"I'm afraid we had to cut the phone lines," Jerry, the one who had warned us said as we entered. "They just didn't want to listen to reason. If your information isn't earth shattering, I can think of about eight students that can kiss their vet careers good-bye." He glanced at his comrades.
"Thanks, Jerry. I knew I could count on you," Cleo said. "If we pull this off, you'll have a commendation from all the humane societies coming to you." We entered the office.
The committee was, to say the least, a bit belligerent. They reminded me a little of Runyon, easily upset when they didn't get their way.
"What's the meaning of this, Morris?" Dr. Harfield burst out as we entered. "I'll have you know that you and your thugs out there are interfering with government..."
"Cool your jets, Doc," I interrupted. "And it's Dr. Morris, but you can call me Tyler. What's a title among friends? I think when you see the information that my colleagues and I have, you will understand the reason for the drastic action."
Forty-five minutes later, sweat dripping down my face, I paused and looked at the astonished faces of the committee. There was a long pause. No one knew quite what to say. Finally, Dr. Harfield regained his composure.
"Ah, um," he started. "I see."
He paused again and looked at the other committee members. "The information you have provided to this committee is very interesting, very interesting indeed. But you have failed to answer some important questions. What is causing these attacks and what are we to do about it?"
"I have a theory about what is actually happening to these animals. I just need a couple of days to test it out. I'm just asking for some time before you take action."
"But we don't have time, Doctor. If what you say is true, that makes it even more imperative that we take action against these mutant animals now, immediately. God knows how many people are at this very moment being attacked." Dr. Harfield was standing now one hand at his belt, the other in the air in a most dramatic speaking pose.
"Not as many as there will be if you start trying to herd those animals into eradication centers. These animals are smart. They aren't going to just jump in the car like they're taking a trip to the beach. At the least sign of danger, they'll turn on their owners. We've got to outfox them somehow."
The dean of the school, Dr. Winslow, with who I had had enjoyed a good rapport for several years, asked, "Just how much time would you need, Tyler?"
I paused for a moment. Hell, I don't know, I thought. I'm not even sure what my theory is just yet. Instead, I said, "Give me forty-eight hours. If we can't come up with an answer by then, we may have to use Dr. Harfield's plan, but I'll need the use of the school's facilities."
Dr. Winslow looked at the other committee members. "Gentlemen, considering the information we have had presented, I think Dr. Morris' request is reasonable. I recommend that we pull our forces together, and do everything we can to find another way out of this mess."
As we left the office, Cleo took me by the elbow and whispered, "You were great in there. Tell me, what's your theory?"
I whispered back, "I don't know, but we have two days to come up with one and then prove it."
We relocated our headquarters to the vet school. The most difficult part was transferring Runyon. During the last few days, his transition had continued. He had become not only more aggressive, but also smarter, and much more powerful. However, he refrained from talking to anyone. I was relieved for that small favor.
Once at the vet school, we sedated him for the second time. This time we used an injectable narcotic, one which could be quickly reversed if need be. I calculated the dose higher than normal. Even so, the effects were less than usual.
"He's not only a lot stronger, he seems to be developing quite a constitution as well. Once we get him out, let's put an I.V. catheter in place so we can draw samples and administer medications more easily,” I said. Cleo and Harold held Runyon while I placed the I. V. in his front leg. I found it more than a little difficult working on my own dog, in part because he seemed almost alien to me.
Alien? I thought. That word seemed unusually appropriate for Runyon's behavior. Could it be that Runyon's body had been taken over, if not by an alien, then perhaps by a foreign organism? One which was restructuring his body to meet its own needs?
"Let's take a look at his blood under the microscope first," I told Cleo. "I want to see if we can detect those inclusion bodies you mentioned, Harold." I placed a small drop of blood on the slide. It certainly looked average. No change of color or viscosity. But when I looked through the binocular scope at the red blood cells, my breath caught in my throat.
"Well, will you look at that? Those cells are running around like little bugs. I don't mean they're just floating around like they normally do. They look like little motorboats." Finally, I raised my head. "Here take a look. It's incredible."
The reactions of Cleo and Harold were similar to mine.
"What do you make of it?" Harold asked.
"Damned if I know. But on the few that will sit still long enough, you can make out those inclusions."
"Maybe they're the motor," Cleo said kiddingly. She couldn't suppress a laugh.
"Well, now, wait a minute. In a way, you could be right. It could be a second organism that has bolstered the RBCs’ ability to circulate through the body in order to carry more oxygen." I paused for a moment, deep in thought.
The high temperature, the abnormal findings in the brain, the motorized RBCs, the overly active thyroid gland—they all started to add up. Runyon's internal environment had been redesigned to meet the special needs of another organism, while at the same time not harming the host body. College biology flashed back into my thoughts. A symbiotic relationship. Could it be?
Cleo interrupted my thoughts. "Earth to Tyler. Come in Tyler."
I snapped back to the present. "I think I've come up with my theory." I briefly repeated my thoughts to Harold and Cleo.
"And if it is a case of symbiosis, then the foreign organism was transferred in some way through the vaccine," Harold added.
Our train of thought was interrupted by Jerry coming into the lab.
"Doc, you told me to let you know if there was any news on the TV about a Mrs. Pinkleworth, didn't you?"
I nodded slowly. For some reason, I didn't think I wanted to hear the news.
"Well, they just announced that she died about fifteen minutes ago. Cause of death was unknown. Oh yeah, one other thing. There hve been six other cases with similar symptoms reported in the last twenty-four hours. All with a history of a bite or scratch from an animal."
I looked at my small group of compatriots. "It appears that we are running out of time. Once this news gets to Harfield and his group, we're going to be hard pressed to stop them from resuming their plan.”
Cleo and Harold nodded in glum agreement. "We've got to find some way to kill the symbiont without killing the host," Cleo voiced the obvious objective.
"And we need to find a way quickly, before Herr Harfield starts up the gas chambers,” Harold added.
"And before this new breed of pet decides to reverse the role of pet and master.” I finished off the grim truth.
We continued to pore over the data late into the evening. Twice we took new blood samples from Runyon. We kept him sedated to make the sampling easier on him and ourselves. I took his temperature again. The thermometer read 106.8.
"How can he continue to do so well with such a high temperature?” I asked to no one in particular.
"I guess that's what the bug is most comfortable at," Cleo muttered sleepily, more to herself than anyone.
"That's it!" I cried out, scaring everyone including myself by the sudden outburst.
"What's what?" Harold finally managed to ask after he recovered from the shock.
"The organism has made the environment as comfortable as it can for itself, including the temperature. All we have to do, in theory at least, is make it so uncomfortable that it can't live. So we lower
the temperature and keep it there for a while."
"It's worth a try," Cleo agreed. "How do you suggest we do that?"
"First, we'll need to reverse the sedation on Runyon so we can study his reactions more accurately. We better get several students in here to help restrain him."
"Cleo, how about calling down to the pharmacy for a bottle of injectable Dipyrone. I've used that in cases of heat prostration to take down the temperature. It works on the temperature centers of the hypothalamus. I don't think anyone knows exactly how. From the histopath report, we know the hypothalamus was one of the areas which was changed the most. We'll see if we can scramble things up a bit."
For the next twenty minutes, the previously morgue-like lab was a bustle of activity. We had placed a leather muzzle over Runyon's mouth and restraining cords on each leg in case he broke away from the grasp of the four students. I suspected that once the organism realized what we were doing, it would resist with all its strength. I was not mistaken.
I slowly injected Nalline to reverse the effects of the sedation. As it took effect, Runyon's eyes took on a fearful look of recognition. His body tightened as he fought against the firm hold of the students.
"Don't relax your hold on him. He's much stronger than the average dog his size." Not only stronger, but smarter as well. He tried to turn his head to reach the student on his left but was restrained by the student on his right. He tilted his head back as if to howl. Instead a loud, heart rending meow came forth.
The students were stunned. "No matter what, don't relax your hold. No matter what he does... "I paused for a moment before adding “…or what he says." Cleo gave me a strange look but said nothing.
I took a second syringe from the tray. It contained the Dipyrone, a drug which had been used for years mostly in large animal medicine. I hoped it would turn out to be the drug that would save Runyon's life, and the lives of thousands of other dogs and cats.
As I steadied the leg to inject the clear fluid into the catheter, Runyon jerked and twisted in a paroxysmal struggle.
"Easy boy," I said soothingly. "This'll make you feel better soon, I hope."
He continued to struggle against the strong arms holding him to the table. His eyes became beet red and bulged from their sockets. He threw his head back again. This time a blood chilling howl echoed through the lab. Suddenly, he relaxed. He glared hard and long into my eyes.
"No, don’t,” came the same soft guttural voice I had heard in the kennel that morning. I ignored the plea. The thick fluid ran through the catheter.
After the injection was given, we all waited. Runyon had relaxed and offered little resistance. He appeared resigned to his treatment. Or was his symbiotic organism concentrating on overcoming the effects of the medication?
We hooked him up to a monitor that registered his rectal temperature. Immediately after the injection, the temperature read 107.2. His temperature had climbed further, possibly from the heavy exertion. Within ten minutes, however, the temperature started to drop, first to 107, then 106. At the thirty minute mark, it had reached 105. The change was having a noticeable effect on Runyon.
At 104, the shivering started, his eyes became calmer, almost glazed. The students relaxed their hold slightly, but stood ready to pounce on him at the first sign of resistance.
At 102, the temperature appeared to plateau. The shivering continued. Runyon started to whine. For twenty minutes, the temperature remained at 102.
"What now, Tyler?" Cleo asked. I had noticed her watching me intently while the temperature had been monitored.
"Now we take him into the next lab and give him a bath." I looked deeply into Runyon's eyes as I said this. "A cold bath, to try and drop the temperature further." Could it be? Was that the old look of sad resignation that I was used to seeing when Runyon heard the word bath? I hoped so. Still it was too early to tell what the effects were.
Runyon offered no resistance as we carried him into the adjoining lab and placed him in the stainless steel tub.
"Go see if you can find us some ice,” I instructed a couple of the students. "As much as you can find." I turned on the cold tap and started wetting Runyon down with the sprayer. He looked up at me and whined again. This time the whine was different. It sounded like the Runyon of old. I hoped I wasn't imagining it.
Within an hour and a half of giving the injection, Runyon's temperature had dropped to 98, three-and-a-half degrees below the normal canine temperature and over nine degrees below its all time high.
"Now what?" I saved Cleo from having to say it by saying it myself.
"We might start by checking his red blood cells,” Cleo suggested.
"Okay with me. Let's take him back into the other lab."
I drew a large blood sample from the catheter and divided it into four different colored tubes.
"We may as well repeat the chem screen while we're at it," I said. It had been a long, stressful evening and it was beginning to tell on me. My eyes felt heavy. The tone in my voice was dull. "Take this down and ask for it stat,” I instructed one of the students as I handed him three of the tubes. "And if you see Harfield or any of his committee members, say nothing."
The student rushed out with the valuable package. I placed a drop of blood from the remaining tube onto a slide and placed it on the stage of the microscope. I started to lean over to look through the pair of eye pieces, but stopped.
I glanced over at Cleo. She gave me an encouraging smile.
I tried to smile back, but failed. "How about looking at this, would you?" I whispered. "I'm not sure I want to know."
We exchanged positions. She readjusted the distance between the eye pieces for her narrower eyes, and looked through them. She continued to stare through the lens saying nothing for what seemed to be a long time. Finally, I could stand it no longer.
"Well?" I asked with some impatience. "What do you see?"
She looked up from the scope with a blank expression. Slowly she smiled. "No more motorboats, Tyler. Just plan old, dull RBCs lying there like they’re supposed to."
A cheer broke out in the lab. Suddenly, we were all hugging each other. I found my arms around Cleo's waist, swinging her around me, her feet leaving the floor. Finally I let her down, but continued to hold her about the waist. She looked up at me for a moment. Among the shouting mob, no one seemed to notice the brief kiss. After several minutes, the celebration quieted down and we brought ourselves back to earth.
"It all looks hopeful, gang," I said with a smile, "but we still have to be sure that the organism is completely gone. Then, we have to formulate a plan for treating several thousands of other pets, without their knowledge,” I added.
"But at least we have a starting point and an alternative to Harfield's plan," Cleo said.
"That's right, we have a starting point." I suddenly realized that in the excitement of the celebration, I had forgotten about Runyon. I quickly glanced over at the exam table where we had placed him. He was gone.
"Oh hell, where's Runyon?" A nervous feeling was building in the pit of my stomach. "Runyon." I called out as I had so often in the past. At first there was no response, then from under an old desk in the corner of the lab, I could hear the thump, thump of Runyon's tail. I glanced under the desk and there he lay, as if he were home at last.
POSTSCRIPT
Despite heavy criticism from Harfield, a plan for the treatment of the coronavirus vaccinated pets was devised and implemented. Each pet was returned to its vet, presumably for its next booster inoculation. Instead, they were given Dipyrone, which initially dropped the temperature down to a level sufficient to knock the symbiont out. The Dipyrone was then followed with a seven day regimen of another effective anti-pyretic by mouth—two aspirins three times a day.
Unfortunately, a number of human fatalities did occur as a result of bite wounds. Evidently, the symbiont attempted to set up a stable environment in the humans, but was unable to do so. Likely the reason a symbiosis with humans was not possible was
due to humans’ lower body temperature compared to dogs and cats.
A Message from Orrin Jason Bradford
(aka W. Bradford Swift)
As an Indie Author, I know how vitally important readers are. Without people, like you, who enjoy reading, authors are pretty useless. Oh, I know I enjoy the thrill of writing the next great American novel, but that’s really not enough. I need readers like you who enjoy reading my stories. So, thank you. I sincerely appreciate your taking the time to read Hunt Along the Iron River and Other Timeless Tales.
Perhaps you would enjoy some of my other books and stories. If you’d like to stay up to date on new book releases, special discounts, and my occasional giveaways, you can also join my OJB’s Amazingly Awesome Readers Group. Just go to my author’s website and blog where you can also download a free copy of one of my other books: www.wbradfordswift.com
There’s one last thing you could do if you would be so kind. Go to your favorite online bookstore and leave an honest review of Hunt Along the Iron River and Other Timeless Tales. Honest reviews are really important to help other readers like yourself know which books to try next. And thanks for being an amazingly awesome reader.
Orrin Jason Bradford (aka W. Bradford Swift)
In the Spirit of Ray Bradbury
myBook.to/fosterflat
About the Author
For over two decades W. Bradford Swift has been conducting an experiment: “Is it possible to create a new context for life that is true to my deepest values, my sense of what’s possible, and true to my soul and spirit? If it is possible, what will be the results? Will it enhance my life? Will I experience a true sense of purpose and meaning? Will I know at the end of the experiment that my life has mattered?”
Becoming a writer of visionary fiction and non-fiction has been an integral part of this experiment, as was co-founding Life On Purpose Institute with his wife in 1996, being a life coach to assist others to create their own life on purpose, and training other Life On Purpose Coaches.
Hunt Along the Iron River and Other Timeless Tales Page 13