Rachel started to text Osborne, but decided against it. Her time was better spent in the lab. If he got through the National Guard with a pizza, more power to him.
By three o’clock, Rachel had still not received the interview questions. The hospital geeks had set up for the interview in a conference room. Rachel realized that she would probably be in the room alone during the interview, alone against the panel of news professionals. She walked back to her office and emailed all the lab personnel at the hospital and the university, asking for volunteers to sit in the conference room with her. It would probably give the country some comfort to see part of the vast team of people working to find a treatment for SN2. Most of them did not go home for days at a time, so their families would appreciate seeing them, if nothing else.
At five o’clock, Rachel received a list of five questions from the moderator, one of the NPR anchors from All Things Considered:
1. Where did the virus start?
2. When could a treatment be expected?
3. When could a vaccine be expected?
4. What would happen if the virus mutated again?
5. Who would be the first to receive the vaccine?
Rachel was not surprised by any of the questions, but she would have to be careful not to get pinned down on timetables for antivirals and vaccines. There were opportunities in these questions for her to say how important the quarantines were, how labs and universities around the country were working together, and that the rate of infection did not increase in the past week. It had not gone down, either.
At 6:15, Rachel left her office and walked to the conference room to get set up for the broadcast at 7:00. As she walked through the hallway, she received a call on her cell phone. The Caller ID showed it was an unknown number. Rachel did not recognize the number, but the area code was outside of Albuquerque.
“This is Dr. Bisette.”
“Eva Yellow Horn here. I understand you want to talk to me.”
Rachel stopped short. She ducked into a restroom and locked the door. “I need to see you.”
“Osborne says you want my blood. Now, that’s an old story for an Indian.”
“You are the key to everything, Ms. Yellow Horn.”
“Call me Eva. We have history, you know.”
“We do?”
“I knew your father. He was a good man, for an Anglo.”
Rachel bristled when she heard Eva’s words. She had never heard anything but the highest praise for her father. Maybe that was praise in Eva’s opinion.
“You did know him? Oh, well, if you won’t come in for my sake or for the sake of the hundreds of families who have lost loved ones, will you come in for my father’s sake?”
“If I come in, I’ll be torn apart by the authorities. You know how many people already think this disease was started intentionally by natives. They’re saying it’s revenge for all the wrongs done to them.”
Rachel did not respond. The silence on the line worried her. Had she lost Eva?
“I don’t think that.”
“That’s a start.”
“Eva, you have been exposed to the virus more than anyone, and you never got sick. You have the answer in your blood about how we fight this thing.”
“Have you heard the name that the media has given the virus? They’re calling it the Apache Plague.”
“I don’t care about that. I only care about what is in your veins. I promise you protection, money, relocation, and anything you want.”
“I want the U.S. government to honor its treaties.”
“Done. I’ll spend the rest of my life making that happen.”
“If only you could, young lady, but you and I both know that you can’t do any of that. My neck is already in a noose. All it takes is for one half-retarded militiaman to get my name, and I’m done.”
“I’ll come to you. Osborne could set it up. In the caves, anywhere. I’ll draw the blood, and no one will ever know.”
“Tempting. It would make a good story to tell my grandchildren, if that skinny ass Calvin ever does his duty. I think I’ll pass. Besides, you don’t need my blood. You have the same secret in your veins.”
“What?”
“Ironic, isn’t it?”
“How is that possible?”
“Have you seen any kachinas lately? That’s what they have come to tell you. The answer is in you. It’s kind of Zen, don’t you think?”
“Please, I have to talk to you, but I have to give an interview now. It’s all set up, all over the country. Call me back tonight, anytime.”
“You have the answer, little white eyes.”
Eva hung up. Rachel was trembling. She dialed Osborne’s number. It went straight to voicemail. Damn this interview. She ran down the hall until she found a security guard. “Get the police,” she said, breathlessly. “We need forensics. I have to find out where a call to my cell originated. Get someone right away.”
The security guard nodded and picked up the phone on his desk. Rachel turned and hurried back to the conference room. She was sweating and shaking. Everything she planned to say in the interview had gone out of her head. She could only think of Eva’s last words to her: “You have the answer.” What the hell did that old woman mean? Where did she get off refusing to give a blood sample? Rachel was furious. She would have the National Guard find her. They would interrogate anyone who knew Eva, and they would jail anyone who refused to give information. Rachel could order it, and she could get the authority. She leaned against the door of the conference room and took several deep breaths. She would get through the interview as quickly as she could. She could answer the five questions she’d been given in fifteen or twenty minutes. Then, she would devote every bit of her authority to finding Eva Yellow Horn and draining that old bitch of at least two pints!
Chapter Forty
Rachel entered the conference room, and several doctors and technicians were seated around the room. Rachel was relieved to see them and grateful for the show of support. She took her seat at the conference table, in front of a desktop computer with an over-sized monitor. A camera operator and a director were adjusting lights and moving chairs for the researchers. Rachel consulted a mirror from her handbag, and ran her fingers through her hair and applied lip gloss. She was focused on her search for mascara at the bottom of her bag when she heard a familiar voice behind her.
“Everyone out but Dr. Bisette and the crew. It’s six minutes to air. Chop. Chop. Chop. Out. Out. Out.”
Rachel spun around to see Ted holding the conference room door as a parade of disappointed men and women in lab coats filed past him.
“Ted!”
“The public wants to think all these people are glued to their microscopes, not sitting around doing nothing,” he said.
Rachel wanted to grab Ted and kiss him, but she was on camera and had just applied lip gloss.
“How did you know about this?”
“It’s been advertised all day. ‘Tonight, exclusive interview with the head of the largest research team in history, working 24/7 to find the cure.’”
“I haven’t seen the commercials. I’ve been working to find the cure.”
Ted walked across to Rachel and kissed her on the cheek. “I thought you could use a friend,” he whispered.
Rachel’s knees felt weak. Ted had to pull many strings to get through all the barricades around the State of New Mexico and the medical center. He must be anticipating a massacre from the media. “I’m glad you made it. Someday, you can tell me what you had to do to get in here,” she said.
“I’ll write a book,” Ted replied.
The director cleared his throat on the other side of the room. “Dr. Bisette, better get into position so we can frame the shot.”
“Oh, sure.”
Rachel sat down behind the monitor. She could see the
questioners were in their seats. They were newscasters from each of the three major networks as well as newscasters from CNN, MSNBC, and FOX. Rachel had only been given five questions from which to prepare. This could be a free-for-all!
Rachel arranged her notes on the table in front of her, but behind the monitor so they were not in the shot. Ted sat to Rachel’s left and slightly behind her, where she could not look at him but close enough she knew he was there. She couldn’t wait to tell him about her conversation with Eva Yellow Horn.
The director counted down, and the moderator introduced the panel and Rachel. After a few words of introduction, the moderator thanked Rachel for appearing and for the tireless work of her team.
Moderator: Tell us what this virus is, Dr. Bisette. The public has been calling it the “Apache Plague” and “Death from the Desert.” Tell us how you classify this pestilence, which has taken so many lives and gripped the country in fear for over ten weeks.
Rachel: The virus is a hantavirus, a mutated form of the Sin Nombre Virus which has appeared from time to time in the Four Corners. Unfortunately, this mutation has allowed the virus to be passed from human to human and is particularly lethal.
Moderator: It is one hundred percent fatal, is it not?
Rachel: We believe that it is. We have not treated any patients who have tested positive for mutated Sin Nombre and survived. I would like to take this opportunity to ask anyone in the audience who has been ill with pulmonary symptoms to come forward and be tested. Finding a survivor would greatly speed up our efforts to find an antigen we can use to treat the illness.
Moderator: Thank you. I would like to turn to our panel. Dr. Bisette, we have drawn numbers for the order of the questions. The first question belongs to the journalist from the CBS.
CBS: Is it possible that, with the western half of the United States under virtual martial law and with all of the resources of the public health apparatus, there could be survivors of this disease that you don’t know about?
Rachel: Yes, it’s possible. If someone does not go to a doctor or hospital for treatment, we don’t know about them.
CBS: Wouldn’t it be of value to know if survivors exist?
Rachel: Definitely.
CBS: Then, why haven’t you found them?
Rachel: Besides people coming forward to their health care providers, I don’t know how we could find out.
CBS: You don’t? Maybe the police could go door to door, or we could use the National Guard. We understand there are more than 50,000 soldiers on duty.
Rachel: Hundreds of people have contacted their doctors to say they had a URI, upper respiratory infection, but got better. We have tested every one of these patients, and none of these turned out to have SN2, but I think it shows the spirit of cooperation among the public.
Moderator: Thank you. The next question belongs to the journalist from Fox News.
Fox: Please describe the evidence you have that the virus is an engineered virus, a bio-weapon, if you will.
Rachel: None.
Fox: The fact that the virus is spread from human to human, when the original Sin Nombre was spread only from human contact with animal waste, doesn’t that indicate it has been altered in some way.
Rachel: The virus mutated. It’s what viruses do.
Fox: Don’t they sometimes have help, in labs? Has the United States military ever experimented with Sin Nombre to create a bio-weapon?
Rachel: I have no idea.
Fox: Haven’t you checked with the Pentagon? Maybe one of their labs has been compromised.
Rachel: That was checked as soon as the virus mutated.
Fox: So, you did suspect bio-terrorism.
Rachel: Of course, we covered every contingency. The Pentagon assured us there was no work being done on any hantavirus.
Fox: Did you check with any other military? In other countries, perhaps?
Rachel: I believe the authorities at the CDC researched that question.
Fox: Did you call up the head of the CIA and say, “Director, can you do some checking for me?”
Rachel: I did not. That is not my role.
Fox: Don’t you think somebody should?
Rachel: Direct that question to the Surgeon General.
Ted squirmed in his chair again. Rachel could feel his unease. He was trying to tell her to stay cool, and he was right. She was losing patience and not hiding it very well.
Rachel: Let me tell you about viruses. We’ll start at the beginning. A virus is not truly a living thing. It can exist in a dormant state for a long period, until it finds the proper host. Then, it begins its life work: to multiply, but since it isn’t alive, it can’t reproduce on its own. So, it invades a cell, and—in the case of a hantavirus—it attaches to the cell’s RNA. It turns the cell into a virus copy machine. The copied viruses move on to other cells, and that’s how they make their hosts sick.
* * *
Rachel continued her lecture for ten minutes. She relaxed in her role as teacher and charmed or fascinated the journalists one by one. She talked about the research she was doing. She thanked the doctors, scientists, local police, National Guard, and the media. She said, “Only when everyone does what they do best can we ultimately find the treatment, the cure, and a vaccine for SN2.”
By the end of her remarks, Rachel convinced the audience that SN2’s days were numbered. She closed by asking people to take extra care of their health, to go to bed early, and to say a little prayer for the sick, their families, and the men and women taking care of them. She thanked the moderator, the panel, and the camera man in the room with her. Then, she stood up and walked out of the conference room, leaving a picture of a plastic chair centered on the screen.
Chapter Forty-One
Ted followed Rachel out of the conference room. He could hear the chatter of the panelists, all speaking over each other, analyzing what Rachel said or did not say. Ted caught up to her before she reached the front door of the building.
“Where are you going?”
“Out there,” Rachel said, pointing into the night.
“You don’t want to go out there,” Ted said. He held Rachel tightly by one arm. He had forgotten how strong her arms were. “Or, maybe you do, but you are not going alone.”
Rachel nodded to the guard at the door. He opened the door and called to a National Guard Jeep parked outside the entrance. Ted held back to say something to the Guard Soldier, and then he rushed to catch up with Rachel. When they arrived at the Jeep, Ted said to the driver, “Can you find Central Avenue Bridge?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t rush it,” Ted instructed.
“No, sir.
Rachel sat back at first. Every muscle in her body was tense. Her mind raced from one thought to the next. She didn’t feel prepared for the interview. No, that was on the Surgeon General, who set her up. She failed to convince Eva to come in for testing. They had yet to discover an antigen that had any effect on the virus. She wondered whose idea it had been to put her in charge of this catastrophe.
Lost in herself, Rachel had not looked out the window of the Jeep since they left the university. Ted gave her a few minutes of privacy before he pointed to the streets and said, “Look, Rachel.”
Central Avenue, the old Route 66, was empty. There were no lights on in any of the buildings on the avenue. There were no cars in the streets. Rachel thought at first it must be very early in the morning, just before dawn. Then she remembered that it was not even eight o’clock in the evening. The emptiness hung on the streets like a cloud.
As they approached the older part of town, Rachel saw a fire on a street corner. She leaned forward and saw people milling around the small fire. When they heard the Jeep approach, they scattered like insects. When they passed by the corner, Rachel saw small orange pill bottles strewn on the sidewalk.
“Black market drugs,” said Ted, “probably antibiotics from Mexico.”
Traveling on, Rachel saw the lights of dozens of cars. There were fire trucks parked on the streets that intersected Central Avenue. The cars were lined up in the parking lot of a chain food store. Ted tapped the driver on the shoulder, and he slowed down slightly. Rachel saw that the cars were lined up, driving slowly through a checkpoint, where police were handing out plastic bags to the drivers. One officer checked the ID of the driver, and another, on the other side of the car, handed over one, two, or three bags, all the same size.
Rachel asked the driver what was going on. “Groceries are strictly rationed, ma’am. Everyone gets the same thing: rice, beans, canned vegetables, and soy milk. If there are children in the car, they pass out little candy bars. Most people don’t bring their children, though.”
“Why?”
“At first, people with money were buying out the stores. The people with little money or no transportation got empty shelves. People quarantined in their houses get the same rations delivered to them.”
The Jeep continued into the old town, and Rachel thought she was in a gang war. Groups of young men flitted past, ducking into side streets. In the headlights of the Jeep, she saw the occasional reflection of metal.
“Central Avenue is for government vehicles only: the National Guard, police, and fire fighters,” said the driver.
“Vigilantes burn the houses where people died. Then, they block the path of the firefighters, with burning tires, old cars, even their bodies. They call it cleansing.”
“My God,” Rachel murmured.
“It’s like this everywhere, ma’am. In all the cities.”
“Turn around,” said Rachel. “This is a waste of my time. Get me back to my lab.”
“Not yet,” said Ted.
They arrived at the Central Avenue Bridge over the Rio Grande. The Jeep parked in the middle of the bridge.
“What is this?” Rachel said.
Blood of the White Bear Page 18
