“I’m sorry. What now?”

  Corbeld raises an eyebrow. Walsh nods his head.

  “Her Majesty did it. The ‘last resort’ I had mentioned to you during our last conversation.” Walsh says.

  Corbeld reels back for a moment, slumping into the chair behind him.

  “Her last resort was calling for the Americans’ aid?” Corbeld asks.

  “It would appear so. My friend, you are very busy so perhaps you are unaware of just how awful the infestation has become. The police are already spread thin as is with overseeing quarantine. Our military forces are outside London guarding the borders, maintaining regular patrols and whatnot. There… was only one option left for us.”

  Corbeld felt a chill down his spine. He was in cahoots with Magrath who was pulling the strings for the entire operation. Now it was in jeopardy. He had to make sure to gather any further intel he could that would prove useful.

  “So, they plan to hunt down those behind the vermin infestation… huh? I see. Anything else you know that you can tell me?” Corbeld asks.

  Walsh shrugs his shoulders. He sips on some tea.

  “Not really. I’m too focused on maintaining order around here and keeping our allies updated on the current state of the city. We just sit back. Watch this unfold. The Black Doctors will continue dispensing Rainmaker while the American forces work to uncover the culprits behind this madness.”

  Corbeld takes a deep breath. Regaining his composure, he stands back up. He adjusts his tie.

  “Understood. I shall take this information to heart. Thank you, Walsh. I should… get going.”

  “Very well. Let us pray this will all be over soon.”

  Corbeld remains silent as he leaves the office. He bites his tongue.

  There was no response at the door. Peter shrugs his shoulders and turns to Marianne. She tries one more time, rapping on the door. Still no response.

  “Hm. Maybe we check his workplace?” She suggests.

  “We could. The coal plant isn’t too far.”

  Peter and Marianne hop into the steam carriage. They drive through Camden until arriving at the district’s coal plant. Steam bellows from the towering stacks on the building. A group of workers on their smoke break give the duo menacing glares. The sight of two Black Doctors is not a welcoming sight to the workers at the plant. Peter clears his throat as they approach the three men smoking.

  “Aye. What we got ‘ere? Couple o’ doctors? Don’t tell me someone here caught wind o’ that ‘ere damned plague.” The scruffy-faced man comments.

  “Ya’ think ol’ Johnny slept with a wench carryin’ that shit?” The short, stout man asks.

  Peter puts his hands up to wave them. He shakes his head to clear up their assumptions for their visit.

  “Relax. We just need to ask a question. There a Barry Welkers here?” He asks. “Heard from his lady that he works here.”

  The three men exchange glances. The scruffy one taps a finger on his chin.

  “Now that ya’ mention it… He hasn’t been to work these past couple o’ days. Ya’ check his home?”

  “We did. He wasn’t there. Figured he may be here.”

  “Shit. Barry’s gone missin’ has he? That ain’t good…”

  Marianne puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder. He turns to her.

  “If he’s missing then we’ll file a report. Make sure to let your superior know. We’re on borrowed time and frankly… I don’t feel like strolling through your plant in my current attire. May send a grim message to your co-workers.” Marianne explains.

  The three smoking men all nod.

  “Aye. You do that. An’ we’ll go talk to the boss.” The scruffy man replies.

  Peter and Marianne leave for the carriage. They’re pondering their only option left now; To file a missing person’s report to the police. It wasn’t long before they came to a police station. Despite the initial scare of being greeted by Black Doctors, they filed the report with ease using the information gathered from Charity and the guys at the coal plant. With that out of the way, the two headed home hoping something would come up so they’d have some good news for Charity.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Russell is quiet and calm while he listens to the soldier explain the situation regarding their interrogation with Barry Welkers from the other day. He wears a prominent smirk on his face. His thumbs move while his hands are cupped together on the desk.

  Before anything else, Russell begins walking the small prison on-board the USS Armitage. The cells were used to hold important prisoners-of-war during the two conflicts the crew had been involved in. Now, the cells only held but a select few regular people. Culprits like Barry were battered and broken from their interrogations. Russell gives a glare to each of the five people locked up in five of the eight cells. Barry was not the only one to be captured. To ensure that everyone was telling the truth, each individual was cracked under pressure to gather intelligence. And all of their answers pointed to the old sewage plant in Hackney being the breeding ground for the rats.

  An assault was underway. Civilians watch in awe as the massive airship looms over the district. Russell and a squad of four soldiers prepare to deploy. The steel ladder falls to the concrete. One-by-one, the men all slide down the ladder onto the street. In front of them was an abandoned plant noticeably smaller than many other industrial plants in London. Russell motions for the others to follow.

  “Onward! Follow my lead!” He shouts.

  Russell and the soldiers move forward. Lever-action rifles at the ready. Russell kicks open the doors to the building. The inside of the building was old and decrepit. Several pipes with wheels attached to them lined the walls. Rusting tanks sit rotting away. A single desk perched atop some stairs serving as the management’s place. A single room in the far corner had tables and chairs for eating and communing.

  The soldiers walk past the rusting tanks, spreading out to scan the plant. One soldier peers into a small concrete box to see a door. A sign was posted above the door but the faded words were illegible. He approaches and tries to open it but the knob wont budge. A keyhole was visible on the knob. He looks over his shoulder to see Russell examining the desk.

  “General! Over here! Found a door that’s locked!” The soldier shouts.

  Russell and the others head in his direction. Russell readies his leg and kicks. The door doesn’t budge.

  “Okay… Team effort here everyone. I need another to help me.” He states.

  Despite two boots kicking the door, it refuses to move. Russell sighs. He reaches into his pack and pulls out a tool. An intricate little oval-shaped mechanism of steel gears with a switch, erecting a thin lockpick. Russell slots the needle into the keyhole and starts turning it. The soldiers all watch until a click is heard.

  “Got it.” Russell says.

  He grabs the knob and opens the door up. Stairs led down underneath the facility. A soldier approaches holding a lantern. Russell nods. He points a hand to direct the others to follow him down the leaky, rotting concrete hall.

  A pungent odor emanates from below. The gas masks managed to ward off the smell for the most part but a tinge of the odor still made its way through. A couple soldiers started gagging but kept their composure. Distant footsteps echoed. Russell was wary but continued to lead the way with the lantern-bearer by his side.

  They reached the last step at the bottom to another door. Russell kicks it open when the soldier holding the lantern is shot. Russell dives to the floor while the others rush down, firing back. The individual who fired the first shots ducked behind a thick, wooden crate.

  “Stand down! Who goes there?” Russell shouts. “Surround them now!”

  One soldier tended to the downed soldier while the rest approached the crate. Russell looked around at the scenery. It was an entire workshop operation set up here. From the table with beakers to the sacks full of various foodstuffs to the map of London posted up on the wall, showing different boroughs circled with pen ink. What really caught his attention was the Black Doctor suit hanging from the wall and of course, the glass cage full of hundreds of rats scurrying about.

  The individual hiding found himself face-to-face with the barrel of a rifle. Then two other barrels were in sight. They dropped their flintlock pistol and put their hands up. One of the soldiers grabbed their arm to yank them up to their feet.

  “Sir!” He shouts.

  Russell looks over and his jaw drops. The stout individual was dressed as a Black Doctor. They were noticeably taller than most of the soldiers. Russell approaches them. He directs a hand signal towards the cage of rats.

  “Prepare the flamethrower. As for you…” Russell glares at the individual. “We’re with the United States military on Her Majesty’s orders. Explain yourself now.”

  The individual silently watches as a soldier wearing a steel tank on their back pulls the mechanism off of the tank. Another starts adjusting the valves. They were readying it for operation. Sweat beads the masked individual’s forehead.

  “Speak damn it!”

  Standing behind the individual, a soldier bumps the barrel of his rifle against their back. They sigh.

  “Damn it all…” The masked individual speaks. “How the hell… did you find this place?”

  “I’m the one asking the questions here you damned moron.”

  “I… My name is Bruford. I oversee the operations here. And by that, I mean… T-take care of the rats.”

  “Go on… We found out from some ‘friends’ of yours about this place. So, you’re behind all of this… The vermin infestations ravaging this city. And all while a dangerous plague runs rampant. Have you no shame?”

  Bruford sighs. He shakes his head.

  “Y-yes. This is all my operation. Those who you must’ve captured and tortured… They were going by my orders. Please at least let them go…”

  “Not… going… to happen. There’s much more to ask. Let’s get you out of here first, shall we? Burn those damned vermin! Let them all roast!”

  With flamethrower in hand, the soldier nods and sticks the nozzle into an opening on the glass cage. Twisting the main valve, flames erupt into the cage. The rats panic and scurry. Tiny squeaks cry out as they burn alive. Russell marches on. Two soldiers have Bruford grabbed by the arms. They yank him forwards to follow them. Bruford swallows hard. Russell leads the way up the stairs, smirking with the pained wails of the burning rats being music to his ears.