“So, what is it, Doc?”
Les raised his eyes and saw Paul standing by the nearest carcass, nervously fingering the baseball cap he held in his knobby, arthritic hands and looking at him with an expression both expectant and filled with dread. And right he was to be worried. Whatever was killing his cattle could kill his entire livelihood. The actual losses were bad enough, but the potential implications were even worse. If the cause of death—whatever it was—was found to be contagious to other livestock or a danger to human consumption in any way, he and many others like him would be ruined.
And he could just as easily be ruined by hysteria. Les well remembered the Mad Cow scare. But it had been limited to cattle and mostly a problem in the UK—at least as far as the American public knew. If there were even the hint of something similar spreading domestically, all bets were off on how much panic would ensue. Even if the problem couldn’t possibly affect humans, the mere specter of Mad Cow or something like it would be enough to set off a chain of events that would ruin not just Paul Gorsham, but all livestock production.
“Paul, I really don’t know what to tell you. Saw something similar at Marty’s place, ran some tests, but couldn’t find anything definitive—just like with that first cow you had die a few weeks back. I hate to say it, but I’m stumped.”
“Well, you’ve gotta do something. Last year, with the drought … I’m on the edge already, Doc. If this keeps up, Susan and I’ll lose the farm for sure.” He glanced away as if fighting off tears.
“I know. Everyone around here’s in the same boat, except maybe the BigAg spreads. Paul, if I’m going to get to the bottom of this, I’ll need some help. I have a friend at the vet school up at the U. I’d like to take some new samples and send them to him. Unofficially, of course. He can be trusted to keep quiet unless there is something that absolutely has to be reported.”
Paul scowled. “God, I hope this doesn’t need to involve the authorities—or any sort of press.” He stared down at the dead cow by his feet. “Do what you need to do.” He put his hat back on and turned to head back to the barn.
Les had been in practice long enough to have a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach over this. He hoped he was wrong, but he usually wasn’t.
CHAPTER 23
“Gretchen, will you please keep Lara in the other room and get her to be quiet? I need to focus on this call.”
Kyle tuned out her response, adjusted his earpiece and fidgeted while he waited for the call to start. The monotonous on-hold music grated on him. Its endless looping mirrored his feeling that something important lay just beyond his reach while he ran in helpless, desperate circles.
Vic Rayburn had scheduled the conference call with all the EIS team members assigned to investigate the violence epidemic. Kyle opened his laptop and clenched his jaw as he again scrolled through the PDF file of the latest lab results. So close and yet so far. He understood the main mechanism now, but until he identified the underlying trigger, nothing could be done. Just like having emergency responders ready and waiting, but being unable to dial 911.
The obnoxious music stopped and Vic came on the line. “Thank you all for joining the call this morning. Let’s get started. Kyle, I believe you’re the only one with a new development. Tell the group what you’ve found so far in St. Joe.”
Kyle cleared his throat. “Hi, everybody. I’ll start with a brief rundown of what’s been happening. It’s pretty small-town out here, so it wasn’t long before the local jails filled up with people arrested for various violent acts, up to and including murder. The overcrowding and the violence got out of hand, so they moved those inmates to Lakeside State Hospital while they make their way through the courts. We’ve conducted some tests on these individuals—”
“This is Jeff Franklin. I’m stationed in Los Angeles. How did you get permission to test those people? I can’t believe they allowed it.”
“It wasn’t easy, but I got the Minnesota State Epidemiologist to use his emergency powers to allow noninvasive testing on the inmates.”
“Amazing. Out here, the jails are way overcrowded, but they just keep packing them in, despite all the violent incidents. No way will they let us run tests on the inmates. Maybe you actually got lucky they moved them to a mental institution.”
“Maybe so. At any rate, we’ve run a number of studies so far that have yielded important information. We started with functional MRIs, which showed absolutely consistent results. Each person tested showed markedly elevated activity in the brain’s aggression center, the amygdala. So we ran blood tests and sampled gut bacteria to try to find out why. I expected elevated testosterone levels given what the fMRIs showed, but testosterone levels were all normal. However, serotonin levels were extremely low in all the test subjects—so low that even a normal testosterone level would be sufficient to cause the brain activity we observed.”
“But what would cause the serotonin levels to be so low?” asked Vic.
“That’s where the gut bacteria analysis comes in. Each of the persons tested harbors significant levels of Bacteroides metasonis, a species of gut bacteria that only occurs in forty-seven percent of the general population—a statistically impossible result. I had the CDC labs culture the bacteria and test it in mice. Sure enough, the mice became aggressive when the bacteria were introduced into their guts. Turns out these particular bacteria produce a chemical that inhibits the body’s production of serotonin, though metasonis isn’t known to produce such a chemical.”
“This is already a rather complex chain of causation, yet it sounds like there’s still at least one other mechanism involved,” said Vic.
“That’s right. Something—we don’t yet know what—causes B. metasonis to produce the chemical, serotonin is inhibited, testosterone is left without an antagonist, and so the aggression centers of the brain become overstimulated in the population that harbors this strain of gut bacteria.”
Vic cut in. “Excellent work, Kyle. Did you also have the lab test whether the aggression ceased when the metasonis was eliminated with a suitable antibiotic?”
“I did, and the aggression did not cease. It appears once the brain changes occur, they are permanent. It is still possible that eliminating metasonis with antibiotic therapy before it’s triggered into emitting the serotonin-inhibiting chemical could be a preventive measure. But normally this is a beneficial gut bacteria in humans. I don’t know that we want to consider antibiotic therapy without knowing what triggers it to function in this particular way. Not unless we had no other choice.”
“Good point. There’s also the danger of creating a drug-resistant strain with widespread—and potentially scattershot—antibiotic use. I trust everyone has reviewed the file containing Kyle’s results that I sent out ahead of the meeting. So, does anyone have ideas about the underlying trigger? I’m thinking it has to be something ingested—what else could influence gut bacteria?”
Kyle’s shoulders slumped as he listened to the ensuing discussion drone on. It had to be something that all those affected had ingested, but his mind boggled at trying to narrow it down. Humans ingested all manner of food and drink. The problem had become so widespread that, whatever it was, it had to be something common. How in hell was he going to track this down? He felt a psychosomatic twinge in his stomach as he considered the nearly endless possibilities.
CHAPTER 24
Gretchen finished putting away the dinner dishes and went into the living room. And there was Kyle at his desk, hunched over his laptop and oblivious to the rest of the world. As usual. She walked over and gently put her hands on his shoulders.
“Come on. Lara’s in bed; the dishes are done. You’ve been at it all day. Can’t we just relax on the couch for a while? You need a break and I’d like to remember what it’s like to have a quiet evening together.” She rubbed her belly. “Especially before we’re joined by Baby Number Two here.”
Kyle spoke without even turning to face her. His tone was distant, almost as if he were talki
ng to himself. “I’ve got to solve this. The longer it takes, the more it spreads. More people killing and dying while I sit here struggling. I think—I hope to God—I’m one answer away from figuring it all out. The trigger. What is the trigger—”
Gretchen gently shook his shoulder. “Kyle, you’ve been sitting in that same position all day. You even ate your dinner there. Sometimes it helps to step away for a while and let it percolate in the back of your mind. Works for me.”
He turned and glared at her with bloodshot eyes, then spoke through clenched teeth. “It doesn’t matter what works for you. It matters what works for me. I’m the one responsible for figuring this out.” He slammed his fist down on the desk, scattering papers to the floor.
Gretchen stepped back, alarmed to see a side of her husband she didn’t know existed. “Shhhh—don’t wake Lara! You’re losing perspective, Kyle. There’s a whole team working on this, not just you. You are not the sole person responsible. Take a break before you drive yourself right into the ground.”
He glared at her in silence for several moments, breathing loudly. Then he lowered his head and clapped his hands to his face. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Gretchen. You didn’t deserve that.”
She went over and put her arms around him. “It’s all right. You’re just overworking yourself. It’s the stress talking.”
“You’re probably right. I’ve been staring at this all day, thinking of nothing else. It’s starting to get to me.” He sighed, stood, then followed her to the couch. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have talked to you that way.”
Hoping to ease the tension, Gretchen tucked her legs beneath her and reached for the remote. “Forget it. Let’s try to enjoy the evening for a while. Anything you’re interested in watching?”
He slumped down onto the couch and waved his hand. “No, let’s just relax. I’m sick of the news and I’m not up for a movie.”
She turned to look him in the eye and wondered how much longer he could drive himself as he had been. He looked so drained and she felt helpless to lighten his load. “I understand what you’re up against—and the stakes. Really I do.” She stretched and smiled. “It’s nice to have your undivided attention for a while, though.”
Kyle smiled a little, kissed her, and held her close. “Tell me, what have you been up to these days?”
Gretchen nestled against him, relieved to see his mood lighten. “Well, Lara and I ventured over to St. Joe the other day, just for something new to see. Cute town. Hard to imagine what happened there, with that farmer killing his wife like that.”
“Yeah, it’s your stereotypical small farm town—except for the uptick in violence. That murder was the worst incident over there, at least so far.”
“Well, I hope it doesn’t get any worse. Anyway, Lara and I were hungry, so we stopped at a café on the main square. Adorable little place, but I’m not sure how long it’ll last.”
“Every small town like that has its main street café. I haven’t had time to try this one myself. What’s the problem with it?”
“Well, it’s kind of odd. We met the owner. You can tell she wants to make a go of it, really wants to do a good job. But she’s hamstrung herself if she expects to succeed in this neck of the woods.”
“How so?”
Gretchen laughed. “You won’t believe this. She has a vegetarian menu. Imagine that, here in farm country.” She shook her head. “She said business is bad. Well, yeah. Talk about not doing your market research before starting a business. She seemed awfully nice, though. But firm on her beliefs about animal products. She only goes so far as to serve milk products and eggs. That’s it.”
“That’s just nuts. One look around would tell you this would be the least likely haven for vegetarians.”
“I think she’s finding that out the hard way. Funny, she touts it as healthier, but she didn’t look all that healthy to me.”
Kyle perked up. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Just didn’t look healthy, or like she took good care of herself. Maybe she was just older. Hard to tell.” She shrugged. “I feel sorry for her. Somehow I doubt she’s going to last. Not in this town.”
CHAPTER 25
Kyle started the Camry and snapped the AC to max. He’d just wrapped up an obligatory meeting with Sherry Nelson, the county’s public health director, to bring her up to speed on what he’d learned so far. The meeting accomplished nothing concrete; it only served to keep him away from his work and ratchet up his nerves. He had to find the last piece of the puzzle. Nothing else mattered. Time spent on anything else only cost more lives.
The oppressive mid-August heat and humidity further fueled his dark mood. The brief walk from the county office building to the car had already plastered his hair down with sweat. He wiped the dampness from his forehead with the back of his hand as he waited for the AC to do its job.
After several minutes, the inside of the car became reasonably comfortable, a haven from the brutal steaminess outside. Kyle felt a little calmer as he let the cool air wash over him, then realized he was hungry for lunch. Gretchen’s description of the vegetarian café piqued his curiosity, so he started away from the curb and drove the short distance to St. Joe.
As he pulled into town, he spotted Daphne’s Café on the main drag. It looked flat-out lonely. Though it was lunchtime, he had his pick of parking places right in front. Gretchen was right. No one was around. The café, as well as the town center, was dead.
He went inside and glanced around. Not only was the café a vegetarian island in the middle of beef and farm country, it was also a little too … sweet. Too much pastel and lace. Fluffy, frilly décor likely wasn’t a great draw to those in a hardworking farm town like St. Joe.
A tall, thin woman came out from the kitchen area and stood behind the counter. She looked genuinely surprised to see him. “May I help you?”
“Yes, I’d like to have lunch.”
She swept her arm to indicate the entire place. “Sit wherever you’d like. You have it to yourself. Menus are on the tables.”
Her tone carried a bitter edge, and her appearance and bearing were that of an older woman. Kyle tried to get a better look from where he stood without being too obvious. She did not look well to him. Something about her skin—the texture and the pallor. Maybe it was the stress of her business doing so poorly; maybe it was something more.
Kyle took a seat at one of the tables by the window and turned his attention to the menu. While he wasn’t a huge meat eater, the menu didn’t particularly appeal to him. It was hot out, though, and he was in the mood for something lighter anyway.
The woman approached his table after a couple of minutes. “Have you decided?”
“Yes, I’d like the marinated garbanzo salad, and water.”
“Okay. Be right back.”
He watched as she went back into the kitchen. Her gait indicated some sort of stiffness or pain in her hips and low back, possibly her knees as well. He wondered why someone her age would try to start a business like this, where she’d have to stand for long periods—at least, she would if she had any decent volume of business.
She returned with his order moments later, set the plate and glass down on the table, then stood with her hands on her hips. “Anything else?”
His curiosity getting the better of him, Kyle gestured to the empty chair across the table. “Why don’t you have a seat? I wouldn’t mind a little company while I eat. I’m a visitor in town.”
She raised one eyebrow and shrugged slightly. “Sure.” She lowered herself into the chair with a degree of care that usually indicated widespread joint pain, then offered her hand. “Name’s Daphne Mercer. Why would you be visiting here, though? It’s not exactly a tourist stop.” She gave a slight smile.
“My name’s Kyle Sommers. I’m a doctor in a special CDC program. I’m out here on assignment to find out if there’s an epidemiological basis for the surge in violence.”
She tilted her head. “Oh? I
think I may have met your wife the other day. She had a cute little girl with her. Unless there’s more than one of you assigned out here.”
“No, just me. There are others in other locations. Yes, that was my wife Gretchen and our daughter Lara.”
Daphne smiled briefly, then turned serious. “So, you think it’s a virus or something?”
“I wouldn’t rule that out, but right now we’re thinking it’s a more complicated process involving something people are ingesting. In certain cases, there’s an interaction with intestinal flora in a way that causes neurological changes associated with extreme violence.”
She gave him an I-told-you-so smirk. “I’ve always been a big believer that you are what you eat. People are so indiscriminate about what they put in their mouths.” She slumped forward. “But I guess I’m in the minority in thinking that way—or else you wouldn’t be the only customer in the place.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, the menu, of course. Vegetarian. Seems I picked the wrong place to try to serve healthy food.”
“I take it you’re a vegetarian, then.”
“Sure am. Been that way most of my thirty years.” Kyle nearly choked on a garbanzo bean. No way did this woman look thirty. Maybe she wasn’t properly supplementing her diet. “Are you strictly vegan?”
“Yes. I take supplements to get my B-complex and iron, and I eat a lot of those soy substitutes, like soy chicken, soy burgers, things like that, to make sure I get complete protein. I do serve eggs and dairy products on the breakfast menu, though.” She shook her head. “But I may have to stop doing that. The stuff goes bad so fast. The sell-by dates are worthless these days. And it’s so gross, like the protein starts to … disintegrate. If I moved the stuff a little quicker, it might be okay, but I don’t.”
Something clicked in the back of Kyle’s mind. There had been news stories on the sell-by date problem, not just for eggs and dairy, but for all animal products and meats. Gretchen had taken to shopping for only small amounts of those items at a time so they could eat them before they went bad. Why was that happening? Could it have anything to do with his investigation?
Broken Chain Page 7
