The Fallen and the Elect
Page 12
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The detectives rushed into the coroner’s work area and into a flurry of activity. The entire medical examiner staff was on duty; many they knew from different shifts while working on previous homicide cases.
“What’s going on Doc?” Detective Green asked after finding Dr. McKay.
“We’re gonna isolate all the bodies from the funeral home incident.”
“What do you mean you’re isolating the bodies?”
“We’re debating if we should call the FBI back in here or the CDC. We have no idea what’s going on.”
“What is going on?” Detective Matthews asked, disturbed by the activity they’d seen since arriving at the hospital.
“We don’t think anything communicable is at play; we think it may be a toxin or chemical agent of some sort.”
Dr. McKay saw that both men were confused. “Follow me,” he directed. The detectives followed the doctor through a partially lit hallway into a small viewing room with a large window but no furniture. Through the open curtains, they could see a section of the examiner’s work area with a body covered in a sheet on a gurney-sized metallic table. Inside the examination area, a couple of orderlies and assistants were active in doing what appeared to be sanitizing the work areas in extensive protective gear, full face shields including goggles, full protective suits, and extended length gloves that were duct taped to the suits.
“Doc, what’s going on?” Detective Matthews queried again.
Dr. McKay activated the intercom into the exam room. “Rusty, bring the body over here by the window and remove the sheet from the face.”
A large, overweight, redheaded and freckled technician on the other side of the window put his cleaning gear to the side to comply with Dr. McKay’s request. Detective Green and Detective Matthews both recoiled when they saw dark, empty sockets where eyes should’ve been on a middle-aged woman’s face.
“What the fuck?” Detective Green blurted out. Detective Matthews, equally upset, internalized his reactions.
“Rusty, open the mouth,” the doctor commanded to the technician through the intercom.
Opening the mouth, the tongue was black and withered like a sunbaked wrinkled worm. Rusty closed the mouth and recovered the body to minimize his contact.
“They weren’t like this earlier,” Detective Matthews noted, his voice broadcasting his apprehension. “All the corpses from the incident are like that. From what we can tell, it started a couple of hours ago. Here’s the messed-up part; even the original decedent, Jeffrey Bradfield, we brought back his embalmed body and it now exhibits the same signs.”
“How’s that possible? If I remember correctly, he was killed in a car accident.”
“That’s pretty much why we don’t think it’s a virus. Viruses themselves can sometimes survive in the bodily fluids for quite a few days after they’ve passed away, but to continue and propagate physiological changes is just impossible. Since the body of Jeffery Bradfield had been through the embalming process, the chances of having infected bodily fluids would be minuscule, if even possible. I’ve never seen any type of decomposition like this before. This is just too weird.”
“Then what the hell do you think it is?” Detective Green asked.
“It’s got to be some sort of bacterial pathogen or chemical agent. That’s the only explanation. We’re definitely not taking any chances. Head down and give a blood sample just in case, and get in touch with anyone you may have been in contact with recently. We may have to initiate quarantine procedures.”
Detective Matthews darted out of the viewing room.
“Where the hell is he going?”
“Going to get the three folks from the Church we’ve been babysitting. They’re outside in their car waiting for us. We came straight here after you called.”
“Good, get them in here.”
After several minutes of waiting, Detective Matthews returned with Michael and the two clergy members, each one worried.
“What’s going on?” Father Hernandez was the first to ask.
“We may have to place you under quarantine,” Dr. McKay answered. “The bodies from the funeral home are exhibiting strange effects. We don’t know what it is, but we wanna be safe.”
“What type of effects?” both Michael and Sister Justine asked in unison.
“The eyes seem to have withered or dissolved and the tongue...”
The doctor attempted to finish his answer and was interrupted by Michael. “The tongue looks grotesquely shriveled up?”
“You know something about this?” Father Hernandez blurted out, glaring at Michael, holding himself back. The Father was irate to discover there was even more background information they hadn’t revealed to him. Dr. McKay and the detectives, mortified and curious, gave Michael a sharp look as well.
“Who the hell are you? And what do you know about this?” Dr. McKay demanded.
Sister Justine felt the need to intervene: “We’ve seen this same thing before, down in Mexico. After an investigation by the World Health Organization and other medical teams, nothing could be found to explain the change to the deceased bodies.”
“You mean this happened before?”
Michael and Sister Justine stared at each other for a couple of minutes to determine the lucky person to give the doctor an answer.
With Michael’s expression, Sister Justine knew he would remain steadfast in not responding, so she did. “In a church in a region outside of Aguascalientes, Mexico, quite a few years ago, there were some who died in similar circumstances to the ones here. A couple of days after their death, the bodies showed exactly the same signs. WHO ruled out a virus or other communicable disease because those who came across the bodies exhibited no signs of sickness whatsoever.”
“Well I don't give a damn about WHO or Mexico, all I can do is go by what I see going on here right now. Something is going on here and you all are just going to have to stay and wait here until you're quarantined and cleared.”
“I think you'll find that won't be necessary,” Sister Justine declared.
“Why’s that, and who the hell are you to tell me what’s necessary or not?” Dr. Mckay asked, rebuking the Sister with his tone.
“I'm Sister Justine Dawson and this is Father Jose Hernandez. That’s Michael Saunders,” she said pointing to her two companions. “We're investigating the event at Thomson and Thomson on behalf of the Holy Church.”
Dr. McKay had been oblivious to Sister Justine’s outfit because it resembled contemporary business attire. Her jacket was a conservative shade of mauve and the skirt was dark maroon with a grey blouse. Nor had he noticed the crucifix on the gold chain around her neck or the Roman collar around Father Hernandez's neck. The priest’s jeans had distracted the doctor. The activity from the outbreak had prevented any peripheral attention to the details of what anyone was wearing. His outburst came to mind.
“Sorry Father, Sister. I didn't realize. Please excuse my language,” the doctor said adjusting his tone. “But you still can't leave; we're going to have to quarantine you.”
“How long?” Detective Matthews asked.
“As long as it takes to figure what's going on. Hell, sorry, heck, with so much going on the last couple of days, and all the those who came in contact with these bodies, especially with the support we got from neighboring cities, this is going to be a mess.” Dr. McKay headed out of the waiting area to continue working on the emergency at hand.
Michael plopped down on one of the waiting area couches segmented into separate chair sections. Father Hernandez sat down on the set of chairs opposite Michael, resting his head in his hands, awaiting the boredom he was about to endure. The two cops placed calls to family and coworkers letting them know they wouldn't be available for a while. Sister Justine started typing on her smartphone.
“So boy toy, what do you think is going on? You think angels are responsible for all of this?”
Michael asked, trying to get a feel for the background and knowledge of his fellow researcher.
“If they are, they've got to be agents of the evil one.”
“Why do you say that? God's been known to sanction his fair share of killing. Hell, just think about when God sent the two angels to destroy the clichéd city of Sodom in Genesis 19, everyone was killed--men, women, children, everyone.”
“Yeah, but not for well over 2000 years in the scope you're referencing. And he rained down fire and brimstone.”
“Same God though isn't it he? He just executes his providence differently.”
“So you think God could have allowed this.”
“I don't know. Doesn't God allow all things to happen for his purpose and will?” Michael asked. “Why use proxies when he can just will whatever he wants?”
“And who are we to question God?” Father Hernandez asked. “Isn't He free to do whatever He wants by whatever means possible?”
“So then you're saying God could have done all this?” Michael questioned, with evident sarcasm.
“No. I still think a great evil is at work here. There were families, even children killed. There's no other explanation except for something evil.”
Dr. McKay returned to the waiting area wearing a smile. “Consulting with some of my counterparts who've been talking to the CDC and WHO, it looks like you're only gonna have to stay for about another 12 to 24 hours just as a precaution. Follow me upstairs, we've made some arrangements for you.”