CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It happened so quickly, Gavin didn’t believe it wasn’t a stunt. Yet his eyes had seen it. Seen the hatchet come up and slam down sharply onto the stump. Seen the finger fly off into the dirt. Sophia remained kneeling, her eyes large, staring at her hand, the blood running down her arm. The little finger was gone at the second joint.
“Sophia!” Breaking free of the men holding him, Gavin knocked the log out of the way and caught Sophia by the shoulders as she began to fall. Her face white with shock, she fainted in his arms. He grabbed her maimed hand and held it up while looking helplessly around. Bianca lay motionless by the fire—whether dead or alive, Gavin had no idea. He stared at Antonio.
“I did it from love!” Antonio shouted. “And trust me it’s been coming a long time.” He turned to the family members who were staring in horror at the blood on the log. “He should have been the one to correct her! I was wrong about him. He is not good for my Sophia.”
Gavin ripped the tail of his shirt in a long strip and bound it tightly around Sophia’s hand. She moaned and stirred in his arms. Benito stood in place, bare-chested and shivering, staring at the small finger on the ground as if transfixed. Gavin stood with Sophia in his arms. He watched the men who’d held him, the brother who’d held Sophia’s hand down, and the monster who stood raving before him.
The atmosphere around the campfire was one of terror and apprehension. Gavin’s need to protect Sophia—to get her away—warred with his need to attack the man who’d hurt her. His arms trembled as he held her.
Paco held a hand up in front of Gavin. “Let us have the girl. We will see to her wound.”
“Are ye daft? You’re the fecking bastard who held her while the mad bastard did it!”
“You do not know our ways,” Paco said.
“You’ll leave us tonight,” Antonio said.
Gavin knew immediately that there was no way Antonio was going to let him stay or leave alive. Sophia cried out, triggering Gavin to the decision that until then he had no idea he’d made. He turned to Paco and shoved Sophia into his arms.
“Hold this,” he said as he snatched the handgun from Paco’s front pocket and pointed it in Antonio’s face. Antonio stared at Gavin impassively as if he knew for a fact that the gun was not loaded. Or perhaps just that Gavin could never use it.
“Have you thought past this point, amico?” Antonio said, wagging a finger at Gavin. “You are thinking, perhaps, you will walk backwards out of the camp all the way to your compound?” His lip curled in satisfaction.
“Nay,” Gavin said in defeat. “You’re right. That won’t work.”
He shot him in the chest.
John loved the walk from Gilly’s townhouse to the university. There was bus service to the campus from the residential areas as well as the city center where the Heaton’s lived. The trains continued to run too although mostly just to London and back.
“When I first came here,” John said to Gilly as they walked, “I thought the place was deserted.”
“Hardly. You do know that Oxford is the oldest university in the English-speaking world?”
“I didn’t know that.”
As they approached the intersection of St Giles, Magdalen Street and Beaumont Street, John looked toward the Martyrs’ Memorial as he always tended to do. He’d already read the plaque several times and knew all the ghoulish details of the events of 1517 burnings but he was drawn to the plaque every time they passed.
To the Glory of God and in grateful commemoration of His servants, Thomas Cranmer, Nicholas Ridley, Hugh Latimer, Prelates of the Church of England who near this spot yielded their bodies to be burned, bearing witness to the sacred truths which they had affirmed and maintained against the errors of the Church of Rome and rejoicing that to them it was given not only to believe in Christ, but also to suffer for his sake; this monument was erected by public subscription in the year of our Lord God, MDCCCXLI.
Today Dr. White was seated on the steps of the memorial smoking furiously, his eyes darting everywhere. When he saw John looking at him, his lip curled and he tossed his cigarette down in disgust before reaching for a new one from the pack in his jacket pocket.
“Jeez,” John said to Gilly as they hurried down the side street toward their classroom. “What is his problem?”
“I know, right? But most people would excuse him for how he behaves because of his wife and son.”
John gave her a sickened look. “What happened to them?”
“They both died of the disease last year. Worse than that, they were out of the country visiting relatives at the time in Germany so Dr. White didn’t even get to see them in time.”
“That’s terrible,” John murmured. “Explains why he’s always in a bad mood.”
“He and Dad used to be great mates.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. They had a falling out. I have no idea why. Here we are.”
They hurried through the massive stone archway into Balliol College. Because of her father, Gilly and several other children her age were allowed to finish their secondary education in classrooms situated at the college. Later, when the infrastructure was fully back, she would go on to sixth form at Oxford College to earn her A-levels. The class was far beyond the elementary school level John had been at before he left Jacksonville in 2011, but he surprised himself, and the teacher, by managing to keep up with everyone in the class.
He was in fact was amazed to realize he understood as much as he did. When he was in the class grappling to catch up or to understand, he found he didn’t feel frustrated at all but like a fire was being lit under him. Listening to the lectures made him feel like he wanted to take off like a Saturn V rocket straight up into the stratosphere.
After school, Gilly usually went to the homes of a few girlfriends in the class and John went to Dr. Heaton’s lab. The routine worked well on every level for everyone. Today, John shouldered his bookbag and was about to make the sharp turn that led him through an internal courtyard and the wing of the college that housed Heaton’s laboratory when he spotted someone he thought he knew.
Instantly he recognized the reason he knew the boy sitting at the base of the Martyrs statue feeding stale chips to a scrappy terrier was because he was the delivery boy at the Heaton’s house. John had seen the boy on and off for five weeks now deliver milk, collect empties and peddle away to the next house in the street. Seeing him sitting there playing with his dog, his bike and basket full of empties to signal the end of his work day, John felt a twinge of longing for Gavin. In the compound, his world was largely taken up with hanging out with Gavin. Seeing the boy now made John realize how much he missed company of his own kind.
Impulsively, he hurried over to him.
“Hello,” John said, holding out his hand. “My name’s John. Cute dog.”
The boy dropped the chips he’d been feeding to the dog and jumped to his feet, startled.
“Cor, you about gave me a heart attack!” he said, but he laughed when he said it. “I’m Geordie. This here’s Ginger. You American or is that a fake accent?”
John laughed. “It’s not fake. You live around here? I’ve seen you make deliveries on Canal Street.”
Geordie wrinkled his pug nose and bent to pick up the chips he’d dropped on the stone steps. Ginger had already cleaned up most of them.
“Everybody knows me. I live at Rosemont. About two kilometers south of here.”
“Rosemont? Sounds like a retirement village.”
“Ha! You’re not wrong. But brace yourself, it’s a commune. Not the one where we’re all naked,” he said hurriedly.
“Oh? Where is that one?”
They both laughed.
“I like you, John. What the hell are you doing here? I thought the American tourists were the first ones to take a hike.”
“Only the smart ones. It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time. But can you tell it and walk? My granny will hand my head to me if I’m late. D’ye want to see Rosemont?”
John hesitated. He knew Dr. Heaton was expecting him at the lab. That is, if he looked up from his work and noticed. But it was a rare sunny day in December and after a day of school, John longed to be outdoor.
“That’d be cool,” he said.
*****
That evening after his visit to Geordie’s commune, John walked home in the dark. It had started to rain halfway back and he was drenched by the time he got back to the townhouse.
Gilly had not been happy about it.
“I was worried sick about you,” she said when he came into the foyer shaking the rain off his bookbag and jacket. “And so was Dad. He had no idea where you were when you didn’t show up at the lab.”
“Really? He noticed I didn’t come?”
“Of course, he noticed!”
Dr. Heaton entered the room, patting the pockets of his cardigan as if looking for something. “Hello, there, John,” he said amiably. “Good day at school, was it?”
John gave Gilly a smug smile which he instantly regretted. It was true Dr. Heaton hadn’t been worried, but Gilly clearly was. She turned on her heel and stomped into the kitchen.
“Hello?” Dr. Heaton said, looking after her as she left. “Everything all right, petal?” But he settled himself in his chair by the fireplace and began humming as he opened the book he’d been reading.
John went into the kitchen to find Gilly noisily adjusting the different pans on the stove.
“I’m sorry, Gilly. I lost track of time.”
“Well, that’s all you had to say,” she said, deliberately not looking at him. John knew how she felt. Sometimes it felt good to hold a grudge and when the person you’re holding it against is apologetic, it makes it hard to stay mad. He intended to make it impossible.
“No, it’s no excuse. You take such good care of me. If all I did every day was just make sure you were happy it wouldn’t be enough for all you’ve done for me.”
“Oh, go on,” she said, but she was smiling now. “I just know what an idiot you are and how easily you can fall into a ditch and drown.”
“Yes, that is certainly one of things I’m constantly trying not to do,” John said, attempting to sound simple minded.
She hit him on the arm and sat down on a kitchen chair. “So where were you that was so enthralling you lost track of time?”
“You know the delivery kid who brings the milk?”
Gilly frowned as if trying to place him.
“Well, never mind. Anyway, I ran into him outside class. His family lives in a commune near town so he took me there. Gilly, it was so interesting.”
“Really? A commune? Like a religious commune?”
Now it was John’s turn to frown. “I didn’t see anything like that. But they grow all their own food and they don’t go to doctors or anything. Geordie’s grandmother is an herbalist. It was really cool to see how they live.”
“Cooler than electric lights and refrigeration?”
John laughed. “No, you’re right. It’s primitive. But they’ve had very few people get sick with the illness.”
“And you think that’s because of natural living?”
“Geordie’s granny says she thinks the plague is what happens when science gets too far away from the natural ways.”
“You don’t believe that nonsense?”
“I believe in science,” John said firmly. “But I also know my Aunt Fiona was into homeopathic remedies and they always seemed to work. Geordie said I could bring you out sometime if you wanted to come.”
“I think I’ll pass. But I’m glad you had fun.”
*****
For the next couple of days John went to Heaton’s lab right after classes. He kept an eye out for Geordie but wasn’t surprised when he didn’t see him. Geordie had mentioned that he didn’t usually have loads of free time. As John walked down the stone walkway leading to the science labs from class one afternoon, he recognized Dr. Davis and Dr. White standing at the archway that led into the building, both in white lab coats and both smoking. They watched John approach but continued to talk.
“You know it was his brother that got him the job. How could it not be?” White said with disgust.
“Man’s an idiot. He couldn’t find the cure for ripped paper. It’s absurd.” Davis said, between puffs on his cigarette.
“The worst of it is watching him prance about the lab. As if.” Dr. White eyed John with unconcealed disgust as John passed and entered the building. John knew there were professional rivalries in any professional arena but he was astounded at how personally vicious Heaton’s colleagues were.
John hurried up the stairs to the lab. As he walked down the hall, he saw Dr. Heaton and Dr. Lynch through the window separating the lab from the hall. He tried to slip inside unobtrusively.
“Hello, there, John,” Dr. Heaton said. “How was class?”
“Good.”
“We’re going to have to convince you to stay longer. Classes will be back full tilt everywhere fairly soon, don’t you think, Dr. Lynch?”
She shrugged. “The full impact of the disease seems to have skipped Oxford for all intents and purposes. Have you heard anything from London? Is it diminishing elsewhere?”
Dr. Heaton shook his head. “Daniel says it might not be getting any worse but certainly no better.”
John knew Dr. Heaton’s brother Daniel had a high political position in British Parliament. He also knew that it was pretty much accepted throughout Oxford that Daniel was the reason Dr. Heaton had gotten the research funding in the first place. If that was true and making or keeping friends in the scientific community in Oxford mattered, then Daniel definitely hadn’t done Dr. Heaton any favors.
“What is that?” Dr. Lynch came to Dr. Heaton’s bench to peer at the flask he was holding up. “Have you found a vaccine?”
“No,” Dr. Heaton said. “This is something else.”
“What stage is it?”
“Well, as I said, it’s not a vaccine,” Dr. Heaton said patiently.
“Then what is it?”
John wanted to interject that Dr. Heaton knew what he was doing but he knew the doc wouldn’t thank him. It was just galling to see how little everyone thought of him.
“It’s a failure, if you must know.” Dr. Heaton set the flask into a holder and picked up a white bucket and set it on the bench next to him. “Which is why I finally got smart. Ye see, Sandra,” he said with excitement, “it occurred to me that using two buckets like they do in some third world countries to purify water is ideal for the areas in the country without electricity. This way, it’s gravity driven.”
“I understand the mechanics behind a water purification bucket system,” Lynch said with exaggerated patience. “The problem isn’t the bacteria in the water, it’s the virus, as you well know. Why are you wasting your time with buckets?”
Dr. Heaton removed his glasses and cleaned them with a soft cloth he had tucked in his top jacket pocket.
“There are people far smarter than I who are working on the cure for this terrible disease.” He nodded at the bucket. “Until those smarter minds come up with a cure, I’m working on a way to contain it.”
“You’re working on coming up with a better bucket.”
John could hear the sarcasm in every syllable of her voice.
“Exactly,” Dr. Heaton said, clearly oblivious to the insult.
Dr. Lynch sighed, patted Dr. Heaton on the shoulder and left the lab. Just the way she did it—like it was no good even talking to Dr. Heaton—made John flush with embarrassment for the man. After the door closed behind her, Dr. Heaton turned and stared out the window, his fingers tapping the bucket idly. Every time John looked at the stupid bucket he was filled with an agitation that made him want to pick it up and throw it out the window.
If the two bastards badmouthing Dr. Heaton on the front steps had seen Dr. Heaton with his bucket, it was no wonder they were having a field day at his benefit. Had the doc totally given up? Did he really think a revision of the bucket system was the answer?
Even John knew that was lame and he was just a kid.