itch

            As the helicopter circled the island on its second approach Astrid placed her phone face down on her lap.   Too many uploaded videos of people erupting in a painful spiky death, spines tearing through bruised swollen skin.  She must have watched hundreds as the pandemic raged, death rate soaring.

            “If I can’t land this time we’ll have to try tomorrow,” the pilot yelled over the rotors’ noise the storm buffeting them like a leaf.

            “We don’t have time!”  Astrid shouted back, “I need to understand what’s happening here.”

Touching down in the gale Astrid grabbed her luggage and leapt out, running to the tiny airport building.  No one came to Sweynswick really, tourists now and again or oil company execs stopping over when the storms stopped flights to the rigs.  She dumped her bags heavily and looked around the portacabin, checking her supplementary oxygen levels were okay until she arrived at the WHO laboratory.  The door behind her snapped open and a woman dressed head to toe in waterproofs inspected the new arrival.

            “Dr Perowne?  Clare McNaught, your host for the next few days.”  She offered a hand which Astrid ignored, “Ah yes, sorry, old habits you know, we aren’t supposed to touch are we?”

            “No mask or gloves?” 

            “Don’t look so shocked Dr Perowne, we’re the reason why you’re here aren’t we?  No virus.”

#

            Astrid sat in the warm fug of the portable WHO immunology lab delivered yesterday by Chinook.  Four walls Astrid had been confined to for years now; lab equipment, computer work stations, satellite links around the globe.  Barely had the world begun the grindingly slow recovery from the Covid-19 outbreak before another virus took hold.  This was very different.  Initial cases appeared on social media footage firstly in the southern US, next central Europe, then everywhere.  Victims complained of tiredness and itchiness before the virus quickly developed and people’s skin began to bruise from within, tormented by what some people described as intense nettle stings or thousands of insect bites before erupting in long brittle spines bursting up through the epidermis and down into the muscle, fat and bone.   For some death was mercifully brief, the whole body exploding leaving blooded guts and matter draped around the carapace of the viral organism, for others it was a prolonged agony with areas of the body shattering leaving them to bleed out.  

            The origin of the virus was unknown.  Conspiracy theories and blame sprouted with infections ramping up.  Just two months in and nearly ten million people were reported dead by countries willing to share.  The virulence of the Echinoidea or ‘Urchin’ virus (because of the resemblance to the globular echinoderms) ran unchecked, spreading faster than nations could react. The corona virus was a warm up act leaving populations vulnerable, fatigued and fearful as ‘Urchin’ took hold.

Astrid, in her whole body suit, air circulating via an oxygen pump, faced Clare McNaught wearing her tweed jacket, no gloves or mask, looking interestedly around the room.

            “So, we’re special?” Clare said.

            Nodding, Astrid turned to her laptop and swivelled the screen to show her visitor, “Very much so.  We have these outlying islands scattered across the world where there’s no trace of the virus, despite visitors to these places subsequently dying from Urchin; it’s bizarre that communities like yours remain unaffected.  Why?”

            “You’re the scientist, you tell me?”

            “Is there likely to be any resistance to collecting blood and tissue samples?”

Clare scowled and looked out of the window at the unending storm, trees bending and rain driving sideways.  “People are suspicious.  We don’t appreciate being treated like a science experiment.  You sent me your forms and asked me to circulate them.”  She handed Astrid a small pile of paperwork, “People here think we got lucky.  Don’t jinx us.”

            “What’s that badge you’re wearing?” Astrid asked, trying to lighten the darkening mood.

            “Oh, this,” Clare tapped her lapel, “It represents a community of islands.  We come together for sporting events or to discuss common issues of living on the margins, isolated as we all are to one degree or another; transport links, access to healthcare and education, that sort of thing.”  She quickly stood and reached for her heavy wax coat, “Got to see to the herds.  There’s a town meeting at 7pm in the church hall, you’re on the agenda, see you there.”

When Clare had left Astrid reached up to lift off her hood wiping condensation from the visor, her stomach churning at the thought of public speaking but she had to win hearts and minds, and fast.

#

            The meeting hadn’t been so bad.  A typical church hall which she imagined smelled of dust and warm wet coats except she wore an oxygen mask, googles and fully enclosed plastic suit so could only smell newness.  Most of the island had shown, twenty-five maybe thirty people?  Farmers and fisher folk, who else would live all the way out here?  Astrid had fumbled her words, was asked to speak up at times, but Clare McNaught had been brilliant as chair and clearly a respected and powerful local figure.  There’d been mutterings about outsiders putting them at risk but Clare assured them a representative for the World Health Organization would do everything possible to keep them safe.  A young woman with an angry rash on her neck had shouted at Astrid, “there’s no escape you know,” and was shushed before stomping out. 

Astrid said her goodbyes and back at the lab she found an object left on the step.  Inside and warming up she pulled on her smaller mask and using a pair of surgical gloves unwrapped a brown paper parcel tied with string.  It was a small glass tank filled with what she presumed was sea water as there was a little rock resting on a bed of sand, atop the rock a sea urchin, dark and covered with spines.  Was this a threat, a warning?  She set the little tank down and fumbled through the paper to see if there was a note?  Nothing.  Then she peered into the tank; on a fragment of driftwood were scratched the words,

Drink me

What was she supposed to make of that?

#

In her bunk at the back of the lab she checked her phone.  Signal was negligible, but Noah had managed to text, “I miss you Mummy.  X”.  She’d messaged Carol who was locked down with their son and had a sweet, difficult exchange about how shit life was then had a little cry, allowing herself to wallow in homesickness before getting her act together and turned off her light, ready to face the influx of residents all coming to give blood and cheek samples in the morning.

            Her dreams were vivid; dark caves with stalactites and stalagmites made of sea urchin spines, the ocean rushing round her legs, hands bursting with ink coloured blood, Noah’s face drawn on the cave wall calling her…she sat up, sweating, disoriented.  I never dream like this, she thought, trying to remember where she was and what she was doing and thirsty got up for a glass of water.  Looking out of the window of the lab she could make out the moonlit desolation of scrubby heather moorland picked out in shades of grey, trees bent in angles by the wind.  A shape appeared in the distance holding a torch, then another.  A small party of locals appeared to be making their way towards the coast.  Intrigued she watched until they disappeared.  At the window she leaned closer, the moonlight interrupted by scudding clouds, leaping back in shock as a face appeared, eyes wide, gloved hand pressed to the glass.  Astrid dropped her glass and screamed before grappling for her mask and gloves as she unlocked the secure door and leaned out, “Who’s there?  What do you want?”  Other than the wind it was silent yet she knew she’d seen the face at the meeting.  Looking down at the step something was left.  Turning on the lights she laid the objects in the cleaning sink, three dried sea urchin husks.

#

            Twenty seven samples all labelled and ready for analysis.  She’d have to pull an all-nighter and hopefully get some usable data by the morning.   Astrid yawned and stretched, remembering it was Noah’s birthday so she’d FaceTime him.  Carol was keeping him hydrated as he’d been peaky earlier.  She absently mindedly examined the urchin shells as the door was knocked.  Quickly she pulled on her PPE and peering round she saw Clare.

            “I hope you don’t mind, just wanted to check you got what you wanted?”

            Astrid was puzzled, “Yes, I mean, I think so.  I need to run tests and send the data to Geneva.  Fingers crossed it’ll help.”

            Clare stood in the open doorway, smiling, “Good for you.  So, when does the helicopter come back for you?”

            “It won’t, I mean, not yet anyway.”

            “But you have our samples?”  Clare sounded irritated.

            “These are just initial data, it’ll have to be cross referenced with other samples, I may need more if the immunologists and virologists need to dig deeper…sorry Clare this may not be a short stay.”

            The woman glanced at Astrid’s phone, the lock screen a laughing snap of her with Carol and Noah.  Clare looked saddened then stared into the middle distance before smiling fixedly and turning, “No matter, as long as we can help.”

#

Astrid sipped peppermint tea, eyes bleary as she continued to input the results.  Noah had been upset on the call, sickly, and it had crashed twice.  Support for apps was intermittent at best as organisations failed.  She’d blown him distant kisses, presuming it only took one touch, a passing comment for the virus to take hold and within days you’ve exploded, barbed and bloody.  E-mails from Geneva had slowed to a trickle but there was something from a fellow doctor on Asencion Island who was puzzled.  The locals hadn’t succumbed to Echinoidea whilst military personnel at the AirForce base had been wiped out.  Islanders were showing no distinctive blood or DNA differences to visiting ethnicities yet remained unaffected.  Environmental factors perhaps?  Diet maybe?  They needed an anthropologist not a toxicologist.  Astrid had to stretch her legs and think.  It was nearly 6am and still dark, wrapped in warm layers she pulled on her mask and gloves and set out, following the path where she’d seen the inhabitants walk.

            It was treacherous in places with the heavy rain.  Ahead she saw the sea attacking the rocks with fury so was careful to stick to the trail, leaning against a sheer cliff face until the path widened and a cave opened up.  The sea flowed in to a shallow shingle beach but a ledge allowed Astrid to walk deeper into the gloom, lit by her phone.  A noise made her start as a seal slapped heavily into the waves.

            “Made me jump” she muttered then came to a standstill as she nearly trod on the body of a young woman.

#

            “It’s tragic,” Clare sipped a coffee in the meeting hall, “She was only back from university for a break when this urchin thing started and she was stuck.  Depressed too, her friends and her freedom all gone like that.”

            Astrid had finally stopped trembling, “I expect you’re right.  Why die in a cave though, why not at home?”

            Clare shook her head, “To spare her parents?  They’re devastated.”

            “She was the one who shouted at the meeting wasn’t she?”  

            “I don’t remember,” Clare said and turned as two men appeared at the door, “Excuse me, police matters.”

Astrid glanced over at the huddle, dashing off a quick message to Carol to check in on Noah who’d shown signs of itchy reddening skin and was scratching.  She wanted to leave and go home and lock her doors.  All she could do was wait.      

            “I have to go,” Clare tapped Astrid on the shoulder, “you okay now?”

Astrid nodded, reaching into a small bag and pulling out three small black objects, “Do you know anything about these?  Left outside the lab last night.”

“Urchin husks, they wash up.  Probably just someone’s practical joke in poor taste.  I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

#

Astrid had her phone on the desk beside her keyboard waiting for Carol to respond.  Noah had started to bruise where he’d been itching.  She felt sick at the thought.  Focus, she told herself as she finished reading the Ascension Island update.  It made no sense except for the fact two other colleagues in both the Pacific and Indian oceans were reporting the same thing. 

The WHO were still working on her samples and she felt helplessly stranded.  The storm hadn’t let up yet and the sight of that poor girl, neck busted open, battered and washed up in the cave was all she could see when she closed her eyes.  That and her son’s face.

#

Astrid awoke from another nightmare screaming; a woman lying dead, spines and overflowing guts swallowing her, filling her mouth and choking her.  She checked her phone.  Nothing.  Not willing to sleep she checked her computer and it was there again, more feedback from outposts on remote islands saying the same thing.  What was it that kid had shouted in the meeting?  

There’s no escape you know …

Meaning what?  Astrid’s eye was caught by the beam of a torch flashing on the distant path to the cave.  She turned her lights off and stood at the window, eyes adjusting to the dark, watching as figure after figure wound their way towards the sea.  

            Quietly she made her way along the path in darkness, not daring to use her torch she felt her way using the towering cliff beside her as a guide.  There were muted voices ahead and the cavern was illuminated from within by what she presumed was a fire.  Rounding the corner to the mouth of the cave she stopped and took in the sight.  Twenty or so local people made a horseshoe shape dressed in their everyday clothes, shoulder to shoulder with heads bowed towards the little beach formed by the tide.  The sea washed in and out, calmer now.

            Astrid jumped as Clare’s strident accented voice cut through the chatter.  “Dr Perowne, please come down, we’ve been waiting for you.”  She made her way to the group which opened to let her in, trying not to let fear overwhelm her.  Glancing around she saw nervous faces, tired faces, sad faces and no one gave her a second look except Clare who’s eye was keen.

            “What’s going on?” asked Astrid, “Why are you all here in the middle of the night?”

            “We didn’t hurt her,” one middle aged woman muttered.

The quiet assent from the group didn’t reassure Astrid, “I had a message from someone telling me to pay attention.  A sign saying ‘drink me’.  I had three urchin shells left outside my lab.  I presume it was the young woman who died?”

“It was,” Clare cut in.  “Warning you.”

Astrid faced Clare as the community gave a collective sigh, “Why?  What should I be afraid of?”

The calm ebb and flow of the sea chattered over the shallow pebble beach where they stood.  Clare McNaught gave a grim smile and looked at her people who appeared defeated.

“Your overseas colleagues have discovered something?” Clare asked.

“Nothing scientific, not anything they can identify from their samples.”

“I see.  Observations of behaviour?  Rituals?  Islanders unaffected whilst others are all dying?”  

Astrid shook her head, “There must be a common thread of resistance we haven’t identified yet?  But we will.”

“You have,” Clare smiled.  “We’re standing here aren’t we?  Blood and cheek swabs won’t tell you about our lives Dr Perowne.  What makes us outliers is how we live.  We depend on the waters surrounding us.  Without the sea we’re nothing and we’re so small, so insignificant it means we can’t harm it.  We fish modestly, we don’t pollute our rivers and streams, we draw water from deep wells, we don’t dump our waste offshore.  We’re grateful for what it gives us.”

Astrid’s throat tightened as faces around her were raised in glum accord, “You come to worship?”  Her mind fixed on the young woman’s body lying on the pebbles where she stood.

“How many deaths is it now?” Clare asked.  “Approaching thirty, forty million by now?  No signs of it slowing down, no vaccine because you don’t understand it.  How many times in human history have we been stricken by plagues, sweating sickness, flu, coronavirus, HIV and so on?  Or hurricanes, earthquakes?  Acts of God?  No!  Nature.  We’re the pestilence; murder, hatred, lies, all manner of cruelty, wars, genocide, famines, poisoning our seas and skies, wiping out species.  For every action a reaction.   Our little federation of islands,” she touched her lapel badge, “we saw it coming.  Signs.  Urchin shells washing up.  A little itch here and there.  Shots across our bows before the continental land masses began to be shredded from within.”

Clare fell silent.  The standing folk began to disperse, crying and holding each other. 

Astrid shook her head, “Warm air rises from the sea, falls as rain, we drink it?”

“Why do you think we come here?  Each night we look for signs, waiting for a response from the sea.  No supply boats, nothing.”  Clare looked desperate, “We will starve in weeks.  Death comes one way or another.”

A message pinged Astrid’s phone, 

“Don’t answer it!” Clare spoke firmly.

“It’s in the water, I have to tell them.”  

“Dr Perowne, it’s too late.”

Astrid fumbled with her phone, a notification from her wife.  She played the video message.  A wretchedly hysterical Carol was pleading for help before her face split apart, dismembered by thick bloodied spines.  The phone tumbled into the encroaching waters.

“Come with me,” Clare placed an arm around Astrid’s trembling shoulders, “I’ll get us a cup of tea.”

END