The Fungus

“Two reasons. One is that it’s not easy to synthesize. The second is that it’s highly toxic. The doses have to be very carefully regulated. That’s the main reason I’ll be coming along on this expedition. To make sure you get the correct dosage. You’ll need it injected intra-muscularly every 90 minutes.”

Wilson regarded Kimberley suspiciously. “You said it was only partially successful on the human test subjects. What do you mean?”

Kimberley glanced at Major Peterson, then said reluctantly, “Of the four people it’s been tested on so far two have died from the side effects.”

“Shit,” said Slocock.

“What exactly are the side effects?” asked Wilson.

But before Kimberley could answer, Major Peterson said hurriedly, “We can go into all that later. Let’s continue with the briefing. Time is short. The boat taking you to the mainland leaves in just under an hour.”

“Boat?” said Wilson, surprised. “Why aren’t we going by plane?”

“Because the plane and aircrew would have to remain on the mainland. There’s a strict quarantine around all of Britain. Any aircraft trying to leave is shot down by French or German fighters. I’ve no doubt I could get volunteers to take you over, but it would still be too risky. The airspace between here and the mainland is full of trigger-happy fly boys who often don’t wait to see which direction a plane is flying before they shoot it down.”

“I see,” said Wilson slowly. Then, “What are the Yanks doing about all this?”

“For the moment, nothing. They’re adopting a wait-and-see attitude. They aren’t supporting the French in their call for more drastic quarantine measures. Probably because they’ve got a lot of their own people trapped on the mainland as well. The airlift of personnel from the American bases outside the infected areas had to be halted when the quarantine was imposed. But if the fungus keeps spreading the Americans will have no choice but to join in the French plan to drop nuclear bombs on Britain.”

Wilson said nothing.

Peterson continued. “The boat will take you to Holyhead. From there you’ll be flown to Bangor where you will undergo tests with the Megacrine drug until it’s decided what doses you can tolerate individually. From there you’ll be flown to Wolverhampton where your vehicle and other equipment will be waiting. Hopefully Wolverhampton will still be outside of the area of infection. From there you will proceed south to London.”

“You make is sound easy,” said Wilson. “But earlier you told me the people in the first search team were presumably attacked by mobs. What makes you think we won’t suffer the same fate?”

“You’ll be well armed,” said O’Connell. It was the first time he’d spoken during the briefing. “Your vehicle will be fitted with both light and heavy machine guns.”

Wilson turned to him. “Yes, but I’m obviously going to have to leave the vehicle on occasion once we get to London. What happens then?”

“Sergeant Slocock will be responsible for your protection,” said O’Connell. Then he added with distaste, “He’s quite an expert at that sort of thing.”

Wilson gave Slocock a brief, curious glance.

“Once you reach the inner city,” continued Peterson, “you will then carry out the search for your wife. You must discover where she went after she removed all the records from her lab.”

“But you don’t know for certain that it was her. It could have been one of her assistants.”

The major nodded. “Carter mentioned them in his final radio message. Said there were three of them. Got their names but not their addresses. By that time it was impossible to obtain even basic information — the system had collapsed completely. Do you know these people and where they lived?”

“I’ve met all three, but I only know the address of one of them.”

“Which one?”

Wilson paused before answering. “Hilary Burne-Smith. She has, or had, a flat in Islington. In Upper Street.”

Slocock, observing the vaguely uncomfortable expression on Wilson’s face, smiled to himself. Sounded as if the doc had been getting his rocks off with the triple-barreled name case.

“Then check that out too,” said Peterson, standing up and gathering his papers together. “Sorry to rush you but it’s time you were leaving for the harbor. Captain O’Connell will escort you there. I wish you good luck on your mission.”

“Hang on,” said Wilson. “There’s one important thing you haven’t mentioned. Say we succeed; we find my wife or her notes and radio the information to you, but then what happens? How do we get back?”

Slocock laughed. “Haven’t you caught on yet, Wilson? There’s no return ticket. It’s a one-way trip.”

8

The Hastings Branch of the International Socialist League was called to order. It consisted of three people. Comrade Henderson was in the chair. Comrade Snell was taking minutes. And Comrade Blakey made up the rest of the branch. Under other circumstances the branch would have been bigger. But considering the particular and peculiar situation, three was a pretty good turn-out.