Quaranteam - Team Tim Ch. 01-06

This is a spinoff of CorruptingPower's Quaranteam Universe. I have 'written' many stories in my head and have started typing some of these into the computer in the past, but it has been the Quaranteam Universe that has spurred me to keep going. Thanks go to CorruptingPower for letting me play in his universe, and a big shout out to the other spin-off authors, BreakTheBar, AgathonWrites, SilverRyden, BirchesLoveBooks, RonanJWilkerson and OtterlyMindblowing for their help and encouragement.

Both myself and this story are set in the UK, and all spellings are in British English.

Quaranteam: Team Tim

Chapter 1.

Tuesday, 17th March 2020

Tim Fletcher knocked on Professor Mackay's door.

"Come in," Professor Mackay responded.

Tim opened the door and entered the professor's office, somewhere he'd been on numerous occasions. This was the first time that he'd had to knock, though, as previously the door had always been open.

Looking towards the door as Tim entered, the professor saw a personable 27-year-old man standing 1.88 m (6' 2") tall with a toned 84 kg (185 lbs) body from non-competitive running, short light brown hair and expressive blue-grey eyes. Tim was dressed casually as normal in jeans and a band tee shirt, plus a heavy winter coat in deference to the season. Now, though, he also wore a disposable medical face mask of the type that was readily available from the local pharmacies.

"Ah, Tim. Please take a seat. I'm glad to see that you're taking the threat seriously."

Professor Mackay was sat behind his desk. Looking around, Tim saw that the layout of the office had recently been changed; the desk, which had previously been pushed up against the wall near the window was now across the room, effectively providing a barrier between the professor and his visitor. Tim could still see the marks in the carpet where the desk had previously been. In addition, the top of the desk, which had always been covered in an assortment of journals, transcripts and other assorted documents, was now almost empty. One of the few things that remained on the desk, though, was a bottle of hand sanitiser.

Tim took the only available seat in the room, noting that the others had all been stacked against one of the walls.

As always, Professor Mackay was wearing a Tattersall shirt, a thick woven Shetland herringbone tie and a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches and, together with the grey whiskers that were starting to appear in his neatly trimmed beard, made him appear older than his 38 years. Today, though, he was also wearing an N95 mask, which hid most of his beard from view. Tim really liked his professor, which was one of the reasons he'd chosen to study in his Department at Cambridge in the first place, having first met him whilst visiting the university before making his final choice. Having been there for nearly two years, Tim now considered the professor to be 'one of the good guys' and also a friend.

"How's your dissertation coming along?"

Having completed his first degree at Durham University, Tim had worked for a Big Pharma company in Cheshire for a few years, but eventually found the atmosphere stifling, the drive for profit always seeming to temper the opportunities for research. Having saved enough money whilst working, Tim had made the decision to study for a PhD, finally selecting the Department of Pathology at Cambridge University under Professor Mackay. Tim's PhD was to analyse the changes in the spike proteins due to mutations of the SARS virus, a coronavirus that was responsible for an outbreak in China and South-East Asia in 2003, using the latest computer modelling techniques. Tim was now in the second and final year of his PhD and had fully met his brief, but was always looking to do a little more. He was considering expanding his dissertation to include a correlation with similar modelling of the later MERS virus.

"It's essentially complete, but there's always more that I can do," he replied, "I've mostly written everything up," Tim offered.

"How soon could you have it completed and ready for submission, assuming that you don't do any more research?"

"I'm sure I can have it finished by Easter," Tim responded, although he knew that there was very little he still needed to do, so could probably have everything completed to his satisfaction within a week.

"Good. You know how everything's going with the country."

"Yeah, to hell in a hand cart. We should be in a lock down by now. The WHO has already declared a global pandemic and our incompetent Government, pandering to their supporters who like a flutter on the horses, allowed the Cheltenham Festival to proceed as if there's nothing wrong. Hell, even the Americans under Trump have declared a lockdown already. When will our incompetent Government close the airports to flights from China, Italy, and other countries with a high Covid rate?"

"When it's here and spreading unchecked through our own population. Politicians are very good at shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted." Professor Mackay gave a small laugh that all his students knew well. "When they do, will you be staying in Cambridge?"

"Yeah, there's no way I'm going back to my parents' house, not that there's anywhere for me to sleep there now, and I've really got nowhere else to go. Also, most of my family voted for Brexit and think the sun shines out of BoJo's arse! Hell, if he said that blowing a hairdryer up your nose could cure Covid, they'd be inhaling hot air regularly. I'm much safer here, so will stick it out in my flat."

"Take everything home today, I don't want to hear that you've been back into the Department, the world is just too dangerous at present, and it's going to get a lot worse before it's over. After I've seen all of my students, I'll be working from home for the foreseeable. Take a box of the N95 masks, they will provide a lot better protection than the type you're wearing, and a couple of boxes of the disposable gloves, they'll both be in short supply soon," Professor Mackay stated, indicating the pile of boxes at the back of his room, "and don't forget to take a couple of bottles of the hand gel too. I requisitioned a good supply of them to keep my favourite students safe and it won't be doing anyone any good sat in a cupboard somewhere."

"Talking of other students, how's Siobhan doing? I can't imagine that she'll travel back to Ireland."

Siobhan (pronounced Shiv-Awn) O'Sullivan was another of Professor Mackay's PhD students and had completed her undergraduate degree at Dublin University before working for a few years. At 25, she was around one and a half years younger than Tim. Tim really liked Siobhan, finding her attractive and very easy going. There was also something about her rich auburn hair, sparkling green eyes and infectious laugh that captivated him, but he had been more intent on finishing his PhD than pursuing her. His own research and supervising undergrad lab sessions one day a week to help pay his way had kept him more than busy. Tim knew that Siobhan was also concentrating on her PhD and hadn't had any relationships during her time at Cambridge; she always had a radiant smile for Tim, though, when they met around the department, something that would, without fail, brighten Tim's day.

"Similar to you. I'm expecting that you'll both submit your dissertations before Easter. And yes, she's going to be staying in Cambridge too. In fact, she asked exactly the same question about you when I saw her yesterday, although I couldn't give her a definitive answer of course. Come to think of it, she asked me to pass this on to you."

The professor reached into the top drawer of his desk and retrieved an envelope, which he slid over the table to Tim. Tim took it and slipped it into his backpack, noting the 'Tim' written on it had a heart for the dot above the 'i'.

"You know, with the way things are going, both Siobhan's and your skills are probably going to be in high demand. If I hear of anything, then I'll be sure to let you know."

"Thanks Professor," Tim replied, getting up to leave. Tim put a bottle of the hand gel in each of his coat pockets, collected a large box of 100 N95 masks and two boxes of the blue disposable nitrile gloves before leaving the office, shutting the door behind him. Tim drove back to his flat after clearing his small locker and his desk drawers.

----oOo----

Tim was living in a small rented flat in the Chesterton area of Cambridge. His flat comprised one bedroom, a living room with a small kitchen area and a bathroom in a small building with five other flats. Tim's flat was on the top floor of the 3-storey building.

Back at his flat, Tim found places for all the items he'd brought in, before turning his attention to Siobhan's note. Opening the envelope with a kitchen knife, Tim removed and unfolded Siobhan's note, which read:

Tim,

Don't be a stranger.

Siobhan

Following which, she'd included her mobile phone number. Tim knew that Siobhan had been very circumspect about giving out her phone number, relishing her privacy. He also knew that her original plan was to return to Ireland after finishing her PhD. Taking great care not to make a mistake, Tim entered Siobhan's number into the address book on his phone before replacing the note in the envelope and putting it away safely.

Looking at the calendar he kept on the kitchen wall, Tim wondered just when Prime Minister Johnson (Boris to his cronies, sycophants and the right-wing media) would finally concede to a lock down. It was already Tuesday 17th March and the World Health Organisation had declared a global Pandemic on the previous Wednesday. Tim could feel that nothing would happen for a day or two, though, as the Government was showing no signs of panic.

The small flat he was renting had been OK while he was able to go out most days, but he wondered how it would feel should he have to stay in most or all of the time. Thinking about this, Tim decided to order a few items online to help ease the boredom he was sure would start to set in. His main purchase was a Sonos One smart speaker that he could stream music to, as he didn't want to spend all day with his ear buds in, or risk not charging them and not having any music to listen to.

He also placed an order on Amazon for a selection of recently published paperbacks from his favourite authors, including the most recent of the 'Druid Gunslinger' books by Blake Conrad and the latest 'Rivers of London' book by Ben Aaronovitch, as his preference was to read actual books, rather than on his iPad; he expected that he'd probably end up doing that, though, if the lockdown went on for as long as he expected. He also added a Bluetooth guitar transmitter that would allow him to play either of his electric guitars through his laptop to the Sonos One. Tim hadn't played either of his two bass guitars for a while but had played in a few bands both at School and University and also while working before starting his PhD.

His last purchase was a new pair of Salomon trail shoes. Living in Cambridge, all his running for the last 18 months had been on pavements but he felt the need to be able to run on grass to maintain a suitable distance from other pedestrians who would probably stay on the pavements and paths. Tim made sure to pay the surcharge for 24-hour delivery on all of his purchases.

Having made his online purchases, and after looking through his kitchen cupboards and fridge, Tim drove to the nearby Tesco superstore off Newmarket Road. He received a few funny looks whilst shopping in the supermarket wearing an N95 mask and blue nitrile gloves, but he preferred to stay safe rather than risk his health. He managed to stock up with enough of the essentials to get himself through a few weeks at least, with a few exceptions such as milk, eggs, bread and bacon that he knew he'd have to shop for much earlier. He'd even managed to snag a couple of 9-packs of toilet rolls, something that would be in short supply very soon.

After a simple pasta meal, Tim settled in for the evening. He turned on the TV, but as the flat only had Freeview, the choice was limited. Eventually, he turned off the TV and decided to read, but his phone kept calling to him. He picked it up a number of times to call Siobhan, but each time he put it down again. Eventually, on the sixth or seventh time, he thought 'bugger it' and pressed 'call'.

Tim heard the call ring for a few seconds before it was answered.

"Hello?" Tim recognised Siobhan's Irish accent immediately.

"Hey Siobhan, it's Tim."

"Oh Hey, Tim. You got my note then? Obviously you did as you're ringing me."

"Yes, the prof gave it to me when we met earlier today."

"And you're only just ringing me now?"

"Sorry, ..."

"It's OK, I'm only coddin'. I'm just glad that the prof remembered to give it to you."

"Well, I did ask after you. He mentioned that you're staying in Cambridge."

"Yes, I've decided to stay here. I looked into going home, but all the ferry crossings are booked solid and Ireland has already ordered schools, bars and pubs to close. I don't know what I'd be going back to and if the ferries will even be running soon."

"How will your family be coping in Ireland?"

"They'll be fine. Things will probably carry on as normal, just looking after the farm. It's a mixed farm with a bit of everything, so they can probably survive quite well without ever leaving it."

"Sounds the ideal place to sit out a pandemic."

"It absolutely is. One reason I don't want to go home is that I don't want to risk picking up Covid on the journey and taking it back to my family."

"You're from a large family, aren't you?"

"Not that large for rural Ireland. I've got two older brothers, Declan and Patrick, and one older sister, Naimh. Dec and Pat are both married with young children and have built houses on the farm whilst Naimh is still single. She's been working for a law firm Dublin since she finished her degree there, but has decided that it's safer to work remotely from the farm until the Pandemic is over."

"So can they be self-sufficient?"

"Mostly, and what they can't produce, they'll do without. It's a mixed farm, both arable and livestock, so they'll have milk, eggs, potatoes and other veg. I bet Dec and Pat'll be trapping rabbits like they did when they were boys. And if needs be, I'm sure one of the animals could be slaughtered. Unless they've bought in some flour, though, bread might be a problem, but Mam makes good potato farls, so no one will go hungry."

"Does your family farm have a herd of dairy cattle?"

"Yeah, there's a small herd of around 75 cows that are milked twice a day. The tanks can only hold two days' milking, though, so there'll still be vehicles coming onto the farm, but the tanker driver does everything."

"Sounds perfect."

"I hope so. I'd hate for something to happen to any one of my relatives. What about yours? Are they going to be OK?"

"Probably not." Tim gave a little laugh. "My dad and older brother, Mike, are electricians and Mum now works in the local Iceland, you know, the frozen food store. My sister Helen has a job at M&S and appears to be doing well for herself. They still live in the family home I grew up in, a 4-bedroom 'tween wars semi, although the fourth bedroom is really too small and is Dad's office. While we were growing up, Mike and I shared a bedroom. When our Government ..."

"Your Government. I'm Irish, remember."

"Yeah, OK. When my Government finally decides to introduce a lockdown, they'll probably be complaining about all of the things they're no longer able to do and finding ways to do them anyway."

"That doesn't sound healthy."

"No, just being truthful. It's like a game of 'Boris says' with them. If Boris says 'do this', then they'll probably do it. Probably. But if it's someone else, then they're likely to ignore them."

"Oh no. I hope they have more sense than that."

"We'll see, but I'm not holding my breath."

Tim and Siobhan talked for a while longer, but the conversation naturally drew to a close.

"Well, I'd better let you go," Tim offered. "I'm sure you've better things to do than talk to me all evening."

"Ummm, not really. But I suppose I should wash up." Siobhan's voice made this sound like the most detestable chore. "OK if I ring you tomorrow?" she added, with much more enthusiasm.

"I'd love that," Tim replied, unsure whether he actually heard Siobhan 'eep' at this. "What sort of a phone package are you on? I've got unlimited minutes on mine."

"Here too. I need them for phoning the family in Ireland."

"Oh, right. Until tomorrow, then."

"Until tomorrow."

Tim sat there for over five minutes just enjoying the feelings he was left with after having talked with Siobhan. Eventually, he made his way into the kitchen area to get a drink. He was going to put the kettle on for a coffee, but thought 'sod it', instead opting for a bottle of beer.

----oOo----

Tim stayed in all the following day, working on his dissertation and drinking cups of black coffee. By 3pm, all his purchases had been delivered. That evening, Siobhan rang Tim and they chatted for over an hour, just chewing the fat and enjoying talking to each other.

Over the next week, Tim finished his dissertation and submitted it via the on-line portal, also sending a copy directly to Professor Mackay's email. He only went out for exercise, walking from his flat in Chesterton to Midsummer Common wearing an N95 mask and carrying his trail shoes in a small backpack. There he changed out of his trainers and put on his new trail shoes to run around the common avoiding the paths that were still thronged with people and trying to stay clear of the pet dogs that were running around. In the evenings, Tim and Siobhan would chat about what they'd done, or not done, that day and also the state of the pandemic. Tim was always interested to hear how Siobhan's family were managing in Ireland, although he rarely had any information of his own family to share.

Tim felt a lot better when the UK finally went into lockdown on Monday 23rd March, especially as the Government was allowing a nominal one hour of exercise per day. Tim kept up his routine, walking to and from Midsummer Common once a day wearing an N95 mask and only taking it off to run. He ran on the grass keeping well away from other people, who by now were much less numerous, especially at the time that Tim would normally run. Even when the weather was poor Tim would go out for his run, preferring to get out of his flat rather than spend another hour inside even if it meant getting soaked.

Having submitted his dissertation, Tim had a lot of time on his hands, which he spent reading and playing his guitars. It also gave him time to think. He thought about growing up with his parents, his older brother Michael, who preferred to be called Mike, and younger sister Helen. Tim had always been the academic one, his siblings taking more after their parents. His dad had chided him about the way he'd put his time into studying, reading sci-fi and fantasy books and playing music while his siblings went out with friends. Even playing in a band hadn't gained him any credibility with his parents. Interestingly, the dates he went on with a couple of girls he met through playing with the band were encouraged by his parents and also meant that Tim wasn't a virgin when he finished Secondary School. Although Tim loved his family, he couldn't wait to leave the constraining atmosphere that existed there.

Tim's father Brian was now 55. In previous generations, he'd have followed his own father into the car plant where he'd worked, but by the time he was old enough, the factory had been closed and the work exported to other countries, part of the legacy of Margaret Thatcher in turning the UK from the first industrialised nation in the world to a nation of shopkeepers, happy to sell anything that anyone else made just as long as it made them a profit. Instead, he'd trained as an electrician, first working on construction sites but later buying his own 'white van' and working for himself. Now, he paid an accountant to sort out his finances, begrudging both the annual accountant's fee and the reduced tax he was paying through the arrangements that his accountant put in place.