I came awake only slowly, from a dream in which I had been swimming through an ocean of oil, desperate to reach air. She gazed down at me in alarm, her face framed by the strip lights. She mouthed something at me, and when I tried to reply, no words would emerge, despite a powerful sense of overwhelming danger. She shook her head in frustration, then darted out of sight. I tried to sit up and see where she had gone, but there was no sign of her. I hoped she could get away, escape whatever place we had been brought to, and soon enough I slid once more into unconsciousness.

I found myself ravenous with hunger the next time I opened my eyes. I rattled at the chain in frustration, wondering if their intention was to starve me to death. But only a short while passed before the door in the outer room opened, allowing two men to enter.

One was slight and bespectacled and wore the white coat of a doctor, while the second was tall and muscular and wore a grey T-shirt and cargo trousers. He pushed a metal trolley. His crew cut made me think he might have been one of the three men who captured me. I watched with fascination as they each opened a locker in the other room, withdrawing white suits from within and pulling them on, finally completing the ensemble with visored hoods.

More hazmat suits, I realized. I had been right in thinking I was in some kind of isolation chamber. But if they had the antidote to the EVE virus, as I knew Red Harvest had, was it really necessary to take such extreme precautions?

Then, I remembered: the men who captured me had also worn hazmat suits. Perhaps they didn’t have the antidote after all.

They checked each other’s suits before opening the inner door. As it swung open, I felt a sudden breeze, indicating a difference in pressure between the outer and inner chambers, and further confirming my virus theory. I smelled coffee and baked bread and felt my hunger grow exponentially, as the larger of the two men lifted a plastic tray of food from his trolley before depositing it on top of the white cabinet.

‘Mr Beche,’ said the other man, smiling at me, ‘Jerry. How are you feeling?’

‘Like I’ve been hunted, kidnapped, drugged and chained,’ I answered. ‘Where am I, and who the fuck are you?’

‘We’ll get to that,’ he replied. ‘First of all, we want to make sure you’re well, and then we’ll talk.’

‘Or you can just tell me who you are, and where I am, right now,’ I insisted. ‘Otherwise, why the hell are you keeping me here?’

The little man’s shoulders rose and fell. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t have the authority to tell you anything.’

‘Are you Red Harvest?’ I demanded, my heart hammering.