Kill Them with Kindness

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PRAISE FOR KILL THEM WITH KINDNESS

‘Kill Them With Kindness may be one of the best things I’ve ever read. I found it incredibly moving and thought-provoking, as well as hugely entertaining. It’s got the usual Will Carver flair and style; it’s something only he could’ve written, and boy am I glad he did. I don’t think I’ve read anything like it. An incredible accomplishment!’ Chris McDonald

‘Brilliantly original. Kill Them with Kindness is sometimes heartbreaking and poignant, often laugh-out-loud funny. A witty political satire, it shows us an alternative reality of the pandemic that’s both terrifyingly plausible, and relevant and timely’ Sam Holland

‘Insightful, sharp-minded, and fascinating. Carver presents a brilliant twist on a pandemic in a thought-provoking, topsy-turvy world of politics, science and the humans affected. Crazy and brilliant’ Sarah Moorhead

‘It’s his best yet. Carver just gets better and better.’ S.J. Watson

‘An unflinching, smart and entertaining novel that is as thought-provoking as it is brilliant’ Isabelle Broom

‘Thoughtful, challenging and unafraid to examine the impact huge events can have on the human condition. Will Carver’s work is always timely, and this is his most important novel to date’ The Madrid Review

‘Another existential mind warp taking be kind to a whole new level. Clever and thought-provoking, always. Beautifully written, always. Intensely addictive, always. Mad as a box of frogs, of course’ Liz Barnsley

PRAISE FOR WILL CARVER

‘Carver is a smart, stylish writer who has created a uniquely scary personality … leaves us entertained and disturbed in equal part’ Daily Mail

‘Cements Carver as one of the most exciting authors in Britain. After this, he’ll have his own cult following’ Daily Express

‘Weirdly page-turning’ Sunday Times 

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‘Laying bare our twenty-first-century weaknesses and dilemmas, Carver has created a highly original state-of-the-nation novel’ Literary Review

‘Arguably the most original crime novel published this year’ Independent

‘At once fantastical and appallingly plausible … this mesmeric novel paints a thought-provoking if depressing picture of modern life’ Guardian

‘Unlike anything else you’ll read this year’ Heat

‘A powerful look into the abyss of a psychopathic personality’ Publishers Weekly

‘Wickedly fun’ Crime Monthly

‘One of the most compelling and original voices in crime fiction’ Alex North

‘A gripping novel laced with humour and cutting character insight … a thrill from start to finish’ Sarah Pinborough

‘Equally enthralling and appalling … unlike anything I’ve read in a very long while’ James Oswald

‘Creepy and brilliant’ Khurrum Rahman

‘Reminiscent of The Shining … a creeping and perfectly crafted novel tinged with dark humour and malice’ Victoria Selman

‘A masterfully macabre tale’ Louise Mumford 

‘Magnificently, compulsively chilling’ Margaret Kirk

‘Fans of Chuck Palahniuk will adore Carver … he is utterly brilliant’ Christopher Hooley

‘Will Carver’s most exciting, original, hilarious and freaky outing yet’ Helen FitzGerald

‘Thrilling and completely original … deserves to become an instant classic’ Kevin Wignall

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KILL THEM WITH KINDNESS

WILL CARVER

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For those who care more about seeing than being seen.

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‘Near the gates and within two cities, there will be two scourges. The likes of which have never been seen. Famine within plague. People put out by steel. Crying to the great immortal God for relief.’

Nostradamus

Live. Laugh. Love.

Anonymous

CONTENTS

TITLE PAGE

DEDICATION

EPIGRAPH

THE END

HAIRDRESSERS IN IPSWICH

STAY AT HOME

THE LIFEJACKET PROTOCOL

A MIDNIGHT APERITIF

THE FIRST SCOURGE

ONE YEAR EARLIER…

THERE IS MOULD IN THE PETRI DISH

FOURTEEN WEEKS TO PLANNED RELEASE…

A WORLD IN WHICH THEY ARE STARS

A POTENTIALLY DEVASTATING BIOWEAPON

THE MAN IN THE PERFECTLY PRESSED SUIT

HIGH CHANCE OF AN OUTBREAK

MAYBE IT WAS FATE

HIDDEN BY THE APPARENT CHAOS

A SEAT AT THE TABLE

SUSCEPTIBLE TO SUGGESTION

A SPLIT-SECOND OF HUMANITY

SHE NEEDS COLE PORTER

ALL THE MICE ARE DEAD

EVERYONE WILL BE SHUT AWAY

IT’S A VERY HUMAN RESPONSE

PHILOSOPHY AND SCIENCE

TREATMENT IS BETTER THAN TESTING

THE BRAIN CAN BE REWARDED

AN AMICABLE EXISTENCE

IT’S A RACE AGAINST TIME

TRUST

A PLACE TO POINT THE FINGER

SOMETHING TO DO WITH CIVETS

KEEP THEM SCARED, KEEP THEM IN LINE

THE DAMAGE IS DONE

THE CHARADE OF TESTING

A QUESTION OF ETHICS

THE CARING HERO

IT’S NOT SERIOUS

VIP LANE

NO MORE DOUBT. NO MORE FEAR.

THE BULLET

OVERCOME WITH EMPATHY

A SIDE ORDER OF CHARITABLE DONATIONS

A CHEMICAL INCIDENT

THEY EAT DOGS

THE SECOND SCOURGE

WE KNEW IT WAS COMING

NOBODY HAS DIED

FULU HUANG IS DEAD

IT HAS TO TRAVEL

FREE TO DEVELOP WHATEVER THEY WANT

WAITING FOR THE HEADACHES

MAYBE EVEN BECOME FRIENDS

IT’S SPREADING

DEAF EARS

WE SUGGEST SUMATRIPTAN

HOW TO SOUND MORE ASSERTIVE

THIS IS LONDON AND THIS IS NOW

IT’S GETTING BETTER

THESE THINGS CAN SNOWBALL

A DOWNSIDE TO KINDNESS

A CIRCLE OF DEATH

VIRUS-INDUCED HUMANITY

PAY IT FORWARD

THE MEASURE OF A MAN

TRYING TO SAVE THE WORLD

IT’S A DIFFERENT MENTALITY OVER THERE

GREY IS NOT THE KINDEST COLOUR

IRONMAN

IN DEVELOPMENT

THIS IS A TRIAL

THE ALGORITHM IS ‘OFF’

A BREATH OF FRESH AIR

THIS IS A MOMENT

BEAVER FEVER

PROGRESS REQUIRES SACRIFICE

UNPLUG EARTH, THEN PLUG IT BACK IN AGAIN.

A CERTAIN PROFILE

A DOWNSIDE TO COMPASSION

FIT TO RETURN

THE THIRD SCOURGE

ANYTHING WORTH DOING TAKES EFFORT

THE WATERS ARE RISING

NOT THE RIGHT PERSON

TOE THE COMPANY LINE

THAT’S NOT HOW YOU SAY GOODBYE

WE DEAL IN CERTAINTIES

A VACCINE TO END HOPE

FOLLOW THE RULES

JUST ANOTHER FREAK ACCIDENT

TOP OF THE FOOD CHAIN

A DIFFERENCE HAS BEEN MADE

GIVE A MAN A FISH

IT COULD MAKE CHINA LOOK WEAK

SAVE YOURSELVES

FAMINES, PESTILENCE AND EARTHQUAKES

LOOK AWAY NOW

THE UNITED WORLD

A NATURALLY OCCURRING CATACLYSM

EVERYONE IS WATCHING. EVERYONE IS SCARED

ARMCHAIR PSYCHOLOGISTS

LIFE IS BACK TO NORMAL-ISH

DOES SHUTTING THE WINDOWS KEEP IT OUT?

JUST DOING MY JOB, MA’AM

CRISIS HAS BEEN AVERTED

REASONS THAT NOBODY CAN FATHOM

IT’S MRS ADAMSON

SIXTY MILLION PILLS

THE THOUGHTS OF A GRAVE MAN

A MOVEMENT

WARRINGTON TO PLYMOUTH

ACTION

THE BEGINNING

THE POSSIBILITY OF AN AFTERLIFE WITH DENNIS

THE NEEDS OF THE COUNTRY

ONE LAST MOMENT OF PLEASURE

NOBODY CAN KNOW EVERYTHING

LIKE ANYONE ELSE

GOOD THINGS HAPPEN TO GOOD PEOPLE

IT’S A MESSAGE

TIRED AND PAIN-FREE

WHAT DO YOU WANT IT TO BE?

ALL THE DOCTORS ARE DEAD

A LESSON TO BE LEARNED

GENESIS

LET THERE BE HOPE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ALSO BY WILL CARVER AND AVAILABLE FROM ORENDA BOOKS

COPYRIGHT

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HAIRDRESSERS IN IPSWICH

They’re lining up around the block to collect their dignity pills. A mixture of diazepam, morphine and phenobarbital will eliminate any pain and cause a sleep that eventually falls into a deep coma. The digoxin and amitriptyline will induce cardiac arrest within that coma condition so that death is comfortable.

That’s the best way to go.

Better than any war in the Middle East.

Better than any famine in Africa.

Better than any plague made in China.

The government has allocated sixty-seven million of these pills, for free. One for every person in the country. Old. Young. Sick. Healthy. They have been distributed to every doctors’ surgery in the land. People are queueing in the streets for their own death.

Waiting for their one pill. Their ticket away from this hellish mortal coil. It’s the same pill for women as it is for children, which is the same as it is for men.

It’ll work.

It will be more dignified than the bleeding and blisters and gagging and choking that has been shown on the TV screens and shared across social-media channels. China no longer has the largest population on the planet, they say.

This is the end. Every country with nuclear weapons could wipe themselves out, but that’s not as kind as the dignity pill. Some arsehole marketing guru gave up that gem of a name to take some of the edge off global euthanasia.

It’s not the suicide pill, it’s the comfort pill.

Nobody wants to give their kid a ‘top-yourself tablet’ or a ‘coma capsule’. Much better that they take their ‘composure pastille’ or their ‘integrity lozenge’. Pepsi are running a campaign getting people to swallow it down with their drink. Still making millions as the world implodes.

There’s a pill set aside for the prime minister and one for Doris who 4works at the Job Centre in Macclesfield. The queen has one if she doesn’t think the bunker will hold. Librarians in Telford don’t have a bunker. Neither do teachers in Yeovil or hairdressers in Ipswich.

The government suddenly seems to care about the homeless situation and has called on volunteers to deliver blister packs to as many cardboard jungles as possible.

Every class, race and sexual orientation has an equal right to end their own life before the plague sweeps in from across the ocean. Nobody should suffer. It may be the end of the world, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be a pleasant experience.

This world. Where countries face growing health issues because they are eating too much while others die of starvation. Where man thought the best way to stop all wars was to build the biggest bomb. Where every one of the seven hundred gods is unresponsive to the prayers of their worshippers. Where religious disagreements go back so far that nobody knows what they’re fighting for now. Where restaurants deplete the seas to feed people who no longer talk to one another at dinner.

The pill is the only answer.

It is too late to fight. To save.

The horsemen have arrived.

War. Famine. Pestilence. Death.

The only thing left is to give up.

And all people had to do was find some genuine compassion. All they had to do was be kind. And mean it. And maintain it.

STAY AT HOME

It was only a month ago that the first test was carried out. It was a Sunday night, around the time when most people are starting to dread the fact that their weekend is over and they have to go into the office the next day. The same time that many people are flicking through the channels on their televisions, frustrated that there’s 5nothing on, and finding themselves watching Antiques Roadshow for the twentieth week in a row.

If ever there was a litmus test for the kindness of humanity, it is Antiques Roadshow. You can judge the mental state of the collective consciousness by comparing the percentage of people who want an item to be worth a lot of money against those who hope dear old Gladys from Wolverhampton hasn’t noticed that the R on the Rolex watch passed down through generations is, actually, a B. And it’s worth nothing.

But you also can’t blame people for being a little cantankerous on a Sunday evening, when there’s nothing else on TV and they have to return to the call centre in twelve hours.

It was one of those nights. Kenneth Hargreaves, a war veteran, had brought in a jewel flower to be appraised. The expert was examining the piece, floating the possibility that it was a botanical study by Fabergé. If so, it might be worth seven figures.

That’s when the alarm sounded.

The first test.

Millions of mobile phones across the country suddenly started blaring a siren noise. Some people were waiting eagerly by their phones to see what would happen, others were startled, having forgotten it was scheduled. Many missed the expert’s final appraisal as they waited for the piercing tone to desist.

The idea behind the test is that the government has the ability to warn people en masse about dangerous incidents. Local flooding, for example. But also things like terrorist attacks. When an unexplained World War II bomb was discovered in a garden in Plymouth, the alert was used to inform local people to evacuate the area until the possible threat had been neutralised.

If an enemy state launches a nuclear bomb at the UK, the alert will tell people to flee the target area or say goodbye to their loved ones. If Mother Nature decides she has had enough of us polluting the planet and sends a five-hundred-foot tsunami, the alarm will sound, telling coastal townsfolk to seek higher ground.

Of course, there are so many things to think about with blanket 6campaigns like this. What about people in abusive relationships who hide secret phones that they don’t want their partners to see? What if they start sounding and are discovered? What level of abuse could follow such a revelation?

So the government had to release instructions on how to disarm the warning:

Go to ‘Settings’. Find ‘Emergency Alerts’. Turn off ‘Severe Alerts’ and ‘Extreme Alerts’.

Everyone in the country needs to have the alert on because they are days away from the arrival of this biohazard. This gas. These insects. Whatever it is that is ravaging its way across the sea to wipe out civilisation. If the wind doesn’t take it in a different direction, if the military don’t find a way to stop it, the people need to know when to take their pills.

Of course, there will always be a small percentage of people who don’t like to do as they are told, who are happy to take their chances at surviving. And there are some who simply choose not to believe.

They’ve been lied to before.

They were told to keep their distance.

They were told to stay at home.

They were told to get vaccinated.

And they don’t want to be told when to kill themselves.

So they turn off the alert and they don’t collect their pill and they know just how much that Fabergé flower is worth.

THE LIFEJACKET PROTOCOL

It’s Wednesday. The world ends tomorrow.

On a Thursday.

Who thought that was a good idea?

The weather guy on the BBC points at part of the country and tells everyone that it’s raining there. It’s raining everywhere. That it’s colder up north. He waves an arm and says something about a cold 7front and pollen levels and pollution around the bigger cities. And then he points at some yellow, blurred blob below Svalbard, over the Barents Sea, and says that it’s moving towards us. That it should arrive by dinnertime tomorrow.

It’s all very British.

He doesn’t say that everyone will be dead, he just lets people know that there is an opportunity for a last supper. Maybe the kids can have dessert first. Maybe the vegans can gorge on foie gras. Maybe forget the food, and drink so much champagne that you won’t need the dignity pill.

There is no mention that it will be his last weather broadcast, but it is. He had been working in Acton for years until the studio relocated to Salford. His mother, sister and two nephews live in Dorset. They are planning to spend the day together. They’re not doing anything in particular, just staying in the house. Talking. Cooking. Letting the kids play in the garden.

Maybe they will stay up all night and reminisce. Maybe they will imagine what the world could have been if they had believed the scientists or tried harder to listen or been more present for other people.

The plan is to live, love, possibly even laugh. Just like the canvas on the hallway wall says to do.

Others will choose to loot. The entitlement that got us here in the first place will remain until the bitter end. They will steal cars they could never have afforded and drive them at speeds that will no longer get them arrested because the police are off duty.

The end of the world can act like a purge. There will be murder and rape just because someone wonders what that will feel like. And they’re going to die anyway. On a goddamned Thursday.

The alarm will sound on their mobile phones. If they have small children, they have to administer their pills first, like the lifejacket protocol on a crash-landing plane. Because they shouldn’t have to see their parents die and then be devastated by the ensuing plague. Even if they’re going to die either way.

Some parents will panic and forget. Some children will have to be 8brave enough to do things themselves. And others will have to see it out. Because they won’t be able to take the pill. They shouldn’t have to. They’re kids. It’s not their fault. They were brought into this world and left in front of their screens. And their idols were brainless. And their teachers were overwrought. And their health service was strained. And their leaders morally bankrupt.

Somehow, they have lost the ability to fight for themselves. Resilience is all but extinct. Kids are fragile, and parents are scared of upsetting them.

Maybe it’s better this way.

Start over again.

On Friday.

A MIDNIGHT APERITIF

The alarm sounds just after seven. A little later than was originally anticipated. The Met Office staying true until the end by not predicting things quite right. Many hoped the poison would blow right past and not hit land until Florida, where most of the residents are already dead in some way.

One hour until impact. Prepare your families. May God be with you.

That’s all it says. The extreme alert sounds more like bidding someone an interesting cruise.

In Croydon, a new mother cries as she crushes one of the pills into a powder to add to her baby’s milk. She looks into her child’s eyes as they guzzle the warm formula. Oblivious and innocent. And trusting. She and her husband had tried so long to have a baby. He has already taken his pill. Couldn’t stand the pressure. He was anxious. Didn’t want to see his family perish so went peacefully and selfishly in his reading chair after lunch.

In Oxford, eight students have been drinking since breakfast. They have taken their pills and have paired off for one final moment of intimacy. What a way to go. 9

Families barbecue on the beach in Cornwall and dance until the drugs kick in. They can die on the sand and be collected by the high tide. There will be nobody around to bury them, anyway.

Many churches and temples and mosques are filled with parishioners who still believe in God’s great plan. They are expecting a last-minute rapture or they have just given in to His will. They are some of the least scared. Many are almost excited about their next chapter. What is it they have been fighting about all this time?

Not everyone is so calm and stiff-upper-lip about it. There are people who have measured the area of the encroaching gas, or whatever it is, and figure that, if they get in their boat and go south of the Isle of Wight, they will be out of harm’s way. They can come back and claim the land as their own. Rebuild the country that once dominated the globe.

The über-rich have fuelled whatever vehicles they have to get out of there. The airports might be shut down, but the runways are still there. Private jets are still there. There’s no control tower so it might be a case of Russian oligarchs flying into each other and exploding, but they are going to die, anyway.

The helicopter on the roof that was once a status symbol, an attempt at peacocking, now seems to have some practical application. Hover above the gas. Witness the destruction and chaos. Slowly lower back to the roof in time for a midnight aperitif.

It’s moving in. And it’s not going to stop.

Still, despite the warnings from the government and the military and the scientists, and the photographs and videos of the devastation in China, there are people who don’t believe it. Who call it fake news. Who create conspiracies about nanotechnology and propaganda. They don’t think we went to the moon in ’69. They say Lee Harvey Oswald was a patsy. And they are so convinced, they didn’t queue around the block for their dignity pills.

Because they see no dignity in killing themselves for something that is not their fault. Their ideas might not fall in line with the 10majority, but they have their own faith. They think it is always right to question rather than following blindly.

And they don’t all get together. They are mostly alone. Dotted around the country. Risking their skin flaking away and their eyes being eaten out of their sockets and throwing up until they can no longer breathe.

There’s a refined chaos in that final hour. People realise that, in death, they finally have the ability to make their own choice about their fate. And they realise this because they are selfish and self-absorbed and solipsistic. Because, if their realisation was that there was a world beyond themselves, that kindness, compassion and considered thought was a superpower, that benevolence and generosity was a gift, they wouldn’t be lying in a coma, in bed with their children, not noticing that they are already dead from a heart attack.

That nobody had to die.

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THE

FIRST

SCOURGE

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ONE YEAR EARLIER…

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THERE IS MOULD IN THE PETRI DISH

Knowledge, research and experimentation are huge parts of scientific discovery, of course, but blind luck and chance have been responsible for some of the greatest finds in the history of medicine.

Edward Jenner, developer of the first vaccine, stumbled upon a cure for smallpox. Speaking with a milkmaid who had contracted the irritating, though not deadly, cowpox – a hazard of the job – she remarked that people who had cowpox never seemed to get smallpox.

Jenner injected a young boy with cowpox from the sores on the milkmaid’s hands. A small dose. He grew feverish but was otherwise healthy. Weeks later, he injected the same boy with a small dose of smallpox, a deadly disease causing many fatalities. The boy did not contract smallpox.

Vaccinations were born.

Of course, the method was unethical, but progress was made that saved millions of lives.

Without the misfortune of Fleming, the idea of antibiotics, which are so readily available and relied upon now, may have taken much longer to discover and develop.

A petri dish of staphylococcus bacteria, which Fleming was studying, became contaminated, growing mould inside. Instead of throwing the sample away, Fleming examined it, noticing that the areas around the mould were clear. This showed that it was lethal to the bacteria. He had discovered penicillin. Still a vital antibiotic to this day.

Dr Haruto Ikeda is about to have such an accident.

A discovery that could change the world.

He has a special mind when it comes to virology, but he struggles with things like emails and syncing his calendars. Apart from Candy Crush, his favourite app on his phone is Messages. He can write documents easily enough and he is something of a natural with a spreadsheet. But he can never find the files he wants when he needs them.

He hits save and then doesn’t know where they go. 14

It is late in the lab. He has cleaned and sterilised the space he has been working in today. Somebody, recently, helped him figure out how to monitor the mice he experiments on through his mobile phone. It took some getting used to, and he didn’t really want a fifth app clogging up his home screen but it is part of his job and his study, so he pushed past it.

In his office, at his desk, he scrolls through one of the drives, looking for a spreadsheet that he was only using this morning.

Why does it not just save everything to the same place? he asks himself.

He clicks one folder and it’s not there.

He tries three others that all have names that are too similar to be useful.

Ikeda has the highest level of access in the building. His key card will get him through any door and his computer login will get him into any folder, which is the opposite of what he really needs.

He eventually finds a folder that looks as though it could be the right one and opens up the spreadsheet inside. It is not the one he is looking for but it is no less interesting. The doctor sighs, at first, then his eyes narrow as he moves closer to the screen.

It’s not his file.

But it is his work.

There are references to his discoveries concerning the SARS-CoV-2 virus that was found in the cave. There are mentions of the experimental mutation that would have proved so deadly it had to be steamed out of all existence. There are notes that seem to have been taken verbatim from his own musings. And theories that he only posed to himself.

One word sticks out.

Tau.

The Greek letter assigned to the variant of the virus Ikeda and his small team have been working with. The one that was found in the cave. The one they are testing and trying to develop a vaccine for, even though it is not known by anyone outside of the Wuxi Institute. 15

And there are dates:

When the Tau virus was discovered.

When it was mutated – into something the scientists referred to as Ypsilon.

When that mutation was eradicated.

The original virus is called Tau by a handful of people in the world who have knowledge of its existence.

That makes sense. It’s all true. Ikeda has a similar list on the file he made that is hiding in some other folder in the cloud.

There’s a future date that says the Tau vaccine is ready. Ikeda assumes this is some kind of deadline that he has not been made aware of yet. It’s not uncommon – there is a lot of US funding, and they love a deadline.

Then another date, just over a year from now:

First Tau infections.

This makes no sense, at first. The virus is aggressive but it is contained. It is isolated within the labs.

Then a date a few months on from that:

Phase one – vaccine rollout.

He contemplates what he is seeing.

It hasn’t clicked yet, but this is serendipitous.

There is mould in the petri dish.

It’s a timeline of events that are yet to occur.

Most people would shut down a file upon realising that they had not created it, but Haruto Ikeda spends a great deal of his time, each day, extrapolating data. It is something he has to be good at otherwise everything would take twice as long. And he is a stickler for detail.

Everything in the spreadsheet seems correct apart from the dates, and that makes it seem purposeful. Working in scientific research is rewarding, at first, but the presence and power of the large pharmaceutical companies can leave even the greatest idealist a little jaded.

He scans the document again. 16

Scientific vocabulary. Calculations. And those dates.

One is the proposed deadline for the vaccine, though it