Persecution: God's Other Children. Book 2

by Rob Mclean

  “Not that I know.”

  “We’ll just take a look, shall we?” the medico said, helping the Lieutenant with her clothes.

  She wore gloves and a disposable gown, but these were growing scarcer, along with a myriad of other medical supplies. The quarantine of this recalcitrant organism along with the humanitarian effort in Cairo had significantly reduced the stores of medical supplies.

  She turned to give the Admiral a frown, “Sir?”

  Lost in his thoughts, Admiral Schwartz hadn’t realised they were about to undress the patient.

  “Sorry, excuse me.”

  He made to leave, but Lieutenant Gray stopped him. “No, it’s alright,” she said. “I’m sure he’s seen naked bodies before.”

  Gone was any hint of playfulness that, in the past, would have accompanied such a comment. Instead, of his adored concubine, the Admiral was horrified to see she had fully adopted the role of a patient, one who had totally resigned herself to an inescapable fate.

  “You’ll be fine, Fiona,” he lied automatically, as much to reassure himself as anyone else.

  Her wistful, sad look told him she didn’t believe a word. “I’ve seen the reports from the C.D.C.” she said with a stoic fatalism.

  The medico gave the Admiral a confirmatory nod.

  “Surely there’s something we can do?” the Admiral asked. The thought of losing the most important person in his world was not something he wanted to face.

  The medico shook her head. “With the most virulent strains of Ebola we saw up to 80% fatality rate, but most strains only kill about half of the victims.

  “This one,” Lieutenant Gray said without emotion, holding up her hand, “has killed everyone.”

  The Admiral dragged his eyes from the Lieutenant’s rash, to the medico. “Do we know how?”

  “It varies, depending on the patient,” she shrugged. “In the young and healthy, it elicits a cytokine storm – an immune reaction - and the patient’s own immune system effectively kills them. The healthier they are, the bigger the immune response they mount, releasing more cytokines that damage their own bodies.”

  On the other hand, if they are immunocompromised, either through immune-suppressive medication we administer, or as a result of radiation sickness, the organism simply proliferates faster and effectively overwhelms the patient. If they don’t die from organ failure from toxins released from the bug, or competitive lack of nutrients, then this organism would simply, given enough time, consume the host.”

  The Admiral felt the blood drain from his face. “Maybe if we sent you back to the States?”

  Lieutenant Gray shook her head.

  The Medico spoke while she continued her visual inspection of the Lieutenant’s body. “The most worrying aspect is its ability to adapt and change. The original strain collected from the envoy is like a highly trained watchdog, while this one is more like a rampant werewolf.”

  She patted the Lieutenant on the back when she was finished and passed her back her uniform, declaring she couldn’t see any evidence of spread.

  “Realistically, about the only option we have,” the doctor said with a bluntness the Admiral attributed to tiredness, “is to amputate the hand.”

  “Amputate?” the Admiral echoed. It was as if someone had opened a door to his dark room of morbid thoughts.

  “Yes,” Lieutenant Gray said. “That should work.” Then she gave the doctor a searching look. “Shouldn’t it?”

  “I would hope so, but this is no ordinary organism.”

  “No?” the Admiral asked.

  “No,” said the Lieutenant. “Even I could see from the reports that it’s one seriously gnarly little beast.” Her voice carried a mixture of awe, respect and hatred in equal measures.

  “Yes,” said the doctor, “That it is.” She took a moment to collect her thoughts. “You recall how the alien envoy was reported to have a protective biome?”

  “Biome?” The Admiral was happy to admit this was not his area of expertise.

  “We all have a covering of microscopic organisms; all over our skin, all along our intestines and our respiratory system, everywhere our bodies have contact with the external world.”

  “Okay.”

  “The envoy has a covering of an engineered organism that protects him from our terrestrial organisms. It was found to be limited by its dependence on an amino acid that it was designed to be deficient in.”

  The Admiral recalled reading something about that, it just wasn’t terribly important at the time.

  “The reports from the Communicable Diseases Centre in Atlanta suggest that this is the same organism, but somewhat altered.”

  “Altered? How?”

  “For a start, it’s lost its reliance on the alien amino acid…”

  “So it’s not restrained anymore?”

  “We had samples, from the W.H.O. taken from people who had come into contact with the envoy. There are thousands around the world, virtually everyone he has shaken hands with has come into contact with the alien organism and not one of them has fallen ill. That is because that organism has done what it was supposed to do and died without the alien amino acid supplement.”

  “And this thing’s different now,” the Admiral said, not taking his eyes from the lesion on the lieutenant’s hand.

  “It’s thought that this particular variety originated from a strain exposed to the envoy locally. The changes then may have come about as a result of it being exposed to high levels of radioactivity.”

  “It mutated?”

  “It would seem so,” the doctor nodded. “Someone met the envoy here in Cairo, picked up the organism and carried it long enough after the nuclear strike for it to mutate.”

  The Admiral cursed the synchrony of events that had brought about this ‘End of Days’ type plague. He attributed it all to the work of Satan and renewed his vow to strike down his demonic envoy, the AntiChrist.

  “Also we haven’t nailed down all the ways this organism is spreading.”

  The Admiral involuntarily took half a step back.

  “We know it’s not airborne, at least not in the lab…”

  “But?” the Admiral prompted, knowing he didn’t want to hear the rest.

  “But it is spreading; both to different parts of a patient’s body and to different people entirely. Literally, we have seen it appear in people who, like you now, have only been in the same room. Wearing PE helps,” she said, displaying her gloves and gown, “but is no guarantee.”

  “Shit,” the Admiral under his breath.

  “And as yet we haven’t worked out how.”

  “But what about all the antibiotic resistance?” Lieutenant Gray asked.

  “It may have picked up the necessary genetics from other organisms it has encountered.”

  “How?”

  “Either by direct contact and exchange or acquisition of genetic material,” the doctor said as she wrote notes in the patient files, “Or via a vector, such as a virus or plasmid. That also means that there are variant strains emerging that, we believe, are local organisms that have been boosted from genes they have received from the alien.”

  The Admiral felt sick to the stomach at the enormity of the problem his people were facing.

  “Conceivably, it could also have been equipped with all this information when it was engineered, activating the necessary genes only when challenged. We really don’t know at this stage.”

  “But since it’s an alien critter, doesn’t that mean that it’s different? Too different to share genes?” the Lieutenant asked.

  “No, that’s the strange thing about it,” the doctor said putting her pen down, “this organism, we think was originally a common Staph.”

  The confused look from both the Admiral and the Lieutenant made her continue.

  “The aliens appear to have taken one of our terrestrial organisms and reworked it to suit their purposes. It has shown itself capable of producing a gram negative cell wall, flagella and a hos
t of other cellular machinery when needed in certain environments.”

  “All to protect their envoy,” the Admiral said.

  “But,” Lieutenant Gray voiced her thoughts aloud, “how long would all that genetic engineering take?”

  “Quite a lengthy procedure, for us,” said the doctor.

  “But who knows for them, right?” said the Admiral.

  Lieutenant Gray nodded. “And when, exactly, would they have done that?”

  Chapter 47

  John pulled up outside Angela’s house. As expected, the movement of the curtains let him know that his arrival had been noted.

  The back of his knees resumed their stabs of pain as soon as he got out of the car and stood. He gave them a quick vigorous rub, promising himself to have them looked at properly later, along with his bruised forearms, but that would have to wait. Now he was more worried about Maddie and getting her home.

  No sooner had he stepped onto the porch, the door opened and Clarice White’s dour face greeted him.

  “I suppose you had better come in,” she said before disappearing back inside.

  “And hello, how are you? Fine thanks…,” John said to himself, but followed her in.

  Geoffrey White was sitting in his usual armchair, the oxygen machine thrummed beside him. When he saw John, he gathered up his strength and tried to stand.

  John quickly took a few strides across the room and met him before the struggle drained too much of the old man’s remaining energy.

  “Don’t bother getting up on account of me,” John said, putting one hand on Geoff’s frail shoulder and shaking the other.

  “I won’t… argue…,” Geoff smiled or winced, John couldn’t tell which, as he settled back down.

  “Now don’t go straining yourself, Geoffrey,” Clarice said, coming around to arrange the old man’s cushions. “He won’t be staying long.”

  Geoff waved her away with a wizened, bony hand and a grimace on his face. Whether from her comment or from some pains, John couldn’t tell.

  “Now it seems…,” he said as he fumbled for the oxygen mask. Clarice found it and strapped it around his face. “… that we have to…” he dragged a lungful of oxygen down, “…thank you again…” another breath, “…for looking after our daughter.”

  Clarice frowned.

  “Oh, hey, no problem. That jerk probably came off worse.”

  “They tell me you got arrested?” Clarice asked.

  “Detained and questioned, that’s all. No charges laid.” John looked around, “Any idea what happened to my little girl?”

  “She’s not your ‘little girl’ anymore,” Clarice said with a satisfied smirk.

  “Maddie?”

  “Oh her…” the smirk vanished. “She’s somewhere upstairs,” a fresh smile appeared, “probably playing with our little girl. I’ll call her down.”

  John tried to keep a wry smile from his face as he watched her call Maddie from the bottom of the stairs. In her mind, she probably did see Angela as about Maddie’s age. She was obviously having trouble cutting those apron strings.

  John heard the familiar shriek followed by a flurry of stampeding and stomping feet as Maddie rushed downstairs. He hoped the framed photos wouldn’t fall off the walls.

  “Jo Jo!” she squealed and ran into his arms. John grimaced as he lifted her up into a hug.

  “You okay?” John asked.

  “Uh huh,” Maddie nodded. “We been playing.” She held up a well-worn, furry, yellow bear by way of proof.

  “Cool,” John said. He looked to the stairs, but Angela hadn’t followed Maddie down. A pang of disappointment stabbed his heart.

  “She has to stay in her room,” Maddie said, fidgeting with the bear’s overalls.

  John gave his half-sister a questioning frown. Was his regret that obvious that even Maddie could see it?

  “Has she been bad?” Maddie asked.

  “Not that I know.” John looked to Clarice.

  “We felt,” Clarice said with faux sympathy, “that it would not be at all appropriate for our Angela to see you today.”

  “Huh?” John felt too surprised to say much else.

  “Or any other day,” she added.

  “I don’t get it…”

  “Angela tells me you got to the church service late…”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So,” she smiled sweetly, “so, you would have missed the part where Angela and Ezekiel’s engagement was announced.”

  “Oh…” was all John could say.

  Doors were slamming shut in his mind, while the floor felt like it had vanished.

  He couldn’t believe it was game over? Had all her feelings for him been for nothing? Had he really been so stupid, as Zeke’s mom had said, to have been played all along? Did Pastor Greg know about the engagement? Was that why he was invited along?

  He felt too numb for anger just now. That would come later, he felt sure. At the moment there was just an incredible sense of disbelief. ‘How could she be so…?’

  “Okay,” John managed to say amid the flurries of thoughts and questions. His voice sounded hollow. “We gotta go.” He turned to leave.

  “Where was Zeke?” Geoff asked, his colour returning.

  “Zeke? He’s not here, dear.” Clarice patted his arm. “This is the other one, the security man, remember?”

  Geoff growled, this time John was certain it wasn’t from any physical pain. “No, at church…” he took another breath, “where was he?”

  “He said he had to hide,” John said.

  Clarice ‘tisked’ her disagreement. “Young Ezekiel has been arrested several times for voicing his objections.”

  John just nodded.

  Clarice continued her justifications. “He has a right to protest. He felt he wouldn’t be treated fairly on account of that.”

  “Yep, well, thanks for looking after Maddie for me,” John said as if on auto-pilot. “Much appreciated.”

  “It was our pleasure,” Clarice said. “She’s a delightful little girl.”

  “Yes, she is,” John agreed.

  “But I’ll have to put you down,” he said to Maddie. “you’re not getting any lighter.” In truth it felt as if his knees had become noticeably weaker.

  “Oh, and I almost forgot…” John dug into his pocket and pulled out a vial of pills. He placed them in Geoff’s lap. “These are for you.”

  Geoff picked them up with reverence. “Thanks, son,” he said eventually.

  John took his hand and shook it. “Been an honour to have known you sir.” He turned away before the old man saw him misting up.

  “Sorry, son,” Geoff said to John’s back.

  “Mrs White,” John said as he opened the door.

  “Thank you,” Clarice said, her voice small and distant. She had taken the pills from her husband and was busy reading the label.

  She looked up. “Yes, thank you for everything.” She pocketed the pills and walked towards John and Maddie at the door. “Take care now,” she added.

  She bent down and gave Maddie a brief hug, then went to take back the bear.

  Maddie didn’t let go.

  “Come now, dear,” Clarice said as she prized the toy from the little girl’s hand. “This is Angela’s special Tiger Bear…”

  “I know,” Maddie said. “She said so when she gave it to me.”

  “Only to play with, dear…” Clarice tugged at the bear.

  To John, it looked like it could easily be twenty years old, if not more. The stiches stretched as Maddie clung to it.

  John put his big hand over the bear. “Let it go,” he murmured in Maddie’s ear. “Just let it go.”

  “There’s a good girl,” Clarice beamed as she reclaimed the bear. “There’s plenty of more bears in the shops. Your nice brother might get you one, if you’re good.”

  “But this one’s special…” Maddie said, looking to her brother for support.

  “Yes, it is.” John felt his eyes filling with t
ears.

  “It is,” agreed Clarice, “and that’s why you can’t have it. When Angela has her own little girl, she wants to give it to her to play with.” Clarice fussed over the bear, inspecting the seams.

  “We were playing…” Maddie persisted while she stared at the bear. Clarice paid her no mind.

  “Come, on,” he took Maddie’s hand. To Clarice, he said, “You have a nice life now,” trying not to sound hurt or bitter.

  As he led Maddie to the car, he found he didn’t care anymore what Clarice thought. Then he saw that Maddie was crying soft, silent tears as he buckled her in.

  “Don’t be sad,” she said.

  A grin flashed across John’s face. “I was going to say that to you.”

  “It’ll be okay.”

  “Yeah, I’ll get you another yellow bear,” John said. “On e-bay or something.” He started the engine.

  “Not like that one,” Maddie said, making a little girl wave out the window.

  John leaned over to see who she was waving at, but all the curtains were drawn.

  “No,” he agreed, “not like that one.”

  Chapter 48

  Ling ran through her options in her mind for the thousandth time. Her meeting with the American banana girl still haunted her. The order and routine in her miserable world had been disturbed by the words that had infiltrated her mind. Thoughts of escape kept reoccurring to trouble her.

  In her cell, she was playing a one sided game of chess by candlelight with her devoted follower, Kiane. As her pieces triumphed, she felt her options in real life were becoming as limited as the moves on the board of her opponent.

  “Ha! You beat me again Mistress.” Kiane pushed her own King over in submission. “I am yours…” she threw herself dramatically backwards onto the bunk bed, while pulling open her orange jumpsuit to reveal the snake tattoos that covered her flesh.

  “Again!” Ling smiled absently as she straddled Snake’s lithe, sinewy body. “I am beginning to think you enjoy losing to me.”

  Snake smiled and opened her jumpsuit wider, arching her back. “One day I will win and it will be my turn…”

  Her words were cut off as Ling placed her hand over Kiane’s mouth. “You know that will never happen.”