The Jellyfish Virus

The Jellyfish Virus - 22nd July 2023

When the virus hit the South of England, it had spread faster than anyone could predict. It was suspected, and later confirmed, that the culprit had been the Jellyfish they were all consuming. Once the authorities worked this out, it was too late.

Josh hurried down the dark corridor, focusing on the rhythmic clangs of his boots as they echoed off the metal. He adjusted his face mask, tying and untying the string at the back as he tried to ignore the constant thumping of his heart. A thin veil of sweat formed on his forehead. He grit his teeth, trying to push the thoughts of failure from the forefront of his mind.

They were all relying on him and he couldn't let them down now. His work was of vital importance.

He turned down another corridor and sped up. Rotting corpses wrapped in stained, red sheets were piled to the ceiling on either side of him. The overflowing rooms either side of him were piled with the same wrapped bodies; there were too many to count. He could smell the sickening stench of their flesh as it boiled in the heat. Nausea swelled in his stomach. He swallowed hard and pressed on.

A flickering, phosphorescent light greeted him as he turned left, away from the bodies. Its sporadic flicker focused his mind momentarily on something other than the death that surrounded him. He scrambled down several steps and paused at the doors in front of him, they were shut tight.

Plastic sheeting caked in dry blood hung before him. Flakes of blood were clumped on the ground and a dark puddle lay on the other side of the translucent sheet where the stretcher the body lay on had fallen.

That body belonged to David Whitmore, the catalyst for the chain of events that caused disaster on England's SouthCoast. Many had called him the clichéd, yet effective, title of Patient Zero.

Josh pushed past the sheeting, unlocked the door and stepped inside.

A wall of cold air washed over him. He gasped from the sudden drop in temperature and shivered as the cold run down his spine. The faint aroma of decay struggled to infiltrate past his mask, the coldness stifling the stench. Nevertheless, Josh closed his mouth and shut the door carefully.

He approached the metal table and looked down at the man. The remains had been untouched since the original infection, fear preventing an autopsy from being conducted amidst the chaos that broke out following his death.

As Josh examined the body; lifting a leg here, an arm there, he let his mind wander to the facts he had been briefed on extensively.

The virus spread through skin to skin contact and in this connected, urban jungle it was the perfect environment for it to devastate the population. If David hadn't missed his alarm, none of them would be in this position now.

The bruise on the left leg was from the hurried attempt to run across the landing and grab his work clothes, cursing as he bumped it on the little coffee table.

A burn on the back of his right hand was from the spatter of jellyfish oil as it spewed out the frying pan.

The discolouration on the end of his tongue was a scar from the burning, black coffee he gulped down to disguise the horrid taste of jellyfish entrails he had wolfed down that morning. Unbeknownst at that exact moment was when he contracted the virus.

Josh walked over to an adjacent table and prepared his instruments. He turned the tap on, just a little, and started cleaning the knives. He was very careful not to waste what little water they had left. Southern Water had been very selective about how much they were all allowed to use a day.