met at Kinshasa Airport out of his head. Ben had been suspicious of him then - how wrong could he have been? And if Abele had been beaten by this terrible disease - strong, unbeatable Abele - what chance did anyone have? What chance did his dad have? What chance did Ben himself have? His emotions a cocktail of mourning and fear, he collapsed to the ground with his head in his hands. It was down to fate now. All he could do was wait. Now that he knew Abele was dead, the smell of the incinerators seemed ten times worse.

The results arrived the following day.

A masked man carrying a large clipboard entered the tent. He had an air of authority and everyone fell silent as he started reading names out, his American accent struggling with the unfamiliar African sounds. One by one, the villagers stood up and walked to him, terrified apprehension in their eyes. He said something to them that Ben couldn't hear and they were sent outside.

He found himself holding his breath as he waited for his name.

Finally it came. 'Ben Tracey,' the announcer called. Ben stood up and slowly walked towards him.

'Leave the tent and bear to the left.'

'What's my test result?' Ben asked directly.

'Leave the tent and bear to the left.' The faceless man simply repeated his instruction.

Ben nodded curtly, gritted his teeth and stepped outside, accompanied by another UN guard. 'This way,' his companion told him.

He walked over to where a small group of Africans were standing with worried, uncomprehending looks on their faces. Every now and then, someone else would join them; but they were few and far between - most of the villagers were sent elsewhere. Where it was, Ben couldn't see.

Finally the man holding the clipboard approached. He walked straight up to Ben.

'Ben Tracey?'

Ben nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak.

'I'm giving you the news first,' he said flatly. 'The others will have to wait for an interpreter.'

'OK.'

'Samples have been taken from those infected with the virus so that we can isolate the specific antibody that fights it. You have been tested for that antibody.'

Ben wished the man wasn't wearing a mask - that way he might have been able to read something into his expression. But he couldn't.

'Only about one third of the population carry this antibody,' he continued. 'I'm happy to inform you that you are one of those.'

Ben felt his knees buckle beneath him with relief; it was all he could do to stand up straight. 'Thank you,' he whispered. It seemed inadequate somehow.

But then the man spoke again, and his robotic voice sounded softer this time, more sympathetic. 'Ben, I need to talk to you about your father.'

He felt a chill cover his body.

'He's very ill, son. You know that, don't you?'

Ben nodded silently. He wasn't sure if he could bear to have this conversation.

'We don't know what this virus is yet. But we do know that it attacks the vital organs, starting with the lungs, then the blood, then the brain. Even the strongest people have difficulty withstanding such an attack. It's random, who survives and who doesn't.'

Ben lowered his eyes. It was clear what the man was trying to say. Half of him wished he would just spit it out; the other half didn't want to hear it.

And then the man was talking again. 'You need to prepare yourself, Ben . . .'

Ben closed his eyes.

'. . . prepare yourself for the fact that he might not be the same again.'

Ben blinked. Had he heard him right? 'You mean . . . ?' he faltered.

'It looks like your dad is going to pull through.'

Ben's breath left him like an explosion. '
But
there's a possibility that he will be left severely disabled by his illness, Ben. The British Embassy in Kinshasa has been informed of his position, and they're sending transport back for you as soon as we've confirmed that neither of you are contagious any more. They've also contacted your mother, who is flying over to meet you both.'

'Can I see him?'

'Not yet. You both need to be isolated for a couple more days. But we're going to get you out of here as soon as we possibly can.'

Ben looked around him. 'What about everyone else?'

'They won't be so lucky, I'm afraid. The people who are immune to the virus will be kept isolated from the others. Those who succumb will be taken to the medical tent, where they'll receive our best attentions.

Most of them won't make it.'

Ben's face became severe. 'There's a girl called Halima. I need to know how she is.'

'I'm sorry, Ben. I just don't have that information and we're going to keep you away from everyone else - so you can forget about seeing anyone apart from your dad. But you need to prepare for the worst - it's going to be pretty rough here, for a few months at least. A lot of people are going to die. But if we hadn't closed down this village and blocked up the mine in time, it could have been a million times worse. Word is, we've got you to thank for that.'

Ben averted his eyes. It seemed a hollow victory. 'I had a lot of help,' was all he could think of saying.

'Whatever,' the man from the UN replied. 'If anyone deserves to get out of here, it's you.'

He put a gloved hand on Ben's shoulder.

'We're going to get you home, son. We're going to get you home real soon.'

EPILOGUE

Two weeks later.

The private hospital room in Kinshasa was stark and white, and the sun shone brightly in through a small window. Russell Tracey was covered in a sheet, his head propped up on three plump pillows as he slept lightly. His breathing was heavy and measured, but it carried none of the frightening rasp of a couple of weeks ago.

At his bedside were two people, a boy and a woman. Ben Tracey had not been in the same room as his mother and father for years. It was weird, the three of them being there together now. Weird but nice - it was just a shame it had taken all this to make it happen. Bel had flown over the moment news of her son and ex-husband had reached her ears, and since she arrived, she and Russell hadn't even argued. Well, not much, anyway. Bel hadn't been able to resist a few arch 'I told you so's; but even she, with all her prophecies of doom, could never have predicted how their trip to the Democratic Republic of the Congo would end.

Most of the time, they all sat quietly, waiting for Russell's strength to return. Both Ben and his dad had been interviewed by the Kinshasa police, and there was quiet satisfaction to be had from the knowledge that Kruger and his associates were being dealt with by the authorities. But he had seen the corruption of this country first-hand - justice had a different way of working out here, and Ben didn't know if they would end up paying for what they had done. At least they would no longer be able to make money out of the suffering of the poor villagers, but he had no idea how well they had covered their tracks. He hoped they would be brought to book; but now, more than anything, he just wanted to go home.

Today, as Russell slept, Ben kept noticing the way his mum looked at her ex-husband. It's amazing how being close to death changes the way you look at the world, he thought to himself, and he began fantasizing whether this might be the beginning of something. Maybe he'd have a family once again.

He was interrupted from his daydream by a knock at the door - another nurse, no doubt. 'Come in,' Bel called - just like her to take charge, Ben thought with a smile. And his smile broadened when he saw who came through the door.

When he had last seen Halima, she had been dirty and bedraggled after everything they had been through. Before being given permission to leave the village, he had tried to persuade the UN doctors to let him see her, but that permission was flatly denied. He had been in isolation for days, and they weren't about to let him go back into infected areas. They wouldn't tell him what the result of her antibody test was; they wouldn't even tell him if she was dead or alive.

Now her hair was clean and her skin shining. Ben shot up from his seat. 'Halima!'

'They told me you would be here,' she replied with a grin.

'How are you? I mean, I didn't know if you--'

'They say I will not fall ill,' Halima said seriously. 'One of the men from the United Nations allowed me to travel back in a helicopter with him. I am staying with my sister.' She looked at Russell. 'How is your father?'

'He's OK. He's going to get better. Um . . . this is my mum.'

Bel stood up and politely shook Halima's hand. There was a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eyes. 'I've heard a lot about you, Halima,' she said mischievously.

Halima's eyes lowered and Ben found himself wanting to change the conversation. 'You heard about Abele?' he blurted out. He had no wish to upset Halima, but poor Abele had been on his mind ever since he left Udok.

Halima looked up, directly at him, and sadness shadowed her face. 'He was a strong man, but not strong enough.'

Ben shuddered as the image of the canvas-covered corridor leading to the incinerator slipped into his mind. Even now, weeks after his death, it didn't seem right that such a strong person should be laid low by a mere illness. It was wrong. 'He saved my life,' Ben said humbly. 'More than once. I can't believe he's . . .' Ben couldn't bring himself to say the word 'dead'.

'He is one of many,' Halima murmured. 'It will take many years for Udok to recover from this. Perhaps it never will.'

'I'm sorry, Halima.'

'You have nothing to be sorry about. I did not know Abele, though I will mourn him, more than I can say. But remember this: in saving your life, Abele saved the lives of many more. If it were not for you' - she looked over at Russell - 'and your father, of course, this evil virus might have spread. Then it would not only have been one village destroyed, but many.'

Ben looked sharply at her. 'So you believe it was a virus now?' he asked. 'Not a curse of the ancestors?'

Halima's face was inscrutable as she walked over to the window and looked out. 'Do you remember when we were in the forest? I told you that if a snake bites you, you may go to a doctor for a cure. But a doctor will not tell you why the snake bit you in the first place, or what it was doing in your house.'

Ben nodded silently, where a few weeks ago he might have scoffed.

'I believe that the ancestors punished us for disturbing their resting place. The manner in which they did it was up to them.'

Ben said nothing, but he felt inside his pocket. His fingers brushed against a small metal amulet that he had found round his father's neck. He had recognized it immediately. It was Abele's. Ben had intended to keep it as a memento but now, he thought, he had a better idea. He pulled it from his pocket and offered it to Halima. 'This was Abele's,' he said. 'He put it around my dad's neck when he was ill. I think you should have it.'

Halima looked at the token in Ben's outstretched palm, her face unreadable. Then she lifted her own hand and gently closed Ben's fingers back around the amulet. 'No, Ben. It brought your father great luck; maybe it will do the same for you. I have my own.' She touched her hand to her chest.

For a guilty moment, Ben found himself feeling glad that his father was asleep - no doubt he would have had a comment to make about such superstition. Come to think of it, he was surprised that his mum was keeping quiet and staring at him with an unknowable look on her face. Somewhere deep down, he was glad Halima had let him keep the token. Maybe it had had nothing to do with his dad's recovery, but then again . . .

Suddenly Halima's face grew less intense. 'My people have much to thank you for, Ben Tracey,' she told him seriously. 'And yet, perhaps, they do not know it. There are hard times ahead for Udok. Our livestock have been slaughtered, the mine is closed. Now there is no work for the men who remain, and little food. My village's problems, I think, are just beginning.'

Ben stared at her. 'But surely there will be help. The government, the United Nations . . .'

Halima smiled patiently. 'Humanitarian aid?' she said with irony in her voice. 'Yes, there will be some of that, for a while. But Udok's difficulties will soon be forgotten by the powerful people. Life in my village will be extremely difficult for many years to come.'

A cloud seemed to have descended on the room. 'Being a hero is not always easy, Ben Tracey.' Halima glanced apologetically at his mum. 'And now, you are with your family. I will not intrude any longer. But perhaps I will see you again one day?'

Ben stood up. 'I hope so,' he said sincerely.

Halima smiled modestly. She stepped up to Ben, put one hand on his arm, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

'Goodbye, Ben,' she said.

Then she turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Ben stared at the shut door for a few moments, strange emotions running through him. He touched his fingers to his cheek where Halima had kissed him. When he turned, his mum was watching him, one eyebrow raised and an amused look on her face.

'What?' he asked her defensively, acutely aware that he was beginning to blush.

'Nothing,' Bel said.

Her voice was heavy with meaning.

'Nothing at all.'