Writer & Broadcaster
The Nager Virus
by Barrie Hyde
John woke feeling nauseas. He knew this to be the first sign and felt resigned to death. ‘Why worry?’ he thought, ‘There’s nobody left.’ He’d buried his wife in the back garden the day before, next to his ten year old twin daughters. At least he’d given them a decent send off, but he hadn’t been able to get hold of his son for over a week. He knew in his heart that he had gone as well.
He found himself living in a ghost town, roads were empty, TV screens were blank, nothing but static could be heard on the radio snd the internet was down. Civilisation was collapsing around him.
Showering with cold water, he flicked on a light, nothing, the electricity supply had failed.
Downstairs he glanced at the headline of a newspaper lying on the kitchen table.
‘Nager Virus Mutates – World doomed.’
He didn’t have to read the article again, it was three weeks old and he knew it by heart. In that time the world had been decimated.
The initial story had been horrific enough, a fanatical bible belt scientist in the US had released the Nager virus. It’s aim, to kill black people by attacking dermal melanin, the molecular structure produced by the body, responsible for colour pigmentation. He made Hitler look like an amateur. The negroid population had been annihilated globally and then the virus mutated.
The rest of humanity followed, now John found himself alone. He knew he’d be dead within hours and had planned for the day. Not wanting to face the screaming agony he’d seen his wife and daughters go through he hadn’t the strength to kill himself. He took a bottle of Krug champagne out of the fridge, won in a sales incentive at work, it seemed an age away.
Then, his world had been full of common worries, would he make his sales target this month? Will his commission cheque cover the mortgage? How the hell was he going to pay for the school trip to France? Now, those concerns were as immaterial as his life.
He opened the bottle and poured, the foaming liquid cascaded over the side of the champagne flute and spilled onto the floor. He laughed, before he would have cursed; now it seemed totally irrelevant.
Raising the glass he said out loud, ‘To Miriam, Jimmy, Hannah and Marianne, see you soon.’ Taking a sip he could feel the nausea rising. Running to the bathroom he just about made it as he threw up. Sweat started to pour from his body and he collapsed, waiting for the next bout of vomiting.
Closing his eyes he lay on the floor, remaining in a comatose position, half dozing, just waiting for the agony that he knew would come. The cramps and diarrhoea followed swiftly. He didn’t want to die sitting on the toilet so with pain spasms wracking across his lower abdomen he crawled back upstairs and climbed into bed.
He went into a deep sleep and woke feeling numb. There was no pain, no sickness, he just felt cold and dehydrated. Standing he felt a little dizzy so splashed his face with water. He realised he felt okay, the symptoms had passed. He tried to think, was he going to survive? Had he some kind of immunity? If so perhaps there were others, maybe this wasn’t the end of humanity. Putting two fingers up in to the air he shouted, ‘To the sick bastard who created this nightmare, I’m alive, humanity will survive, you’ve achieved nothing.’
Sitting By The Riverbank
by Barrie Hyde
She turned and stared at the plaque on the bench. ‘Ernest Lloyd, 1939 – 2011, he loved this spot.’ She still missed him terribly. She was lonely and since his death the family had become more and more nasty.
‘Why waste money on a bench?’
‘What’s the point?’
‘It’ll only get wrecked by hoodlums.’
She’d answered each criticism, patiently at first and then with more venom as the condemnation continued.
‘It’s my way of remembering, I feel close to him when I sit by the riverbank, we went there nearly every day with our dogs, it’s part of him and part of me.’
Finally she snapped, ‘Look it’s my money and I’ll do what I want with it. You’ll have to get used to the idea of a smaller handout when I’m dead.’
That had shut them up and after eighteen months of bureaucratic hassle her bench was finally installed. She enjoyed the serenity of the spot and the memories it created. Come rain or shine she felt at peace with the world just sitting their, as if Ernest sat with her, giving inner strength.
After the funeral the family wouldn’t keep away, to the point of getting on her nerves. As the months passed the visits got fewer and now they appeared once in a blue moon, to make sure their inheritance was in place.
Her body had gone but she was no fool and truth be told she despised most of them, especially the children’s spouses who saw her as nothing but a cash cow.
A teenage boy walked up with a scruffy mongrel on a lead. Over six feet gangling and covered in spots, he looked familiar, but for the moment she couldn’t place him.
‘I thought you might be here,’ he said.
She looked at him again, ‘Mikey’ it was her Grandson, ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to see you Grandma, I miss you.’
He took her hand and for the moment she became covered in confusion.
‘It’s a lovely spot’ he said, ‘Have you ever fished in the river?’
‘No, your Grandfather and I would walk along the bank and the dogs would wind up the fishermen something rotten, running down to them, barking and eating the bate.’ They both laughed at the memory.
‘And whose this little chap?’ she asked.
‘I work at the local animal sanctuary every weekend and occasionally foster dogs. The owner died and he’s all on his own. Nobody wants him because he’s thirteen.’
‘I know the feeling’ his Grandmother responded tartly, 'That’s why I never got a another one after Tiggie died.’
‘It’s a shame’ continued Mikey, ‘because he’s adorable’.
The dog sat at her feet and proffered his paw. She involuntarily took it and stroked his neck.
‘You’re a lovely boy’ she said smiling, ‘What will happen to him?’
‘He’ll stay in the sanctuary until we can place him or until he dies, not a great way to end your life.’
The dog jumped up on the bench and licked her face.
‘Can I have him?’ she asked, ‘We can see out our days together.’
‘I was hoping you’d say that.’
‘What’s his name?’
He looked at her, she could see his eyes filling up.
‘Ernie’ he responded.
‘Welcome home Ernie’ she said hugging him, as tears streamed down her face.