Plague

by Victor Methos

  “Please,” she said, “I don’t want to go back.”

  Ralph took a breath and sat down on the black stool against the wall. “You’re the patient, right? John Doe? The one that’s suspected of being infected with Agent X? Clever calling you John Doe. I could have walked past you in the hall and I wouldn’t have even thought about it being a woman.”

  “I don’t want to go back?”

  “Go back where, honey?”

  “Downstairs. They want to quarantine me in a room and they said I can’t see my family anymore. They said they’re gonna lock the doors.”

  “They have to. You’re carrying something extremely dangerous inside you right now. The people here don’t even know how dangerous it is. Otherwise, you never would have had the opportunity to get away.”

  “Please,” she begged, “I have a fiancé. I just want to go home.”

  “You look healthy enough to me. Were you in Hawaii recently?”

  “Yes?”

  “How did you get back to the mainland?” She didn’t say anything. “Don’t worry, I’m not the cops. I’m a doctor.”

  “They were letting people in the Army off. I bought a uniform and a fake ID from this guy that was sellin’ ‘em and they let me get on one of the planes.”

  “How many other people bought uniforms and IDs?”

  “I don’t know. There were three other people with me. I don’t know how many others.”

  Ralph nodded, melancholy on his face. “The will to survive. It never ceases to amaze me.” He reached into his bag and came out with a syringe and bottle with a white label. He stuck the needle through the rubber top of the bottle and pulled up an amber fluid.

  “What’s that?” the girl said.

  “It’s to help you relax. You’re frantic. Stress aggravates your condition.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  Ralph took a cotton ball out of the bag along with a Band-Aid and then approached her.

  “I said I don’t want it.”

  “You need it.”

  “No I don’t. Get away from me.”

  “Listen to me,” Ralph said, showing her his palms in a placating gesture. “If you don’t get this shot and sleep through the night, you will overwork your endocrine and cardiovascular systems. It could literally give you a stroke. We’ve seen it in other patients with your condition. I’m just going to give you the shot and then let the staff know where you are. They’ll take care of you. As soon as you’re better, they’ll release you. I’ll see what I can do about your fiancé coming to visit you here.”

  She didn’t speak or move. Her lip quivered a little and Ralph didn’t push it. He stood silently until she was ready.

  “What’s in it?”

  “It’s Mebaral. A sedative. You’ll feel like you’re slipping into a warm bath. It’ll be euphoric at first and then you’ll sleep like you’ve never slept before.”

  She looked away a moment, and then held out her arm.

  Ralph came over and wiped an area just underneath her bicep with the cotton ball. She didn’t notice that he hadn’t used any antiseptic to clean the area; he wasn’t worried about her getting an infection.

  He injected her and then withdrew, gently caressing her forearm, and he laid her back on the gurney and sat next to her. He held her hand; her breathing was slow and growing labored.

  “I feel weird.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “Wait…wait…I don’t like this. I don’t like this, Doctor. Please stop it. It feels like my head is burning.”

  “It is. It’s potassium. It’s slowly suffocating you and soon your heart will stop. People will think it was a natural death, probably brought on by Agent X.”

  “No,” she said, her eyelids dipping and then opening again. “No. Ple…please.”

  “I’m sorry. There’s no other way.”

  “No,” she said, attempting to cry. “No no…please.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, gripping her hand tighter.

  She wept for a few moments and he didn’t interrupt her. She looked up at him, their eyes locking. Ralph wanted to look away, but didn’t. There was a measure of respect involved.

  “I have to tell you somethin’,” she said, her breathing growing difficult. “About the other people.”

  “What is it?” She mumbled something. “I didn’t understand you.” There was more mumbling. Ralph hoped he hadn’t moved to soon; perhaps she had information that could help him track down the three others that had snuck off the island with her.

  He leaned down close to her, staring into her eyes. They were blue, but he saw that they were growing dim and wondered if it was life leaving her body or the disease eating away at her. The edges of the whites of her eyes were dark black; blood was seeping into them. Soon, she would be blind.

  “What is it, honey?”

  It happened too fast for him to notice. She seemed meek, mild mannered. Weakened from the disease and unable to defend herself. He hadn’t seen her coming.

  He reached up and touched his face. The thick glob of black spit, mingled with her blood and mucus, dripped through his fingers. He jumped off the gurney as the girl laughed.

  Ralph ran to the bathroom and ran the hot water. He splashed his face as much as he could, knowing the ooze had gotten into his eyes and onto his lips. The water burned him but he didn’t stop. He took soap and scrubbed his face until it was raw. Rummaging through the contents of a shelf, he found packaged iodine sponges and wiped his face before repeating the hot water and soap.

  He wasn’t sure how long or how many times he repeated this but it must have been several dozen because his face felt like it had been stuck in a furnace. He stood over the sink, panting, looking at his eyes in the mirror. Had it gone into his mouth? Or had it hit his forehead and dribbled down, missing the orifices of his face and just dripping off his lips?

  He stepped out into the room. The woman lay still on the gurney. He walked over to her. Her eyes still had life in them, but she wasn’t breathing. It’d be six minutes until brain death. He wanted to reach out and slap her across the face. Instead, he sat down again next to her, and held her hand.

  A few minutes later, he saw the light in her eyes fade and he closed her lids and said a prayer. He rose and took his bag and left the room, turning the lights off behind him.

  CHAPTER 40

  When Sam had thought of Iquitos, Peru, she had seen degraded huts about to fall onto the muddied floors they covered, swarms of mosquitos, meat hanging to dry on long ropes between trees. Instead, she saw a perfectly modest city with paved roads, plenty of apartment buildings, and red Spanish-tile churches and government buildings that could have been found in many European countries.

  The plane landed on a small airstrip outside the city and she watched the massive green trees and lush grasslands that lay before her. There was another side to the city; shantytowns where the poor were huddled in the huts she had imagined. Some of the children were wearing little more than shorts, their feet hardened like clay from not possessing any shoes. As the rented cars with the young drivers pulled to a stop and they climbed aboard, Sam stared at the hovels. She could see families inside them, and not just nuclear families. Probably uncles, aunts, cousins, and grandparents. Many of the huts didn’t look like they were any larger than studio apartments.

  She rode with Duncan and Agent Donner and they wound through the city streets, avoiding bicyclists and rickshaws and the occasional donkey hauling coffee beans or rice. They drove for what seemed like an hour and Agent Donner spoke to the driver in Spanish. The driver, suddenly, looked like he had seen a ghost.

  “What’d you say?” Duncan asked.

  “I told him that he shouldn’t push his hours up or we won’t use him again.”

  Samantha said, “That’s all?”

  “That’s all. Why?”

  “He looks frightened.”

  “They rely heavily on the tourists. They don’t want to piss anybody off and have me
leave bad reviews all over the place.”

  From there, it only took five minutes to get to the hotel. It was a baby-blue structure of three stories and they parked at the curb. The driver hopped out first and collected their bags, taking them inside. Agent Donner got out and stretched his back, inhaling a deep breath of the city air.

  “You know,” he said, “even ten years ago the air here was crisp and refreshing. Like the air at the top of a mountain. It tastes like exhaust now. It’s a shame our species had to ruin that. We’ll miss it when it’s gone, I think.” He looked to a small café across the street. “I’m going to grab some lunch. Anyone care to join me?”

  “I’m starving,” Duncan said. He turned to Sam. “You in?”

  “No, I’m exhausted. I need to get some shut-eye.”

  “Suit yourself. Come by if you change your mind.”

  The two men walked across the street as Sam watched. Agent Donner never let his back relax; it was always straight, held stiff as if he were waiting for an inspection. She got the feeling that he was a man that never lost control.

  She walked inside the hotel. She was going to ask the desk clerk in her broken Spanish where her room was. But he already held out a key that said 121 on it and she smiled and said, “Gracias,” before heading down the hallway.

  Sam found room 121 and unlocked the door. A couple was in the room, laughing. They were dressing and it was such a surprise Sam didn’t say anything. They quickly put on their clothes and snuck past her, apologizing. She glanced to the bed and saw that it was messy.

  She walked in and sat down on the couch, asleep before she could think about whether they had used the couch as well.

  Duncan sat across from Agent Donner at a table that was set outside on a veranda. There were a few other people there, mostly tourists, and they sipped coffee and beer and ate snacks rather than large meals.

  Agent Donner ate an odd smelling beef stew and drank something that smelled like paint thinner. Duncan watched him a while and Donner said, “What?” without looking up from his food.

  “Nothing. I’ve just never seen someone eat something that smelled so bad with that much gusto.”

  “This is nothing. In Ghana, there’s a large rodent that I still don’t know the name of. They barely cook it over a large spit and then slice off pieces, fur and all, and if you don’t eat it with them, because food is so scarce and they’re extending their hospitality, they’ll never talk to you again.”

  “What were you doing in Ghana?”

  “Research.”

  “On what?”

  “Their water supply. Water’s privatized over there and warlords own it. You think Microsoft or Standard Oil were monopolies? You should see a methed-up warlord with a machete try to keep his market share.”

  Duncan took a sip of coffee. It was so strong it made his nostrils burn. “You seem to have travelled a lot. Didn’t know the FBI paid for so many flights.”

  “New world now. We’re not the former accountants in black suits anymore.”

  “How long was your training in Quantico for?”

  Duncan watched as Agent Donner wiped his lips with a napkin and then looked him in the eyes. “Twenty-one weeks. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious. Seems like an interesting job to me. So what’d you do after Quantico?”

  “I was in violent crime and then computer forensics before being transferred to terrorism after 9-11. If you’re so curious, you should apply. The bureau could always use good scientists.”

  “No, I can barely stomach working for the government as it is. Don’t know how I’d feel if I actually impacted people’s lives.”

  Agent Donner took a long sip of water and then placed the glass down as if to signal that he was done with the conversation. He looked at Duncan, their eyes locking. A grin came over his face. “We should go. You need some rest before we go trekking through the jungle together.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Sam woke sometime in the evening to a knock at her door. For a moment, she wasn’t sure where she was, the surroundings completely alien, and then she heard Duncan’s voice on the other side of the door.

  “You awake, Sam?”

  “One sec,” she said. She made her way to the door, stretching her neck, which had tightened up like ball of rubber bands. It shot pain through her head and she rolled it in a circle before opening.

  “Hey,” Duncan said, “you slept a while.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Almost seven. You ready to go?”

  “Where?”

  “To the hospital. Benjamin called ahead and set everything up.”

  Sam stretched again and then went to find her shoes. Duncan hung by the door, staring off into space.

  “Is this how you pictured life as a scientist would be?” he said.

  “I see myself as a doctor, not a scientist.”

  “Not me. Maybe that’s why I feel so out of place here. I should be in the lab with Pushkin, running cultures.”

  “Then why’d you come?”

  “For you.”

  They exchanged glances as she laced up her shoes and followed him out the door.

  Outside the heat was causing waves to come up off the ground and the stink of sweat and exhaust filled the air, broken occasionally by a soft breeze that would fill the nostrils with the scent of jungle vines and grass.

  Sam went to the edge of the road, as there was no sidewalk. A few merchants approached her, hawking cheap homemade goods, and she politely turned them down. Eventually a car came for them and Duncan, Sam, and Agent Donner, who had just run out of the building in time to meet them, climbed aboard.

  “Ben and Cami are already down there,” Agent Donner said.

  “Holly’s not contagious,” Duncan said, “but I had Ben bring some gear for us. I think we should treat her as potentially infectious.”

  As the car got moving, Sam opened her iPad and began writing a document. It was a makeshift journal; just something to use to help jog her memory later on if she should need it. If this girl did provide something useful, maybe the journal could later become an article in the New England Journal of Medicine.

  They reached the hospital and got out. It wasn’t much more than five stories of what appeared like an office building but there were ambulances coming and going and she saw doctors in white coats smoking outside with nurses. They followed several people inside the double glass doors and Agent Donner spoke with someone at the desk before they climbed onto the elevator.

  “They don’t have her in isolation anymore,” he said. “She’s just on the third floor in a room.”

  “Why is she still here?” Sam asked.

  “No idea. I assume observation. But from what Benjamin told me she’s recovered completely.”

  They stepped off onto the third floor and it was nearly empty. A few gurneys were being pushed around, medical staff were speaking in hushed tones in the hallway, but there wasn’t the flurry of patients she expected in a moderately-sized city in South America.

  They walked to the end of the hallway and saw Benjamin speaking on his cell phone. He seemed agitated and was pacing back and forth in the hallway. He saw them, ended his conversation, and put the phone away.

  “You guys,” he said, “it’s not pretty.”

  “What do you mean?” Sam said.

  “You’ll have to see it for yourself. I’m just warning you. Your gear’s right there in that suitcase.”

  They took out their suits, Kevlar gloves, booties, and clear plastic facemasks. After they suited up Sam was the first to open the door and step inside.

  The first thing she noticed was Cami in a chair by the bed. She wasn’t suited and was just sitting in shorts and a tank-top with her legs crossed near Holly Fenstermac.

  Holly’s hands were what she noticed next. They appeared as if they had been boiled in hot oil. They had large swelling balls of skin and fluid over them and Sam thought of the old scripture for Job, cast with boils for a bet bet
ween God and Satan, innocent and undeserving of such a fate.

  Sam’s eyes followed the hands up the arms, which were filled with the same boils. Though she knew they only looked like boils. They were fluid-filled blisters and they took up every inch of skin. She had seen them in some of the patients in Honolulu, and in textbooks for smallpox.

  Her face was covered with so many blisters you could only see the general shape. Her lips were swollen shut and even her eyes were covered in maculopapular rashes and the beginnings of blisters.

  Cami was speaking softly to the woman, but it didn’t appear that she was responsive.

  “Is she conscious?” Sam asked, barely able to get the words out.

  “No,” Cami said. “I’ve been speaking to her for over an hour and she hasn’t responded.”

  “I’ve never…I’ve never seen—”

  “I know,” Cami said. “I haven’t seen it this bad either. I can’t even imagine the pain she’s going through. The blisters on her corneas have blinded her and the ones in her ear canals are making it difficult for her to hear. One of the doctors told us she only responds to touch, but that hasn’t worked either.”

  Duncan came close to the patient and examined her eyes. He stepped back and looked at Sam. “I wouldn’t want survival like this,” he whispered, just in case the patient could hear.

  “Me neither.”

  “Come on. Let’s go.”

  As Sam turned to leave, a noise startled her. It sounded like an animal’s hiss and she realized it was the patient. Cami leaned in close.

  “I’m here for you,” Cami said. “My name is Dr. Mendoza. I’m here for you.”

  The patient opened her eyes. The eyes themselves were overtaken with deep scarring from the blisters and it appeared as if they were covered in dried and cracking skin. Her head tilted and she began to speak in an almost inaudible volume.

  Cami would whisper, “Yes,” or “No,” every once in a while but for the most part let Holly speak. After about half a minute, Holly tilted her head up again, glanced once to Samantha, and then closed her eyes.