A Mother's Love - - (whitelam books txt) 📗

brighten as if the question excited him.

“Ah, that is a totally different scenario.  Bites infect the host much quicker.”

“I'm sorry…the host?”

“The person bitten,” the professor said, now visibly irritated by the idiot he was sharing the broadcast with.  “Those bitten will change much quicker. The saliva of Homo Vampirous acts almost like a catalyst to spread the infection through the victim's system.”

“So, we are definitely stating that the virus mutates people into a new species?”

“I wouldn't use the word mutate, and you must remember, it is only the males of our species that undergo the change.”

“Are women immune to the virus then?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” the professor said before he caught himself.  He forced a smile onto his lips.  “For women, the virus is debilitating, occasionally lethal.  But the lack of a Y chromosome means they do not become converted.  Instead, they seem to become the most sought-after food of the Virals.”

“Have there been no reports of any female vampires?”

“No, none that I am aware of.”  A murmuring could be heard in the audience watching the broadcast.

“Is there any word on a cure, Professor?”

“A cure?  There is not, and there will never be a cure.”

“That's a frightening statement, Professor.”  The audience seemed to agree.

“Frightening but true.  It infects and spreads too rapidly.  Many of the facilities researching the virus have already been overrun.”

“We've had reports that the CDC centre of operations in Atlanta has been lost.”

“Indeed,” the Professor said sadly.  “That was one of the first research hubs to fall to the virus.”

“For our listening audience, Professor, what advice do you have on how to deal with this present emergency?”  The professor dipped his head slightly, before looking directly into the camera.

“Pray.”

Liz was ripped from her thoughts by the lurching of the train, the brakes clearly being applied.  She wouldn't say she was comfortable with the stench around her, but she had acclimatised to it.  Looking at her watch, she saw that she had been on her feet for over twelve hours. Her calves were sore and threatening to spasm.  Ruby had been spared most of it.  Being in the corner, there had been just enough room for the child to sit on the cold metal ground, her knees held against her chest by defensive arms.  It was only when the blinding lights erupted back into life that Liz got to see how uncomfortable her daughter looked.  Tired and petrified eyes looked back up at her, and Liz thrust a hand down for her daughter, who eagerly took it.

The train lurched again, finally coming to a stop.  There was hushed silence in the carriage, the uncertainty of what awaited everyone weighing on them.  What would they find when the doors finally opened?  Was this really the safety that was promised?  Above her head, the air conditioning buzzed, bringing fresh oxygen to those who were close to giving up altogether.  There were over a hundred people in here with Liz, but she had no idea how many were on the train in total.

The door to freedom finally opened and a wail of relief surged through the people like a wave.  Without being told, the women started to unload themselves, the pressing on Liz gradually easing.  She had already decided to wait and be the last one out.  If there was terror rather than sanctuary out there, she wanted to spare her daughter that for as long as possible.

Liz already knew in her heart that this wasn't a rescue, but she kept this certainty from her daughter.

Not all the women got off the train.  As the masses unloaded themselves, some bodies fell to the floor.  Some might have just fainted, but others were clearly dead, the trip and the trauma too much for them.  Standing firm in the corner, Liz waited until everyone who could exit did so, a dozen still forms left behind.

“Do we go now?” Ruby enquired.

“In a moment, honey.”  Liz had an expectation of what happened next, and she wasn't disappointed.  She remembered what her grandmother, a survivor of Belsen, had told her.

“Once the trains were emptied, the Kapos would enter to clear away the dead bodies.  They would pile them up outside the train, the mounds piling high with the numbers being transported.”

The words ended in her mind, just as people started to climb aboard.  Liz stepped forward hesitantly.  She expected to be told off by these new arrivals, but at most, she got a blank stare.  Dressed as they were in orange jump suits, these people looked like prisoners.  It was also hard to miss that they were all females.

Liz knew she couldn't stay here any longer.

“Come on, honey,” Liz urged her daughter, who was now standing.  She pulled on Ruby's arm harder than she needed to which got a squeal of complaint.  “We can't stay here.”

  When she reached the open door, Liz realised her prospects outside the train weren't much improved.  She saw a similar set up to the previous station, except the wire mesh tunnels leading away from this platform were all colour coded.  A loudspeaker voice was telling them to leave the platform by their designated colour, each carriage arranged so that it was matched up to the correct tunnel.

Liz could see that each tunnel led into an array of long tents, and she stepped down from the train, arms held up for Ruby to jump into.  As weary as she was, she didn't lower her daughter to the ground, the arms snaking around her neck as the child tried to get some sort of comfort from the only person who could protect her.  Protect?  Liz knew she could do nothing for her daughter now, not in that regard.  Warily, she joined the back of the line to her tunnel.

There were more women in orange jump suits inside the tents, but no men were visible.  There didn't need to be, because there were surveillance cameras covering every inch and every interaction that could occur in here.  Several of the new arrivals tried to converse with those in orange, but every attempt at an interaction was ignored.

“At first some of the Kapos tried to help as many as they could, but that soon stopped when the punishments were meted out.  There were too many amongst them willing to sell out their own kind just for an extra ration of mouldy bread.”  Liz wondered if this was the case here.  She knew others were having the same thoughts, but most of the women would still be clinging onto the hope that this was the salvation that had been promised—even as they took off their clothes per the instructions on the signs arrayed around the tent.  Even as they walked forward naked, queuing up for the showers that awaited them.

There was no resistance.

Liz had no illusions, and she followed the instructions in numb disbelief.  Ruby protested at being made to strip naked, but Liz persisted until her child relented.  Being at the back now seemed like the worst idea possible.  If something bad was to happen, better to have it over with quickly.  This was a scene Liz thought had been retired to the horrors of history.  How could it be made any worse but for the next tent to contain showers?

It made no sense though.  The holocaust that almost saw the extermination of European Jews had been a prolonged event brought on by forces that had taken years to rise to power.  And there was no discrimination here. Every religion imaginable was likely represented.  Only there was a different type of segregation.  Everyone now walking to the showers was the female of the species.

“I don't want to, Mummy,” Ruby begged.  Liz knew the only choice was to keep moving forward, so she pressed her child onwards.  She felt resigned to her fate.  She could have screamed; could have ripped at her own flesh, but that wouldn't have helped anyone.  If anything, it might have set some of the others off, and there was no telling what might have happened then.

Last in line, Ruby and Liz stepped through into the shower area.

Surely, they weren't about to be put to death.  It would have been much easier just to have killed them all at the railway station or in their homes.  Above her, the shower heads loomed.  A temporary affair by the look of it; likely something used for soldiers in the field.  Catching a sound, Liz threw a harried glance behind her, the tent flaps being closed by one of the orange-clad minions.  Just in that briefest moment, Liz made eye contact--utter sorrow and regret looking back at her.

I know what is about to happen to you, those eyes said. But there is nothing I can do to help you.

Liz wasn't to know that the tent flaps now made an airtight seal. This tented area was big enough to house everyone from the red carriages.  There would be similar set ups for those of a different colour, Liz imagined, and she wasn’t wrong in that regard.  Holding her daughter tight to her midriff, Liz waited for the icy water to descend.  Experience told her there would be no heated shower here.

She was right, but there wasn't any water either.  As the invisible gas began to fill the air around her, Liz knew her worst fears were confirmed.  Before anyone had a chance to panic, people began to fall to the ground as the effects of the gas worked quickly.  The last thought Liz had before unconsciousness took her was that she had failed her daughter.

***

When Liz woke up, she was no longer naked.  That was the only good thing about her situation.  She was wearing a jump suit with some thin and feeble slippers perched on her feet.  But this jump suit wasn't orange; it was red.  She was lying on a mattress that had been placed on the floor of a wire-walled cell that was three metres by three metres.  The ground underneath her and the back wall were concrete, with a chemical toilet the only other thing in her enclosure.

It took her several seconds to realise there was a cannula in the back of her hand.

“What the …?”

Because the walls of her cell were made of thick wire, she could see other cells aligned along both sides of a wooden walkway. The whole scene was illuminated by bright florescent strips above.  By the looks of things, she was the first person to wake up.

Where the hell was her daughter?

“Ruby?” she screamed at the top of her lungs.  “Ruby, can you hear me?”  The only answer was the delayed sound of a door opening and a pounding in her skull.

As in the tents, it was obvious that she, and everyone imprisoned here, was under constant surveillance.  Whatever this place was, it had been built specifically for the purpose of holding the people now trapped here.

Footsteps wandered toward her, their owner probably drawn by her evident transgression.  Not knowing what was about to transpire, Liz cowered against the rear wall of her cell, the cold of the concrete eating quickly through her clothing.

“Keep away from me,” she warned.  Still, the footsteps came closer, the angulation of the wire cages slowly showing the tall man who was approaching.  Before he was fully in her sight, she knew who it was, her heart dropping even further into despair.  She should have been elated, but she knew there would be no rescue here.

“John?”

“Hi babe,” her husband said, stopping outside her cage.  He fiddled with the padlock that kept the door to her cage firmly closed.  Liz felt the last of her resolve melt from her.

“Oh, John.”

“I'm really sorry about this,