The End Plague

“We can’t continue to fund you while people are losing their homes and starving. You have 7 days to cease your research.” The man on the screen looked set in his decision.

           “Sir, forgive me, but what good is it finding people shelter and food if all these diseases are wiping them out anyway?” Hamilton’s voice was calm but I knew he was seething inside.

           “Hamilton, it won’t matter if there’s no people left to treat,” he paused briefly, ensuring the point was made, then continued, “WHO has decided to focus its efforts on the basic necessities for life instead. The diseases are regrettable, but not everyone dies. No one survives without food and shelter.”

           “We understand,” I interjected. I knew Hamilton would not drop his stance, but arguing was clearly a dead end.

           “Thank you Amelia,” the man said, “I hope your colleague does as well.”

. . .

“Humanity is resilient, it refuses to die. And it is infectious, placing its roots into the Earth wherever it can. We have seen the same from these viruses and bacteria. Humans have always tried to fight against them, wipe them out. Yet they survive. They bide their time. We’ve seen many old diseases returning during this climate crisis. Ancient ones preserved in the ice, melted and released to wreak havoc. And others which seem to thrive in the warmer temperatures. The World Health Organization views our current predicament in the same light. Earth has attempted to eradicate us. We have acted like viruses and bacteria in many ways. Now we must bide our time as well, focus on the essentials, and wait until our climate recovers.”

“Well that’s a load of bullshit,” Hamilton muttered. He had turned on the TV to see WHO’s press conference. It was only a couple hours since they had informed us about their decision and he was still upset.

           “Hamilton,” I called, “Come look at this.”

           The tall. slim, dark skinned figure strode through the open doorway into the lab. His mask hid his thin moustache but his lively brown eyes were still visible.

           “What’s up?”.

           “I think the latest treatment is working,” I gestured towards the microscope fixed upon the bacterial culture we had been attempting to neutralize.

           Hamilton bent over to gaze through the lens and after a few moments, he rose with a smile.

           “Perhaps another success would convince them not to close us down.”

           I thought about that for a second. The notice of closure was surprising. We had been successful with getting anthrax under control. This new disease, Yersina el finem, or “the End Plague” had recently sprung up and was the most important target.

           “It’s not just that,” I said, “this is the most potent disease I’ve ever seen. It’s extremely deadly, contagious, and resistant to all our antibiotics. If we hadn’t developed this immunosynthetic nanotech we’d have no chance to fight it.”

“James did well with that,” Hamilton said quietly.

“He did,” I said abruptly.

James was my late husband. He was heavily involved in medical biotechnology and had created the miniscule robotic immune cells, which could be programmed to isolate, target and eradicate the most troublesome viruses and bacteria. Antibiotic and antiviral medicines had become less effective over time. His invention was a crucial medical breakthrough. Yet that couldn’t save his life. He had died in one of the fires that were commonplace these days. Almost half of the world’s population had either died or been displaced by the fires and the rising ocean levels. The others that survived had to contend with the proliferation of diseases, dwindling fresh water supplies and struggling agriculture. Hamilton and I were lucky—with our positions we were provided with those essentials.

“We will need time to test that it works for sure,” Hamilton commented.

I nodded, knowing he was right, but also aware that we didn’t have it.

. . .

I stood in front of the mirror. The reflection had become unfamiliar. In the years since James had died, my face had become etched with the stress of my job. It consumed me, but it also helped me to forget. I touched my face. The skin there was dry. My once long, black, flowing hair had been cut short. It was better this way I thought. It didn’t obstruct my work. I continued staring. James always thought I was beautiful. Not exotic. Men who described me that way were usually entitled and insulting. They wanted to “try some Indian” like I was some new item on a menu. But maybe somewhere under those wrinkles and dark patches was the woman James had loved. Perhaps—

“Amelia!” The shout had interrupted my thoughts. “The lab is on fire.”

“Fuck,” I whispered and began running.

The lab was on the opposite end of the compound. Reality sunk in at that moment. We needed to save the samples of bacteria and the immunosynthetic nanobots at all costs.

“Hamilton, the samples, the samples, the samples!”

“I know!” he yelled back.

We were running across the bare expanse of soil now and the flames were ominously visible in the evening light. It had been another hot day and it seems something had caused the wooden structure to catch.

“Fuck,” I said again and pushed my legs to move faster.

I burst through the door, feeling the heat around me and the blinding, disorienting smoke. I stopped to compose myself. Remember where it was, I thought. I felt along the walls, hearing the footsteps of Hamilton behind me until I reached the storage cabinets.

The building seemed to shudder and I yelled, “It’s here, detach it!”

I felt Hamilton’s presence next to me and sensed him fiddling with the attachments until it came lose. Another shudder and part of the roof which was close to us fell.

“Hamilton!” I screamed. For a brief moment I wondered if we were destined for the same fate as James.

“I have it, go, go!” he yelled.

I felt along the walls despite the searing pain it caused in my hands. My eyes were full of tears and I couldn’t control my coughing, but I kept moving. Hamilton kept one of his hands on my shoulder the whole time, letting me guide the way. Another shudder and crash behind us, but I could see the light outside now. I began moving more quickly and collapsed as soon as we were outside, gratefully inhaling mouthfuls of somewhat fresher air.

“Keep going,” Hamilton said, “this thing is collapsing.”

I scrambled up and kept moving at a jog, not bothering to look behind me.

“I always said we should’ve spent the extra money to build it in something less flammable,” Hamilton said.

“You know that was too expensive for us,” I replied airily. “Do you think the fire will spread?”

“Across this bare sand? Probably not.”

“Good, but we should still make sure it doesn’t.”

. . .

“Amelia,” a voice whispered.

I rose groggily. Hamilton and I had stayed up late into the night to make sure the fire didn’t spread. I had then taken a while to fall asleep. My mind kept thinking of James. Did he feel terrified like I did? Or was he calm and accepting of his fate. He had been trapped inside of a house whilst trying to rescue a child. The ceiling had collapsed over both of them and they died. No, I had thought, he probably didn’t have the time to think. That probably killed them instantly.

“Amelia,” Hamilton repeated. The voice came from the corner of the room. I saw him now, standing uneasily.

“Amelia, I think some of our fresh samples broke, and…”

“And?”

“And I may have been infected,” he said.

I became more alert at those words. “Infected?” I repeated cautiously.

“Yes, I have a rash on my right wrist. It’s one of the early symptoms.”

“Well, we may have a cure ready,” I responded automatically.

“We aren’t sure about that yet.”

“It will work,” I insisted.

I rose and moved to the outer room to get the cabinet. I paused for a second then asked,

“Did you clean up the leak?”

“Yes, but perhaps it would be safer if I administered the treatment myself.”

“That’s fine.”

“At least we have a good test subject now,” he joked and I did not respond.

. . .

Hamilton’s condition worsened over the next few days, but he seemed to start recovering as the nanobots did their work. It was the 5^th day since the notice was given, and I decided it was time to reopen communications with WHO.

“We may have the cure,” I said.

“That’s good, but it doesn’t mean you can continue your work. We’re grateful that you finished this, but the decision has been made.”

“That’s okay,” I replied, “so long as it’s able to help people.”

“You know you two will be forced into the crumbling outside world. We can’t pay you for this. We can’t offer you anything. You’ll have to fend for food, water, and a home like everyone else.”

“What about the house here?” I asked.

“It will be dismantled and used for material elsewhere.”

“Well,” I looked at him in directly in his eyes, “I’m sure we will find a way.”

On the 6^th day, Hamilton had fully recovered and I told him what WHO had said. Surprisingly, he wasn’t angry, but he too seemed ready to survive without them.

“It’s been 84 years since the 2050 prediction,” Hamilton said. “They’ve still not figured it out. But at least we’ve done something to help people.”

“Figured out what?” I asked.

“How to save us. Perhaps the prediction was true, that was the point of no return. Perhaps we’re just delaying the inevitable, you know.”

“And yet you just beat the supposed ‘End Plague’,” I responded. “So maybe we aren’t.”

“Maybe we aren’t,” he repeated and we fell into silence.

I walked outside to look at the area that had become home. The laboratory was a burnt skeleton at the far end of the rectangle. The land that stretched around us was basically a desert now. This had once been a savannah, and I believe the island had been called Trinidad. The mountains still rose proudly in the distance but I imagined it was more beautiful when it was full of greenery. Most noticeable of all though, the sun blazed unapologetically in the sky. It seemed to roar a protest and a challenge. It gave us life and it would take it away in an instant. Perhaps, if the sun could think, it saw us as diseases destroying the Earth. Perhaps we are the End Plague and nature is just trying to find the cure. 

(Word Count: 1789)