It’s not long before the trips are nearly impossible to arrange. The sheer amount of organisation required is severely hampered by the simple fact that nearly everyone on the planet is dead.
Even from within the suit, it almost feels that the air’s filled with a miasma that seeps into the very marrow of you.
They may not yet be infected – and despite everything, they know it’s yet – but the physical exhaustion, the sheer mental fatigue that hangs over them nearly has them buckled with the weight.
They’re due to land at France shortly. In their files, they have records of several new developments and results of experiments that would have been promising several months ago. Now, no one talks aloud of the very real possibility that there’s no longer enough scientists left alive to do anything with any of it.
Or whether there’s enough of humanity left for it to mean anything.
When they do step off the plane, there’s no on there to meet them. This isn’t new – the past few times, they’ve had to make their own way to the site. Someone tries to call their contact but can’t get an answer. That’s not new either. It can be difficult to keep everyone updated on the latest contact information these days.
They try different numbers, anyone that they have a record of in their files. No one answers. Frustrated, they try to contact their own people to find out if they know of anyone else they can get here.
There’s no answer from them either. The team only left a few hours ago – they know they should be able to get someone but still no one answers.
They stand in the airfield.
Everything is serene and perfectly normal to all appearances.