The Darwin Variant

by Kenneth Johnson

  “Yeah, no shit,” he agreed. “Or Joseph.”

  I shook my head slightly. “That’s still a hard one for me to believe.”

  “Listen.” Hutch leaned closer. “Lauren’s bumped Joseph up to an assistant. I saw him running a plasmid study, for God’s sake. Two weeks ago the guy was a career custodian, and now he’s—”

  “Probably infected, too.” I sighed, much aggrieved, “Oh, poor Joseph.”

  Eric had seemed pensive, then asked, “How could a virus or bacteria have survived in space?”

  “Frozen,” I explained, “in the comet’s ice. A preserved virus can lay dormant forever, just waiting for a host. Then . . . pow.”

  I knew that Katie must have had images of her mother, sister, and Darren swirling in her head and been afraid to ask, but finally she did, “Can you make the people well?”

  I’d been very impressed with the sharp intelligence and obvious courage of this fourteen-year-old. Still, it was a difficult answer to give anyone who had such an enormous personal stake. I sighed. “Katie, I’ll be straight with you: of the millions of viruses on Earth, we’ve only figured out how to treat a very few.”

  Hutch nodded agreement. “And God only knows where this virus came from.”

  “Yeah, we do,” I said, to the surprise of all three. “It came from Ashton, Georgia. And I’m on it.” I was already grabbing my coat and giving Lilly a kiss. “Hutch, make sure Lilly gets home, huh? I’ll have my friend Justinia meet you there to take over with her.” To Eric and Katie, I said, “Let us know where you’ll be.”

  Hutch held up a restraining hand. “Whoa, whoa! Hang on.”

  “Yeah,” Eric added his concern. “It might be kind of dangerous for you in Ashton.”

  I was resolute. “Hey, whatever is in that jar is dangerous for us all.” I paused in front of Katie and Eric. “I can’t tell you how important it is that you two came here. And Katie, you are one very brave young woman.” I held her gaze sincerely. Then I squeezed her arm and started out, but Hutch caught me in the doorway. I saw the concern in his eyes and hugged him tightly.

  Katie spoke quietly, “Please be careful.”

  I nodded to her, pressed against Hutch’s cheek a final time, and hurried away.

  14

  CONNECTIONS

  Eric Tenzer. . .

  It was early evening when I rang the doorbell of the small, trendy house on a gentrified residential street on Atlanta’s Westside. In the gathering darkness I sensed Katie’s anxiety. “You don’t get to see your dad much since he moved here?”

  Katie shook her head. “He travels a lot for this company. Mom says he likes that. She says that he moved out ’cause he ‘got bored with us,’ but I think their marriage just wasn’t-”

  She was interrupted when the door was opened by a blonde, bright-eyed, aerobicized, late-twenties woman with a radiant smile, “Katie!? What a surprise! And you’re even prettier than your pictures. It’s so good to finally meet you.” She shook Katie’s hand warmly and reached out to me. “Hi. I’m Tina Petroski.”

  I introduced myself, explaining I was one of Katie’s teachers. Katie shifted uncomfortably. “Is my dad back yet?”

  “Tomorrow morning. Come in, come in!” She cheerfully ushered us into the living room, which had a spare but modern Ikea feel.

  “He’s really anxious to see you, Katie,” Tina smiled. “And I’m so glad to meet you finally. Why the sudden trip?”

  On our way there Katie decided not to get too specific with this young woman whom her mother had always blamed for stealing her father. But I reminded Kate that she at least had to have a reasonable story in case her mother called trying to find her.

  “My mom’s in a pretty bad way with work and some other serious problems,” she told Tina. “I really need to talk to Dad about maybe going to a boarding school or living with him.”

  “Wow,” Tina said, seeming impressed with Katie’s maturity and presence. “I’m sorry to hear about your mom, but I know he’ll be thrilled to have you here. Me, too.”

  I chimed in, “Katie told me she’s a little fearful of her mother knowing that she’s come here, at least until she can talk to her dad.”

  To her credit Tina was concerned about the ethics of subterfuge. “Well, I wouldn’t want to lie to your mom if she calls, but—”

  “Could you just not answer the phone?” Katie suggested, as we had strategized. “At least for tonight? I get his voice mail practically all the time. It’d seem pretty natural.”

  Tina considered it and agreed. I told her that I’d come in to work on my doctoral thesis, had run into Katie on the bus, and she’d volunteered to help with some research. It all sounded reasonable to Tina. I looked at Kate. “So, kiddo, I’ll call you tomorrow. If you need anything before then . . .” She understood my private meaning.

  “Yeah. Thanks for everything.” As I turned to leave, Katie caught my sleeve and spoke quietly, “I really hope you’ll be okay with . . .” Unsure how to say it, her voice trailed off, but I understood.

  I gave her an encouraging wink, nodded again to friendly-faced Tina, and headed out into the twilight.

  Dr. Susan Perry. . .

  I arrived in the Ashton area late that night, stayed over in a motel just outside of town till morning. The directions that Katie gave me to Gertrude Wells’s farm were easy to follow, though it was well off the main road and isolated. I noticed storm clouds gathering as I got out of my old Honda. There was a distant rumble of thunder as I approached the well-cared-for white wood-frame house, 1940s vintage. I went up onto the porch that had several flowering plants beneath the lightly curtained windows. There were a couple of small throw pillows with floral needlepoint designs on the bench swing. I opened the screen and knocked on the front door’s window. No response.

  I knocked more insistently. “Hello? . . . Mrs. Wells?” No answer. Frowning, I went down off the front porch and around the side of the house. The west wind gusted a little, creating a small dust devil in the driveway’s powdery dirt.

  “Hello? Anybody home?” Still nothing. I stood on tiptoes trying to peek in a side window, but the lace curtains prevented me from seeing anything.

  I headed on toward the back, rounded the corner, and came face-to-face with a bloody, hollow-eyed skull.

  “Jesus!” I yelped, leaping back and gasping.

  Gertrude Wells’s corpse was bent backward over the four-foot chicken wire fence. Her clothes and what remained of her flesh hung in shreds. The overall sight was ghastly, but her face was the most horrific.

  It looked as though she’d been forced backward against the fence, where she’d succumbed to the onslaught of . . . what?

  I glanced quickly around and saw the chickens inside the fence. Probably fifteen or twenty of them. And they were nearly motionless, staring at me. I heard a scratching above me and glanced up to see a huge red rooster perched on the eaves of the house, just above where I stood. It lowered its head toward me, menacingly. Very slowly, I backed away, one careful step at a time, for about ten yards. Then I turned and ran to my car, got quickly in, slammed the door closed. My heart was racing, my breath coming in short puffs, as I stared toward the old farmhouse. I started the car and inched it closer so I could photograph the nightmare corpse ensnared in the wire fence, the flock of predatory fowl all standing stock still.

  And staring at me.

  Dr. R.W. Hutcherson. . .

  I’d brought Lilly in to sit at her usual station in the office that morning. Susan called from the small county hospital that served Ashton to say she was watching paramedics wheel in the gurney carrying the black body bag that contained Gertrude Wells’s tortured remains. “What’d you tell them?”

  “That I was a friend, just visiting,” she said quickly with tension in her voice. “But I think they’re suspicious, Hutch. God . . . it’s so disconcerting here. I keep glancing at passersby. Some notice I’m a stranger and then seem to watch me closer. I don’t know how to tell who has or hasn’t ea
ten the strawberries.”

  “Yeah,” I said, peering down the CDC hallway. “It’s dicey here, too. Lauren and Levering stopped talking when I passed by them. I got this unsettling vibe like when it gets too quiet out on the plains and—”

  “Watch yourself, okay?” The urgency in her voice was increasing.

  “Yeah. I tried some of the entry codes Prashant found and accessed some of Lauren’s files. A lot of similars to the tests I’m running, and notes about that new project he told us she was working on called CAV.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe it’s Comet Avery Virus.”

  “Would make sense. I’m also wondering if—”

  “Look, I want to hear about it,” she interrupted, “but is Katie still at her dad’s?”

  “I guess. I haven’t talked to her today, but—”

  “Because I just called her house to do some sniffing around and found out her mother is headed for Atlanta—to get her.”

  Katie McLane. . .

  My dad was pacing on the polished hardwood floor of his living room. I’d been totally surprised when I first saw him. He’d dropped about fifteen pounds and looked trimmer than I’d ever seen him. His LASIK surgery musta worked, too, because his glasses were gone. His curly hair, which my ringlets had sprung from, seemed a much richer brown with lots less gray than I remembered. He musta started dyeing it. Maybe those were all symptoms of the “midlife crisis” that Mom thought was part of why he left her.

  Dad was shaking his head, looking at me. “And the people at the CDC really think it’s possible?!”

  “Yeah, Daddy, they said there had been all these weird animal attacks and—”

  A sharp and insistent rapping at the front door interrupted me. Tina hopped up to answer it as the knocking became pounding. “Whoa! Hang on,” she called out cheerfully. But when Tina opened the door, she was startled to find herself facing two uniformed marshals and my mother, who had fire in her eyes.

  Mom stepped past the officers, pushed Tina aside, snapping, “Outta my way, bimbo.”

  Tina flushed with anger. “Excuse me!?”

  Mom blew past her into the room and straight to me, grabbing me by the arm. I gasped, “Mom!?” My heart was pounding like when I ran away.

  “Get your stuff, Katharine.”

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Dad intervened. “Just hang on, Eileen. You’re not gonna—”

  “I have custody, a warrant, and these two officers to enforce it.” Mom snarled, but with a really scary grin—and that telltale gleam in her eye.

  “No!!” I yelled at her and tried to pull away, but she held on tightly as I struggled, until one of the marshals stepped in to subdue me.

  “Take it easy, young lady. Nobody wants to—Ow!”

  I’d kicked him really hard in the shin. The other marshal, who was beefier and lots gruffer, grabbed my arm like a vise. “Okay, kid, that’s it.”

  Dad snapped at him, “Hey! Don’t you hurt her, dammit!” Dad tried to loosen the marshal’s grip and quell me at the same time. “Katie, stop it!” But I knew what was up, and I was determined to struggle even though I heard a siren approaching outside.

  “I won’t go with her!” I shouted, furiously. “I won’t!”

  Tina tried to soothe me. “Katie, honey, why don’t you just go along with them until we—”

  “Butt out, bitch.” Mom glared at Tina, then turned to me. “You’re just very confused, Kate. I’m taking you to a very nice hospital for a little while—”

  “No!” I screamed at her, and Dad also shouted.

  “She’s not going anywhere until—”

  Suddenly three more people rushed in through the open front door, startling all of us. They wore one-piece, bright yellow biosafety jumpsuits complete with airtight hoods, goggles, breathing apparatuses, long blue rubber gloves, and boots. All of us living room combatants froze in amazement.

  I saw that one of the space-suited people was Hutch. He pointed at me. “There she is! Everybody back! Stand away from her!”

  The older, gruff marshal kept one of his meaty hands on me and held up the other, angrily. “Just hang on, pal, who the hell are you?”

  Hutch showed his ID. “Centers for Disease Control. This girl is highly contagious.” The marshal pulled his hand off me like he’d stuck it into fire.

  Dad was stunned. “What?”

  Mom was suspicious. “Contagious with what?”

  “She was exposed to Rhus quercifolia yesterday,” Hutch said as he waved the others with him to wrap me up in a Mylar sheet. One of them stuck a breathing mask over my nose and mouth, and handed me a small oxygen bottle to hold. “It’s a deadly toxin, and she has to be put into isolation immediately.”

  Mom’s eyes drilled in on him. “No. I’m Eileen McLane, she’s my daughter, and I have custody. I’m taking her to—”

  Hutch brushed her aside. “Lady, I don’t care if she’s the president’s daughter. I have the overriding authority of the US Department of Health to place her in quarantine.” He motioned to the other two with him. “Get her into the van, start the IV, five ccs of the vaccine, and sedate her. Stat.” Then he looked at the others gravely. “I only hope it’s not too late to save her. And that none of you have already contracted it, too.” He looked sharply at the other CDC officer. “Rita, get their blood samples and contact info. And they can reach her through HQ.”

  Then the other space-suited man swept me up into his arms and carried me out with Hutch right behind us, leaving behind Dad, Tina, the two marshals, and Mom, who was like totally steaming.

  Outside Hutch hustled me into one of two CDC emergency vans. He climbed in behind me and slammed the back door as the other CDC person started the van and peeled out with the siren screaming.

  Then Hutch pulled off his headgear and turned off his breather as he smiled at me. “You can take yours off, too.” I was staring at him and pretty freaked. “Sorry about that, Katie. Didn’t know how else to get you out.”

  I was scared. “But do I really have—”

  “Rhus quercifolia? God, I hope not!”

  “Why? What is it?!”

  “Poison Ivy.” Hutch wiggled his eyebrows and gave me a big Montana grin as we went speeding on with the siren wailing.

  Dr. Susan Perry. . .

  The storm clouds I’d seen in the west earlier had grown more ominous. Thunder rumbled, and the wind was picking up. I watched from a sidewalk opposite the Ashton Methodist Church. The young minister was loading a couple of charter buses with numerous passengers, including a boy that I recognized from Katie’s description as Darren Green, and his dad, Rupert. Then a school bus pulled up with a Warriors banner on the side. I could see the rowdy football team inside.

  I drew a tense breath and walked across the street that had grown slightly darker beneath the thickening clouds. I approached the minister and smiled. “Football game?”

  The handsome young minister turned to inspect me. And there it was: that same superior attitude and glint in his eye that I had seen in Lauren’s and others’. I felt he was looking right into my bone marrow. His smile held zero warmth as he said, “No. It’s a church outing.”

  “Really?” I said brightly. “I’m a member of the First Methodist in Atlanta, may I join you?”

  The young minister was polite, but firm. “I’m afraid it’s only for a few, very select brethren. Sorry.” He nodded goodbye and followed the last of his special flock onto the first bus. I stood back as it departed, looking at the faces inside. I glimpsed girls that might have been Jenna; Katie’s sister, Lisa; and the thrift-store girl, Stephanie, who seemed more reluctant than the others to get on a bus. The two charters pulled out, followed by the team school bus. Several boys looked out at me with those haughty, cold eyes.

  I watched with all my instincts buzzing. Then hurried to my car and followed the buses.

  Katie McLane. . .

  We were sitting in a lab that was part of the CDC’s small, new quarantine unit some distance from t
he main buildings. Leaning over Hutch’s shoulder, I saw a strange, grainy image slowly appear on the video screen. I’d seen images of amoebas and other microscopic organisms, but I’d never seen anything like this. “That’s the virus?”

  “The little buggers on the surface of the larger cell. Yeah.” Hutch carefully adjusted and fine-tuned the image on the electron microscope. “Magnified eight million times.”

  I really studied it, trying to understand how something so infinitesimal could have had such impact. “That’s what changed them all? Darren and everybody?”

  “So it would seem,” Hutch said as he recorded the image onto the hard drive.

  The electron microscope was a supercomplicated piece of equipment that looked like a white desk with a large cylinder thingy coming up four feet from the desktop. It hummed quietly in front of us.

  I stared at the image. “Do you know how the virus works, Hutch?”

  “Not yet. But I found a bunch of classified reports in Lauren’s files about the comet fragments.” He brought up data on a nearby monitor:

  SUBLOG-839812-3==CAVSTD.fletcher.lauren.prv/encode-262628GT-LF/PW-REQ

  DATE/TIME: 08/17/20—14:23:08

  LOC: Carrollton, GA

  GRID: 33.5801° N, 85.0766° W

  ACQ: Holme, Ellen W., SSN 713-358-9683

  REP: GSP #782227, Lincoln, Sanford

  OBJECT: Diameter 35.45 cm

  ACTION: Sequestered for Radiation.

  ABSTRACT: Object discovered by Ellen W. Holme in cornfield on her farm, reported to GA State Patrol. Apparent fragment from Comet Avery. Interview verified. Vegetation in cornfield extremely enhanced for a radius of 673 meters. Stalks over three meters tall, cobs larger than others in nearby field by 52%.