Chapter 2

"Something, one of you do something! For crying out loud are you all useless!"

 Ms.Boer borderline roared throughout the cosy pub.

Everyone just stared at this interruption. Based on her cloths the women had come straight from a kitchen or some such - Which in itself was strange, Mr and Ms Boer lived only a few minutes away and Ms.Boer in particular was fairly conscious of her splendid public image.

"My Timmy, my little Timothy, he's ill!"

 She half spluttered, tears welling in her eyes as the words caught in her throat.

I'd seldom seen her cry before, rarely seen any of her generation cry before - Crying just wasn't the done thing for people who had lived through the incident.

Her eyes landed on Sarge who was already beginning to stand-up out of his chair.

 She scouted across the room and clasped her hands in his, asking for help once more.

"Now just slow down a bit Miss.Boer, explain the situation." Sarge said as reassuringly as the stocky older man could.

As he said it, Mr.Boer entered through the still wide open door to the pub, cradled in his arms was the limp and (hopefully) unconscious form of Timmy Boer, his only son.

 With-in seconds Aila, Sarge and Miss.Boer had made there way over to where Mr.Boer laid the boy down on a free table.

The room was different now. Mr Boer was still dressed in his overcoat, mudded wheelies and flat-cap - The smell of the farmyard replacing the warm scent of the pub's fireplace.

 Similarly the chatter was gone as everyone looked on at the scene, someone had even turned off the radio and the old barkeep had laid down the mug he had been polishing.

I looked over from my chair and immediately felt my heart sink.

 Sarge and Aila's faces seemed to confirm my fears as they went about taking pulses and checking the boy's temperature.

 "Racing heart, forehead feels feverish but the rest of his skin is cold to the touch-- oh no. Sarge he's got brown spots..."

Aila said, her sweet voice, suddenly riddled with fear.

Sarge had started to go pale now too but he held steady glancing around the room as though assess his resources. I could of sworn he held his eyes on me for a moment longer then the others;

 "All right, Roink you head down to the vicars se--"

"No good--" Aila said while not talking her eyes from her ad-hoc patient;

 "--The vicar is still over in 'town' he's too far away."

'What would it matter anyway?'

It's true the church teaches every vicar to the same degree of medical knowledge as a regular nurse, making them the closet thing to a doctor in a lot of small villages like ours - But really a nurse would be far more useful.

 A nurse with a few years experience learns most of what a doctor knows, even if they don't know all the technical jargon.

The vicar, well, he migth have a good remedy for a regular cold, but for this?

Sarge nodded to Aila, "A'right then call Peterson, he can help surely."

 There was a stirring in the room as everyone else realised what we already had.

Peterson is the village vet, combined with the symptoms Aila had listed and the illness could be only one thing - Herd's Bane.

 The highly infection virus carried by rats and field mice. Capable of killing a calf in hours and a whole herd of adult cattle in a matter of just weeks.

A nasty but common issue in these parts, one most are vaccinated against as early as 4 or 5.

 Before I knew it I was on my feet.

Years ago...Aila used to be a vet, trained to be old-man Peterson's replacement - But she had given that up...

 Anyhow I'd picked up on alot of it, hence my minor medical knowledge - Nothing compared to Aila of-course but enough to understand what was happening a little faster then the others in the room.

I found myself striding across the small room while speaking;

 "No good, Peterson will be in bed by this hour and he won't have the equipment for this either way. Any expertise he has, Aila already knows. Sorry Sarge it'd be a waste of time we don't have. Aila, how long?"

Sarge nodded, rather than looking dejected at me shooting his idea down - He instead looked downright relieved to hear me speaking - 'I hate this feeling...'

Aila glanced around the room before taking one more check of Timmy's pulse.

 The boy was dressed in similar cloths to his father like some 'mini-me' - A stupid flat-cap of his own clutched in the kid's tiny unconscious hands.  

 The smell of manure wasn't just coming from Mr.Boer - And I had a sickening feeling I knew what that meant.

"I-i a, I think maybe half an hour till it becomes irreversible Luke."

'Crap.'

Miss.Boer collapsed to her knees, clutching the table end while a typhon of uncharacteristic tears flowed down her ragged face.

 For my part I slammed the table. I'm not sure why, one moment I was standing there thinking - The next I caught the barkeep wincing slightly from behind the bar to my right as my fist clattered against it, probably leaving a dent in his furniture.

It hurt - Alot.

"Mr.Boer what age is Timmy?"

 Aside from his clothing Mr.Boer was physically a farmer aswell.

 His face a constant flat expression even now (although paler than usual), his skin tanned from years in the fields and his posture what you would expect.

My question however caused his expression to break just the tiniest bit;

 "He 'be 9 years next month Si--"

"And was he vaccinated?"

Silence.

I hit the table again - 'That really friggin hurts' - "You damn fool, why not?!"

Mr.Boer's face scrunched a little, his pale colour being reddened by angry cheeks;

 "Th-they said so on the news didn't they, 'bout the vaccine being 'dangerous'!"

I was all but ready to flip the table.

 Humans don't have to die from herd's bane but they can catch it and a child, unvaccinated? - Might as well of been a calf, heck even smaller than one.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The virus was degenerative, paralysing parts of the body till death. The bigger the body the longer you lasted.

 I'd heard nothing of any herd having The Bane this year. That meant Boer had either not seen the signs and allowed his child to help on the farm despite the risks - Or that he had not wanted to see the signs.

When we don't want to believe in something we try to ignore things, we interpret the signs as being coincidental.

"That's all conspiracy nonsense you idiot! Did the vaccine do this to your boy!?"

 I said gesturing wildly at where Timmy lay.

Ms.Boer's weeping grew near hysteric and Mr.Boer simply tightened his grip on his sons shoulder, still standing tall but clearly unsure how to respond.

 I wondered if he would take a swing at me.

"28 Luke."

 Aila whispered in my ear while lightly clutching my arm with those ever soft hands of hers.

There was silence in the room again but rather then looking at Tim or the Sarge, everyone was now looking at 'me'. Not because I spoke up or shouted at Mr.Boer, not because I'm the best person for the job or because I'm the boy who left town and then came back.

 No there looking at me because I'm The Captain's Son.

Because they think I can actually do something to cure a boy of a deadly illness.

The silence lingered a little longer as the Sarge wetted his lips.

 This time he definitely locked eyes with me for a moment;

 "Alrigth then, Roink take my truck down the lane to where there's reception, we'll need an ambulance for this."

Sarge instructed.

"No good..." I half muttered, everyone really stared at me even more now.

 "Too slow, ambulance won't be fast enough, he needs hospital equipment right Aila?"

She just nodded.

Silence again.

I have to admit the Sarge never gives up;

 "Good point Sir. A'rigth lads, who here can fly eh? Mark, John, any of you?"

He's not being hyperbolic or sarcastic.

 It's gone out of fashion but people did used to fly around here. Small planes, crop dusters mostly but nowadays the area is too poor for much of that.

 There's an uncomfortable shuffling as the Sarge's eyes search for a volunteer.

"..One,...o-one of you must.....please...."

 I'd never heard Ms.Boer say 'please' before either....

The barman finally spoke up next;

 "Old man McGuire has that Setsuna, she'd be fast enough and close enough to here.

With the right pilot that is." He mused aloud.

The Sarge brightened for a moment but then looked downright depressed. No one was forthcoming to volunteer.

 I wondered if he'd try and do so himself, he is that kind of guy after all.

"Luke can do it!"

 Aila half-squeaked next to me.

I glared at her for a moment but then sighed. There was no escaping it now.

****

I levelled my voice to be calm and composed. I was good at that, I could play the fool or sound in control as the situation needed and people always believed it;

 "We'll need the ambulance at the place the plane lands, and we'll never get air-control clearance in time."

Sarge was quick to response, he looked more then relieved now - This was what he did best.

 'The officer' finds the problems and the NCO solves them. This was his element.

I could of sworn he wanted to salute at me.

In moments everyone was on their feet. Some making phone calls, others starting cars outside, probably to go raid McGuire's farm yard (no one round here locks much anyways), the man himself drinking at a different pub.

 The fact Sarge hadn't commented on this yet, said alot to the seriousness of the situation in itself - After all him and McGuire never got along.

'The funny thing is, this I love.'

 Because they aren't soldiers, they aren't rushing around getting wet rags for Timmy's forehead because they've been ordered to.

They aren't breaking into someone's farmyard because they were told to - They are doing it because they're a community, because we all want to protect our most vulnerable person more than anything else.

And so before I knew it I was bottled into Sarge's ride, Ms.Boer in the passenger seat - Timmy laid across the backseats with Aila as his nurse.

 Mr.Boer standing stoically outside watching his boy leave, maybe for the last time...

Before long I was driving out the gate, past some locals who were keeping the narrow lanes empty of any late night passers-by.

 Passing by Sarge who nodded at just me, in what very much so was a damn salute this time.

Then we were passing through the already opened farmyard gate, a metal thing with one of the younger lads from the pub holding it open.

 Then I was in it, the 'Setsuna' - The racing plane I'd sold to McGuire when I stopped flying, with it's small engine and two seats one in front of the other. A small prop-plane looking contraption, large enough for just the two of us.

"Got on the blower to an old buddy, air traffic know you're coming Lucky, they've got you a landing spot in section 4, by the suburbs."

 Sarge's voice came over the fuzzy radio receiver of the cockpit.

Behind me Aila carefully strapped in her charge, while I reacquainted myself with the familiar controls and dials of the small craft that I hadn't flown in years - A couple of lads who had been in the 'Ahead Party' had already checked the fuel and started the engine.

"That's bog land Sarge, ain't there anywhere safer ta' land in that blasted city?"

 I asked doing my best to keep agitation at bay.

The Sarge sounded like he was shaking his head, but before he could go on a new voice came over the receiver;

 "The ambulance will be waiting for you there Luke, I've cleared it that they will have the right equipment."

Father decreed in his usual, completely flat tone.

"Oh good, taking off from a farmyard and landing in a bog, you made sure there's room in that ambulance for two father?" I snapped back.

If Aila's estimation was right we were down to twenty minutes - Twenty minutes to get the boy to the nearest hospital in a city easily 40 minutes away by road.

 Twenty minutes to make an impossible flight & landing by night-light before the virus would start to permanently affect the kid.

"If you aren't able, then have Aila pilot it."

 As always there was no infliction to his words, no venom - Aila's gift is more reliable then a dropout like you - That's what it said beneath the patronising tone.

Before I knew it we were airborne, barely avoiding a scarp against the high fence on the far side of the farmyard.

 We flew through that black cloudless night, navigating by instinct as much as star or compass.

I don't actually remember much of that flight - It was one of the most pressured of my whole life - Twenty minute countdown with Timmy in the backseat still unconscious and breathing more and more heavily - Years since I'd flown and nothing but the lights in houses to brighten the ground beneath us.

 We soared nonetheless, the little white plane streaking across the nights sky.

And then we going down, down, down, down, down, down, down, down, down, down, down, down, down. 

 The turbulence knocking the flimsy little plane about, the pressure coursing against me as one of the windows slides open by itself, the cold winds knocking against my face, the flashing dials as the altimeter dropped lower and lower and lower and lower and--

Pull up.

And then we made it.

Somehow Landing on the bog, with barely a scratch.

 Pulling out of what I really had thought was a life ending downwards spiral, the most terrifying moment of my life, the juddering sensation of the ground getting ever closer at an unimaginable speed.

The 'runway' had been lit up by Sarge's air-traffic control buddy, the ambulance Dad had organised was ready and awaiting.

 Before I knew it I was carrying Tim to the hospital staff - Next I was half-asleep at Timmy's hospital bedside.

Before I knew it Mr.Boer, his stone expression shattered for one of uncontrollable joy, was shaking my hand, insisting I take money - Not as a debt exactly, but more in much the same way I hadn't stayed by Timmy's side out of any obligation - No simply because it felt like the right, appropriate thing to do.

And then I was back with Sarge and Aila who'd driven up the next morning.

 In Sarge's other truck, carrying the plane back with us.

Then just like that we were home, Sarge and McGuire in the farmyard I'd used as a runway, arguing over how we had 'stolen the plane' - Aila dragging me away from the scene back to home.

Before I knew it, it was over. I was home and Timmy alive & well in a hospital bed.

'I hate the Drinking Day.....'