Memory Span: The Menangle Virus

By G.S. Bailey

Loosely based on an actual virus outbreak in Australia in 1997. The "Menangle Virus" was transmitted from bats to pigs to people. It caused illness in people. It caused massive infertility on pigs. This "Paramyxo" virus was localised and didn't spread very far, fortunately.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G.S. Bailey
• Release date: Apr 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463463703

G.S. Bailey

Aussie author of cold case crime, romance, erotica and light horror.

Book preview

Memory Span

The Menangle Virus

G.S. Bailey

Edited by S.D. Chambers

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real life persons or situations is coincidental and unintended by the author. The places described in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

Copyright © 2014 G.S. Bailey

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, without the written consent of the copyright holder.

Adam is sitting on a bus with his head rocked back and resting against the window. It’s late at night, about ten-thirty. He is hypnotising himself with the street lights flashing by.

The bus is on a straight stretch of road, so the stream of lights are constant for a while. Adam is drifting off into an episode in his life that he had shared with his ex-girlfriend, and he’s really going there. He is floating right out of his body and walking with Amanda through the Westlands shopping centre at Liverpool. It’s as real as if they are doing it right then, as they had every Saturday morning when they were together. Adam can hear Amanda’s voice and feel the touch of her hand. He can smell the apple fragrance of her hair as the flashing streetlights turn to seagulls, and he squints then opens his eyes to a bright blue sky.

Suddenly he’s lying on a slatted wooden bench seat, his legs tucked up, and the wrought iron armrest cutting into his shins. The other armrest is above his head, and he’s staring directly up at the sky—at the seagulls flashing by like streetlights through a bus window.

Adam doesn’t sit up right away. He just turns his head and looks at the barnacle infested remains of a small water taxi tied to its dock.

What the hell?

There’s a paved walkway between the bench and the wharf rail, but it’s cracked everywhere with grass and weeds growing up through it. Beyond the water taxi is a ferry terminal that Adam recognises, and above that is the Circular Quay railway station. He spins around to face the city of Sydney with the towering office blocks seemingly intact yet the streets abandoned. There are rusted shells of cars, and shrubs and trees growing up through the concrete and bitumen.

What the hell?

Adam is standing there with his mouth hanging open, gazing around at everything.

Is this for real?

He thinks of pinching himself but there’s no need. His shins are still aching and he’s thinking too clearly to be dreaming. He can smell the salt in the air, and the sound of the ocean gently crashing into the wharf is clear and distinct. He is wringing his hands and can feel the heat and sweat in his skin.

Adam gazes out to the ocean and the horizon there—it feels real and true. A hundred metres to his left, there is an ocean liner docked. Like the city, it’s aged and rusted. It has smashed at the wharf and seems to be resting slightly off kilter. Adam wanders towards it and makes out the name Pacific Princess III on the side. From there, he is able to see beyond the ferry terminal and across to the Opera House. It looks perfectly preserved with its white sail-like roof glistening in the sun. The forecourt is overgrown with trees, though, and as Adam spins back around he is looking up at the Harbour Bridge.

What the hell? he utters, out loud this time. The bridge is also intact but it’s a rusty orange color, and there’s a massive sign suspended beneath it that reads QUARANTINE.

Adam’s mind is numb. He is trying to grasp what he’s looking at but... It was night time and I was on the bus. I remember that clearly. It was, like, five minutes ago.

There is a sound to Adam’s right, and he spins with his heart pounding. There is nothing for a few seconds, then the head of a small grey kangaroo emerges above the height of the grass and weeds in the park. It’s behind a bench like the one Adam had woken up on. Another kangaroo lifts its head and the two of them watch him intently, their ears and noses twitching.

Adam tries to force his mind to shift—to snap it out of neutral. He looks down at his clothing. He has on weird faded-orange jeans and leather pointy-toed shoes. He had been in uniform and should be wearing navy blue trousers and a white shirt with the CMR logo embroidered above the pocket.

CMR is the Centre for Microbiological Research, not more than two kilometres from where Adam is standing. He works on the gate mostly, but today he’d swapped with Carl and done his shift on the front desk checking ID’s and signing people in and out, issuing visitor passes and the like. He had done a sweep of the building before knocking off and poked his head in Amanda’s office as he was passing. All had been quiet, so Adam snuck in and left a small gift box right in the middle of Amanda’s desk. It was just a pendant he had made from a shell. They had been friendly again lately and Adam knew Amanda liked shells. He figured it would be nice for her to find it there in the morning, and maybe it would lead to something. There had been a scattering of white