With my foot elevated a lot of the time to reduce swelling, I’ve had a lot of time to watch/red/doomscroll the news. What bothers me most, is the idea that a renowned anti vaxer might shortly be in charge of all Health in the US. Unfortunately, as the US has a large population, and is (used to be) well resourced, health research that takes place there, has a flow on effect elsewhere in the world.

Quite a number of years ago, I wrote a short story called ‘The Price of the Natural.’ It was my take on what might happen if ‘natural health nuts’ ended up in positions of power in our government. It never got an airing elsewhere, although it was sent off to a variety of places, so when I was thinking about stuff this week, I thought I’d post it here for anyone who wants to read it. Hopefully it doesn’t turn out to be prophetic about the US Health services over the next few years…

The Price of the Natural

“Clean, Green and Free! Keep Our Children Toxin Free!” The shouts reverberated through Graham’s memory, echoing and clanging like the clapper on a wind blown bell. His aged eyes saw the scene as clearly as if it had been yesterday. Mothers, towing toddlers, pushing prams and waving placards leading the victory march. The throb of the drums and the chanted slogans giving voice to the sounds that had spelled the downfall.

He looked at his hands. Old man’s hands, with their gnarled skin and prominent knuckles, skin splattered with the brown splashes of age. They shook slightly. Graham leaned forward and, with one gnarled fingertip, eased the blind back slightly. The darkness seemed deeper, or maybe he was just more exhausted. 

“Graham! It’s time!” Jen’s voice dragged him from his reverie, and he pushed himself to his feet, grimacing at the creakiness of his knees. They were old now, well used but still functioning, just like his brain. A few halting steps, and then the synovial fluid flushed through the joints and his gait smoothed out.  

“Is there a name? I need to label the doses.”

“She’s called Emily. After my mother,” Jen replied, and he heard the sadness in her voice. The flu season two years after COP’s landslide victory in the polls had been severe, and his mother-in-law had succumbed to the infection. She had been very loved.

Graham rested his hand on the ornamental carvings on the mantlepiece, allowing his fingertips to located the raised dot, pressed, and then presented his thumb to the gel pad. A click, a tiny hiss, and a section of the wall slid sideways into the cavity, exposing the vault entrance. He bent, presented face and eye to the scanner, and then pushed gently on the heavy door. Forty-eight steps later, his knees grumbled tiredly as he reached the door at the bottom of the stairs. Once again he presented his thumb, felt the tiny prick, and entered the code into the keypad. 

The banks of refrigerated cabinets lined the room, but their empty shelves spoke sadly of difficult times ahead. Graham hurried over to the far cabinet and ran his eyes over the remaining stocks. Once, there had been rank after rank of neatly labelled vials. Now, only a few shelves of scattered doses remained. Sighing, he began to label little Emily’s share.

His task done, he pocketed what was needed, and relocked the room after casting a careful eye over the cables leading to the solar array on the roof. The backup generators sat in their neat cradles, waiting. Grimacing, he began the climb back up. At the top, he paused, sweating and heart pounding, before he exited and allowed the door to close silently behind him.

“Jen?”

“Yes, Gray?”

“I have it.”

“Come in then, and meet your new granddaughter.” She beckoned with a smile.

Graham stepped into the adjoining room, eyes crinkling at the tableau in front of him. The small family was tucked comfortably together. Jamie was feeding the baby, staring down at the perfect small body as she suckled. Their son, Simon, stared wonderingly at his new daughter, his eyes soft and one arm tucked around his wife and child.

“You have them?” 

“Yes,” replied Jennifer. “Ready Jamie? It’ll only take a moment and then she’ll be safe, or at least as safe as we can make her for the moment.”

“Do it now,” said Jamie, “she’s feeding and probably won’t even notice.” Jennifer placed the container neatly on the table, and began. It took such a short time, and the baby barely noticed the brief pricks. 

When it was done, Graham cleared the emptied vials away and disposed of them, carefully crushing them in a mortar and pestle in the kitchen, and then sweeping the fine glass grains into an old tin can.  He buried it near the compost heap in the soggy backyard, after looking around to make sure no unseen eyes watched. The needles were bent and then hidden in old jars of nails in the shed, and the plastic syringes dropped in the fire under the boiler to curl and twist into ash. After a final check of the yard, Graham returned to the house and towelled his hair dry in front of the fire.

His wife appeared in the doorway. “I think it’s time to go, Gray.”

He looked up, and then nodded, sadly, looking around at the familiar room, with its comfortable furniture and book lined walls. 

“Yes,” he sighed. “I’ll contact the agent tonight and confirm. Have Simon and Jamie decided?”

“Yes, Emily’s arrival has confirmed it. They were wavering, but the epidemic on the coast has them scared, and they know her chances are better elsewhere, even if we have to take a boat.” She twisted her mouth wryly. “Who’d ever have thought it would come to this? In this country? We had it all. We really had it all. How did it go so wrong?”

She perched herself on the arm of his chair and leaned into him, curving her arm around his shoulders as his went around her waist. 

“Who’d have thought we’d end up like this?  When you called me, I was thinking about those first years under the COP. Remember the slogans? And all that stuff on the net that people shared and believed?”

She twisted her mouth ruefully.

“It went round like wildfire,” she replied, and he heard the frustration in her voice. “Mindless sharing of information, without any thought that some of it might be wrong. We should pack.” She slid off the arm of the chair, and he reluctantly let her go. “How long will it be after you contact the agent?”

“He said less than twenty-four hours last time I spoke to him.” Graham’s knees complained as he pushed himself out of his chair. “Did Simon and Jamie come prepared?” 

“They did. Their stuff’s in the car, ready and waiting. Simon said they’re ready whenever we have the go ahead.”

“In that case, I’ll contact the agent tonight. Are you right to pack for us?” 

She punched his shoulder as she had many times over the years, and he smiled at her, heart filled with all the days they’d shared together. He hugged her briefly, and then went down the hall to the front door and pulled his coat on. Settling the hood over his head, he headed out into the damp night. 

He turned off the pavement just before the bakery and walked down an overgrown path into the bushland on the edge of town. Pausing just inside the trees, he tucked himself away behind a screen of bushes and watched for a few moments to see if he’d been followed. Finally satisfied that he was alone, Graham stepped deeper into the vegetation and then flicked on his torch and took a side path down the hill and into dense bush. 

The agent was waiting in an old hut at the bottom of the hill. It was surrounded by thick bush and difficult to find unless you knew it was there. Graham flicked his torch off before tapping on the door. It opened immediately, and he slipped into the dimly lit interior. “We’ve decided,” he said. “As soon as possible.”

“Sit down.” A chair was pushed over, scraping harshly on the uneven floorboards. “Do you have the money?”

Graham fished in his coat pocket and produced the envelope full of cash he and Jen had scraped together over the preceding months. He opened it and counted the notes onto the side table, leaving his hand on the pile. 

“I need a time and a location.”

The other man grunted, eyes on the money.

 “There’s a boat leaving tomorrow night. You’ll need to be at Taggert’s Cove by midnight. Make sure you bring your own food and water – prepare for at least a week. Your contact at the cove’s called Jabba – he’ll be expecting you. Four?”

“Four and a baby.”

“Ah.” The man drummed a finger on the table. “No charge for the baby.” He smiled as if bestowing a great gift.

 Such generosity, thought Graham.

“Anything else I need to know?”

The man shrugged. 

“Bring anything you think you might be able to trade. There’s not a lot in any of the camps, but at least there’s food, and decent sanitation.”

“I hear it’s been bad on the coast?” asked Graham, “Any news?”

The man shook his head. 

“Very. Never thought I’d see polio in my lifetime.”

Graham leaned closer, peering at the man sitting on the other side of the table. He was middle aged – probably born in the nineties, he guessed. “None of us did. You getting out too?”

“I’m out already – I only come back to organise these escapes, but it’s getting harder. There’s few who’ll take the risk, and it’s more and more expensive.”

“Will you be on the boat?”

“Nope. Have my own way in and out.”

Graham paused for a moment, and then decided to ask the inevitable question. 

“Any room for others with you?”

The man shook his head. “Sorry. You’ll take your chances like everyone else I’m afraid. I have my own family to think of.”

It was the first hint that the man had any other life than putting people on boats and making money. He wondered what his motivations really were. No matter. He had a time and a date now, and he needed to be back with his own family, preparing for their escape. 

“We’ll be there then.” He picked up the money and handed it over to the man and left the hut, slowly making his way back through the bush and then to the roadway. Once again, he paused just inside the tree line and stood watching quietly. When there was no sign of anyone, he slipped out of the trees and walked quickly back through the night to the house.

“Well, it’s done. Tomorrow, Taggert’s Cove, midnight,” he said as Jen raised a querying eyebrow. “I’ll help you finish the packing. As we thought, we’ll need to pack for a minimum of a week.”

She nodded and vanished up the stairs, while he walked down the hallway into the living room. He looked around. This house had been their refuge for many years. He looked at the book lined walls, farewelling them in his mind, and then stepped over to the mantlepiece. His knees protested even before he opened the door, but he ignored them and descended again. 

The wasteland of his life’s work spoke mute volumes. For a moment he looked sadly at what was left, but then took enviro bags from the cupboard and checked their charges. What was left in the refrigerator might just be enough to buy them a new start in the camps. The tablet at his workstation carried his life’s work. He’d made notes of the disaster as it had rolled out across the country, once COP had risen to power. Maybe he could sell the story, or his research.

He snorted at the irony of it all – the tablet was still legal. It was only the information stored inside it that wasn’t. The COP had cherrypicked the tech and information it still allowed.

He began the long process of backing it all up onto several data gems. Jen’s research went onto them as well. Finally, he seated the gems into the wrist bands, one for each adult.

He packed the essential medical supplies, sighing as he popped the last of the stored medications into their temperature controlled environments. They were, of course, all illegal now. There was nothing like them in the apothecaries the COP funded. He and Jen had manufactured them themselves using their cobbled together equipment. 

They’d kept a low profile over the years, but there were still people who remembered they’d both worked for the CSIRO. It had taken a number of moves until they’d felt safe enough to settle down. The hysteria of the early years had diminished over time, but now an entire generation had been indoctrinated, educated only as the COP had decreed.

It was late, and he was tired, but travelling to Taggert’s Cove would take the better part of the time they had left, so he packed the last of the things into their padded compartments, tucked the tablet into its sleeve and divided the medical supplies into two identical daypacks. Wearing one and carrying the other, he turned off the lights, shut the refrigeration down, and ascended the stairs without a backward glance.

“I’ve packed the basics, Gray,” said his wife. She dropped the top flap of his hiking pack over the contents. “We just need to fill them with water and food. Do you have the portable desals?”

“I do, they’re in the backpacks – and here’s the data.” He handed her a band and she slipped it onto her left arm above her elbow, then strapped the day pack to her larger backpack.

“I’ll give one each to Jamie and Simon. They’ve just got little Emily’s final packing to do. When do we need to leave?”

“As soon as possible. I’d prefer to leave the car a fair way away from the Cove if possible. If we leave in the next hour, we can be a family on a two day hike in the national park. No-one will think anything of it.”

Jen looked slightly worried. “What about the baby? Won’t people think that’s odd?”

He grimaced. “Possibly – we’ll need to figure out some kind of cover story in case we’re questioned.”

As they drove down the highway, Jamie and Simon explained that they’d come prepared with all the trappings for a saining – or naming ceremony – for Emily. They’d thought the details through thoroughly, organised the bits and pieces they needed in case they were searched, and Simon had even had commemorative jewellery made locally, and therefore very publicly. To all intents and purposes, they were simply a family about to embark upon a ceremonial walk, something that had become quite common since the COP victory.

COP had paved the way for the selective abandonment of reason, built on the foundations of a population with no understanding of science, and upon conspiracy theories. There were still computers, of course, and engineers, but those working in biological and medical science had long since had their professions marginalised, and then outlawed, except for GOP approved facilities. 

His own family had worked hard to build a facade of respectability by moving far from their roots, to a place where no-one knew she’d been a doctor of traditional medicine, and he’d been an immunologist, working in research. 

Jen was now an artist, not a doctor, and Graham was a grower of fine, organic vegetables, not a research immunologist. None of their friends knew about the underground lab, and he hoped no-one ever would. The contents were damming, and he didn’t want any of their friends to suffer by association.

The sun was creeping over the horizon, dragging itself into the cloudy sky with pale pink fingertips, when they left the car and stopped briefly at a cafe near the entrance to the National Park. Graham savoured what might be his last cup of coffee, inhaling the rich aroma, as he looked across the grey waves crashing on the beach.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” asked the waiter.

“One more cup, perhaps?” asked Jen. Graham checked his watch.

“One more then.” The waiter smiled, and then limped off, and Graham looked sadly at the young man’s calliper-clad leg as he vanished behind the counter. 

He’d been a people watcher for years. The results of thirty years of COP policies and propaganda made an ugly picture against the art that sprinkled the cafe walls, and the music that poured gently from its speakers.

A man wearing a calliper had been an anomaly when he was a boy, but now it was all too common. Hacking coughs were everywhere, courtesy of a resurgence of whooping cough and tuberculosis. He watched a mother signing to her child – congenital rubella probably. Almost involuntarily, his eyes filled with tears.  He felt Jen’s warm hand on his, comforting. 

He blinked, annoyed to be giving way to emotion when so much was riding on the next sixteen hours. The waiter limped back again, this time balancing a tray with four steaming coffee cups balanced upon it. 

“Is that all for now?”

“Yes, thank you. Might we have the bill?” asked Simon.

“Of course. Off for a day’s hiking?” The waiter’s eyes took in their packs propped against the table legs, but paused on the baby, slung across her mother’s chest.

“A saining – an old family tradition,” smiled Jamie. “We’ll be in the park for about four days.”

“How lovely!” he exclaimed. “Do you have everything you require? My mother owns the local apothecary. If there’s anything you need, you’ll see her shop just before you head into the park. She has a variety of homeopathic preparations for the little one, and all the ceremonial things you might need.”

“I think we brought everything?” replied Graham, raising his eyebrows at Simon and Jamie.

“Perhaps we might pop in and see if she has a juniper scented candle?” said Jamie. “Our own apothecary had none, and we really wanted one.”

“Here, let me give you her card,” replied the waiter. “Tell her Gavin sent you.”

“Thank you very much,” said Jamie, accepting the card. The waiter limped off to collect their bill and Graham’s anger sparked. He felt Jen’s hand on his again, and deliberately relaxed his shoulders. 

“Go on outside, Gray, I’ll get this. You wait by the gate for the others.” He nodded  sadly as she went over to the till.

The bush in the park was thick, but the walking trails were clearly marked and they made good time.  Graham’s knees complained as they climbed yet another rise as the sun began to set. He was old and tired, but the thought of little Emily growing up safe and sound and free of disease forced him to keep putting one foot ahead of the other.

Perhaps once they were on the boat, he’d finally feel free. The years of hiding had taken their toll. He felt as if unseen eyes watched every move, but each time he turned to look behind, there was no-one there.

Trudging along in the dark under the moonlight, he still felt uneasy. The bush seemed much more eerie at night. He checked his watch again. Three hours until midnight, but it wasn’t far now.

“Not long now,” he said.

“Tired?” asked Jen, and he could hear the love in her voice.

“Knees are complaining,” he replied.

“I’ll be glad when we’re on the boat,” said Jamie. “The boy in the cafe…” 

In the darkness, Graham nodded. The risk of polio infection was low for a newborn, tucked against her mother, but measles was much less discriminating.

At last a moonlit glimmer of white sand showed through the trees. They slowed, while Simon scouted ahead. At last he returned.

“Come on.”

The rush of tiny waves welcomed them to Taggert’s Cove. Graham looked at his watch again. It had taken them an hour to travel the last two kilometres. His legs were leaden as he trudged through the soft sand. Midnight – now less than two hours away. He wondered when the boat would arrive.

He heaved his pack off with a sigh of relief and checked the contents. Everything was safe, and the batteries powering the enviro bags still showed a hefty charge.

The night wore on. Minutes passed like hours, and Graham felt as if the second hand on his watch had been dipped in tar, so slow did its passage around the clock face seem. Eventually a tiny light across the waves began to blink on and off. He heaved himself to his feet and flicked his torch: on, off, on.

The light began to move, and as the small boat motored quietly into Taggert’s Cove, lights began to flash behind them in the bush.

Red beams flickered through the trees, and Graham’s heart thudded in his chest. 

“Run!” A voice from the waves called urgently, and Graham lifted Jen’s pack onto her back again, and she began to stumble through the sand. 

“Jabba?” he called.

“Yes, run!”

“Jamie, come on!” In the uncertain torchlight, he saw his daughter-in-law drag her shirt down as she plucked the baby from her breast and tucked her into the sling. Simon urged her towards the boat as Graham hoisted his own pack onto his back.

The lights in the trees were bobbing rapidly closer, and then a sharp crack rent the night air.

“Stop!” The sound was amplified, and Graham couldn’t tell where it was coming from. He fumbled with his pack’s straps, finally managing to wiggle his arms through them, and began to lumber through the sand after Simon. It mired his feet, and his aching knees screamed at him to stop, but he forced them to obey him.

“Move! They’ll be here anytime!” shouted the voice from the boat.

Graham’s heart thundered in his chest, but the boat seemed to be so far away. His chest heaved and his throat was dry, the air wheezing in and out loudly. Another shot, and this time a spurt of sand leapt into the air in the juddering torchlight.

“Stop, or this time we aim for you!” shouted the voice behind them. Graham’s feet were on firmer ground now, and then his boots were splashing heavily into the water. The boat rocked just in front of him, and he lunged towards it.

More cracks from behind, and something thudded into his leg. There was no pain, just hot wetness and a leg that threw him forward into the water. His pack held him down, and he struggled to right himself, trying not to inhale the salty water that stung his eyes.

Strong hands pulled him to his feet, and then amidst a confusion of sounds and people, he was dragged into the boat. Water sprayed over his face as more bullets spattered the waves, and then the boat was surging forward.

The amplified voice faded behind them as cool air played across Graham’s face, and the boat passed beyond Taggert’s Cove and into the larger swells of the Pacific Ocean. 

“Gray?” Jen’s voice wavered in the darkness. “Are you all right?” His leg began to throb and his vision greyed, but then her hands were on his leg and the throbbing escalated, even as his eyesight steadied. 

“I think I’ve been shot.”

“You’re bleeding,” she said unnecessarily. “Simon, I’ll need the kit in the side pocket.”

Hands removed the pack from Graham’s back, and he lay prone on a seat in the cramped little tender. Jen’s sure touch bandaged the wound, and at last he was able to rest with his head in her lap, exhausted, leg throbbing. 

The man at the tiller looked at them through the moonlight.

“You’re lucky, you know. This’ll be the last boat for a while now.” He switched a small screen on, and turned the boat gently, sending it shooting through the small swell. “The COP knows that cove now.”

Graham looked back over the waves to the faint lights still visible on the shore. It was a ridiculous irony, he thought. The COP had stopped the incoming boats, as the political parties of his youth had promised to do but never managed. It had been something he’d protested against. Now, years later, he was on a boat they hadn’t stopped, but one running in the opposite direction. He turned away, and looked at little Emily, now contentedly asleep in her mother’s arms in the moonlight. She was the reason. It was worth it.