The Dragon Plague

Chapter 10

Sophie carefully lifted the manhole cover, discovering that it led to a deserted alley where the sides of the buildings were lined with trash containers.

"All clear," she said. She hoisted herself up, then helped Emma do the same.

While the old lady was brushing dust off her clothes, Sophie looked warily around the corner: there was a busy street, one she didn't recall ever seeing before.

On the sidewalk there were several stalls offering a plethora of wares, old and sagging stuff, mostly: bicycle parts, patched clothes, second or third-hand furniture.

A guy with long whiskers and a cart boasted of the delicacies he was selling; there were some skewers with unrecognizable meat on them. It obviously had nothing to do with the protein substitutes of the food distribution, and smelled truly delicious.

Then it occurred to her that the only animals which could be easily found and captured in the city were rats, and suddenly the aroma of roast meat didn't seem so very appealing anymore.

"Let's go," she urged the old lady.

"Wait, dear," Emma said. "Your coat... "

Sophie lowered her eyes and realized she was still wearing the white uniform coat of the medical centre. She hastily inspected the pockets before shrugging it off, and found the pill boxes that Amanda had given her. She put them in her trousers' pockets, deciding she would examine those more carefully later. Then she surreptitiously threw the coat in one of the garbage bins.

She remained wearing nothing but trousers, a shirt and a light sweater, and she shivered with cold. She regretted leaving her jacket on the coat hanger at the medical centre; she doubted she would ever recover it. It was almost new and very warm, and it had taken her several months of scrimping and saving to be able to afford it. The thought almost made the tears come back.

A man with a long beard entered the alley, pushing an old cart with squeaking wheels. Sophie froze. She turned to Emma: her companion looked just as nervous as she felt.

The man gave them a nod. Without waiting for a reaction, he headed for the garbage bin where Sophie's coat was still visible under the lid. He pulled it out and began to examine it critically.

Sophie felt her heart rate rising again: most likely their identikits had already been put into circulation. Could it be that this man had recognized them?

She mentally cursed herself for not discarding the coat earlier: she should have taken it off in the tunnel and left it there. She had been unpardonably careless, she should have...

To her surprise, however, the man emitted a grunt of approval as he held the coat, and slipped it into his cart looking satisfied. Then he walked away, pushing the noisy cart before him.

"Let's go," Sophie repeated, and Emma nodded. They walked silently down the street, trying to blend in with the crowd.

"Where do you think we are?" Sophie whispered.

Mrs. Lemaire looked around, seemingly confused: "Oh, I don't know... I think... I believe we are in the third ring, not very far from the fourth."

She was probably right: they hadn't walked very far. Sophie estimated that they couldn't have gone farther than twenty blocks. They kept walking for a few minutes until Emma emitted a strangled sound, lifting a hand to her mouth.

"What's wrong?" Sophie asked with concern.

"Look!"

There was a screen on one of the buildings, broadcasting news around the clock. Sophie was so used to seeing those that she hardly noticed them anymore.

At that moment, however, the screen flashed an alarmingly blinking line: "POLICE LOOKING FOR TWO INFECTED."

Unsurprisingly, Sophie and Emma's photographs were displayed underneath.

Right there, in the middle of the street, Sophie found herself staring at her own face, as it was shown on the photo of her ID card.

Except, she realized, it didn't look like herself.

Of course, those were her dark eyes, her slightly broad face, her nose, her frizzy hair.

But all the same, surely she didn't look so... sinister?

In the picture on the screen, she seemed to stare into space with a vacant air, and looked just like she had just escaped from a madhouse. She wondered whether she might not be deluded regarding her own appearance – who knows, maybe she did look a little crazy - but then she noticed Emma Lemaire's photograph next to hers.

Mrs. Lemaire looked like a demented old woman, with feverish eyes and white hair sticking in all directions, completely different from her quiet and comfortable-looking self.

Sophie felt a stab of indignation. How dare they! On second thoughts, however, maybe it was for the best – such inaccurate portraits would make it more difficult for the police to find them.

"We have to take a train and get at least as far as the sixth ring," she said. In the outer rings there were far fewer medical police checkpoints and patrols.

Emma stopped at a stand and bought a hat, which partially concealed her face. Sophie found a heavy hooded sweatshirt that was slightly too large for her, but at least it would keep her warm. Then they arrived at a station and took the first train, heading south. To play it safer, they decided to board separate wagons and get off at the last stop, at the end of the sixth ring.

While boarding the train, Sophie took great care not to make eye contact with anyone while she made her way to a vacant seat. She felt that all eyes were fixed on her, but she tried to convince himself that it was only the power of her nervous imagination.

As she leaned against the window and watched the buildings and stations slip by, Sophie noticed with dismay several document control checkpoints, going inbound to the inner rings of the city, but thankfully none in the direction where they were heading. She guessed it would make little sense to put control points on roads leading out of the city: all around there was nothing but desolation and quarantined areas. No one would be crazy enough to venture there.

The truth was, there was no place to go outside Europa.

The journey took about three hours. After a while Sophie felt her adrenaline dropping. Exhaustion enveloped her, but she was too nervous to doze off as many people in her compartment did.

She kept seeing Amanda's face before her eyes, the way she looked as she was being dragged away. Again Sophie wondered if her colleague was still alive. The events of the last hours seemed like a terrible nightmare.

She only has to hold on until Thursday, she thought. She would escort Emma to the appointment with that Jamie, whoever he was; after that she would return to her life.

She would turn herself in to the medical police and ask them to have her checked; they would discover that she was not infected, and the whole story would end there.

t the chosen stop, Sophie got off the train, but she didn't see Emma on the platform.

Panicking, she looked around feverishly, until she saw the elderly through a window, apparently deep in her thoughts.

Sophie knocked repeatedly on the glass, and Emma finally recovered, and got off the train just before the doors closed behind her.

Getting through the next three days suddenly looked a lot more difficult.

After walking on for half an hour, they finally found a street full of neon signs that promised rooms at a cheap price. Those were old buildings with rusty railings on the windows, and large patches of wall where the plaster was peeling off.

Sophie chose one at random.

"What a horrible place," Emma commented.

It didn't have a particularly welcoming look, that much was true, but they were not in a position to be choosy.

"We should take a single room," Emma went on. "I'm afraid of being alone, and we should be careful with the money."

Just three days, Sophie told herself.

Though it was a reasonable proposal, she wasn't particularly enthusiastic about the idea of sharing a room with Emma Lemaire. After all, she didn't even know this woman before this morning.

A bored-looking man with sparse hair brushed back occupied the reception desk. "Do you have any vacant rooms?" Sophie asked.

"Sure, of course... for how long?"

"Three nights, please."

The man looked surprised: "Three whole nights. Wow. Sure," he commented.

"We pay in advance, of course."

"Of course."

Emma looked around, seemingly lost.

While she was waiting, Sophie shifted her weight from foot to foot, sinking slightly into the filthy carpet. She unzipped her sweatshirt: the place was horrible, but at least it was warm. After walking so long in the cold it was a pleasant change.

"I've never seen you around here," the motel guy said as he handed her the register to sign, in which Sophie drew a scrawl that could have meant anything. Then they paid 60 credits for their three nights.

"Ah... no," she said, uneasy.

"I like your look," He said, pointing to her sweater. "Very discreet, original. Classy, I'd say."

Sophie was growing increasingly uncomfortable. "Um... Thanks."

She realized that the longer she lingered, the higher was the risk this man would remember them and might identify them in the future. It was better to cut it short.

"So, you specialize in old folks?" he continued, handing over the key to the room.

"What?" Sophie didn't understand.

"We have a number of offers for frequent customers," he explained. "I have to say that seniors are a growing industry. I imagine that you will find our hourly rates particularly interesting," he added, holding out a flier.

She blinked: "What...?" she began, but Emma took her by the arm: "Well, thank you very much, goodbye."

"What did that guy mean...?" Sophie asked, still perplexed.

"Never mind. The more we talk, the riskier it gets," Emma cut off. "Whatever he thought, at least it will not make him question why we are here."

That much was true. Better not think about it, Sophie thought, shuddering.

The room was very sparsely furnished: a greasy carpet, a double bed and a bathroom with a shower. The grey sheets didn't look as though they had been changed anytime recently.

"Well," Emma said.

"Yeah," Sophie nodded with little enthusiasm.

"What do we do now?" Emma asked.

Sophie sighed: "Now we wait."