Chapter 4 - THE QUARANTINE FIELD
The settlement had no name.
The soldiers called it Camp Four.
That frightened Thomas more than if they had called it Hell.
Numbers meant there were others.
Camp Four occupied a flooded meadow beside an abandoned abbey.
A wooden palisade surrounded hundreds of tents.
Watchtowers stood at each corner.
Smoke rose from fire pits.
People moved inside in slow lines.
From a distance it almost looked organized.
Close up, it smelled of shit, sickness, wet wool, and fear.
The wagons stopped outside a gate.
Soldiers ordered everyone down.
A clerk sat behind a table beneath an awning.
He asked names.
Age.
Home village.
Occupation.
Symptoms.
Thomas watched people lie.
No fever.
No cough.
No sickness in family.
Everybody knew truth could mean separation.
Aldren whispered, “Say as little as possible.”
Agnes clung to Marta.
The clerk looked at Thomas.
“Name?”
“Thomas.”
“Surname?”
Thomas hesitated.
His father’s surname had rarely mattered in Saint Aldric.
“Vale.”
The clerk wrote.
“Relation to other prisoners?”
“Travelers.”
“Symptoms?”
“No.”
“Recent dead?”
Thomas thought of Luc.
Elena.
Half the world.
“No.”
The lie hurt.
The clerk barely looked at him.
“Red mark.”
A soldier tied red cloth around Thomas’s arm.
Agnes received yellow.
Marta yellow.
Aldren red.
Thomas frowned.
“What does red mean?”
The clerk pointed.
“West section.”
“And yellow?”
“South.”
“Why separate us?”
“Exposure classification.”
Agnes grabbed Thomas.
“No.”
A soldier pulled her away.
Thomas moved.
A spear blocked him.
“She’s with us.”
“Not now.”
Agnes screamed his name.
Marta followed her.
Thomas tried again.
Aldren grabbed him.
“Wait.”
“I’m not leaving her.”
“You’re not choosing.”
That was becoming the story of the world.
Thomas and Aldren were taken west.
Camp Four’s sections were divided by fences.
Red held travelers from infected cities.
Yellow held people from rural districts.
White held soldiers and workers.
Black held the sick.
Thomas saw Black from far away.
Rows of tents.
Guards outside.
Nobody came out.
At the center stood the abbey.
Its church tower had been converted into command quarters.
The cross remained on top.
Soldiers slept beneath it.
Aldren laughed bitterly.
“What?”
“God keeps changing landlords.”
They were assigned a tent with twelve men.
No beds.
Mud floor.
One blanket for every two people.
Bread once a day.
Thin stew at night.
Water from barrels.
People fought over cups.
Thomas saw no physicians.
He asked.
A man with a missing ear laughed.
“Physicians?”
“The soldier said.”
“Soldiers say food too.”
He held up half a rotten onion.
“Behold the feast.”
His name was Willem.
A cooper from the east.
He had arrived four days earlier.
“How long do we stay?” Thomas asked.
Willem stared at him.
“You think this place is for leaving?”
Aldren sat nearby sharpening his knife.
“I told him.”
Thomas ignored him.
“What happens?”
Willem pointed toward Black section.
“Every morning they inspect us. Cough twice, fever, swelling, you go there.”
“And then?”
“Nobody returns.”
Thomas looked at the fences.
“Maybe they treat them.”
Willem smiled sadly.
“Boy.”
Thomas hated being called boy now.
At sunset, bells rang.
Not church bells.
A metal plate struck with a hammer.
Everyone lined up.
Soldiers distributed stew.
Thomas saved half for Agnes.
He knew it was foolish.
He did it anyway.
That night, rain entered through the tent seams.
A man coughed.
Everyone woke.
The man covered his mouth.
“Cold.”
Nobody slept after.
Morning inspection came.
A soldier entered with a barber-surgeon.
The surgeon touched foreheads.
Checked necks.
Armpits.
Groins.
No washing between people.
Thomas noticed.
“He touches everyone.”
Aldren’s jaw tightened.
The same hands.
The same cloth.
Moving sickness from body to body.
“Don’t let him touch you,” Aldren whispered.
“How?”
“Be last.”
They moved toward the back.
The coughing man was examined.
No swelling.
He stayed.
Thomas exhaled.
Then the surgeon reached Willem.
He paused.
Willem’s face changed.
“What?”
The surgeon touched his neck.
A small swelling.
Barely visible.
“No.”
Soldiers grabbed Willem.
“No!”
He fought.
“It's an old lump! I had it before!”
They dragged him out.
Thomas watched.
Willem screamed until the Black gate closed behind him.
Aldren whispered, “Remember.”
“What?”
“He was healthy yesterday.”
Thomas understood.
Maybe the surgeon had infected him.
Maybe not.
But Camp Four treated disease like sorting grain.
Good.
Bad.
Discard.
Thomas passed inspection.
So did Aldren.
At midday, Thomas bribed a guard with his saved bread to carry a message to Agnes.
The guard ate the bread in front of him.
“No.”
Thomas stared.
“You said—”
“I changed my mind.”
Aldren stepped forward.
Thomas stopped him.
The guard smiled.
“Smart boy.”
That night Thomas climbed the western fence.
Not over.
Too visible.
He dug beneath.
Mud.
Bare hands.
Aldren found him.
“What are you doing?”
“Seeing Agnes.”
“You’ll get whipped.”
“Then help.”
Aldren stared.
Then sighed.
“I preferred you stupid.”
Together they loosened soil beneath two planks.
Thomas squeezed through after midnight.
He crossed the camp avoiding torches.
Yellow section was quieter.
Fewer coughs.
More children.
He found Agnes by asking whispers.
A woman pointed.
Tent twenty-three.
Agnes was awake.
When she saw him, she slapped him.
Then hugged him.
Thomas froze.
She pulled away quickly.
“You left.”
“They separated us.”
“You still left.”
He did not argue.
Marta slept nearby.
Agnes whispered, “They took her husband’s ring.”
“Marta’s husband is dead.”
“She kept it.”
Thomas understood.
Soldiers stole from prisoners.
“What else?”
Agnes looked toward the fence.
“Women disappear.”
Thomas went cold.
“Black section?”
“No.”
“Where?”
“Abbey.”
She explained.
Every night guards selected people for kitchen work.
Young women.
Sometimes boys.
Some returned.
Some did not.
One girl came back bleeding and refused to speak.
Thomas felt anger hotter than fear.
“Which guards?”
Agnes pointed toward the central compound.
A man with a red beard stood near the abbey door.
Thomas recognized him.
The soldier who had forced them into the wagon.
He wore the governor’s crest.
“What is his name?”
“Captain Bale.”
Thomas stared.
He remembered Saint Aldric.
The governor’s residence burning.
Rebels breaking gates.
Some soldiers had escaped.
Apparently enough to build another little kingdom.
A metal alarm sounded.
Thomas ducked.
Guards ran toward Red section.
Shouting.
Agnes grabbed him.
“What?”
He heard it.
Screams.
Thomas ran.
“Stay here.”
“Thomas!”
He reached the fence.
Smoke rose from his tent.
People fought guards.
Aldren appeared near the gap.
“Go back!”
“What happened?”
“The coughing man turned feverish. They came for him.”
“That happens every day.”
“He stabbed the surgeon.”
Thomas stared.
The camp erupted.
Red prisoners used tent poles as clubs.
Soldiers attacked.
Someone opened a gate.
People rushed.
A guard fired a crossbow.
A man fell.
Then another.
Thomas climbed through the gap.
Aldren grabbed him.
“We leave now.”
“Agnes.”
“We get her.”
“Marta.”
“Her too.”
They crossed toward Yellow as chaos spread.
Then the Black gate opened.
Not by soldiers.
By prisoners from inside.
Sick people emerged.
Dozens.
Some barely walking.
Some carried others.
A woman screamed, “They’re burning the tents!”
Thomas looked.
Behind them Black section was on fire.
Soldiers had set it.
Not treatment.
Disposal.
Panic shattered Camp Four.
Yellow prisoners climbed fences.
White-section workers ran.
Soldiers abandoned posts.
Captain Bale shouted orders from the abbey steps.
“Close the outer gate!”
Thomas found Agnes and Marta.
They ran together.
At the main gate hundreds pressed against closed wood.
Soldiers on towers fired arrows into the crowd.
People screamed.
Aldren looked toward the abbey wall.
“Drainage ditch.”
They followed him.
Behind kitchens ran a trench under the palisade.
Covered by iron bars.
Aldren used his knife.
Useless.
Thomas looked around.
A firewood wagon.
Heavy.
Two iron hooks.
“Help me.”
They pulled a hook free.
Used it as leverage.
The bar moved.
Again.
Metal screamed.
People noticed.
They rushed toward them.
Too many.
Aldren shouted, “Back!”
Nobody listened.
The crowd crushed forward.
Marta fell.
Agnes screamed.
Thomas grabbed Marta’s coat.
A boot stepped on his hand.
Pain exploded.
He held on.
The bar came loose.
People poured through the narrow ditch.
Some crawled over others.
A child vanished under bodies.
Thomas tried reaching.
Aldren dragged him.
“You can’t save everyone!”
Thomas punched him.
Aldren barely reacted.
“Good. Keep that anger. Move.”
They crawled through.
Outside, rain fell.
Refugees scattered across fields.
Camp Four burned behind them.
Thomas turned.
On the abbey roof, Captain Bale stood watching.
Their eyes met across distance.
Bale recognized him.
Thomas knew.
The captain pointed.
Two soldiers mounted horses.
Aldren saw.
“Run.”
They ran toward the forest.
The riders followed.
Thomas’s hand throbbed.
Marta wheezed.
Agnes stayed beside her.
Hooves gained.
Aldren stopped.
“What are you doing?” Thomas shouted.
“Buying road.”
“No.”
“Go.”
Thomas hated that word.
Again.
Aldren drew his knife.
One old man against two mounted soldiers.
Thomas remembered Luc.
Elena.
Everyone choosing for him.
“No.”
He picked up a fallen branch.
Aldren cursed.
The first rider reached them.
Thomas threw the branch at the horse’s legs.
The animal stumbled.
Rider fell.
Aldren attacked.
The second rider raised a sword.
Agnes threw a stone.
It struck the horse’s eye.
The animal reared.
The rider fell backward.
Marta picked up the first soldier’s dropped spear.
She drove it into the second man’s stomach.
Everyone froze.
Marta stared at her hands.
The soldier gasped.
Blood spread.
He died slowly.
Marta began shaking.
“My husband hated violence.”
Aldren pulled the spear free.
“Your husband isn’t here.”
She slapped him.
Hard.
Aldren nodded.
“Fair.”
They took the horses.
One carried Marta and Agnes.
Thomas rode with Aldren.
Behind them Camp Four became another burning place on the road.
At dawn, they reached high ground.
Thomas saw movement north.
A line of soldiers.
More than fifty.
Governor’s banners.
Captain Bale had not merely built Camp Four.
He had an army.
Aldren watched them.
“They’ll hunt escapees.”
“Why?”
“Because people who escape cages tell others cages are cages.”
Thomas looked at the road ahead.
Southwest now.
Toward mountains.
Aldren pointed.
“There are mining villages there.”
“Plague?”
“Probably.”
“Soldiers?”
“Fewer.”
Agnes looked at Thomas.
“Is that our standard now?”
Thomas thought of Elena.
Anywhere men haven’t destroyed before the sickness reaches it.
He looked at the army behind them.
Then the plague road ahead.
“No.”
“What is?”
He touched the cross.
“Somewhere we get to choose when we leave.”
Aldren almost smiled.
Then a body hanging from a roadside tree turned in the wind.
Fresh.
A board around its neck read:
ESCAPED QUARANTINE.
Thomas looked back.
Camp Four had been burning for less than a night.
This body had been here longer.
There were other camps.
Other escapes.
Other executions.
The governor’s men were not trying to contain disease.
May you like
They were building power from it.
And somewhere ahead, Thomas realized, people would have to decide whether plague was worse than rule by men who used it.
