Free Terminal by Brian Williams Page A

scalp.
    â€˜Okay, in English,’ he said.
    â€˜You need some of our blood?’ Will asked.
    â€˜That’s right. I’ve been working to identify the viral bodies so I can isolate them,’ Werner explained, inclining his head at the microscope. ‘So far I haven’t been successful.’ Then he got to his feet and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves. ‘You see, this ward you’re in was established because there was always the spectre of a new bacterium or viral strain seeping into our world from the surface. And because we would lack any natural resistance to it, it was feared that it might rip through the population. This plague that struck us was too virulent forour doctors to do anything in time.’
    â€˜But you know how to prepare a vaccine from our blood?’ Will asked.
    Werner nodded. ‘The antigens in you will mean that I have a ready-made vaccine to inoculate us, and any other survivors we find, against the plague.’ He asked Will and Elliott to sit down, then used syringes to extract samples of blood from each of them. He told them that once he’d prepared the vaccine, either he or his brother would test it out first because if it went wrong then they couldn’t both afford to be incapacitated at the same time.
    â€˜That’ll be me then … the guineafowl,’ Jürgen said, nodding sanguinely.
    â€˜I think it’s guinea pig ,’ Will corrected him.
    â€˜So you don’t need us any longer? Elliott asked.
    â€˜No, but if you’re agreeable, would you mind staying until we know the vaccine is viable? I might need some more samples,’ Werner said. ‘What’s the English expression – better safe than sorry.’
    â€˜Okay … but how long do you want us to stick around?’ Will asked, eager to leave the city and return to their base in the jungle.
    â€˜Forty-eight hours maximum,’ Werner replied, already taking their blood samples over to a centrifuge as he began his work.
    Jürgen escorted Will and Elliott from the laboratory and down a corridor, past several doors. ‘We have some rooms for you along here.’ He indicated the right-hand side of the corridor. ‘These are all isolation rooms, self-contained living quarters with their own distinct air filtration so you can remove your masks in them to eat and drink.’
    They’d passed several of these isolation rooms when Will caught sight of something through the inspection window in one of the doors that made him pull up sharply.
    â€˜I don’t believe it!’ he exclaimed as he saw the figure perched on the edge of the sleeping cot, its skin rough and whorled like the bark of an old tree. ‘That’s a bushman, isn’t it? How did you get him to come here?’
    â€˜I’ve never seen one alive before,’ Elliott said, going to the window to peer in.
    The bushman had his head towards her, his small brown eyes the only recognisable human feature until he opened his mouth and she saw his pink tongue. He appeared to be saying something.
    â€˜But why is he here?’ Will pressed Jürgen.
    â€˜I was one of a small team in the Institute of Antiquities that have been working with the indigenous population – or the tribespeople, as we refer to them – for the last decade,’ Jürgen replied. ‘We established contact on an expedition and kept it from the military, who had it in their minds that they were hostile. Actually they had no idea what was in that sector of the jungle, but if they had known, they would most likely have mounted an operation to round them up.’
    Jürgen took a breath. ‘It was regrettable that several servicemen lost their lives when they were mistakenly considered to be a threat to the pyramids. We were able to prevent any further deaths by talking to the tribespeople and making them understand.’
    Will was shaking his head as he realised something. ‘So