“Extra extra! Read all about it! Suspects involved in vermin infestation apprehended by American soldiers! Rumored to be put on trial for execution!”

  A newsboy stands at the street corner atop a small box handing out newspapers. Corbeld approaches the boy and takes a newspaper. He gleams the front page and his heart sinks into his stomach. He runs off, leaving the boy puzzled.

  It’s just as he feared. He pulls the steam carriage off to the side of the street. Ropes and barricades have been set up outside the old sewage plant. A group of three soldiers stand guard. Corbeld gets out to approach them, pulling out his wallet to flash his ID.

  “Allen Corbeld. I’m with the London Institution of Medicine. What is going on here?” He asks sternly.

  The soldiers glance at each other. One steps forward.

  “Sir this place is off-limits. It’s a crime scene. We’ve been ordered to keep watch until further orders are given.” He says.

  “I don’t think you understand. The Institute is closely tied to our government. As such, those of us in authority positions are allowed access to restricted areas.”

  “Yeah? Well, frankly we don’t care. File a report with your boss. We’re not letting you in. General’s orders.”

  Corbeld grits his teeth and walks off. He turns and pulls out a revolver tucked away underneath his coat. He fires off shots without warning. Before the soldiers have time to react, bullets penetrate their skulls and fall to the ground. Corbeld rushes over to the door. One-by-one he drags the bodies inside.

  He heads over to the door leading underground to the breeding room. As soon as he opens the door, his face is met with a plume of smoke. He coughs. A rancid smell comes from below. Corbeld steps back. The realization of what’s happened hits him like a brick wall. The breeding room has been compromised. All of the rats clearly scorched. It’s hopeless to try and brave the smoke to go check downstairs. Clenching his fists, Corbeld darts out of the sewage plant out to the carriage and leaves before someone shows up assuming the gunshots may have alerted any nearby people.

  Marianne glazes the newspaper. The printing even lists the names of the culprits apprehended by the Americans. Her eyes widen when she sees a familiar name on that list. Barry Welkers. She goes over to Peter who’s leaning against the wall.

  “Look at this.” Marianne says.

  Peter looks at where her finger is pointing on the paper. He feels a tinge of anxiety when he reads that the suspects are due for a trial and possible execution.

  “Good lord…” He mutters.

  “Barry… He’s one of them. That poor woman must not even know.”

  “She did have a radio in her room. Maybe she does know. It’s going to break her heart.”

  “And unfortunately, we don’t have the time to go pay her a visit today. We’re too far away from that borough.”

  “Yeah… Another time. This is terrible news. Ugh.”

  Marianne folds the newspaper up to tuck away into her trench coat. She goes to the table and finishes her cup of tea. The two grab their beaked masks to put back on. Their break was over. Today, the duo was scheduled for Haringey.

  Haringey was quite small so there wasn’t much ground left to cover. The two had went past the checkpoint into neighboring Islington for their break. Geographically, the borough was sparser in housing due to the many natural parks and River Lea flowing through it. Keeping track of homes and residents visited was a crucial part of their job. Their current destination was a home with a small chunk of land for animals. The bodies of some cows were seen in the yard underneath their shelter. The chicken coop was empty.

  Peter and Marianne approach the front door and knock. A squeak comes from the hinges when the door opens. An elderly woman in a long, pale green dress and a white bonnet stands at the door. She nearly faints from the sight of the doctors.

  “My goodness. Heavens be. You two… scared me.” She croaks.

  “Apologies. We’re from the Institute. Here to distribute Rainmaker. If you’d excuse us.” Peter says.

  Peter and Marianne step inside the house. From a distance, the sound of squawking echoes beneath the floorboards. The old lady steps past them. In the living room on a brown armchair sits a bald, old man in blue overalls asleep with a newspaper over his chest. He snores.

  “Ignore the sounds you hear from the basement. We… had to move the hens and chickens inside when the authorities told us of the quarantine. Shame about the cows… We were running low on their feed but couldn’t go get any.” The old lady speaks.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Marianne nods and presses a hand on the lady’s back to lead her over to the other armchair. She follows suit and takes a seat. Marianne begins taking out her kit. Peter kneels in front of the sleeping man. He tilts his head and shakes his knee.

  “Sorry to hear. Here soon though, this whole plague should be eradicated and the quarantines can be lifted.” Marianne murmurs. “Just try and hold it together for the meantime.”

  The old lady nods. Marianne fills the syringe with Rainmaker and flicks the needle. The lady looks concerned.

  “Is that…?”

  “Yes, ma’am. This is Rainmaker. The cure for Crow’s Plague developed by the Institute. Now please hold still. It may hurt.”

  Marianne sticks the syringe into the old lady’s arm. She squirms. Marianne holds her hand. The liquid seeps into her veins. She takes deep breaths, focusing on where Marianne’s eyes are behind the mask.

  Peter stands up. The old man isn’t waking from his slumber. He decides to use one last trick and lightly slaps his cheek. His eyes shoot open.

  “Ouch! Goddamn it what the hell??” He spits. “You…”

  Upon seeing Peter, the old man tosses the newspaper aside. He grips the armrests tightly. Peter couldn’t tell if he was mad or scared.

  “You’re one of them bloody government doctors.” He squints his eyes. “Ain’t here to tell us we’re on death’s doorstep, are you?”

  Peter shakes his head. He gestures over to Marianne dabbing the lady’s arm then wrapping it with a bandage. He has to blink a few times to comprehend what’s happening. Marianne hands her gear over to Peter. He preps the Rainmaker for the old man.

  “Honey? Are you okay?” He asks.

  “I’m fine dear. The needle hurts some. But I’m fine.” She replies.

  “Good. Good. You lot are fine folk doing what you do.”

  The old man barely feels the needle in his arm. Only but a slight grunt comes from his mouth before the bandages are wrapped around his arm. He rubs the spot where the needle was in. Peter and Marianne wave the old couple off as they head out.

  “So… what do we do with them? The prisoners?” Russell asks.

  Queen Victoria sips on her tea while looking out the window. The looming shadow of the USS Armitage continues to hover over the city near Big Ben. She turns around to face the military general.

  “Simple. They must be punished. Severely.” She replies.

  “What are you thinking? Execution?”

  “Hm. I’m not sure. Death may be too easy of an escape. For their crimes against the city and the people… They must suffer. Take them to Gatehouse Penitentiary. They chose this life so there will be no mercy for being stripped of their freedom. I feel imprisonment for life is a far worse fate then death.”

  Russell nods. He writes this down on a slip of paper that he then slides into his coat pocket.

  “Guess that means you’ve made up your mind once the report got to you. What will the public think of this?” He asks.

  “Satisfaction. Relief. Now the Institute can continue their efforts to fight against Crow’s Plague without obstacles. And the people can breathe a little easier now. We’re finally recovering from this damned endemic.”

  “Right. Well, I’ll get heading back then. Good luck with the recovery. Once those criminals are locked up then our job here is done.”

  “Mm. Do come visit me afterwards. Before you and your fleet take leave.”

  “Understood your majesty.”

  Corbeld jaunts on past the men at their desks once he reaches the main chamber of the underground complex. He heads directly to Magrath’s office, shoving the door wide open. Magrath stops mid-slurp on a bowl of hot noodles. His eyes dart directly to Corbeld’s who wears a grim expression. Magrath sucks the noodles up and swallows. He coughs and dabs his lips with a black handkerchief.

  “Ahem! The least you could do is knock first. What if I had a dame in here in the middle of interco-“

  “This is important! The operation is over!” Corbeld interrupts.

  “Say what?”

  Magrath raises an eyebrow. Corbeld walks over to his desk and slams his hands on the surface. His gaze is fierce.

  “Those damned Americans. They scorched the breeding lab. And all of our associates are gone. Nabbed by the soldiers. Every last one of them. I checked in on their homes. None of them came back…”

  “Huh?! So… damn it. I knew when that American airship arrived that it was a bad omen.”

  “I’m sorry to say this Magrath… but it’s over. Our plan to eradicate the poor, disease-ridden peasants from our streets has come to an abrupt end I’m afraid. With the rats gone, the Americans capturing our associates and the public still on high alert it’s far too risky to continue this operation.”

  Magrath sighs. He takes another slurp of his hot noodles followed with a swig of iced water from a glass.

  “I hate to admit it but you’re right. We need to temporarily disband at once. If the Americans get anything out of our associates, then our cabal is finished. We’ll have to pack up what we can and leave. Let the storm blow over and reconvene in a new location.”

  Corbeld slams a fist on the desk. He reels back and rubs his hands over his face. Sweat beads his brow. He taps his foot on the floor before leaving in a huff to go across the hall over into his own office. Magrath finishes his noodles and starts packing up important documents into a suitcase.

  Magrath and Corbeld speak to the gentlemen at the desks in the main chamber. They demand for them to check the rooms of their associates and take anything necessary from the rooms including personal belongings and paperwork. Magreth allows for the others to throw everything into his and Corbeld’s steam carriages. Corbeld remains to help out. In roughly just a couple hours, the entire complex was thoroughly cleansed of crucial belongings. Paperwork. Trinkets. Documents. Pictures. Typewriters. The back of the steam carriages was packed to the brim. Magrath locks the front doors and the iron gate leading down into the complex. Him and Corbeld split off to go their separate ways for now.