Aquifer: A Novel

by Gary Barnes

  Just as the alien was about to lunge at the trio it shook with a violent convulsion, then collapsed. Clayton's instincts took over. He rushed to the alien's side.

  Larry held back, shaking his head in disbelief. “Are you crazy?!” he yelled. “That thing just tried to eat us.”

  “But it's sick!” replied Clayton.

  The alien took a couple of labored, gurgling breaths, went into one last convulsion, then died. Clayton was visibly saddened by the loss of the alien. “Bring the Hummer over and we'll load it onto the boat trailer. I've got to find out what killed it.”

  “And when we find out we'll use that info to kill the rest of them,” added Larry.

  Clayton flashed Larry a look of disdain.

  =/=

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Lab

  Thirty minutes later as the dead alien lay on the trailer parked alongside the portable lab, Clayton and Larry scraped samples from its skin and underbelly while Welton held a Coleman lantern.

  “Clayton, my friend, I must share my concerns regarding the tremendous aggressiveness of these creatures,” Welton confessed.

  “I understand. I never expected them to be this aggressive either,” Clayton replied.

  “None of us did,” interjected Larry. “But now that we know, we’ve got to do something about it. We’ve got to stop them before things get worse.”

  “I think you’re right,” said Welton. “But how do we go about it?”

  “Well, for starters we find out what killed this one,” Larry explained.

  “Something sure made it sick,” said Welton.

  “I just don’t understand it,” Clayton chimed in as if he hadn’t been listening to any of the conversation. “There was no sign of disease on any of the aliens we saw at the cave or at the swimming hole.”

  *

  Inside the trailer lab Clayton was hunched over a microscope peering at the samples they had just collected. He dropped various stains onto the slides to enhance and give contrast to the organisms he was examining. Based upon the physical symptoms of the alien and its behavioral characteristics just before it died, Clayton was convinced that it had succumbed to Chytrid. Under normal conditions a standard H&E stain would have confirmed his supposition. But Clayton was frustrated, because this time the test proved inconclusive. He switched to PAS (Periodic Acid Schiff) and two silver stains. These also failed to reveal the identity of the deadly pathogen. Finally, after using an oil immersion while examining the specimens at x1000 power, he was able to obtain definite confirmation.

  “Just as I suspected, Chytrid!” spouted Clayton triumphantly, yet angrily. “Isn’t that just like the logging industry. Not only do they pollute our world causing the death and destruction of our animal life and environment, now their pollution’s causing the death of a species from another planet!”

  “What do you mean! That's wonderful! Amphibian Ebola to the rescue,” exclaimed Larry delightedly. “Now we just let nature take its course.”

  Clayton looked up from the microscope and spoke very seriously, as if trying to convince himself, “I've spent thirty-five years saving amphibians, I can't helplessly stand by and allow this species to become extinct without trying to prevent it.”

  “You’re worried about them becoming extinct?!” Larry exploded. “We’re the ones who are at the bottom of their food chain!”

  “No! It’s precisely the arrogance of man that threatens the existence of life on this planet and now the universe. We’ve got to stop playing God and meddling in the affairs of nature!” Clayton retorted.

  “It’s not about playing God, it’s preserving the dignity and the life of mankind,” Larry argued.

  “True dignity would require us to save these aliens, not plot their destruction!” Clayton shot back.

  Dr. Welton walked over to Clayton and placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, “Clayton, I’ve looked forward to first contact more than anyone else. It’s a dream I’ve looked forward to realizing all of my life. And now that we have it we must destroy it as quickly as possible or mankind may not be here for second contact.”

  Clayton looked up into the understanding eyes of his friend. “I know. I’m just so torn. I spent all afternoon at Opal’s grotto figuring out ways to destroy them, and yet I want to save them. I don’t know what to do,” he lamented.

  “But Dr. Clayton,” Larry interrupted. “No other amphibian eats people.”

  “And no other amphibian in the area has died of Chytrid. Why?” Clayton returned to the microscope making a few adjustments. “Hand me that reference book!”

  Larry passed him the book. Clayton studied the Chytrid pictures then peered into the microscope again. “Uh huh. . . . Take a look at this.”

  Clayton stepped aside as Larry approached and peered into the microscope.

  “Notice the epithelial tissues?” Clayton rhetorically asked. “The zoosporangia’s feeding in the keratin layers as expected, but they’ve altered their discharge tubes allowing them to penetrate the specific thickness of the alien’s dermal layer.”

  Larry raised his head from the microscope and peered inquisitively at Clayton. “Yeah, I see that the Chytrid’s discharge tubes penetrate the alien’s skin, but that’s normal. I guess I haven’t seen enough Chytrid to catch the significance.”

  “Here, let me show you another slide,” muttered Clayton, mildly irritated that his student could not see the obvious.

  “Look here. I’ve placed a cross-section of a frog’s skin next to a cross section of the alien’s skin. Both of them are infected with Chytrid. Now tell me what differences you see.”

  Again Larry approached the microscope, but a little more timidly this time. He peered into the lens, adjusted its focus and then replied, “Well, neither of their skins is very thick - not much more so than a sheet of common paper. As I expected, the Chytrid is confined to only the stratum corneum portion of the skin. It resides deep within this section, resting on top of the stratum lucidum.” Larry turned a knob on the microscope to change the slide’s position in order to look from another angle. He then continued. “The Chytrid are spherical in shape and they have a discharge tube that penetrates the surface of the skin. They look sort of like an upside-down inflated balloon with the neck of the balloon pointed upward, representing the discharge tube.”

  “And what is the purpose of the discharge tube?” demanded Clayton, testing his student’s understanding.

  “That’s how they release their zoospores into the surrounding water. That’s how they multiply.”

  “Exactly!” echoed Clayton with elation. “The discharge tube has to be long enough to reach from the bottom of the stratum corneum, where they feed, to the surface of the epidermis; otherwise the Chytrid cannot reproduce to spread infestation. Now, compare the skins of the two specimens and tell me specifically what you see regarding the relative thicknesses of the various dermal components.”

  Again Larry peered into the microscope. “Let’s see . . . the Stratum germinativum, spinosum, granulosum and lucidum all seem to be about equal, but the alien’s stratum corneum layer is almost twice as thick as it is in the frog’s skin.”

  “Precisely!” exclaimed Clayton. “The length of the discharge tubes had to be increased to penetrate it. The Chytrid had to mutate or they couldn’t infect the aliens. In short, the tannic acid pollution leaching from the logger’s sawdust piles has not only distressed the aliens, making them extremely susceptible to Chytrid, but has also caused the Chytrid to mutate into a form specifically deadly to the aliens,” Clayton explained.

  “You mean the pollution has mutated the stuff so that it can only attack the aliens, and at the same time has made the aliens extremely susceptible to infection?” Larry asked.

  “Apparently so,” sighed Clayton.

  “Well, hallelujah! Thank God for pollution!” exclaimed Larry.

  =/=

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Sheriff’s Office

  The next morning Clay
ton’s H-2, with the dead alien still loaded on the trailer, pulled up to the front of Sheriff Aker’s office. Larry parked as near to the front door as he could. Clayton and Welton emerged from the back seat where they had been discussing Clayton’s frustrations. It seemed Clayton had been up all night unsuccessfully trying to find a way to kill the mutated Chytrid, or to at least circumvent its effects upon the alien amphibians. Nevertheless, all his efforts proved fruitless.

  Tremendous feelings of guilt welled up within Clayton ever since the discovery of Ellie Jo and the others in the alien’s nesting chamber at Blue Spring. He blamed himself for not having recognized the danger sooner. Yet what could he have done?

  On the one hand, he was ecstatic to be the first zoologist to have the opportunity of discovering and working on an alien life form. He had even outlined in his mind the contents of the paper he would soon publish detailing his findings with the aliens. Publish or perish, the eternal bane of academia.

  Would his peers accept his hypothesis or would they think him crazy for believing in alien life forms? Clayton wondered. But surely, once they actually saw his specimens, ran their comparative DNA and verified his findings for themselves there would be no doubt. Yet in the recesses of his mind Clayton knew that their responses would be the same as his would have been if the tables had been turned.

  On the other hand, he was sick when he reflected on the cost of human life that the aliens had already caused – thirty-five confirmed dead and scores more wounded, all within just the past three days; a tremendously heavy toll for such a small community.

  Clayton was not so naive as to think that there wouldn’t be others lost as well. He wanted to save the aliens yet realized that because of their intelligence and aggressiveness it would be foolhardy to do so. Admitting to himself that he could not decide what to do only exacerbated his mental anguish, and so his internal turmoil continued without resolution.

  *

  Inside the office, the Sheriff, the Mayor and Major Reid were deep into a discussion of Reid’s plans when Clayton and his companions entered.

  “Good morning gentlemen,” Sheriff Akers gruffly greeted the approaching trio. From the expression on the Sheriff’s face Clayton could easily tell that the topic they were discussing had not set well with him. The Mayor didn’t seem to be any more at ease than did the Sheriff. Obviously, Clayton thought, this military officer must be the investigator that they had been so eagerly expecting, but why should his visit upset the Sheriff and Mayor so visibly?

  As they approached Clayton shook hands with the Sheriff and the Mayor.

  “Dr. Clayton,” said the Sheriff, making the introductions, “This is Major Reid from Ft. Leonard Wood. He’ll be conducting the investigation.” Then, turning to the Major, he continued, “And this is Dr. Welton and Clayton’s graduate assistant, Larry Beringer.”

  Reid stood as erect as a post and cooly eyed Clayton.

  Never before had Clayton met a man who projected such an air of superiority.

  “Major,” said Clayton as he shook the Major’s hand, “We’ve been expecting you, but from a professional perspective I cannot honestly say that I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” As their hands clasped he gazed into Reid’s cold eyes. Though he could not place where, Clayton had the strangest sensation that they had met before. His mind did not take time to figure it out at that moment, for he had more important business to which he must attend.

  Without waiting to learn what Reid had been discussing with the Sheriff and Mayor, Clayton stepped toward the Sheriff and immediately jumped to the purpose of his visit by boldly declaring, “I have a dead alien outside on my trailer!”

  “We found two more down by the river near the rock quarry early this morning,” related the Sheriff rather matter-of-factly.

  “Then you must know they’re sick.” Clayton turned to face the Mayor. “These creatures have a deadly Chytrid infection. It’s very contagious and will eventually destroy all of them,” he announced.

  “That’s great news!” beamed the Mayor, obviously more pleased with Clayton’s news than with the discussion they had been having with the Major.

  Clayton looked sick. “I’ve got to find a cure!” he exclaimed, trying to convince himself more than anyone else that this was really the right thing to do. Deep inside he knew that the aliens must be destroyed, but his academic side wasn’t ready to accept that conclusion.

  “That won’t be necessary,” announced Major Reid. “My men will be arriving any moment now. Thank you for your assistance but we have the situation totally under control. You can return to your environmental pollution studies.”

  For a brief moment Clayton was flattered that this Major knew of his studies. After all, he hadn’t published anything yet regarding his summer’s research, and even if he had, surely the Major would not have read it. Reid’s demeanor had immediately convinced Clayton that he was the type of man who wouldn’t read anything unless it had a direct bearing on his specific mission. He must convince the Mayor to give him more time. He ignored the Major’s comments and continued his pleadings with the Mayor.

  “There must be another way to handle this. We’re talking about a life form from another planet as if it were some detestable disease that must be eradicated. Don’t we have a responsibility to protect these aliens?” he petitioned.

  “Of course we should, if we could, but we can’t!” asserted the Mayor. “Too many lives would be lost in the process. Our responsibility to people is eminently greater than it is to aliens, other animals, or the environment! Our delays have already cost us thirty-five lives!” He raised one eyebrow and looked seriously at Clayton to drive home his last point. “Just out of curiosity though, how long will it take this Chytrid to work?”

  “It’s hard to say . . . four to six weeks probably,” Clayton replied.

  “Oh! We can’t wait that long!” retorted the Mayor staunchly. “Major,” he sighed regrettably. “You may proceed with your plans.”

  Major Reid stared coldly and blankly at the Mayor, locking eyes with him in arrogant condescension. His resolute face showed no emotion of any kind, and his eyes did not blink. In fact, it was precisely his blinkless, stone-faced expression that often caused men in his command to dread his presence. They did not fear him. They simply could not stand to be around him, and they certainly had no respect for him as a person.

  Subordinates under Reid’s command strictly followed the unwritten rule of military law, though they applied it to Major Reid for different reasons than they did to other officers, SALUTE THE UNIFORM, NOT THE MAN.

  Addressing the Mayor with his blinkless expression and air of superiority, Major Reid cooly replied, “Proceed with my plans? Mr. Mayor, I assure you that I had no intention of altering them. Nor do I need your permission for their implementation.”

  =/=

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  OperationTrot-Line

  At 10:00 a.m. a small military convoy from Ft. Leonard Wood crossed the Jack’s Fork River Bridge and rolled south into Eminence. At the stop sign the convoy turned left onto Highway 106 and proceeded east, past the rock quarry, heading out of town toward the Current River. The lead Humvee, however, broke formation and headed into the heart of town. It pulled to a stop outside the office of Sheriff Akers. A lieutenant disembarked, ascended the steps to the Sheriff’s office and strode inside.

  Once inside the office, the lieutenant briskly approached Major Reid and saluted. “Sir, we’ll be setting up a field office downstream from Owl’s Bend. I’ll be your driver.”

  Major Reid returned a crisp salute. “Very good. I’ll be with you momentarily.” He then turned to Sheriff Akers, the Mayor and Clayton’s group, and with a very curt yet official delivery style simply stated, “This shouldn’t take too long. I’m sure that my men will have your . . . alligator problem solved by the end of the day.” He bowed his head slightly, turned sharply on his heels to join the lieutenant and headed through the office door for the Humvee parke
d outside.

  *

  Ten minutes later Major Reid’s driver was headed down a narrow, tree-lined dirt road paralleling the Current River which flowed a half-mile to their left. Unexpectedly, the driver pulled into the graveled parking lot beside the Owl’s Bend School House.

  The school, a two-story stone building which jutted up against a gently sloping low hill, was built in 1886. The front door, located on the second floor, opened at ground level at the top of the hill. The back door was located at the other end of the building and was placed in the first floor. It also opened at ground level but was located at the bottom of the small hill.

  The school house had been used as a one-room school, teaching Kindergarten through eighth grade from 1886 until 1968. Classes were held in the second story while the lower level had been used as a storage and project room. The lower level also housed the boiler system which heated the building.

  Classes had never been very large. The entire enrollment seldom exceeded sixty students and was primarily composed of the children of the sharecropper families that lived on the surrounding farms.

  When school was in session, all of the children were grouped together according to their study grades. The teacher’s task was to teach all of the children at the same time according to their level of understanding and achievement. Assignments were given to one or more groups of children to work on while the teacher spent time with other groups.