Unease fills the minds of much of the populace. With more boroughs becoming quarantined as the days since the outbreak of Crow’s Plague go on, some have taken to protesting outside of both the London Institution of Medicine, 10 Downing Street and Buckingham Palace. Angry and paranoid citizens hold hand-painted wooden signs and continuously shout; Demanding for the plague to be cured and for the release of friends and family currently contained within the facility.
Eliot Keating is the current prime minister of the United Kingdom. A tall, dashing gentleman in his prime years. He has permed short black hair and a defined jawline. He sports a black suit with a single golden pin on his breast pocket embedded with the Royal Coat of Arms. His eyes peer through the curtains inside of the queen’s office, looking down at the small crowd protesting.
“Ridiculous. I understand that these are trying times… But to resort to protests demanding action. As if we aren’t already trying to deal with the ramifications this damned plague has brought unto our fair city.” Eliot says.
Queen Victoria sits at her desk glazing through various papers. She sighs and neatly stacks the papers then tucks them into their respective folders.
“Calm yourself, Eliot. They simply do not understand. People are impatient. The Institute is nearly complete with its new Rainmaker variant.” Victoria states.
Eliot turns to face her. He coughs to clear his throat.
“Your Majesty I do not mean to sound harsh but… Have you noticed? At all?”
“Noticed what?”
“The plague. While relatively tame at the start… Lately it’s been spreading more virulently. Even with all of our efforts to contain it, the rate at which people are becoming infected is rising. It’s… Gravely concerning.”
Victoria just blinked. She sets the folders aside and stands up.
“Do not think of me blind simply because I am retained to my royal duties, Eliot. I’m fully aware of the concerning rate in which the plague is spreading. The Institute’s Black Doctor division is working overtime and yet… More victims are cropping up. Do ‘you’ know what I think?”
Victoria steps away from her desk to approach Eliot. Her eyes get closer. Her gaze even giving him chills. All he does is shrug.
“Something nefarious is at work.” She states coldly.
“O-oh? Whatever do you mean, Your Majesty?”
Victoria begins pacing the floor with her hands behind her back. Her heels click against the polished wooden floors. Eliot looks on at her with curiosity.
“Two centuries have passed since the Great Plague of London. Advancements in science and medicine have made great strides since then. Every endemic, pandemic or epidemic has a catalyst. Crow’s Plague started as just another minute outbreak but quickly grew in proportion. Now, even as our advanced methods combat it… Why is it only getting worse? Surely containing it to but a few boroughs with minimal outreach beyond is entirely possible and it was going well initially. So why? Why are our efforts only middling?”
Eliot ponders her words for a moment. Then it clicks in his head.
“You’re onto something here. I suggest you have the secret service look into this matter. We should conduct an investigation at once.” He says.
“I concur. In fact, I’ve already spoken of this to the chief. He’s deployed agents to look into every department of the city including inspections and interrogations. If there is an invisible enemy among us… They will be found.”
Crows encircle a local park in Hounslow. Peter and Marianne pass by two bobbies guarding one of the entrances. The couple stroll through the park where a group of five people are scattered about the center of the park’s walkway near a fountain. According to the report they were given, these people showed signs of illness from coughing to sickly pale skin to bloodshot eyes. This on top of two confirmed cases of the plague have already slated the borough for quarantine.
Expressions of the miscreants ranged from pained to angry upon seeing the doctors approaching. Their attention was fixated on the visitors.
“You are all aware that this borough is scheduled for quarantine, right? It’s time to go.” Peter states.
Marianne remains by his side. One of the people, a balding man with a nasty glare, snivels at the doctors. He spits on the ground.
“We ain’t goin’ nowhere, shit stain. Leave us alone.” He sneers.
“I’m afraid that’s not an option, sir. Police have the park surrounded. People are being evacuated. You’re clearly sick. I see it in your eyes. You and the rest of this lot.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Fuck off! We’s just gots the sniffles! That’s all!”
“Oh? Then line up. All of you. We’ll examine you and see if your blood is contaminated with the plague.”
The people shy away from Peter’s demand. But the bald man decides to pull out a knife.
“Like hell I’ll do that… You’re not authority figures. You won’t lay a finger on us regular folk.”
The bald man rushes at Peter with the knife. With swift reflexes, Peter grabs the man by the wrist. He struggles to move. Peter twists the man’s wrist. It cracks and he grunts in pain. The knife drops from his grip. Marianne approaches him and pulls out her serrated blade. He sweats. Marianne swings the blade down, severing the mans hand off. He cries in agony, falling to his knees. Blood streams out from his open wound. Peter steps past him while Marianne kneels next to him, brings the blade to his throat and cuts it open. Peter pulls out a syringe and beckons for the others to approach.
“Resistance is not an option. Attempting to harm us will result in punishment. Now… Who is up first?” He asks.
They watch in horror as the bald man’s lifeless corpse is taken away by Marianne. A hooded elderly woman silently nods and approaches Peter. He nods.
“It’s okay. You’re all leaving one way or another…”
After settling the problem and examining everyone, Peter and Marianne take a seat at one of the benches. A gentle rain falls on the park. The blood leftover from the bald man slowly starts washing away. Peter sighs. Marianne pats him on the shoulder.
“I swear these people are getting more and more unruly. Never thought we’d have to execute someone before even examining them. That was a first.” Peter says.
“Tragic, isn’t it? Mass hysteria spreads just like the plague. More people are becoming ignorant. I understand that not every sign of illness immediately means it’s the plague but… These examinations will determine if it is the plague or not. Is it so wrong for simply doing our job?” Marianne mutters.
“Do not let your mind cloud with those thoughts. Regardless of how the public feels towards us, we have a job to do. It’s only a matter of time before Rainmaker is finished and ready to dispense.”
“You’re right. Let us take this moment of reprieve while we have it. The day is not over yet even as the sun begins to set.”
Peter and Marianne just gaze up at the flock of crows in the sky.
Sobbing and weeping can be heard all throughout the crowd as they’re led into an empty warehouse. A couple of angry men start beating on a bobby. They shout obscenities with each punch. Two bobbies run over to pull the men off of the injured officer. They’re cuffed and shoved against the wall, bruising their cheeks. A woman cries out for one of them but it’s drowned in the sea of voices.
“Shut the hell up and keep moving!” A bobby hisses.
He smacks the back of a man with his nightstick at the end of the line of people. Inside the warehouse, cargo containers start to fill up with the homeless people. Two Black Doctors watch on silently. Women and children are separated from the men as the warehouse is divided into two sections. What used to be a storage center for these containers to be taken to the docks for boats has now become a haven for the homeless populations from neighboring boroughs. Fathers watch with cloudy eyes as their relatives, wives and children are taken away from them. One-by-one the men step into the containers.
The two bobbies outside who subdued the violent men toss them into the back of the light blue police carriage. One of them goes to start it up while the other heads inside to speak to the doctors on standby.
“Oi! You two!” He shouts to them.
Their gazes turn to the officer and they nod.
“Start examining these animals then you can go, okay? Any of ‘em start showing signs of the plague or their blood is contaminated, lock them up away from the others. Last thing we need is more infected spreading the damned disease.”
One of the doctors holds up his palm.
“We know sir. Don’t get your britches in a twist now.” The doctor speaks.
“Fair enough. I’m off to haul those cucks to the station. Good luck.”
The bobby turns and leaves. An uneasy feeling creeps over the doctors. They double check their satchels to make sure they have all their equipment and tools for examinations. They nod to each other and split off to their respective sides of the warehouse to begin working. A fight breaks out between three men who’re arguing over the morality of their situation. One man claims this is necessary. Another despises being split from his two children. The third tries to break them up but gets smacked across the chin which angers him. The doctor, whom is tasked with examining these men, approaches. Before one of them can throw another punch, his wrist is grabbed by the doctor. Bystanders watch in fear of escalation.
“Get your fucking hands off of me, cuck!” He growls.
The doctor reaches into his coat and draws a large knife and holds it up to the man’s chin. He freezes up while the other two men pause, their eyes opening wide.
“Cease this squabble at once. Line up for examination now. Do not comply and you will be punished.” The doctor says.
Gulping, the three men all nod simultaneously. The doctor releases his grip. All of the men in the container comply with the doctor’s demand. He sheathes the knife then preps his tools. Glass jars. Syringes. Bandages.
From the other side of the warehouse a horrendous scream echoes throughout the building. Two women lie on the cold, concrete floor bleeding profusely. The other doctor gets to her feet, holding her bloody knife out. The women all start backing up.
“Do. Not. Attack. Me.” She hisses. “I warned them and they were punished. Do not follow in their path you wretched, filthy bints. Now please… Get into an orderly formation so that I may examine you all after I dispose of these two. The children will follow afterwards.”
She glances over to the children, some of whom are crying. Her heart sinks into her stomach. The women comply with her order. She sighs and sheathes the knife.
“Bunch of animals, you lot are…”
All of the women watch as the bodies are dragged off towards the back of the warehouse. Some of the men catch a glance. A grim reminder of the price they’ll pay if they don’t listen to the doctors.