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must come away now.’
    Magarth climbed to his feet. Dr. Holden led him to a small office, not without Magarth looking back. That young girl with the matted hair was squashed beneath marching feet, but she managed to squirm up on her elbows, eyes focused to where Magarth stood only seconds earlier.
    Alison followed with a plastic cup. Magarth’s hands shook, and water spilled. Dr. Holden switched on all the lights. The lights were a good idea. Somehow, they dulled the horror of what was in that tank.
    ‘Tell me about them.’
    ‘I’ve told you most. I know it seems beyond comprehension that any virus could ravage a person so. Perhaps to the observer our methods of isolation seem harsh, even barbaric. There’s no other way. We acquire those suspected of infection and make them fit for transportation. Their stage dictates in which area of the facility they are detained. Stage One remain under strict observation in a specialised hospital ward on the upper floor. Stage Two, are placed into isolation cells, and Stage Three are transferred here. There’s a one-hundred percent progression rate from One to Three. Two days is the shortest. It usually takes three, but new information is being received all the time.’
    Magarth dropped his head into his hands.
    ‘Perhaps now you understand the need for operatives to be armed. In any case, if the rate of infection continues to rise we’ll be unable to respond effectively. I’ve hounded Peterson to request more resources from London. He dithers.’ Dr. Holden removed his glasses, giving them a quick wipe on his sleeve, before replacing them. ‘Alison, perhaps you would be good enough to fill in Mr. Magarth as to what we have learned from your study of Stage Three?’
    Magarth managed to sit up, wanting to be gone, wanting a long shower to wash this day away, but it was not going to happen. He turned his full attention to Alison. She was tall and thin, and an obvious casualty to sleep deprivation. She tapped the end of a pen against her white teeth.
    ‘Stage Three infected are no longer capable of rational thought or communication. Just recently, we’ve noticed the bleeding eventually subsides. The sores settle, and bleed or weep very little. For two hours out of every twenty-four, the patients seem to have a period of inactivity. Not sleep, just less active. However, if you were to go too close to the chamber, as you have just learned, they will not hesitate to attack the glass. Caution should be paramount. Through ignorance, several members of our staff are in now the tank, and we lost two members due to wounds inflicted by the infected.’
    ‘So you’re saying we can’t help these people?’
    ‘Correct. As yet, we do not have a vaccine.’
    ‘That’s enough I believe, Alison. Thank you,’ said Dr. Holden. ‘So, let’s get you back to Peterson, shall we.’
    It was not until they reached the clear security doors that Magarth spoke again. ‘Are they zombies?’
    Dr. Holden’s chuckle lacked humour. ‘My friend, zombies are fiction.’
    ‘So how—’
    ‘Perhaps a biological weapon.’
    ‘Biological weapon? Can you stop it?’
    The doors slid open. The two men moved towards the stairs.
    ‘No. We strive to contain, and even that depends on several things. One,’ he said, raising a thin finger, ‘we must hope the infection rate plateaus relatively soon. If that happens, then we can seek out those who slipped the net. Two,’ he held up another thin finger, ‘the government is passing on all information we collect here with the aim of preparing other nations for outbreaks. Globalisation is the perfect opportunity to spread something like this. Today, Aberdeen airport was closed. Officially, a terrorist threat was made. Unofficially, we don’t want the problem exported.’
    Dr. Holden wheezed as they climbed the last of the stairs. ‘Finally,’ he flicked up a third thin finger, ‘we must be prepared to do what is necessary. The media and the public would not