Lying on a stiff bed, the contained woman softly weeps to herself. She was all alone in the room. Separated from her family. Then the door knob turns. She glances up through misty eyes to see a Black Doctor enter the room. They have a slender figure and seems to be around her height. In their hand is a satchel.


    “Miss? Hello there.” The doctor speaks in a soft tone.


    The woman wipes her eyes, her guard lowering from the more welcoming feminine voice. She swings her legs off of the bedside. The doctor takes a seat next to her. Inside the satchel, she takes out a single vial of a deep purple liquid and a syringe. She presses a gloved hand on top of the woman’s own hand.


    “W-what is that?” The woman asks.


    “Well… This is the latest batch of the new Rainmaker variant. We are to test it on subjects such as yourself who resisted the current Rainmaker. You and the others pose a danger to the populace so we’re keeping you all here. It’s for the good of the people we get this Rainmaker variant perfect to fight the plague. I’ll need you to hold still now, okay?”


    The woman starts weeping again. The doctor stops. She sets the syringe down and looks to the woman.


    “Miss. Please. You don’t have to cry.” She says.


    Tears streak down the woman’s cheeks. The doctor places a hand on her shoulder.


    “You people tear me away from my home. Lock me up. Now I’m being tested on?? I’m doomed…” The woman sobs.


    “Calm down, please. I know… I know this is hard. Whoever brought you here must’ve terrified you. We’re… Not exactly welcoming. How about… I give you, my name?”


    The woman looks to the doctor and wipes her eyes. She just nods.


    “I’m Zelma. And what about you? What is your name miss?” The doctor says.


    She hesitates to answer for a moment. Then her lips open;


    “C… Carrie.” Her voice trembles.


    The doctor gently rubs her shoulder to ease her fear.


    “Carrie. A lovely name. I assure you dear… Us doctors all care for the safety of the people. This is a scary time for everyone. Once we can perfect Rainmaker… We’ll be able to cure everyone of this heinous plague. So… All I can say is try to remain optimistic. The plague hasn’t taken you yet. How are you feeling by the way?” Zelma asks.


    “Fine. I think? I have a terrible headache and my body aches.” Carrie coughs. “O-oh and that too.”


    Zelma nods. She then pulls out a leather strap. She carefully wraps it around Carrie’s forearm to tighten the circulation of blood in her veins and isolate the designated area for the syringe.


    “I see. The plague affects everyone a little bit differently. Weak immune systems are the most vulnerable, leading to death within a day or two of infection. Stronger systems such as yours must be seem to combat its virulent nature. Now… Hold still for me Carrie. Okay?”


    “S-sure.”


    Zelma takes the syringe to dip the needle into the vial, filling it up with the liquid. She flicks the tip of the needle, brings it over to Carrie’s arm and slowly jabs it into her forearm with precision. Carrie squirms slightly. The purple liquid feeds into her veins. A second passes once the syringe is empty and Zelma pulls it out. Carrie breathes a sigh of relief. Zelma grabs a bandage to wrap around the bleeding spot left in the woman’s arm. She gives a gentle pat once it’s sealed.


    “There we go. Not so bad, right?” Zelma asks.


    Carrie is trying to match a face to the voice. She’s imagining bright eyes and a warm smile beneath the intimidating beaked mask. It brings her some ease. She nods, even managing a grin. Zelma nods.


    “If it will make you feel better… I’ll make sure to come check on you tomorrow. I need to see if this Rainmaker variant is having any effect compared to the current variant. I will warn you now. This isn’t complete yet. Still in the testing stage. But you and the others’ cooperation will help us in getting it perfect.” Zelma explains.


    “I… O-okay.”


    “So, symptoms may still stick around. Maybe not. Getting a sample of your blood after twenty-four hours once Rainmaker has settled into your system will help me determine its effectiveness. Does that… Make sense?”


    “Yes. It does. I think?”


    “Good. You’re a strong woman, Carrie. Hopefully we’ll be able to get you out of here and back to your family. You’re just one of so many who unfortunately caught the plague. We’re overwhelmed beyond belief so please be patient.”


    Zelma packs up her things into the satchel and heads for the door. She turns around to wave a hand at Carrie.


    “I’ll see you again, okay?” She says.


    Carrie nods and waves back. Zelma leaves the room, locking the door behind her. Carrie is still in distress but feels a little better after engaging with the friendly doctor. She lays back down to try and get some rest.


    A group of rats slink around trash cans and trash bags while they maneuver through the alleyway. They move like an orchestrated squad of soldiers locked into formation. The rats then split off towards various places. One slips through a basement window cracked slightly open. Another scurries across an empty road without being caught by any people as it runs up a pipe on the side of a blacksmith and crawls into an air vent on the roof.


    The wandering rat slides in-between two trash cans. Its beady eyes look around to find a place in the alley to head towards. Before it can dart away, a boot steps on its tail. The rat begins to panic. A bobby looks on in disgust at the vermin. He lifts his other boot and brings it down to squish the rat. Its guts spill out of its bloody corpse. Horrified by its size, he runs off to find a street cleaner to dispose of the creature.


    Inside of a townhouse, a black-haired man reads the newspaper while a blonde woman knits away. He lowers the paper and looks to his wife.


    “Oi’ honey. I just remembered… I needa’ sell that box o’ junk downstairs. Mind grabbin’ it for me? My feet ‘re killin’ me from work.” He asks.


    She sighs, setting her needles and fabric down next to her.


    “Oh fine.” She replies.


    The woman gets up to walk to the basement door. She bends down to lift it up off the ground. She descends the stairs and pulls a chain on the ceiling to light up the basement. Her eyes glance around until she spots a gangly rat sniffing around a couple dead bugs on the floor not far from the box of junk. A blood-curdling scream erupts from her.


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    Upstairs, the man jumps in his spot on the couch. He throws the newspaper down and runs towards the basement door. He quickly steps down to find his wife cowering in the corner holding a broken broomstick.


    “What the hell are ye’ screamin’ at?!” He shouts.


    “R-r-rat!!!” The woman stammers.


    He looks over to where the broomstick is pointed at. The rat is nowhere to be seen.


    “Where??”


    “I-it ran and hid behind t-those boxes! I-I-I saw it n-near the junk b-box you wanted!”


    The man carefully steps closer to the area where the rat was. For a brief second, he sees the rat dart past him to another corner behind more boxes. He feels panic set in and runs over to his wife. His hand reaches out and grabs hers.


    “We needa’ leave now! C’mon!” He says.


    The two head up the stairs and shut the basement door. He takes her outside of the house and down the block to a telephone box. He steps inside and quickly turns the dial. His hand trembles as he holds the receiver.


    “London Street Department. Bennett speaking.”


    “We need an exterminator down ‘ere on Fourty-Two Easting Street! Gots’ us a rat in our basement!”


    “Understood. We’ll send an exterminator to your location. Stay out of the house. This goes for anyone else in your residence.”


    “Me an’ my wife are down the block. We’ll wait here!”


    The man puts the receiver back on its rack. He steps out of the box to his wife shaking in her boots. He puts an arm around her to comfort her.


    “Rats? In Newham? Aw hell… Make sure they are taken care of as soon as possible! Have your men scour every bloody nook and cranny of the fucking borough! Those vile vermin harbor the plague! See to it at once!”


    The stern-looking gentleman with a curled auburn mustache and chestnut bowler hat slams the receiver down on the hooks. He wipes the sweat from his brow. The door to his office opens up. Corbeld steps inside with an eyebrow raised.


    “Everything okay, sir Walsh? I overheard something about rats?”


    Walsh shakes his head. He leans back in his chair, palms over his face.


    “You overheard correctly. Newham is next to a quarantine zone so odds are they must’ve found their way over to Newham. Damned vermin… I’m led to believe they’re to blame for the Crow’s Plague.”


    Corbeld takes a seat in front of the man. He cups his hands together.


    “Oh? And why is that?” He asks.


    “Think about it. Rats were involved in the Great Plague back in sixteen-sixty-five and six. They’ve always been disease-spreading vermin. While the city’s poorer conditions were also to blame… nonetheless the pests aided in spreading their filth. And lest we not forget the Black Death that ravaged all of Europe…” Walsh murmured.


    “Right. Right… Yes, this is indeed a problem. Perhaps the sudden infestation of rats is what started the plague.”


    “Yet we do not know where they came from. The police are still investigating shipments from foreign nations and so forth. They must’ve come from somewhere. London has been a clean city ever since that damned Great Plague shifted the governments entire focus to reworking our infrastructure, safety standards and sanitation.”


    Corbeld simply nodded.


    “And what of you, Corbeld? Are you in agreement with me?”


    “Of course, sir. Whether accidental or intentional, the Crow’s Plague started somewhere here. Surely, we’ll purge this filth from our fair city in due time. We just need to act fast. That goes double for the Institute and their development of Rainmaker to cure the infected.”


    “Good to know. Shelving that aside for now… Why did you need to see me?”


    Corbeld pulls out a file tucked away inside his overcoat and sets it on the desk. Walsh takes a look at its contents.


    “A report from Bethlam’s owner. The hospital has reached max capacity and can no longer take in the homeless. He is requesting that Parliament opens up new areas to store homeless residents of quarantine zones. This is a serious matter, Walsh. As Secretary of State and a dear friend of mine, I thought I’d bring this to your attention first and foremost.”


    Walsh glances through the report. He sighs and sets the paper down.


    “Shit. Already? I’m always holed up inside so I’m unaware of just how bad things have gotten out there. I live but a few blocks from work and never leave the district.”


    “Mhm. My advice? Take this to Parliament and fast. With Bethlam barring entry, further homeless will have nowhere to go. That also means those who are infected could be contaminating others around them. And lest we not be forced to…. Result to the ‘last resort.’ You know what I mean.”


    Walsh swallows hard. He takes the folder then stands up.


    “Very well. I’ll see to it that this gets approved. The police will be working overtime rounding up the homeless. They need to be taken elsewhere away from the populace. The Institute is already housing working-class citizens with the plague so we can forget about asking them.” Walsh says as he heads for the door.


    “Understood. You go and do that Walsh. I’ll be taking my leave as well. I am quite the busy man after all. Got places to be, you know?”


    “Yes yes. Go on then Corbeld.”


    Corbeld nods to Walsh who holds the door open. The two leave the office then go their separate ways. Corbeld smirks on his way out of the building.


    Night falls on London. Bobbies are scrambling to evacuate residents from Newham after a pair of residents were found dead in their home and several rats were spotted in the home’s kitchen. People with suitcases, bags, backpacks and purses leave their homes. Business owners force customers out to shut their stores down. The two resident factories cease production and the local mail delivery service halts all services. Bobbies set up checkpoints at the borders leading in and out of Newham. Citizens stand lined up in the blistering cold as they are led out of the borough. Black Doctors stand at their steam carriages checking citizens individually for any signs of the plague.


    Exterminators are a branch of the city’s Street Department. Due to the potential risks in dealing with and handling any form of pests and vermin, exterminators wear fully-protective mustard yellow leather suits and a sealed mask. They’re equipped with lethal electrical traps. These engineering marvels are designed like bear traps lined with a big handle for carrying, copper wires and a basket for storing bait hooked up to a fuse box that is remotely triggered by a handheld switch connected to the fuse box, sending ten-thousand volts through the wires to zap anything within the trap. Alongside these traps, exterminators also carry pouches full of various forms of bait and a steel rod with pincers. Once the pests are killed, exterminators will bring in a sealed steel cage from their steam carriages to store the corpses into using the rod tool after deactivating the trap. With that, the exterminator has fulfilled their job.


    Peter and Marianne cover up the corpses of the deceased residents, storing their contaminated blood samples into Peter’s bag. A steel cage filled with dead rats sits in a corner of the kitchen next to a folded-up trap. The exterminator heads into the living room where Peter and Marianne are stationed.


    “I’m packing up. I’ll leave the victims to you two.” He says.


    “Alright.” Peter responds.


    The exterminator grabs the cage and trap. He nods to the doctors before he heads out of the house. Marianne looks to Peter. He looks back. They both nod to each other. Together, they toss the bodies over their shoulders to bring them outside. The exterminator hops into his steam carriage and drives off. Peter and Marianne set the bodies down into the wagon hooked up to their carriage. Before they set off, a third doctor is walking in their direction also carrying a body on their shoulders. They set the body down alongside the other two.


    “Where’d this one come from?” Marianne asks.


    “Aye. They was just down the block. Found em’ laying in a pool of their own stomach bile and an empty bottle o’ pills on their nightstand. Poor bastard must’ve been sick and got paranoid so he overdosed.” The doctor speaks in a sonorous, masculine tone.


    “Oh. Damn…”


    “You already gots’ a wagon so I figured I’d bring em’ to ya’. Appreciate it. My shift is about over so I’m headed off.”


    The doctor waves then walks off in the opposite direction from whence he came from. Marianne goes to shut the front door to the house after leaving a piece of paper in the doorway. Peter starts up the carriage. Marianne hops into the passenger seat.


    “What a fucking day. Off we go then I suppose.” Peter mutters.


    Marianne leans her head back. Peter drives the carriage out of the borough. The two are silent during the lengthy drive to Redbridge. A crew of men with flamethrowers wave to the doctors as they pull up to the disposal site. They step out to haul the bodies off the cart and into the sectioned-off area marked with yellow tape strapped to steel poles. Three more added to an already large heap of bodies. The couple watches from afar as the men scorch the bodies. Smoke rises from the site into the gray skies above.