“I know you’re sick. I can help,” urged Lucy.
After a moment the door clicked open and the woman peered out again, warily.
“I can’t discuss it out here, please can I come in?” said Lucy, glancing around.
The woman opened the door wide enough for Lucy to slip through, then sealed it firmly behind her. Lucy surveyed the lady properly for the first time; she was around fifty, slight in stature, and of South Asian heritage. She had silky grey hair cut in a bowl shape, and a cluster of moles on her left cheek. The disease had invaded almost all of her skin; she looked weak and sweaty. Lucy estimated she was just hours away from her first hallucinations – assuming they weren’t already creeping in.
“Can I sit?” said Lucy, edging into the hallway, noting the warm cinnamon smell.
The woman nodded her head to a side room and allowed Lucy to pass, keeping one hand in her pocket and never turning her back.
The lounge looked like it had been ransacked; the contents of the drawers and shelves had been tipped out, covering the floor. Compensating for the drawn curtains, a solar powered lamp illuminated a studded leather chair by the corner, around which were stacks of textbooks on herbal remedies and alternative medicines.
“Where did you get the bread?” said Lucy, spotting two loaves on the shelf wrapped in dish towels, their heels poking through the ends.
“My husband bake them,” said the woman.
“I thought the baker was a woman?” said Lucy.
“He bake, I sell,” said the woman, coughing.
“Is he sick too?” said Lucy.
“Enough question. You have medicine?” said the woman.
“No, but if you come with me I can help you,” said Lucy.
The woman became agitated at this suggestion; she paced to the curtains and back, peering out onto the street and scratching her neck.
“You leave now,” said the woman, sharply changing tack.
“Did you get sick before or after you bought the gun?” said Lucy, fixing her gaze on the woman.
The woman’s eyes widened and she shifted uncomfortably, nervously adjusting her hand within the jacket pocket.
“It was after, wasn’t it?” said Lucy, keeping her body language unthreatening, but her tone firm.
The woman nodded, fearfully.
“The soldier who gave it to you was sick. He’s made you sick too,” said Lucy.
The woman shook her head defiantly, her eyes filling with tears.
“No – no possible. I buy gun for keep family safe. Creature killing our neighbors, friends, army do nothing,” said the woman, angrily.
“I understand, but the gun is contaminated, and so are you. Both you and your husband. Your bread’s spreading the disease. I need to get you both to a safe place before the government finds you. Where’s your husband?” said Lucy.
The woman said nothing but her eyes darted to the doorway. Lucy rose from the chair and hurried from the room, pacing down the corridor, trying each door in turn and ignoring the woman’s enraged protestations until she halted at the final room. Lucy stood in the threshold and stared at the bed inside. Upon it lay a thin, middle-aged Vietnamese man. He wore a suit, the sleeves and pants of which were several inches too long. A joss stick burned beside the bed, letting off a rich, warm fragrance.
“You no take him,” said the woman, her voice cracking.
Lucy turned and realized the woman had drawn her pistol. She was pointing it at her, shakily.
“I’m so sorry, I-” began Lucy.
The front door crashed open.
The woman spun around in alarm.
“Drop it!” came a cry from the hallway, but the woman raised her gun in fear.
Two bullets rang out in quick succession, striking the woman’s chest and shoulder. She collapsed to the ground, bleeding and shuddering, a look of disbelief on her face.
Lucy fell to her knees beside the woman, instinctively moving to stem the bleeding.
“Don’t touch her!” cried Adrian, pacing down the corridor.
He loomed over the pair of them, his shoulders heaving as he watched the last flickers of life vanish from the woman’s eyes. He thumped the wall in despair and let out an anguished groan.
“You OK?” he said, after a moment, leaning against the doorframe in exhaustion.
Lucy nodded, dazed.
“What happened to you?” said Adrian.
“I only got here a few minutes ago. I’ve been on foot,” she said, distantly.
“Where’s your driver?” said Adrian.
Lucy hesitated, kicking her brain into focus.
“We were trying to catch some infecteds at the power plant. They ran while I was questioning them. I lost my driver, but the trail led me here – to the baker,” said Lucy.
“Is this her?” said Adrian, gesturing to the body.
“No. It was her husband – dead guy in the bedroom,” said Lucy.
Adrian took a look inside then called in the technicians. The team began their sweep of the house, taking samples of bread, swabbing household items, scrubbing the blood spill, and bagging the bodies.
“We’ve sent some batches for analysis already, but it looks like we’ve found the main source of the outbreak. The bread is proof that infected people are contagious, at least within certain time frames. Dammit this thing’s spreading faster than we can handle,” said Adrian.
“Adrian, about last night,” began Lucy, but Adrian cut her off.
“We need to get back to the lab and update the outbreak map. We’re going to have to screen this entire neighborhood, possibly shut down the metro and bus lines until we’ve got this thing under control. Christ, it could be everywhere, who knows how many people bought this stuff. I’ll need to brief the President,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“I want to-” began Lucy.
“If you want to make it up to me, Young, do your damned job,” said Adrian, pacing from the room.
***
The Pathology Department was in chaos. The seating area of the Infectious Diseases lobby was filled with infecteds, who spilled out into the corridor, where they sat on the floor, lining the walls, handcuffed to each other in chains of four and five. Staff in masks and hazmat suits tried to collect contagion histories from the newcomers, who were becoming increasingly uncooperative.
“Ah, Adrian, thank goodness. We urgently need to discuss resourcing,” said Harvey, seizing upon Dan’s father as he pulled on a fresh pair of gloves.
“Young – I’ll catch you up,” said Adrian, as Harvey drew him into a side room.
“Please, help me,” said one of the infecteds, seizing the hem of Lucy’s pants as she passed by. The girl bore an unsettling resemblance to Fliss.
“We’re doing what we can,” said Lucy, forcing a reassuring smile as she tugged her pant leg free and hastened for Lopez’s ward.
Lucy glanced around – the technicians were too preoccupied to notice her movements. This was her chance. She swiped her pass and allowed the camera to scan her face, then slipped inside.
The ward was almost in total darkness, save for some dim UV floor lights, and bursts of strobe lighting, which triggered in unison with blasts of white noise. Squinting, trying to see in the darkness, Lucy edged towards Lopez’s cell, pressing up close to the glass to peer inside.
Another blast of strobe lighting flooded the chamber with light, revealing Lopez standing tall in the middle of the cell, upon his gurney. His gown draped down from his arms like a pair of wings. Above him was a stretch of white fabric; something thick and twisted. He flexed his hands, which hung by his side, and stared straight ahead, not registering Lucy’s figure.
The light vanished and the room fell quiet.
“Lopez?” called Lucy, into the darkness.
A loud crash echoed out from the chamber. The strobe light triggered again, and with it, the white noise masking Lucy’s scream. The hospital bed had been kicked to the side of the cell. Lopez’s body swung from the ceiling,
spasming as he choked for air, his throat desperately fighting the bedsheet-noose around his neck.
Darkness swallowed the ward again as Lucy stumbled for the door. She tripped into the corridor and screamed for help, drawing all eyes her way.
Adrian burst from the meeting room and ran to Lucy’s side, hotly pursued by Harvey, who rushed through to the control panel and brought the lights up.
“Oh god!” cried Adrian, seeing Lopez’s plagued, emaciated body twitching and kicking as the last air drained from his lungs.
Harvey hit the emergency button, releasing the cell door.
“Get a knife!” he called, rushing through to the back of the unit with Lucy close behind.
They burst into the cell. Harvey grabbed Lopez’s legs and tried to raise him up, but the noose remained tight. Lucy grabbed the bed and swung it under Lopez’s feet, but his legs had fallen limp.
Adrian rushed in, leading a security guard, who pulled a knife from her belt. The woman leaped onto the bed and hacked at the rope, desperately trying to sever the thick cord.
Lopez fell onto the gurney like a deadweight. Lucy tore the fabric away from his raw neck and slapped his face, calling his name desperately, as two paramedics rushed into the cell. Someone pulled her away, while the medics set up the crash kit. Lucy recognized one of them – she’d performed CPR on Ruth.
“He’s got a pulse,” said the paramedic.
The woman slid a plastic mask over Lopez’s face and secured the straps in position. Her assistant twisted the valve of an air tank from the crash cart, sending oxygen pouring into his starved lungs.
“What the hell happened in here?” said Adrian, accosting Harvey.
“What an awful discovery. Make a note, Lucy – psychological deterioration renders infected patients a danger to themselves,” replied the director.
“How was this allowed to happen? Why weren’t you watching him?” quaked Lucy.
“We don’t have the resources for round-the-clock monitoring, Lucy, you know that. But this is an awful incident, of course. We can’t let it happen again. All new patients will be restrained upon admission – for their own safety,” said Harvey.
“He’s breathing, and pupils are responsive,” said the paramedic, shining a light into both of Lopez’s eyes in turn. Each eyelid slid shut as she released it, but his chest moved of its own volition, accepting the flow of oxygen-rich air.
The technician slid the bed restraints back around Lopez’s wrists and legs, securing him in place.
“How did he break free in the first place?” said Harvey.
“He’s lost so much weight, sir,” said the technician, anxiously.
“You’ve gone too far, Harvey” said Adrian, grimly, staring at the Major’s lesion-riddled body.
“On the contrary, we’ve made a vital breakthrough. We must continue as planned,” said Harvey, softly.
“Are you insane? After what just happened?” said Lucy.
“Everything we are learning from the Major will benefit those who follow. There are scores of new patients in this building already. Think how many lives may now be spared from such an end, because of what we have just observed,” said Harvey, gesturing to the severed bedsheets.
“I think there are more questions to be answered before your experiments continue, Director. Like why the hell this facility was being run like a black site when we found him? You’re doing stuff that was banned in Guantanamo for Christ’s sake,” said Adrian, his eyes blazing.
“I know this is difficult to witness, senator, but the cause is essential. Through chronic stress we have successfully accelerated the disease’s progress. We are able to learn, and test treatments so much quicker now,” said Harvey.
“You’re not researching a treatment,” spat Lucy, bitterly.
“Oh? And what, may I ask, is your counterproposal?” said Harvey, cordially.
Lucy stared at Lopez’s body, wracked by guilt. She knew he was at a fork in the road; either he was about to reach the apex of the fever stage, or his disease was progressing in a different path to hers. She had to believe he had a chance, but it meant more chronic stress – it would still be the fastest way to get through the hallucinations.
Lopez’s eyelids fluttered open. He peered up at the faces around him, blinking with confusion, then frowning with fear. He railed against the restraints, straining to escape the bed once again. Lucy took his hand and squeezed it though her glove, stroking his arm and trying to get him to focus on her eyes, but he showed no signs of recognition.
“Lucy, I’ve warned you of this before. You mustn’t become too attached to the patients,” said Harvey, sagely.
“The man just tried to kill himself. The least we can do is offer some compassion,” said Lucy, through gritted teeth, trying not to well up.
Adrian placed a hand on hers, and gently lifted it away from Lopez.
“Good science requires objectivity,” said Harvey.
“Alright. Then you need to stop the sleep deprivation. It could be causing psychological trauma which is distorting our understanding of the disease’s standard progression,” said Lucy, straightening up and trying to mask her watery eyes.
“The stress testing was your idea,” said Harvey.
“Starvation was my suggestion. You added too many variables, and now we can’t be sure whether or not this is a result of the disease or of institutional abuse,” said Lucy, gesturing emphatically to Lopez.
Harvey stroked his fluffy sideburns, with the faintest smile on his lips.
“I’m always intrigued by the scientist in you, Lucy. It lurks beneath the surface, then pops up out of nowhere to propose an objective defense of a subjective position. I’m afraid, once again, you’re seeing meaning where there is none. But no matter, your proposal is sound. We shall proceed with starvation therapy for the Major. There are new patients we can test the other variables on individually, and plenty to use as controls,” said Harvey.
“You want to experiment on more living people?” said Adrian.
“A few dozen for the sake of thousands, yes,” said Harvey.
“Not like this, Harvey. Not without Council approval. I’m calling an urgent meeting. Be ready to make your case,” said Adrian.
“I look forward to it,” said Harvey.
Lopez began to jerk violently against the restraints, his eyes fully open as he stared around the cell with anger.
“Patient appears to be conscious,” said the paramedic.
“Welcome back Major, you gave us quite a fright,” said Harvey leaning over the bed with a smile.
Lopez growled beneath the oxygen mask and shook violently from side to side, straining to claw at Harvey’s face but barely able to lift his hands an inch from the trolley.
“We need to sedate him. Draw me some Lorazepam,” said the paramedic, as Lopez’s eyes bulged with rage.
The assistant drew up a measure of sedative from a vial, but Harvey intervened.
“Please – allow me, Haloperidol’s better for the hallucinations,” he said, drawing something the size of a spectacles case from his lab coat pocket, and removing a syringe, which he deftly slid into Lopez’s upper arm.
The Major stared at him with hatred as his eyes grew heavy, and he slumped against the bed.
Lucy’s head felt light as she took in the patient’s dark black skin and his furrowed brow. There were the small ears which she’d always adored and teased him for. There was the stubble across his perfect cheeks. She shook her head and stared at the older Dan beside her, grabbing him in a fierce embrace.
“Lucy?” said Adrian, shaking her from her delusion.
Both images of Dan vanished from her mind and she stared at Lopez’s blistered, raw body on the trolley, her eyes filling with tears as they lingered on the bruising strangulation marks forming around his neck.
“This has to stop,” said Lucy, angrily, pointing at Harvey, who raised an eyebrow in curiosity.
“Lucy, the emotions we feel are like antibod
ies; the body’s attempt to control an invasive agent. Just like an auto-immune disease, our emotions can self-propagate to the point where they are no longer a defense against the outside, but an inward attack on the mind producing them. After all, the mind is where meaning emerges, and that is the true cause of the invasion. We are scientists, are we not? To do right by the Major – and ourselves – we must dissociate. Our pursuit is the truth, in its entirety. It’s seldom pretty, but it’s all we have. The Major is our trailblazer, he is a light in the darkness as we explore the very boundaries of our self-knowledge as a species,” said Harvey.
“He’s a human being,” said Lucy, trembling with rage, as she began unfastening the restraints around his ankles.
“Lucy, what are you doing?” said Adrian.
“Freeing him from this hell hole,” said Lucy.
“Lucy, he’s contagious,” said Adrian, pulling her hands back.
“You don’t know that!” cried Lucy.
“You don’t know that he isn’t!” snapped Adrian.
“Then I’m giving him what he wants,” said Lucy.
She snatched the unused syringe from the technician and thrust it into Lopez’s arm.
“Oh shit – we need to treat for an OD immediately,” said the paramedic.
“What have you done?” cried Adrian, aghast.
“I thought this was what you wanted from the beginning? I’m sparing him the torture and agony this psychopath wants to put him through. I’m doing exactly what you argued for days ago, when the patient was out of sight, and you didn’t have to get your hands dirty. Don’t worry, Adrian, I’ve done it for you,” said Lucy, shoving him away, with tears in her eyes.
She dropped the syringe and stumbled backwards, crying. The paramedics frantically prepped Lopez for overdose treatment, while Adrian ordered the security guard to seize Lucy.
“Thank you, Lucy, for these insights,” said Harvey.
***
The guard thrust Lucy into a seat in the main hospital lobby and revoked her access card, then hastened back to the elevator as another call from the ward signaled a hallucinating patient had become violent. Lucy stared at the reams of newly infected people being led through the lobby, and the cleaning crews frantically disinfecting the surfaces they touched.
Convulsive Box Set Page 63
