Terminal illness (Five minutes freewrite)

A mysterious illness was sweeping the town. No one knew exactly what it was or how many had already died, but it was clear that it was advancing at a fast pace. Every day more and more people wearing black mourning armbands could be spotted on the streets, going about their business with grim faces. In the poor quarters of the town, the industrial zone as it was called, posters were put up over night - In loving memory of John or Bob or Gene - as was the custom to announce someone’s passing.
Soon it became the talk of the town, in hushed voices as all the talks in that town where the walls had ears. People were grumbling that the authorities were keeping them in the dark, as always, and nothing was being done to contain the epidemic. Some argued it was an experiment gone wrong or even worse an attack with some biological weapon, which would explain why the local governor kept mum. You wouldn’t want the enemy to know they got to you, would you?
When the secret police got wind of the mystery illness, they were as baffled as the ordinary people. The mourning signs were multiplying every day and the papers were full of obituaries - most of them citing a prolonged suffering or a tragic death - as if some deaths could be said to be happy or fortunate. Others, however, were cryptic - like he died before our eyes and no one rushed to help him or his ailment went unnoticed by us all. Not quite something a grieving family would put in an obituary. Whatever this illness was it was definitely weird.

When the chief of the secret police summoned the head of the health department, the trembling woman was at a loss, as she had no knowledge of any epidemic. They did not have an unusually large number of patients, no mysterious symptoms, no unexplained deaths. The situation was normal, as far as she was concerned. Secret agents were dispatched to the local cemetery, but came back empty handed, just five, six dead a week, well within range. Still, even as he was riding to work that morning, the police chief was sure he had seen dozens of black armbands and he lived just two street away from the imposing edifice housing the secret police.
Relations between state and the church were always tensed and the governor’s policy was to let church leaders do their thing as long as they kept to the scriptures and stayed away from politics. However, the chief had no choice but to pay a visit to the bishop and try to squeeze some information out of the old fool. The bishop professed his complete innocence, he knew nothing of an epidemic and the priests were not busier than usual administering last rites. And frankly, even with the dwindling numbers of faithful, the bishop could not believe the people would bypass the ministrations of the church. Who would send a loved one in the afterlife all burdened by the unwashed sins?
Just as he was despairing of ever getting to the bottom of this, the news of the mysterious illness got to the governor’s ears and much as he needed his trusted chief of the secret police he was also known for his quick temper. If the governor wanted an answer, the governor would get an answer. Or else. Not even the mighty chief of the secret police knew exactly what this ‘or else’ might mean. And rank was no protection - his predecessor had vanished over night after news of a crushed rebellion at a factory was leaked to a news agency.

As a last resort, the chief of police decided to round up some of the mourners on the streets for questioning. One by one, the people claimed it was their father or uncle who had passed, but when pressed for details, they tended to be vague. Something sudden, possibly a heart-attack, and no they couldn’t make it to the funeral and had no idea where they might be buried. The agents scoured the streets for two days in search of fake widows and bogus addresses.
The chief of police had a weird feeling in his guts, something was terribly wrong and it was going to blow up in his face. Maybe if they put some spies out on the streets, not that they didn’t already have, but now all were to drop anything else and focus on the people in mourning. After a few days, an agent discovered many of the mourners were meeting at night in a cheap bar where the beer was very cheap and very stale. The owner of the bar, who wore a black armband himself was made an offer he couldn’t refuse as he loved his two daughters very much and he was terrified to see them locked in a room guarded by a beefy guy.
The chief himself hid behind a wooden partition and was shocked by what he heard. He wasn’t under any illusion that the people were content, the crowded cells in his basement were proof to that, yet he did not expect to hear them talk about new recruits to the cause, all fired up by the death of all their freedoms. A few newcomers willing to join the revolution vowed to fight to death as they received their armbands. The chief in his hiding place was smiling, he had everything on tape - all he had to do was give the signal and the agents would barge in to scoop all these scumbags. He dialed a code on his phone and waited. His beefy right-hand man was quick to march in, only to be greeted like a hero. The chief of police, eye pressed to the spy-hole, was surprised to see his trusted agent out of uniform, in a light-blue shirt. Then he saw the armband and that was about the last thing he saw.

Story written for @mariannewest's freewrite challenge, today's prompt was: armband! Check out her blog and join our freewrite community.

Thanks for reading!

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