Most of London remained unaffected by the plague as strict precautions and safeguards were in place regarding the spreading infections. Steam carriages drove along the roads. Pedestrians wandered the sidewalks. The skies were cloudy but not a drop of rain. A gentle wind blew. All seemed calm and normal here compared to the boroughs located near quarantine zones. This bustling city block in Hackney was home to one of the most famous cafes in the city: Sweeneys. Red and white striped awnings hung above the shop windows. A big rustic sign displayed the café’s name in bright red. Four sets of tables with chairs were placed just outside for dining. Peter and Marianne sat at one of these tables in casual attire. Peter wore a dusty brown, black fur-collared jacket and blue jeans with black dress shoes. Marianne had on a slim-fit, long purple dress with a black coat on and black thigh-high boots.

“Been quite some time since we’d been out like this. Don’t you agree? Just the two of us. Tea. And hot soup.” Peter says.

“Indeed. Bit chilly though innit?” Marianne replies.

Peter takes his spoon and swallows a portion of the soup. He smacks his lips.

“I find the breeze to be calming. We’re not quite out of Fall just yet so it hasn’t gotten too chilly.”

“Cold has never bothered you. In the ten years we’ve spent together, not once have I ever heard you complain about it.”

“Darling, I worked in a mill right out of high school remember? My blood and bones adapted to the cold in a jiffy.”

“Right… I swear you must have a million stories from your time at the mill. Is it even still around?”

“Sure is. Over in Enfield. Still running to this day. Wonder if the old coot I worked with all those years ago is still there...?”

Marianne just sipped some of her tea. Across the street in the center of the square there was a commotion brewing. The two glanced over at the square. A young couple was shouting at an older man with his hands pressed together as if he was praying. They couldn’t hear over all the carriages passing by.

A bobby strolling by stops to investigate the scene. The young couple are keeping their distance from the older man as they talk to the officer. Peter raises an eyebrow. The officer raises his nightstick to wave the man off, who is eagerly plodding closer to the three of them. Now he appears to be telling the main to remain in place. Passersby look on.

“Hm? What could the commotion be all about? Bit hard to hear them.” Peter asks.

“I’m not sure.” Marianne adds.

The two return to their tea and soup for a few minutes before more indescribable shouting is heard once again. They glance over. A pair of Black Doctors is following the young couple who point over to the older man. He starts pleading as the doctors approach and begin speaking to him. One of the doctors starts drawing blood from the man’s arm. They speak to the other doctor. Immediately, the man is apprehended by the two doctors and now being led away from the area, waving for pedestrians to clear the way. The mans cries are loud. Marianne’s eyes widen. Peter is rubbing his chin.

“Well, I’ll be. That man’s blood must be tainted.” He murmurs.

“Wonder what led up to the confrontation. There is a store on that block so maybe they were inside and he started coughing or appeared sickly. Something happened to set off that young couple either way.”

“Good on them for reporting the infected man then. However, that situation only enhances the biggest fear I harbor for the plague.”

“You mean how symptoms vary in terms of showing up?”

“Exactly.”

Peter and Marianne get up to start walking having finished their tea and soup. Peter clears his throat and continues to speak;

“We’ve heard accounts from those who’ve reported victims. Some who catch the plague it’s nearly instant. Others sometimes have taken upwards of a few days to show symptoms. And we already know that the hybrid influx of various symptoms separates the plague from your common colds and flus. It’s quite worrying. Seems more and more victims are cropping up who’s symptoms aren’t immediate…”

Marianne sighs, sticking her hands into the pockets of her coat.

“You are right. Honey we are but doctors though. All we can do is treat the infected. The Institute is hard at work developing the second variant of Rainmaker and ensuring quarantine procedures. All we can do is hope and pray this plague can be isolated before it gets worse.” She confesses.

“I know. I know. Now… Let us shelve this plague talk for now. We have to catch a trolley to city hall. The speech will be starting soon.”

“Ah! Yes of course!”

Southwark. Home to the London City Hall. Crowds of people eagerly wait outside behind iron barriers where the police keep the people sanctioned off from the front area of the building. Many are seated on the stone steps while the rest stand outside the barricades and above the exteriors open chamber. In the main lobby, a tubby man in a tanned suit with bronze-rimmed glasses, a black bowler cap and a fuzzy mustache waits patiently. Next to him is a slender man in a gray suit with short brown hair holding sheets of paper. The steel elevator doors open up, drawing their attention.

“There you are your majesty! All the preparations are set for your public appearance. Security perimeters are established and the crowd is eagerly waiting for you.” The tubby man says.

The woman nods to him. Two burly men in black suits follow alongside her as she and them are led to the front doors. A roar erupts from the crowds when the doors open up. A podium is set up. Several bobbies surround the open grounds. The decorated woman radiates natural beauty with a chiseled face, striking ocean blue eyes, crimson lips, diamond-encrusted necklace and diamond droplet earrings. She has coffee brown hair tied into elegant side buns with gold clips. Atop her head is a gilded eight-point crown with four squares embedded with red jewels and four angelic figures embedded with diamonds. She wears a long, elegant black laced dress hugging her hourglass figure, black covered high heels, black laced gloves and a white fur coat covering her exposed shoulders.

“Ahem! Attention everyone! Your beloved and respected mayor, Winfield Paterson here! In light of recent events, the attention of the government has been brought to its full attention! Here today I am proud to welcome the beautiful leader of our nation today! Your Majesty… Queen Victoria!” Paterson speaks.

Another thunderous roar of applause erupts from the crowds. Paterson steps back from the podium, motioning for Victoria to step forward. She nods, approaching the podium. She clears her throat. Everyone in the crowds wait with bated breath. The queen begins to speak;

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“Greetings, citizens of London. Due to the restrictive protection Westminster is under, I had to travel here personally to address you all. I understand that the general public is fearful right now. Our fair city has been under attack by this recent plague endemic. Our citizens, economy, and overall public health has been greatly affected by the spreading infection. The government is collaborating with the London Institution of Medicine to help eradicate this plague that has become a blight to our fair citizens. Worry not… For this joint effort is progressing smoothly. We are dictating new rules and regulations to ensure the safety of every citizen. Many have already suffered from this dreadful sickness. Over two centuries ago, London was subjected to a devastating plague that rocked the very foundation of our city. We wish not for history to repeat itself. We as a society have advanced since then. Advancements in medicine and technology will ensure that we continue to thrive. This plague will not bring us to our knees as it once did…”

Men with filed view cameras mounted on tripods were taking pictures of Queen Victoria. Journalists were frantically jotting down each and every word she spoke to later write her speech into the papers to release tomorrow. Peter and Marianne sat amongst the crowd on the stone steps just below where Queen Victoria and Paterson stood.

“As one should expect from Her Majesty. She is very calm and collected about this whole matter.” Peter murmurs.

Marianne simply nods. She’s much too invested into the queen’s words to make her own response.

“… As the ruling queen of this nation, we will do anything and everything we have to face this crisis together with the London Institution of Medicine. Our allies across the borders and overseas are sending help to assist us during this endemic. We are not alone in this crisis. I do not wish to see my nation slowly crumble under the weight of yet another outbreak that my great-great ancestors had to overcome. People of London… Your safety and the safety of this nation are of the utmost importance. Remain calm and please stay safe. Employ the regulations dictated to prevent the spreading of the plague and report anyone who you think may be infected. I thank you all for your time. I, Queen Victoria, decree that the Crow’s Plague will be eradicated no matter what.”

The crowds applaud vigorously. Some in the audience are silent, holding in their fears or anger. Queen Victoria waves to the people and heads back inside city hall. Paterson delivers some closings words before officially finalizing the gathering. The people were free to leave now. Bobbies guided the people off as the crowds dispersed. Peter and Marianne followed suit.

Queen Victoria was escorted back inside the building where she waits for the people to clear out. She walks out the back doors to her pristine, silver-plated steam carriage adorned with gilded accents. Victoria lets out a sigh once she takes a seat in the back. The burly men sit opposite of her. In the drivers’ seat sits an older gentleman with a white top hat, white suit with a black tie and a gray handlebar mustache. He turns to see Victoria and her bodyguards sat comfortably. He nods and starts the carriage up. The steam machine starts moving.

“Your Majesty. I imagine the public appearance went well?” He asks.

“To my surprise, it did. Here I thought the public would be up in arms over this endemic.” Victoria replies.

She grabs a long black cigarette holder left on the seat next to her and the box of matches near it. Flicking a matchstick, she lights the cigarette and puffs.

“Understandable. Tis’ a truly abhorrent situation we find ourselves in. ‘Reckon our collaboration with the Institute can work together to shut this mess down before it gets out of hand?”

“I have the utmost faith in the Institute. After the Great Plague two centuries ago, the Institute was formed on the basis of restructuring the nation’s health and medicine to accommodate the rampant threats of future outbreaks. Now more then ever… They must pool all their resources and knowledge into finding a cure and containing this plague…”

The gentleman nods. He remains silent to focus on the road.

Rain patters on the vacant streets of Redbridge. The shutters on shops remain closed. Doors are locked. Barrels sat underneath rafters in alleys continue to burn. A woman peers outside her second story window at the plants in the potter just beneath the windowsill. Some carriages have been left abandoned. Remnants of trash litter the streets having been untouched by the lack of street cleaners since the borough became quarantined.

In one of these dank alleys tucked away in a corner behind a barber shop is a burning barrel and a tent made of patchwork fabric. An anorexic man with messy light brown hair in tattered clothes sticks his neck out to peer around.

“Aye. No sign of those masked freaks still. I think we’re in the clear mate.” He speaks.

The sturdy bald man in grimy overalls bunking with him breathes a sigh of relief. He scratches his head and sits up. Inside the tent are two makeshift beds and potato sack pillows stuffed with rags. A stack of dirty magazines lay between the beds.

“Good. Looks like we’re in the clear. Seems they ain’t findin’ us anytime soon Charlie.” The bald man states.

Charlie sits back down on his bed. He reaches for the half-eaten banana and takes a bite.

“Say Hardy. What’cha think happened to the rest like us?”

“My guess? Rounded up like cattle by the bobbies n’ doctors and hauled off somewhere to be locked away.”

“Ya’ think so? Me thinks that’s what happened to Zach.”

“Mm. Word is the plague is airborne. Know what I think? It’s those damned sewer rats. It’s the fuckin’ Great Plague all over again. And here we sit in the wild west.”

“Oh?”

“Since us homeless folk ain’t medicated… Government don’t give two shits about us. The average, hard-working men and stay-at-home women are priority. Ain’t gonna’ let us poor folk be livin’ in the streets while a plague is spreadin’ like wildfire.”

“Right. Right… Shit. We’s runnin’ outta’ food again. It’s gettin’ late. Maybe you oughta’ go scavenge while it’s hopefully safe?”

“Wait till early morning. Little daylight will help before the damned patrols are out.”

A bright light emanates from the lantern held by a wandering Black Doctor. He overhears muffled voices coming from down the nearby alley. He notices the firelight reflecting off the brick walls. He walks down the alley past a couple overstuffed trash bins and some broken down cardboard boxes. Rounding the corner, he finds the barrel with wood burning inside alongside the patchwork tent. The doctor kneels down and pulls open one of the flaps.

Charlie and Hardy immediately shut up upon seeing the masked doctor. The soulless glass eyes and intimidating beak strike fear into the two of them.

“Oi. What do you two think you’re doing? Why aren’t you at the asylum?” The doctor asks.

Charlie and Hardy look at each other. They look at the doctor.

“We’ve always been ‘ere doc. Ain’t got a clue what’cha mean.” Charlie responds.

The doctor shakes his head. He sets his lantern down and reaches for the serrated blade he keeps sheathed at his side.

“Damned fools. Your lot was evacuated and sent off to the asylum once the outbreaks started. Without homes, you all are basically walking plague factories. At this rate you’re too far gone for treatment even if the symptoms haven’t started showing. Out of the tent now and I won’t repeat myself.”

The doctor steps away, motioning for the men to follow him. He keeps a grip on the hilt of his blade.

Charlie is quivering. Hardy grits his teeth. He clenches his fist watching Charlie step out with his hands raised. Hardy follows but plans something. The two stood side-by-side as the doctor pulls out his blade, rubbing the serrated steel with his leather-gloved hand.

“Now unfortunately this means you two are a threat to public safety…”

A rapid swipe at Charlie’s neck. The serrated blade tears the skinny man’s throat open, spewing blood as he falls to the cold, cobblestone ground. The doctor flings off some blood from the blade, wiping it with his glove. Hardy looks on in horror. His last nerve snaps. With the doctor readying for another kill, Hardy decks the doctor in the face with pure brute strength. The doctor falls back against the nearest wall. Hardy then grabs the doctor’s head and slams it against the wall before tossing him down to the ground. A shrill grunt escapes the doctors’ muffled lips. Hardy scoffs and spits on the doctor. He kneels down and takes the serrated blade. One last look at Charlie with a sniffle and tears being held back, Hardy kicks the doctor in the stomach and runs off into the darkness of the rain-soaked streets.

The doctor coughs. He refuses to take his mask off, instead coughing up some blood into the beak, staining the plants and herbs stuffed inside of it. He slowly gets back up to his feet. The realization of both his blade and the homeless man missing sinks in, driving him up the wall.

“Fuck! Bloody bastard robbed me an’ took off… I’ll find you and tear your damn throat open.” The doctor scoffs.

He clenches his fist and storms off. Charlie’s corpse is left to rot next to the burning barrel with the rain sending his blood into the cracks within the cobblestone.