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Exploring the Variety of Random
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the humps of the city, until at last all but the higher tops of the
buildings sank under the woolly wave.
The sense of urgent discovery had faded from my mind. There was
something I had to remember, I knew, something that my mind had
worked out as I slept, but, though I searched for a clue, it would not
come. Idly, in my wakefulness, I watched the fishing fleet as it slowly
sank in the mist, until at last even the tall masts were gone. A bad
night to be out fishing, I thought, but a good night for smugglers or
anybody who didn't want to be seen.
"By God ... that's it! That must be it!"
The key had turned. The clue had been found. The sudden
excitement of discovery set the pulse pounding in my ears until I
thought it must be audible, like the ticking of an alarm clock. I opened
the closet and rummaged in my suitcase for the sweater and light
windbreaker and my old, cut-down paratrooper boots that I had
brought from my apartment. It would be cold where I wanted to go,
and go I must, virus or no virus.
I had just finished blousing my pants over my socks, GI style, and
was moving towards the door when it opened, and Pat, holding a
book in one hand, yawned in my face.
"What's all the noise about?" she said, standing there sleepily in her
rumpled pajamas. The yawn froze in amazement and then snapped
shut as her eyes travelled over me.
"Well, I declare!" she said. "Where on earth are you going?"
"I haven't time to explain," I said in a low voice, afraid of waking
Hallam.
She suspected as much. "Have you told the Chief?"
"No, I don't want to tell him just now. I've got a hunch on this virus
warfare idea of his. It's only a wild guess and I've got to go out to
follow it up. He might not want me to take the risk of catching flu."
"I don't want you to either."
"I'm sorry, Honey, but I've got to do it. There's too much riding on this
thing to let our personal affairs interfere."
"But you said yourself it's only a wild guess. Why risk our whole future
on that?"
"Look, I'm going to keep away from people as much as possible, but
I'm going out just the same. This may be the last chance I'll ever get
to see if the boss is right."
"Then I'm going with you."
"Oh, hell! This is no job for a woman."
"It's no job for one man! Either I go or I wake up Dr. Hallam."
"All right," I said resignedly. "On your own head be it."

We trotted down the stairs and over to the parking lot. The Ferguson
started easily and picked up speed quickly as the hydraulic drive fed
power to the four wheels. I watched the center strip and wished for
the radar control that was now being installed on the turnpikes south
of the border. We didn't have it here yet so I had to rely on what little
my eyes and ears revealed as we tunnelled through the fog. Over the
Burrard Bridge it seemed thinner and we made better time. We dived
back into the depths along Georgia and I used the curb as a guide as
we curved through Stanley Park and over the Lion's Gate bridge. The
tunnel would have been quicker but I wanted to see the extent of the
fog. At the center of the bridge it was too deep to tell but that in itself
was encouraging. We swung around the cloverleaf and on to the old
West Van. road.
"Where are we going? Horseshoe Bay?" Pat said quietly, as she drew
on a cigarette. It was the first time she had spoken since we started. I
liked that about her; she could wait better than any other woman I
knew.
"Yes, to the wharf."
"I'd like to know why, if you don't mind telling me."
"I don't mind at all. You should know," I said, and paused to reflect.
"Light me a cigarette and I'll give you the whole picture as I see it."
I was lining up the facts in my mind as she put the burning cigarette
to my lips.
"The first thing we have to do," I began, "is to assume that Hallam is
right. If he is, if this is biological warfare, then how did it get started?
There are several possible ways. The virus could be brought in by
agents; it could be sprayed, or floated, or in some fashion sent
ashore from ships or submarines; or it could be seeded from the air,
either by aircraft or by something like those balloons the Japanese
sent over on the air currents during World War II. Now, it started right
in the city of Vancouver, so it seems to me that would rule out some
of these possibilities."
"The balloon theory for one," Pat murmured.
"Right. Balloons drift as they please and anyway none has been
reported. The same is true of airborne mists or floating devices. They
would hardly have such a localized effect to begin with; that seems to
rule out air or sea propagation, at least in the general sense."
"You mean except for agents coming by air or sea?"
"Exactly! Let's look at the air entry possibilities. The Russian air lines
are now running regular over-the-pole flights that land here, but our
customs people are quite strict and our mechanics help to service
their planes. I doubt if they'd take a chance on bringing in stuff that
way."
"What about freighters docking here or in New Westminster?"
"A very good possibility, but here too they have to evade customs and
harbor police, and with the occasional seaman jumping ship to claim
political asylum, the RCMP must keep a close watch on the
movements of the crew. I think we have to rule this out."
"Then the only other way is agents coming overland; but that doesn't
make sense," she objected. "Why would they come all the way out
west, or if they sneaked in from Mexico, why start the epidemic up
here in the north where we are so much stricter?"
"I don't believe these agents came by land, for the reasons you've
mentioned. I believe they come in by sea."
"You mean by submarine?"
"No, although that would seem likely at first thought. There have been
too many reports, in the last few years, of unidentified submarines off
the coast. The Royal Canadian Navy and the United States
Coastguard and Navy are watching all the time. It would be too big a
risk." I stopped for emphasis. "You must remember Dr. Hallam's
second postulate. The first was that this is a war. The second, that it
is a hidden war. The presence of submarines along the coast would
almost certainly cause suspicion ... and that must not be, if the war is
to succeed."
"Then I give up, John. How else could it be done?"
"By deep sea fishing boats."
"You mean Russian ships?"
"No, that would be obvious."
"Gracious, John, you are being obscure," she complained. "Then they
must be communist Chinese."
"Wrong again! Still too obvious; and with the measlepox raising Hell
in China we wouldn't let any Chinese boat near the coast right now."
"For Goodness sake, stop being so mysterious. You sound like a
murder mystery where the hero turns out to be the murderer."
"Not that either," I smiled and patted her silky knee.

She laid her head on my shoulder and sighed. "Sometimes, darling, I

just give up on you. I'd be real annoyed if you weren't so sweet."
"All right, I'll tell you. It's Japanese fishing boats."
She lifted her head again to look at me in amazement. "Japanese!
You mean the Japs are helping the Russians?"
"No, I mean the Russians are using Japs."
"Dear Lord," she murmured, "the man's gone nuts." She turned to
face me. "And you were accusing the Chief of being fantastic."
"The whole thing is fantastic, but if we start by believing Dr. Hallam's
assumption, incredible though it may seem, then we arrive, by
elimination, at the solution I've just stated."
"You may have arrived," she said. "I haven't even started."
I butted my cigarette and threw it out. "Here's how it works," I said.
"We always think of the Russians as coming from Europe and of
Russian agents approaching from the Atlantic side. That was largely
the case until World War II, at least until the end of that war, when the
Soviets moved out of Siberia and took over some of the old Japanese
territory in Manchuria. Since then, as you probably know, they've
really developed their naval bases on the North Pacific. Also, on the
civilian side, they have developed a strong interest in the fisheries of
the Aleutian area and they take part in the international agreements
that control the salmon, halibut and other fishing in the North Pacific,
as well as the fur seal trade. The result is that boats of all four
nations, Soviet, Japanese, Canadian and American, plus some
others, move freely about the waters of the North Pacific and along
the shores of Alaska and British Columbia. As long as they abide by
the Fisheries Commission regulations and stay out of territorial
waters, they are free to move about pretty much as they please. That
means that a fishing boat, or a floating cannery, could be out there
right now, ostensibly looking for salmon, or tuna, or whatever is in
season, and nobody would pay much attention to it among all the
others. This coast is still wild and relatively unpopulated. I believe
such a ship could creep in at night, close to shore, especially in a fog.
The radar screens would have a hard time picking it out among these
islands, especially if it had anti-radar devices. It would be a relatively
easy matter to put a few men ashore from a fast motor boat almost
anywhere around here."
"Where do the Japs come in?"
"That's the beauty of the whole idea. When I was in Hokkaido with the
Japanese Defense Force, during the Korean War, I used to visit their
defense positions in sight of the Kurile Islands and Sakhalin ... the
Japs called it Karafuto. The officers, many of whom had served in the
Imperial Japanese Army, used to tell me about doing garrison duty
there on Sakhalin before the Second World War, when the southern
half was Japanese and the northern half Russian. They told me that
many Japanese fishermen stayed behind when the islands were
evacuated in 1945. What could be easier than to equip a ship and
man it with an experienced communist Japanese crew?"
"You mean that ship that almost ran us down?"
"Yes, I do. That ship was flying the Japanese flag. The crew talked
Japanese ... but the man I saw looking over the stern at me was a
Slav. Even if the ship got picked up they could claim Japanese origin
and would be accused only of poaching on restricted fishing grounds,
which happens all the time. Any Slavs aboard could pass as White
Russians, residents of Japan, with forged papers."
"I remember that white man too," Pat said. "I got a glimpse of him just
before the stern wash knocked me flat." She paused. "But surely you
don't expect to go out and find that ship tonight?"
"No, I don't," I said thoughtfully. "The epidemic has been moving
slowly inland and south. Dr. Hallam suggested that agents must have
started it in the Interior of B.C., because of its explosive character.
That makes sense, because they would want to get it started across
the mountain barriers and the sparsely settled areas, so that the
whole of North America would be affected: but they would still have to
come back to the coast for supplies, and they probably arrange to do
that when the satellite long-range forecast says fog conditions are
likely. Then, too, this is the last night before the curfew and they can
still move freely. However, I'm afraid they are almost finished in this
part of the world and will probably move on. I hope to see some
evidence of them out at Horseshoe Bay. It's a wild chance," I
concluded lamely, "like trying to throw boxcars in a crap game; but
what else can I do?"
"What are boxcars?" she said.
"Double sixes ... and an outside chance."
"It isn't even an outside chance," she argued. "Suppose you guess
right and this is a good night for it, what makes you think out of all this
long coastline they would pick Horseshoe Bay? I'd think a lonelier
spot more likely. Why not between here and Squamish on the new
highway, or farther south or north?"
"In the far north there are few roads. Closer to Vancouver the coast
road has ferry crossings in it that would be time consuming and also,
on a small ferry, strangers might be noticed more, coming and going.
The same applies to the Vancouver-Squamish highway. A car parked
along that road might attract attention and the little hamlets where
they could land are too small for them to pass unnoticed. South of
Horseshoe Bay are the busy shipping lanes and then the United
States border country, so, to me, Horseshoe Bay seems the best bet.
It's big enough that people come and go in their boats, even this late
in the year, and don't attract too much attention. Cars are often left
parked in the lots while the owners go fishing up the coast or visit
their cottages for a weekend. Also, the floating docks for the small
boats are beside the main jetty where we can see whoever passes,
while we sit in our parked car. And there are a few lights, enough that
we can see them without drawing attention to ourselves."
"You have it figured, don't you?" Pat yawned, but the yawn was more
excitement than boredom.
"Yeah," I muttered, "but who knows how a communist thinks?"

It was about one-fifteen when we rode down the steep incline to the
Bay and, after circling about the little beach park to look around,
pulled in not far from the restaurant where the first dock light
illuminated a small circle in the fog. We were far enough away under
the trees to be safe, and, with the windows up, in that light, it isn't
easy to see into a Ferguson anyway.
"Better not smoke," I said. "We can pretend we are here on a necking
party."
"No pretense needed," Pat chuckled, and gave me a hug that nearly
pulled off my right ear.

A heavy dig in the ribs jerked open my eyes and I came back out of
my doze in a hurry.
"I hear somebody coming," Pat was whispering.
There had been a few late comers pass by, either to or from the dock,
but all of them were obviously families, or couples, or fishermen. At
any rate, nobody like our thickset friend had appeared in the hour
past. Cuddling up to Pat's sweet-scented warmth, I'd fallen asleep in
a matter of seconds. I could hear footsteps now, of several people,
and shortly three men passed close by the car, going towards the
water. One was tall and thin. He was wearing the heavy Squamish
Indian sweater, made of unbleached wool, so popular with fishermen,
a battered fedora and heavy work pants. As he passed he was
speaking English with a slight European accent. The second man, of
average height, wore an old dark windbreaker and slacks. His face,
like that of the first man, was shaded by the hat he wore, a long
peaked baseball cap. The third man was short but very strong
looking. His head was bare, and, as they passed under the light, I
saw a crop of close-cut, light-colored hair, and that unmistakable
heavily boned face that had come so close to me out on the Straits.
All three were carrying ruck-sacks over their shoulders. It was a
clever disguise. They looked like campers, or perhaps transient
workers, on the move from one lumber camp to another. Even their
accents would be no hindrance with the country full of D.P.'s since the
war.
"That's the man, John, the short one." Pat was pulling feverishly at
my sleeve. "It's the same guy, I'm positive."
My heart was settling down after its first great leap, but my throat still
felt like the ostrich who swallowed the grapefruit. They had gone on
past the shore lamp now, and were almost lost in the darkness and
fog of the main pier. I opened the door quietly and stepped out.
Pat grabbed at me. "John, don't be crazy! You can't handle three men
alone."
"I don't intend to," I whispered, "but I've got to stop them somehow.
We may never get another chance. They must be about through
around here."
I broke loose and moved down the gravel road on to the wooden
platform. I hadn't the faintest idea of what I was going to do. There
wouldn't be time to call the police, and, even if I did, it might not do
much good. Nobody outside of the Civic Hospital knew about the
biological warfare theory. If I got involved in an argument I might end
up in the police station, probably get the flu, and not be able to prove
a thing. No, I'd have to handle this myself, play it strictly by ear and
wait for the breaks.
The men were busy now over the canvas cover and mooring ropes of
a fast-looking pleasure cruiser tied alongside the big jetty, with its bow
to the open sea. There were hundreds like it on these waters and it
would attract little attention. The short man was directing operations
from the dock and his speech was perfect, colloquial American, from
somewhere in the Northern United States or Canada.
"This one is probably the leader," I thought. "With an accent like that
he could cross the border and never be noticed as he moved about
the whole Pacific Northwest."
The fog seemed to be lifting in spots. It was getting lighter and a
moon halo could be seen through the drifting clouds of mist. The
three men were in a hurry. They didn't notice me until I was opposite
their boat.
"I'd like to talk to you," I said to yellow-hair, who was bending over a
bollard.
He started and straightened up quickly. I saw his head lift a little more
as he got a good look at me.
"I'm busy; what do you want?" he grunted.
"I want something done about the damage to my boat," I said loudly.
The other two had stopped to watch me. At a nod from the leader, the
second man went on getting the boat ready. The tall man stepped
from the bow on to the main dock so he now stood a little behind
yellow-hair and off towards the middle of the dock. I still had a clear
line of retreat, but I didn't care for the setup; it isn't good tactics to be
out-flanked.
"I don't know what you are talking about." He had made the obvious
answer.
"You know damn well," I said hotly. "You were on that Jap fishing boat
that ran me down in the Straits of Georgia."
"You are mistaken. I know nothing about it." He turned away from me
to get back to the mooring rope. I grabbed at his left arm. I think he
was expecting it. He spun around with my pull, his right hand coming
up and over, fast, for my head. I let go his arm and swayed to the
right, hoping he wouldn't be too quick with a left hook. As his fist went
by my neck I stepped across in front of him with my right foot, swung
my backside hard into him and whipped downwards, using his right
coat sleeve as a lever. His forward rush lifted him and he went over
my back, high and fast, in the Judo version of the flying mare. I heard
the gasp and the thud as his breath was driven out of him by the fall.
Still crouching, I spun around, and, as I had hoped, the Russian bean
pole was coming for me, hands out to shove me over the edge. It was
simple. As he came in I fell back, gripping his arms, while my feet
found his belly. He rocked over like a seesaw and I shoved up
strongly with my legs to flip him. The Japs had clobbered me with that
trick so often in the Judo classes that I had it down pat. This fellow
really sailed. I heard his feet hit the water, but the splash was
drowned out by the harsh aa ... h of his scream when the small of his
back smashed down on the edge of the dock.

"One down, two to go," I was thinking as I scrambled to my feet; but I

had slowed down since the war. Too late, I saw that familiar thick
shape above me, silhouetted against the clearing sky. In his upraised
hand there was something round and black. Once again I glimpsed
that dull red sparkle of the ring in the now bright moon.
"This proves it," I thought, so I lunged forward desperately, tackling
him at the knees. Then the side of my head split and I dropped.
Dimly I heard a high-pitched screaming. I wasn't out cold; I could see
but I couldn't seem to get up enough steam to move.
"That damn Russian surely is noisy," I thought dully. I looked up from
my knees. Yellow-hair was on his feet again and he and the second
man were scrabbling frantically over the side of the boat, dragging the
tall man by the shoulders. I heard him groan, "Nyet, nyet!" as they
tumbled him into the cockpit, limp as a pithed frog, and started the
motor. I suppose the shock of the broken back had cut through the
long indoctrination in the English language he must have had, for that
was the first and last word of Russian I heard. The screaming kept up
and then I realized it wasn't the injured man, but Pat, who had
followed me down to the water. Being a really smart girl, she hadn't
tried any heroics and had stayed too far from the fight to be caught,
so, realizing that they couldn't dispose of the evidence, namely me,
without a witness, the Russkis abandoned all pretense in a desperate
scramble for safety in the fog that still blocked the harbor entrance.
The cruiser foamed away from the dock with a deep roar, rocking the
boats down the line of buoys.
The moment they were safely away, Pat was down on the planks,
running wildly towards me. As she came close, she stubbed her foot
on that same black cylinder that had downed me, and sent it rolling.
She reached down and began tugging at my arms to lift me.
"Wait! Where's that thing? It may be evidence," I cried out, my head
clearing fast.
"Oh come on! We must get out of here. Quick!" Pat was pulling at me
as she spoke. "We can't afford to stay here and explain this to the
police. They'd hold us for questioning and we mustn't risk any more
exposure to the virus."
"The hell with the virus," I moaned as I stumbled along the deck,
looking for the black cylinder. "Get the car started. I'm coming."
She turned and ran and, a moment later, with the cylinder in my
pocket, I followed her. The Ferguson was already roaring as I jumped
in beside Pat. She stamped on the accelerator and we went out of
there and up the hill in a tire-ripping start that almost broke my neck.
The engine has never been the same since.
The ride back was a painful haze. Every bump accentuated the
throbbing in my head. Pat, grimly intent on getting well away from the
area, held the pedal down as hard as she dared and the Ferguson
whipped around the curves, its independently driven wheels
screeching and scraping against the asphalt like the claws of a
frightened dog on a waxed floor. The fog was gone except for little
patches drifting down the gullies or hanging in dead air pockets
between the hills. We reached a more brightly lit area and she slowed
down. There was no pursuit.
We went back up the stairs of the Lab and into the showers. I felt safe
again like a wounded rabbit diving into its burrow. She helped me
strip and, kneeling beside me, held me in her arms as I sat under the
spray. The soft fullness of her breasts and arms, dripping with the
cool water, made a nest of peace and comfort. For a long minute I let
go and retreated back to childhood and the contentment of a mother's
arms.
"My poor darling," she crooned, and rocked me gently, her slender
hands smoothing my hair and caressing my face.
Suddenly I struggled to my feet and, slopping water over the floor,
lurched back into the anteroom.
"The cylinder! I forgot the cylinder," I groaned, and flung open the
door of the supersonic cabinet. The warning buzzer stopped. I
fumbled agitatedly in the pocket of my windbreaker and drew out the
thing that had hit me. For the first time I really looked at it. It was like
an old-fashioned army aerosol bomb with a trigger mechanism on
one end. I slammed shut the cabinet; the buzzer and warning light
went on again.
Pat stood beside me anxiously, dripping heedlessly on the floor rug.
"What was it, darling?"
"This thing," I held it out to show her. "There might be virus in it and I
put it in the supersonic cabinet, like a damn fool."
"What will that do to it?"
"I don't know for sure. Ultra-sound kills some organisms. Maybe it will
be all right. It wasn't in there long." My stomach began to churn and I
leaned on her weakly. "Oh, my head," I moaned. "I feel sick."
She put her arm around me and led me back to the showers. I sat
down again, dropping under the spray, until the nausea had passed.
Then I raised my head. "We've got to get this aerosol bomb to the
culture room and start making tests. Hand me the soap darling."
Silently she reached it to me. I soaped the cylinder carefully, trying to
sterilize it at least in part; then, after washing myself, I rinsed it off
thoroughly. A few minutes later, in clean whites, we entered the living
room. I slumped into a chair, elbows on the dining table, my head in
my hands. Quietly efficient, Pat handed me two aspirin and codeine
tablets for my pain and dialled strong coffee into a cup. She put in
cream and sugar and pushed it over to me.
Hallam came in, in his pajamas. A light sleeper, he must have been
disturbed by my heavy-footed entrance. He looked at us and his eyes
puckered as he tried to see clearly without his glasses.
"John's been hurt, sir, but not badly," Pat said swiftly. "He'll tell you all
about it in a minute. Let him recover a bit."
Without a word the Chief went to his room and came back. He had
added a gown and glasses to his pajamas. He walked over to me and
I showed him the goose egg on my head. He checked it and then
looked at my eyes. Satisfied, he said his first words.
"Were you knocked out?"
"No sir, just dizzy. I think I'll be all right soon."
"Well, you know what to do. Let me know if you need help."
"I will."
He took the coffee Pat handed him and sat down opposite me.
"The bomb, Pat," I said. "You'd better take it now and get some
cultures going." I took it out of my pocket and handed it to her. She
reached for it and I thought she had it and let go. She fumbled.
"Watch out!" I shouted in alarm, and grabbed for it.
Either I startled her and she triggered it or my own hand struck the
release. It doesn't matter now. A thin white stream of gas hissed out
of the end and hit me squarely in the mouth. Pat stood there, rigid,
the cursed thing still in her hands, and slowly her lips began to quiver
and a big tear formed in the corner of her right eye.
"John.... Oh, God! ... the virus!"
"I'm afraid it is," I said quietly. I felt let down; finished; the same way I
had when I watched the wounded die in the Aid Station and I couldn't
help. Only this time I was the patient. Oh, I wasn't going to die, or
even be very sick, but no man likes to think that he can never have a
son to follow him, and I knew, beyond doubt, that in another week I'd
be completely sterile.
I'd never seen Pat cry before and it brought me out of my daze. I went
to her and took her shoulders in my hands and there, right in front of
the Chief I told her, "Darling, I can't kiss you now, but I want you to
know I love you and this will make no difference at all. It wasn't your
fault."
She couldn't speak. I looked at Hallam. He sat there staring at the
bomb in her hands.
"I think I can guess what has happened," he said, "but how?"
Quickly Pat sketched the story while I washed my face as well as I
could. She finished and he stared into space. A few seconds later he
put his big hands on the table and hunched to his feet.
"We still have to analyze the contents of this thing to see what kind of
virus is in it ... if there is. We might as well get started on the
preliminaries. No sense in isolating ourselves any more. It's likely
we'll all get the disease now." He looked at Pat's tear-stained face
and said kindly, "Why don't you two go home for a rest before the day
staff gets here. I can handle the beginning of this job myself."

CHAPTER 6
It wasn't far to Pat's apartment. The APC's were working and the
ache in my head had gone, replaced by a soreness over the actual
bruise. I drove slowly, reluctant to part with her now, to lose the sense
of closeness we shared. Elation over our night's work, mixed with
sadness for the future, had combined to bring us together more than
we had ever been before. She said nothing, but her nearness to me
and the hand laid gently on my leg were evidence enough of her
feelings. At the stoplights I glanced at her, trying to gauge her
thoughts. Her gaze was fixed on some nebulous point beyond the
windshield; her face was still, frozen in its expression, almost as if
she were a wax model.
Burrard bridge went by and I turned to the left, down a side street.
The car rolled to a stop in front of a large modern apartment building.
I shut off the engine, got out, and opened the car door for her. We
walked up the steps together. She reached in her bag for the key.
"Don't bother coming back to the lab today," I said, turning to go.
"Hallam can take care of it this morning and I'll go back later this
afternoon and give him a hand."
She looked up in surprise. "You're having breakfast with me." It was
not a question but a statement of fact.
"You're too tired, baby," I protested, but feebly. I hated cooking for
myself and she knew it.
"I am a little tired," she admitted as she opened the door, "but bacon
and eggs will pep us up. I want to talk to you."
Pat's apartment, a bachelor suite on the fourth floor, consisted of a
bed-sitting room partly divided by an ornamental screen, a kitchenette
and bathroom. Off the sitting room area, a tiny balcony with french
doors overlooked English Bay. I strolled over to see the view. The fog
was still hanging in patches to the shoreline but above the cottony
masses it was a beautiful day and the mountains across Howe Sound
sparkled icy white and blue in the distance. I felt a lift looking at them.
Pat had removed her raincoat and hat. Now she turned from putting
them in the closet to look critically at me, hands on her hips.
"Go take a shower and change clothes while I'm cooking breakfast,"
she said. "You look scruffy after that judo exhibition. Besides, I want
to kiss you and you need a shave and you're covered with virus."
I came back, more comfortable in a clean shirt and slacks I'd left
there on a previous occasion. She was sitting at the small dining
table, looking over the morning paper. As I watched her read,
concentrating on the epidemic story, I examined that kissable mouth,
the strong straight nose, the thoughtful eyes. She wasn't the most
beautiful woman I'd known but she was loyal, intelligent and good,
clear through. Somewhere deep inside, a small ache began and
grew. I hadn't thought much about marriage as we had agreed to let
our friendship ripen into something better, if it wanted to. Now, as I
watched her there, waiting for breakfast with me, I knew I was tired of
our present relationship. It wasn't enough that she was my friend and,
on one recent occasion, my mistress. I wanted her for a wife.
I was wondering how a childless marriage would work out when she
looked up.
"Breakfast's ready any time you are," she said softly.
I went to her and raised her up. Then, slowly, without passion, I
kissed her full on the lips. Her eyes were wide open and once more I
saw the tears coming.
"John, don't ... not now!" she whispered and turned away to start
rattling around with the plates and the eggs and bacon.
We sat near the window over our coffee and cigarettes, looking out at
the blue sky and scudding white clouds. The wind had dissipated the
water vapor so that no wisp of fog was left. The little waves in the bay
tumbled and sparkled in the light and a small tug burst through them
importantly, steaming along like a short fat woman heading for the
bargain counter.
"It's so beautiful, so peaceful out there," Pat murmured. "I can't
believe we're in the middle of the greatest war in history."
"Well, if the number of casualties is any indication, it makes even
atomic warfare look mild by comparison."
We had heard the news as we ate. The situation in Asia was rapidly
approaching the catastrophic. In fact it was probably beyond
redemption already in China, since the normal news channels had
collapsed. All India was in a state of panic with hordes of people
fleeing in any direction that seemed to promise escape. Southeast
Asia was in an uproar, with riots and revolutions as reports of the
inexorable advance of the measlepox filtered down to the people. In
Africa, Egypt was already in the grip of the fatal disease. It was, as
Pat said, not at all surprising, since Soviet technicians and supplies
had been the mainstay of the country ever since the United Arab
Republic was formed. The great desert barriers of Soudan and
French Africa were holding temporarily, but it was merely a question
of time before some poor devil, his fevered brain seeking escape,
blundered to the forests of the Congo or the Cameroons, to the high
country of Ethiopia and Kenya, and set fire to the rest of the
continent. Only South America and Australasia were still normal, if
one could call normal the state of total mobilization and preparedness
that was being ordered in practically every land which had sea or air
contacts with the rest of the world.

In North America there was no measlepox. All the major cities of the
east were reporting hundreds of thousands of cases of flu and it was
rapidly spreading to the southern and inland areas.
"They must have had agents on the East Coast too!" Pat said as she
listened to the announcer enumerating the cities and the estimated
numbers of sick.
"I imagine so ... a lot of them," I said. "Some of the spread must be
due to natural infection too. There wouldn't be enough agents, and
they couldn't carry enough virus to do all this."
"How do you think they got started over there?" Pat said. "They don't
have the handy excuse of a fishing fleet, do they?"
"No, they don't. I imagine they use submarines especially equipped
with tanks full of virus solution, or perhaps crystals, which could be
mixed and loaded into aerosol bombs as required."
"But you said submarines might make our government suspicious."
"I did, but that was when the epidemic first started out here. It has
been going on for some time now, in the west, and if you'll remember
the broadcast, there were cases reported in Detroit, Chicago and St.
Louis about the same time as in the coastal cities of the east. People
will naturally think it has spread overland by air travel or train and
won't be too concerned with what shipping is out in the Atlantic. The
Red Fleet has been maneuvering frequently off Newfoundland for the
past six or seven years so it shouldn't cause too much comment."
"If only they knew what was really happening to them!"
"I imagine the U.S. and Canadian governments do have our reports
by now but they'll have to watch how the news is released. If they're
not careful there could be a panic, with people evacuating the cities
and spreading the disease. It takes time to organize police and
military units for quarantine guards."
"How bad is it likely to be?" she asked.
"That's hard to say. The 1918 flu killed twenty million people and
attacked about fifty times that number. Since then, ordinary flu
epidemics have been reported with up to fifty percent of the people
involved. The Asian flu of 1957 affected up to seventy-five percent in
some areas. But this stuff isn't pure flu and so there may be
absolutely no immunity. Probably the only thing that will prevent
people from getting it is not to be near someone else who has it. In
the old days that was possible, but with the population we have now,
and the rapid communication between towns, it is much easier to
spread an epidemic than it was fifty years ago. My guess is that
eighty or ninety percent of the population will get it."
"John," Pat said thoughtfully, "How long is it likely to be before you
start having symptoms?"
"You mean all of us, don't you?" I said. "After all, that spray must have
splashed a bit and both you and the Chief may have got enough to
infect you."
"Well, yes, if you put it that way."
"Oh, about four days," I guessed, "or, perhaps a day more or less. We
aren't quite sure of the incubation period yet, and there's always a
chance of a mutation with a shorter period if a synthetic virus is liable.
We don't know that either."
"It's practically certain you'll be sterile, isn't it?"
"I'm afraid so," I said ruefully.
"What about convalescent serum, wouldn't it help?" she asked
hopefully.
"If I got a big enough and strong enough dose, it might. There isn't
any ready yet. I asked Hallam just before we left this morning. If it
isn't injected early it may modify the disease but probably wouldn't
prevent it completely. I might still be sterile. It doesn't always work
anyway."
"What about me?"
"Last night, before I went to bed, Dr. Hallam got a report that very few
women had shown symptoms of sex gland involvement. The biopsies
taken by Bruce Thompson from the ovaries of women who have had
the flu showed only minor changes that Smith could detect. That isn't
absolute proof that everything is all right, of course. It will take time to
find that out."
"What about miscarriages in infected women," she persisted.
"They checked that out too. There have been occasional cases, but
no more than you are likely to see with any heavy fever. That ferret
may have been an exception. Perhaps it's a peculiarity of the ferret's
reaction to the virus. It may prove to be a rare complication in people.
Of course we don't know yet if the children of infected mothers will be
born deformed in any way, as they often are in German measles. This
virus may have no such power."
"Well, that's a chance I'll have to take," she said.
"What do you mean?" I queried. "You'll likely have the flu by next
week and you don't even know if you're pregnant yet. You couldn't
possibly tell so soon."
"I know that—and that's the reason I wanted to talk to you.
"You and I have been letting things ride along for some time now. I've
enjoyed it and I have no regrets. But it's time to stop; to make up our
minds." She looked straight at me. "Do you love me enough to marry
me?"