Porton Down in England had always been the UK’s top weapons research lab. During the fifties experiments with bio weapons had taken place there, as it did in both east and western block countries.

Today however, the firepox virus was the real enemy and despite indications that infection rates were falling, finding a solution was still top priority.

The three virologists were seasoned veterans in bio warfare, and despite firepox being an ancient virus, their knowledge was highly useful.

“The latest test subjects have arrived David.”

“We had better have a look at them Kenneth. I just hope they are at least healthy.”

Paul wandered in carrying a health report.

“What have we got?” David asked.

“Three women from the Devon area. Their malnutrition level is nominal though.”

“We had better get started then.”

Kenneth was the moralist among this group. Kidnapping subjects for the latest test was repugnant to his sensitivities but his doubts had been overruled. After all, the very survival of the human race was at stake.

They found the three subjects standing together in the decontamination room.

They did indeed look thin but the senior virologist believed it was better than nothing.

“Turn the taps on,” David instructed.

Moments later a thin water spray jetted from the ceiling, whilst the women glared toward the showerheads.

“They don’t seem to like it sir,” Paul said with a smile.

“I don’t blame them,” Kenneth whispered.

When the shower was shut off, David called an armed trooper who entered the cell.

The bald woman of fifty was hauled out into the corridor and toward the actual test chamber.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Trying to find a cure mam,” David said as she entered the room.

They watched the trooper strap her down to the chair as the virologists arrived.

“I’m all for solving the crisis,” the woman said. “Though kidnap is a little extreme.”

“Would you have volunteered?” Paul asked.

She shook her head.

“We had better carry on then,” David said.

“What do you intend to do then?” she asked.

David smiled at her as Paul walked to the metallic table and returned with the syringe.

“Nothing to worry about miss,” David assured her. “We simply inject you with a benign retro virus which explains the lack of suits.”

The woman smiled and tried to relax as the needles penetrated her left arm.

“Now we wait,” Paul muttered.

After five minutes had elapsed, there was an unexpected reaction. Large red blotches began to appear upon her exposed skin and the virologists fled the room.

“This should not be happening,” Paul said.

“Are you sure all the lethal genes were removed?” Kenneth asked.

“I treble checked,” Paul replied.

They watched through the window as white smoke began to rise around the unfortunate test subject, before she started screaming. Within moments, the flesh blackened before crumbling into ash. Only the lower region remained intact.

“Now we have a problem,” David muttered.

“We still have two variants left,” Paul said sadly.

“All testing must be halted,” Kenneth protested. “At least until we know why she died.”

“Nonsense,” David said. “She simply had an adverse reaction.”

Kenneth pointed to the charred remains and said, “You call that adverse?”

The head virologist spoke to the trooper and he returned to the holding cell in order to retrieve a second subject.

She was younger than the first and a little healthier. She did not protest as the straps were secured in test room two.

“We should take a blood sample first,” Kenneth suggested before they entered.

“I’ll go along with that,” David replied.

“I’ll do it then,” Paul said.

The woman watched, wincing as the sample was taken. Then a drop was placed upon a slide, and the second batch retro virus added.

David watched as the virus went through rapid amplification.

“She would burn out too,” he muttered.

“So where are we going wrong?” Paul asked.

David mulled the new problem over.

“We stripped the virus back to basics and removed those genes responsible for the shutting down of the sweat glands, and halting the body’s ability to control its internal temperature.”

“Could the damn thing be able to regenerate itself?” Paul asked.

“That would certainly fit the facts,” Kenneth whispered.

“Hey,” the woman said. “What you boffins talking about?”

David turned and smiled.

“How many times were you exposed to firepox without becoming infected?”

The woman shrugged her shoulders.

“Perhaps a dozen odd times. Perhaps less. I saw my work colleagues being wiped out.”

“Perhaps it is the exposure level?” Kenneth suggested.

“Go and get batch three for a moment,” David suggested.

When it duly arrived, he took the sample and gazed into the microscope viewer.

“Let’s see what is going on.”

He watched as the benign retro virus began to reconstitute itself, restoring those deadly genes that had been so painstakingly removed.

“Damn it!” he muttered. “This thing seems indestructible.”

“So the testing halts?” Paul asked.

David nodded.

“It has to until we sort this out. After all, we are not murderers.”

They returned to the secure lab, donning the protective suits before
working upon the virus once more. As days passed, they seemed not much further forward.

“The damn thing is immune to everything except plutonium and we cannot use that,” David muttered.

Kenneth meantime had removed the nucleus from the cold virus and was inserting the fourth benign retro virus deep within the empty cell.

After doing this tricky work, he took a micro needle and filled it with amino acid before returning to the firepox killer.
After injecting, he watched for any reaction.

He had expected the normal negative result and was pretty amazed when the viral wall collapsed before his eyes.

“I don’t believe this,” he muttered to himself.

“Have you got something?” Paul asked.

“Take a look for yourself.”

Paul peered and grinned behind his facemask.

“What did you use?”

“Amino acid that’s all.”

David joined them and gazed at the destroyed killer.

“Now we really are getting somewhere. Any ideas how we can use this?”

“We could engineer a new type of cold virus that raises the amino
acid level by two parts per million. That could kill the virus off.”
David smiled.

“You had better set to work then. Our species is depending on it.”

The women were mucking out the chicken coop when the call came.

“Anyone here?”

Neither one of them could understand the Spanish lingo, and when they stepped outside they saw from whom the call had come.

He was dressed much like a farm hand with a cap to match. He carried an automatic rifle in his hands and looked fairly decent.

“Can we help you?” Mandy asked slowly.

The gent smiled and slowed himself right down. He managed to utter a few broken English words.

“Emergency Committee.”

Cheryl smiled.

“We met the official a while ago chum. So why are you here?”

“Need you to go Antilla.”

The women had never heard of it.

“Do you have a map handy?” Mandy asked.

Their guest seemed to understand and pulled one out from his rear
pocket. After he pointed the cove out, the women shook their collective heads.

“That is over four hundred miles to the south my friend,” the cop said carefully.

“You lot were supposed to take people to Havana remember?”

The gent shook his head.

“Set up new camp there. Risk of outbreak.”

Mandy smiled.

“That Castro woman has her head screwed on after all.”

“Why we go?” Cheryl asked.

“Just to register then I drive you back here.”

“What do you think?” Mandy asked.

“He looks quite harmless,” Cheryl replied. “I say go and get it over
with.”

When they agreed, the fellow smiled and led them back to the country road where the truck was parked behind the car.

After setting off at a fast pace, the hours dragged on. Strangely the gent remained quiet, which they put down to the language barrier.

It was eight hours later and dusk, when the farm truck rolled into the cove town of Antilla.

“Seems quaint enough,” Mandy observed as they pulled into a side street. Just ahead, the headlights illuminated the docks and the truck was met by two heavyset individuals.

“You come out now.”

“Let’s register then,” the cop said climbing out.

The driver was talking to the men quite quickly before smiling at the woman.

“Follow me please.”

“This won’t take long I hope,” Mandy said. “Our animals can get a
bit upset.”

The driver ignored this as they entered what used to be the office
of the harbour master.

“Sign book?”

Cheryl smiled and put her name down as Mandy followed suit. A moment later, the two brutes entered.

“You can take us back now,” Mandy said hopefully.

One of the two men produced a dagger and pointed to the rear room.

“What the hell is going on?” Mandy asked.

“Just do as told please,” the driver said helpfully.

The women were jostled into the rear map room and promptly locked inside.

“We should get our ruddy heads examined,” Cheryl cursed. “What a filthy trap to walk into.”

Mandy glanced around at the maps and the new walls.

“There is certainly no way out of here Cheryl. What do you think
they want with us?”

“Slave labour perhaps? One thing that I do know though. They have nothing to do with the emergency committee.”

They sat upon the chairs with legs crossed, as another prisoner lay in the far warehouse awaiting yet another assault.

The seventeen-year-old Conchello had been here for weeks now. A short trip north to find more sheep had ended in disaster. As he had investigated a silent farm, two men had grabbed him and brought the youth here.

Now he lay naked and strapped to a table within a dark and dusty warehouse. His abusers fed him on and off, usually after the usual treatment. He knew what his captors were of course. A rabid rape gang.

He heard footsteps enter and a young bloke of no more than twenty approached rapidly.

“Where’s my gruel?” Conchello asked.

“It’s coming mate. My turn now you see.”

The youth closed his eyes as he heard the trousers being swiftly removed.

“Why not just kill me?”

“That would be a waste my bum friend. We really need you.”

The youth climbed on, soft lips kissing the firm shoulders as his member rammed inside the anal canal. Conchello squealed in pain as his abuser took his pleasure.

Surprisingly, he did not last long and after climbing off, the youth slapped Conchello’s bleeding buttocks hard.

“Damn good shag mate. I reckon you can rest now.”

“What do you mean by rest?”

“We picked up two tarts today from up north. They’ll be far better
fun.”

Conchello gritted his teeth as his mind correctly joined the dots.

“You leave them alone.”

“Play your cards right and perhaps you can screw them.”
His abuser laughed as he walked off to collect the victim’s meal.
...
Within the map room, the girls were still unaware of what was about to befall them.

“I suppose they will want us to unload boats here,” Mandy was saying.

“I think that is an obvious conclusion,” Cheryl replied. “This would be a perfect landing area. Perhaps you know the cargo comes from Florida.”

Mandy cheered up.

“That would be a slice of luck. Once the American’s learn of our plight, they are bound to rescue us.”

“Sorry to pour cold water on your hopes my dear but I doubt that. Our world has gone to hell you know.”

The door opened and a well-armed brute pointed to Mandy.

“Time to work,” he managed to say.

Mandy raised her eyebrows.

“See you later.”

She watched the rifle carefully as the guard led her out of the office and toward one of the loading areas.

“I hope the work ain’t hard mate. I’m something of a small girl after all.”

The captor remained silent as they entered the small warehouse. She was quickly grabbed by two others and manhandled to a waiting table.
“Hey, hold on a second.”

She was tossed on, and her arms and feet were quickly tied with fishing rope to the table legs.

“What are you really up to?”

One of the captors produced a blade and started cutting through her
denim garments before ripping them off. As the underwear was revealed, the bra strap was easily cut and the knickers torn away.

“Quite a catch,” the first man said happily. “Who wants to go first?”

His friend was sixty and quickly removed his dirty breeches.

“It’s been twenty odd years since I had it.”

Mandy screamed as he climbed on top and raped her savagely.

“Just shut your damn mouth,” he hissed in Spanish.

Mandy gritted her teeth as he pumped away until all was done.

The assault lasted an hour. Each taking their turn before exhaustion took over. Mandy was now but a shadow of her former self. A husk devoid of emotion, devoid of normal human reactions.

She could see a second table nearby and correctly guessed what her friend’s fate would be.

She heard the steady patter of footsteps and found the driver looking at her carrying a bowl of gruel.

“Your damn turn now?”

He shook his head.

“I feed you.”

“What is it?”

“Oatmeal. You must keep your strength up.”

He slowly spoon-fed her until the gruel had gone and then he just stared at her helpless and terribly abused body.

“What the hell are you staring at?”

“I be sorry.”

“Not accepted mate,” she hissed. “When the committee hear of this
you lot will hang for sure.”

“I not agree.”

“Then help us.”

He shook his head.

“Not dare.”

Then she watched him drawing a finger across his throat.

“They would kill you?”

He nodded.

“Not if we get them first. Who else here?”

“Another called Conchello.”

Mandy inhaled sharply.

“He’s a friend of ours. Where being held?”

“Other warehouse. I go now.”

“Wait a second. What’s your name?”

“Sanchez.”

She heard him leave and vainly struggled against her bonds.

“I hope Cheryl has better luck than me.”
...
Her friend sat lamely within the old harbour master’s office trying to work out some kind of game plan.

“Mandy is taking her time. Perhaps the boat is a little bigger than normal.”

When the door opened, she saw the rifle pointing straight at her.

“Work time.”

“You said it mate!”

She followed him outside, the muzzle gently prodding her toward the waiting loading area. As they approached the darkened building, she saw shadows.

“Just have to trip then.”

She suddenly yelled and went down face first as if she had indeed tripped over her clumsy feet. As she looked up at the barrel, she smiled sweetly.

“Sorry about that mate. Help me up?”

The gunman shook his head and said, “Up now.”

Cheryl shook her head and lashed out with her feet. As the weapon was hurled into the air, a second strike at his groin took him down in agony.

Cheryl leapt up and managed to reach the rifle as two armed antagonists appeared in the doorway.

The cop obeyed her years of training and opened up. As the bodies went down, she used the butt to crown the groaning man before running inside the loading area.

“Crikey Mandy. What have they done to you?”

“Just untie me eh?”

Cheryl quickly did so and was about to pull her toward the exit when Sanchez rushed inside.

The cop was about to gun him down when Mandy stopped her.

“He’s different. He was forced too.”

“Bring your ruddy truck back and get us out of here!” the cop demanded.

As Sanchez ran off Mandy grabbed her.

“Conchello is here. We must find him.”

“What?” the cop asked.

“The driver told me. It beggars belief what they may have done to him.”

“Do you know where?” Cheryl asked.

“Some kind of warehouse.”

“Come on then. We will do our best.”

As they dashed out the truck arrived and the anxious driver leapt out.

“We go now.”

Mandy shook her head and shouted, “Where is Conchello?”

The driver pointed to the far off building and the two women rushed off.

They found the bleeding youth strapped down and the former nurse simply winced.

“Just get him to the truck,” Cheryl said sharply. “You can treat him back at the farm.”

They had to half carry him to the truck and moments later, they were on the road home once more.
...
When dawn broke, Mandy was still treating the terrible internal damage done to their young friend.

“How is he?” the cop asked.

“Pretty bad. He’s gone feverish. There are probably internal injuries.”

“I just hope Sanchez has told the committee what happened.”

“He will Cheryl.”

Conchello groaned and coughed violently.

“Sure he has not contracted the disease?”

“I’m pretty sure,” Mandy whispered. “No temperature rise and certainly no blotching.”

“Do the best you can for him. I’ll milk the cow.”

Cheryl found the animal standing by the fence looking rather pensive. Cheryl rolled her eyes and asked, “What’s the matter with you dear?”

As she arranged the milking stool, she saw that the cattle and sheep were lying beside the fence too.

“Something weird going on,” she muttered as she milked the cow like an expert.

Once it was full, she returned to the kitchen and found Mandy collapsed upon the simple chair.

“What’s up?”

A tear stained face gazed up at her.

“Conchello died a few moments ago.”

Cheryl shook her head sadly.

“That may not be the only problem.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“The animals are huddling by the fence.”

Mandy looked worried by this slice of news.

“It means that a storm is coming.”
...
They carried the body of Conchello out of the front gate and buried him beneath an old gnarled tree. As a few comforting words were uttered, the clouds began to roll in and a cold breeze rolled over them.

Mandy gazed up at the dark sky and looked south toward the hillside.

“I don’t like the looks of this my dear. We had better baton down the hatches.”

“A storm is but a storm,” Cheryl said.

Mandy shook her head.

“This lot is looking rather ominous. Come on, we have little time as it is.”