Part 18 (2/2)

Chris - his voice tight and low in the darkness.

'My b.l.o.o.d.y hand. It burns. There's something on the body. There's something on it Chris. Acid. Something. Christ, that hurts.'

Chris worked his way closer. I sat down and waited for him to arrive. It seemed to take him for ever to cross the few metres that separated us.

When he got close he examined my hand as well as he could in the gloom.

'You're right? Smells like hydrochloric acid. A weak solution.' A moment.

'We need water. There'll be some in the chopper. Can you reach it?'

'I'm not going anywhere. I have to know.'

If it's Bernice that's dying right in front of me. Chris nodded, moved closer to the body. 'Don't touch her!'

'Don't worry.'

The sound of breathing intensified then, just for a moment. As if someone was drawing breath.

'- infected -'

The voice was rough, gurgling, unmistakably female. Chris stopped a few feet from the body. 'Can you hear me? You have acid b.u.ms.'

'- virus -'

'You must stay still. We'll get -'

'- infected - '

I went cold. Something in that whispering death-voice made me want to scream and run. My hand was burning. I felt sick. My arm was burning.

Something metallic fell with a clinking noise on to the block.

'-serum -'

'What is it? Chris? What did she drop?'

'It's a hypospray. A medical hypospray.'

'What does she mean - infection?'

'I don't know.'

'Chris ... my arm's killing me. Not just my hand. It's spreading. And I feel sick. I can't - I gasped for breath. My skin was on fire. I rubbed the sleeve of my jacket. It just made the pain worse. 'Chris! Jesus, it feels like my arm's on fire!'

'- two doses. Thought I could contain spread of . . . use hypo or you'll -' Her voice was an agonized whisper. Through my own pain I wondered how she could hold it together enough to speak rationally at all, let alone give advice.

Suddenly I leapt forward, wrenching off my jacket and flinging it away as I went. I groped for Chris in the darkness. I found him, wrenched the hypospray from his grasp, pressed it against my arm and triggered a dose.

My arm went numb.

I fell over, fought the urge to be sick. 'Chris - seems to have -'

I was sick then.

Chris picked up the hypo, turned to inject the woman.

'- no! Too late for . . . contagion! Infection! Inject yourself or -'

Another scream.

Dimly I was aware of Chris hovering, uncertain in the darkness. 'For Christ's sake! Give her the serum! Bernice -'

'We don't know it's -'

'- only one dose. I'm a vector! Inject yourself. Kill me -'

'Chris! Dose her!'

'Jason shut up!'

'- shoot me -'

'Chris it's Benny!'

'What if she's right?'

'-please -'

'What if I'm -'

'- kill me -'

'- infected I'll -'

A scream. A terrible scream. Not her. Me.

Chris injected himself.

I crawled towards Chris. I don't know what I intended to do. Hit him? Hurt him? Something. I could hardly move. He was on his knees, fighting the urge to be sick, gun drawn, placed at her head. Oh G.o.d. No. Not that. Not Benny, Not my Benny. Please not that! Her voice was a whisper, her plea for death a wet gurgle.

'Chris, it's Benny. Don't shoot her!'

'Christ, Jason, she's dying can't you see that? Smell it?'

He repositioned the gun.

<script>