23 hours - the twenty second hour

21.00. ‘Good evening,’ says the newsreader, ‘and welcome to the nine o’clock news. In the face of unprecedented reports of hundreds, possibly thousands dying from a mysterious virus, the NHS is chaos and stories that this is linked to an international group made up of some of the most powerful and influential people in the world we have the following statement. All over the country people are glued to their tv’s computers and tablets. The Minister begins his statement.

21.05. I feel sick. He is still talking with manufactured sincerity. The words drip from his lips and he shows no sign in either tone or body language that he is lying and knows it. The scale of the crisis is laid out with blame firmly attached to the ‘forces outside the UK’. People are told to ‘stay at home or work, the virus is extremely virulent. If we can stop the spread we stand a chance. Our top scientists are currently working on plans to halt its advance.’ Out in the real world people are hugging their loved ones.

21.10. The group editor has shown that his spine has little rigidity when it comes to dealing with the owner of this media empire. He is on the verge of taking down the story, even though they now know it’s not just is true but even worse than they imagined. He looks at the screen displaying the story and sees it update. A picture of the owner is now in the middle of the page along with other influential faces including the Minister. Underneath the single word – ‘ACCUSED’. ‘Who they hell did this?’ he shouts. ‘I did,’ says the online Editor, ‘You said the people deserve the truth’.

21.15. The Minister is coming towards the end of statement that is being relayed on every media channel possible around the world. The newsreader knows he has one chance of a question, one chance to ask what everyone might want to know. Suddenly he has a voice in his ear gabbling excitedly. ‘Minister,’ he says interrupting his final words, ‘Are you aware that a leading national newspaper has accused you and a group of influential people of being behind this situation and that there is no evidence of outside forces?’

21.20. Faith and I sit staring at our coffees. It is clear that this is out of control. The physical virus is spreading and reports are coming through of the web beginning to show erratic functioning as the virus infiltrates. 3g and other mobile networks have failed and our over reliance on the internet is now beginning to look like a bad mistake. I look up to see tears in her eyes. ‘We did our best,’ I say. “I know,’ she replies, ‘It’s what they have done that I can’t forgive.’

21.25. There is one network that isn’t being degraded or failing. A network that only a small group of extremely powerful people know about and have access to. Hand held devices are being activated and pre-programmed messages with instructions are being sent. Those in the ‘know’ have always had an exit planned in case this scenario happened. It’s what money and power deserve they believe. They made this world, it’s their wealth that has fed the system. However the mass of the population suffer they will be safe.

21.30. The office is empty apart from his PA and him. ‘We’d better go know,’ he says to her gathering his case with a few belongings plus a photo of his family who he will never see again. ‘You go,’ she says ‘I will just do a final look round’. As he leaves the office he turns to see her go up to the portrait of the man who had ruled the organisation without failure for decades. He pulls the door to and misses her lean up and kiss the painting. She mutters ‘goodbye my love,’ and takes a small pill from her purse.

21.35. ‘We can’t just stay here,’ says Faith and gets up leading us back to the CRISIS room. She stands in the doorway and glances round the stricken faces. The screens are showing the extent of the disease but keep freezing or blanking out. I watch her glance around the room. ‘Where is he?’ she says. Without reply she shouts it again. A senior member looks up, ‘He’s gone back up to his office.’ She turns and sets off again.

21.40. The group Editor bangs the phone down. ‘For fu*ks sake what else is not going to work. He turns to the reporter. ‘You and you, get up to his office and start asking him questions. If he’s going down we are not going with him. Go and be blo*dy journalists and nail the b*stard.’ They run to the lifts but they are not working. It’s going to be a long climb up thirteen flights to the penthouse. If he has been part of what is happening and has happened it’s going to be hard to stay professional.

21.45. The hitman watches as a helicopter hovers over the building. Slowly it descends to land on top of the roof. His phone no longer works so he is going to have to decide on what to do himself. It is clear that the situation is in ‘meltdown’. He smiles, he knows that helicopter well, he knows what is happening. Years of obeying orders means he does not judge. For him the strong survive at the expense of the weak, that is the order of things. He has a mission to complete.

21.50. The reporter and colleague knock on the door of the media owners office that occupies the top floor, an area bigger than most people’s entire house. The reporter has only been here once as a sycophant, part of a staff party to celebrate the purchase of another huge chunk of international media. He remembers seeing the Prime Minister, senior religious leaders and other international moguls sharing the moment. He feels sick in his mouth as he makes the link with the current situation.

21.55. The staff at hospitals have had to give up. The numbers are too great and there is nothing they can do anyway. In many areas rioting is breaking out. Despite Twitter, Facebook and other social media slowly collapsing the message of what has and is happening has spread. Across the world people are rising up against those that have ruled them, their anger at the realisation of the level of corruption unbridled. Others hide, boarding up there homes and sinking into the safety of the family.

23 hours - the twenty first hour

20.00. The house has been stormed. The computer snatched. All the young people have been bundled out into the helicopter, all but the one boy who had died in the corner. He will be taken away by a black van that has pulled up outside. Through windows opposite and down the road worried neighbours watch with trepidation. In a bedroom opposite and girl updates her Facebook status.

20.05. Hospitals in the defined area are now at total capacity and all leave and holidays have been cancelled. Medical staff have been called back but there is little hope in stemming the tide. Even in places as far away from the current ‘infected area’ as Scotland and Cornwall people are presenting themselves at A&E with their fears.

20.10. The newspaper has never had so many hits on its website. The number of comments has exceeded moderation and most are from those who have always believed there was an international conspiracy behind everything. This report seems to support that paranoia. Other UK media is having to follow the lead and speculation is creating massive falls in the international money market. In some other countries media there is talk of a new ‘plague’ in the country.

20.15. The Minister is going to have to make a public appearance on the media. The BBC is the only trusted route. They have agreed that he will appear live at the start of the 9pm news. Now they have to work out what it is that they can say. Faith and I have now been sidelined. It’s about politics now. Well, it actually about power and I suppose it always has been. In my naivety I believed those at the top were doing things for the better of others. Now it’s clear it has always been about them and theirs.

20.20. At the anonymous offices computers are being wiped, paperwork shredded and burnt, desks and chairs moved to a secure lock up in the basement. The Zurich team have signalled for three helicopters to transfer everyone away and onto their ship at Portsmouth. As his office is emptied he stares out of the window. Since he has worked for the organisation he has dreamt of being in charge. He has been in control for less than twelve hours and everything has collapsed around him.

20.25. The computer and USB stick are in the basement in a sealed bag to prevent further contamination but they know it is too late. The virus has spread. The biological one has been out and spreading for hours. The computer virus entered the veins of the internet 55 minutes ago. They were so frightened that someone would stumble onto their wrongdoings that they produced a programme that will have unimaginable consequences just to protect their secret.

20.30. The newspapers website has collapsed three times under the weight of the site visits. The group editor is shouting at the head of IT. The head of IT quietly reminds him that it was his decision not to invest in the upgrade because, as he said, ‘No one believes what’s on line and it’s not worth the money.’ Astonishing how the result of his decision is everyone else’s fault. It’s that type of brazen approach lacking any shame or guilt keeps people at the top.

20.35. The journalist, who has found himself elbowed to the side of the story, is sitting at his desk staring through to the glass office where he can see the group editor shouting at the heads of department. He is rightly pi**ed off with them all. He had the scoop, he had the questions but as soon as it gets interesting he’s pushed back in his place. He knew the world was sh*t and unjust but this is the most visible it has felt. He quietly lifts two fingers under the desk towards them all. His mobile phone rings.

20.40. I am listening to the weasel words being honed for the Minister to speak on the BBC. They are going to shift the blame towards forces outside the UK and how the powers that be are doing everything they can to repel this ‘invasion’. They are struggling to find a plausible narrative that will rebut the accusations in the media and point the finger away from the people of power to an unknown force determined to challenge world democracy. The Minister rehearses the draft taking on almost Churchillian tones. Twenty minutes to broadcast.

20.45. The hospitals are collapsing and a spokesperson is forced to go onto TV and radio to defend the cuts and reduction in bed spaces. He knows it was a cut too far but didn’t realise it would be revealed in such a way. He is however able to blame the current situation on ‘unprecedented demand’. After a series of questions a reporter from a satellite channel snaps in the face of such bland responses. ‘But hundreds are dying,’ she shouts, ‘What are you going to do about it?’ The spokesman, unaware of the catastrophe inexorably building, says ‘everything we can’.

20.50. The journalist has hung up and he is an another state of shock. It is just too awful to contemplate. He types in the web address that he has been given and his screen is filled with the supportive paperwork that validates the story. He now knows about the two viruses – physical and virtual. He stands up and walks towards the glass office, not pausing he opens the door. ‘What do you want? shouts the group editor. ‘You need to know and see this. It’s bad, worse than we thought and…’ ‘What?’ says the Editor. ‘Our owner is in this right up to his neck.’

20.55. The hitman is sitting outside the building following everything on his mobile. He now knows he is caught in something that is of a scale that he cannot comprehend and cannot prevent. In such a situation he will do what he always has done, honour his contract. Two to kill and then he can escape. The streets are deserted. The security officers for the building have gone inside. He is hiding in full view. It makes him smile.

A family of drugs

He had spent most of his working life on the project. He knew it was niche, he knew he was the only one operating in the field but something told him there must be a relationship worth exploring. He was a scientist with head bent low, following a belief.

The relationship was key and, as fears grew about the ongoing effectiveness of the previous wonder drugs, his work became more important. He just had to find out if Unclebiotics would work. It would be a family of drugs.

This Was the Day

Written without correction or going back. Just as it tumbled from head to fingers. Doesn't make it good, just what it is

This was the day
This was the day I wanted
The longest day
With the woman I love
A day to treasure
A day to remember
A memory for the shelf
To be pulled down 
And lived again
When the days are short and dark
When the mind is clouded
And the light hidden 
By the fears and worries
That haunt the the night
I can stand facing remembered sun
Staring at the sky
Eyelids shut, bathed in warmth 
Holding the hand of my love
My shadow cast behind me
Unseen
This was the day  

23 hours - the twentieth hour

19.00. The email has now reached the media. Broadcasters and publishers all over the UK are transmitting the news. People are advised to go inside and stay where they are. Do not travel or move about on the streets if that can be avoided. Those already travelling should get out as soon as they can and seek shelter. A further announcement will be made in two hours. The journalist reads the statement and decides it’s time to talk to his Editor.

19.05. The Health Service is experiencing demand levels that are already beginning to causing collapse. The media information is stating that the skin reactions are caused by the high levels of pollution. Patients showing signs must be isolated immediately. A number of Doctor’s in A&E are already doubting that this is a reaction to pollution.

19.10. In the basement the maps are being updated with information fed from the hospitals. It is clear that, with a few exceptions, the trails of infections lead from near Betcherton to London almost following the railway lines. There is still a chance to contain the spread if they act quickly. The army is immediately actioned. The commander in the basement cannot resist making a sly comment about having reduced numbers due to cuts.

19.15. The Editor and senior team cannot believe what they have just heard. It is so massive, so terrifying that they just can’t credit it. And yet, something about it, possibly it’s very scale and perverseness make it seem real. Finally the Editor let’s out a sentence that has rarely echoed in this room because it is so bald. ‘People deserve to know the truth’. The next chapter of horror is about to be written.

19.20. The lads and girls leave the underground and are surprised to see the streets near Jane’s mum’s flat are really quiet and empty. ‘What the hell’s going on, it’s like a Zombie movie,’ says one and the others laugh. Within a few moments they have climbed the stair and are inside. Jane turns on her computer while the other get glasses for the drink they have bought. After logging in the USB stick is inserted and the password box flashes up.

19.25. News is delivered straight away to both the basement and, in another office, the Zurich team. Tracking is underway and the Minister authorises the Army to locate the stick. They will be in full protective clothes and can use weapons if required. This news is also leaked to the man in control of the Zurich operation via his PA. This is no time to reveal their involvement so discretion is the answer. Besides the growth in public illness is making him nervous.

19.30. They are having fun trying different passwords. Each shouting ruder and ruder thoughts and laughing as they fail. Finally the boy who took the USB stick from the computer at the shop says ‘Armageddon’. Having spelt it wrong twice they finally enter it and the screen unlocks. They all turn to the boy I awe before one of the girls shouts and points. ‘What the f**k has happened to your arm.

19.35. The first edition of their paper will be in the morning but they are going to put teasers on line to make sure there will be record sales. Having reviewed the copy four times the lawyers have finally approved it. They sit and watch the screen in the board room as it goes onto the site. The online editor has never had this much attention. He watches the site hits bar. It remains stubbornly stuck where it was and then there begins a gentle increase.

19.40. With the army moving towards the USB stick the Zurich team look to their new young boss. He tells them to wait outside and asks them to send in his PA. She slowly walks in and shuts the door behind herself. He is sitting at the desk where for so many years her lover had sat. He looks up to her. He is worn out and looking visibly older already. ‘Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown’, she thinks. He looks up at her. ‘What would he have done?’ He asks her quietly.

19.45. The girls are screaming. The pus is weeping from his arm and the rash and boils have gone to his face. He is slumped in the corner. One of the boys is staring and can’t stop shouting ‘what the f**k is going on.’ He turns to them and sees a boil on one of the girls faces. He screams even louder and points. Their screams are drowned out by the sound of a helicopter landing in the park opposite. They rush to the window in time to see a stream of people in white suits rushing to the house.

19.50. She has given him her counsel. His previous boss and the ‘father of the organisation’ knew when to cut his losses. There is no way they can compete with the army, it would make them too public and potentially unravel too much. They key is now to protect themselves and their clients. A knock on the door ends their conversation. One of the Zurich team says, ‘You’d better see this.’

19.55. In the basement the screen shows the front page of a national newspapers website. There is a moment of jaw dropping silence as people begin to scan the article. ‘Where did they get this from?’ he asks no one in particular. The article is accompanied by photographs of some of the most powerful and influential people not just in the UK but worldwide. His photo is in the centre of the web. ‘But it’s rubbish,’ says Faith, ‘Isn’t it?’ The silence makes her repeat the question. ‘Isn’t it?’