Broken Chain

by Lisa von Biela

  Of course, the fetus was stillborn. Viability was a slim prospect as it was, given the stage of Gretchen’s pregnancy. But in this case viability was impossible because of the grave defects caused by the antibiotic regimen—defects so severe, they hid them from Gretchen to avoid traumatizing her further. He wished he hadn’t seen them himself. Nothing would ever erase that image from his mind. He would have to carry that burden himself, never ever revealing to Gretchen what he’d seen.

  Kyle was relieved she didn’t lose much blood and the doctors didn’t expect her to have any lasting physical effects. With her compromised diet, it would take longer than normal for her to heal, but it would be far less of a drain on her than had she carried the baby to term and given birth.

  He pondered that last thought a moment, and wondered what would have happened had he not prescribed the antibiotics. Would she have been able to withstand a full pregnancy—as well as the actual childbirth—with her compromised protein levels? Unless something changed, she likely would’ve been much weaker by that point. He glanced over at Gretchen’s closed, sunken eyes. Terminating this pregnancy almost certainly saved her life.

  Kyle somehow doubted she’d accept that, let alone forgive him. He envisioned a long road ahead before their lives returned to normal. If they ever would.

  CHAPTER 59

  Dr. Lowell Adams set the autopsy report down on his desk, then reached up and rubbed his eyes. Nothing remarkable in the report. A death due to age-associated changes. Happens all the time. All systems generally compromised and failing. Specific cause of death: cardiac arrest.

  Nothing remarkable—if the deceased were eighty-five or ninety years old. But Daphne Mercer had been only thirty. At least the results confirmed his diagnosis. But he’d been unable to help her.

  The anomalies in her body’s protein structures had been pervasive, and they exhibited no reversal whatsoever. He wondered if she’d passed some tipping point when simply consuming only normal valine could no longer cure the problem. Maybe the improperly formed valine and associated protein structures had become part of her DNA. That could be it. But what was that tipping point, and how many in the population had already consumed enough soy products with the faulty valine to exhibit the same effects as Daphne?

  He shook his head at the irony. Daphne had been so concerned about her diet and adamant about avoiding animal-based products. Yet she’d unknowingly consumed products that turned out to be as deadly for her as for the livestock that consumed the bad valine in their GMO soy-based feeds.

  He made a note to talk to someone at the CDC. There might be other cases like Daphne’s out there, even though the products had already been pulled from the shelves. They should put out a public service announcement urging those who were heavy consumers of soy-based products before the ban to see a doctor immediately for testing. Not that there was likely any effective treatment for anyone as severely affected as Daphne.

  Still, better for people to know, get evaluated, and at least be able to make their final plans as needed.

  CHAPTER 60

  Marty Janssen opened his back door. Paul Gorsham stood there, scowling and kicking the snow from his boots.

  “Come on in. I just made some coffee.”

  “Sounds good, thanks.” Paul stepped inside, took off his boots and hung his down jacket on a wall hook in the mud room.

  Marty led Paul into the kitchen and motioned for him to sit. He filled two mugs with coffee and joined his friend at the kitchen table.

  “I’ve been crunching the numbers on the fish farm operation. The startup costs are still weighing down our bottom line. Doesn’t surprise me. The setup was a little trickier than I expected and I think we got hosed for the initial stock.” Marty shrugged. “Kind of expected that, though.”

  “I’ve been going to the auctions, and fresh fish are fetching a good price. Once we have some product to sell, I think we’ll recoup those costs quickly.”

  “Well, that’s what we’re hanging our hats on. Hope that demand keeps up.”

  “I think it will. There’s talk of them coming out with some lab-raised meat, but I can’t imagine that will catch on.” Paul made a face. “Disgusting. Completely unnatural.”

  Marty shook his head. “Yeah, well, unnatural is what got us here, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The GMO soy in the feed. If they hadn’t screwed with the soy, none of this would’ve happened.”

  “Right. I guess nothing’s natural anymore.” Paul stared down into his coffee and warmed his swollen knuckles on the mug.

  “Nothing we can do about it but carry on as best we can, my friend. So now there’s the matter of the energy bill.” Marty glanced out the kitchen window at the falling snow. “We insulated the setup well, but when it gets below zero, we’ll see how much it’s going to cost to keep those fish warm.”

  Paul turned toward the window and sighed. “Yeah. The whole idea of fish production in this neck of the woods is bold. Well, hopefully bold, and not stupid. I hope the heating costs don’t torpedo the operation.”

  Marty watched the flakes fall and imagined them trying to smother their new business venture in its cradle. “I know. I hope we didn’t jump right into a money pit with this idea. I know the others are laughing at us for trying to raise fish out on the plains.” He sighed. “But we had to do something. We couldn’t just lay down and die.”

  Paul nodded. “They can laugh if they want, but I don’t know how the others will survive another year. Of course, we might go down in flames faster, given these startup costs.” He gazed off into the distance and shook his head. “God, I hope this pays off. This is the only life Susan and I know. If our farm fails, I don’t know what we’ll do.”

  Marty heard the emotion in his friend’s voice and glanced away to spare them both the embarrassment of such an uncharacteristically open moment. His eyes came to rest on the coffee mug Paul gripped in hands white with fear, knotted with arthritis.

  They were all dancing on the edge of loss.

  CHAPTER 61

  Kyle slouched at his desk, catching up on emails while Gretchen made dinner and hung out with Lara in the kitchen. He’d spent the last couple of weeks meeting with local health care providers and agencies working out protocols for the diagnosis and management of those affected by the valine problem. He didn’t yet know what his next assignment would be—or where it would be—and the wrap-up work felt like an odd limbo to him after the constant stress of the actual investigation.

  Maybe the lack of protein in his diet was getting to him, darkening his mood. He should have been proud of what he’d accomplished, but he wasn’t. The solution to the problem had brought nothing but misery, widespread malnutrition, and an economic tailspin. He’d prescribed a drug to Gretchen that had doomed their baby—and may or may not have helped her. He often found himself thinking it would have been better if he’d never figured it out at all.

  Vic Rayburn had already put a letter of commendation in his file, and had promised to give him a glowing reference when he completed the program. Vic told him he’d be in high demand after what he’d achieved, and would be able to land the job of his dreams. Kyle pressed his lips together. Ordinarily, he’d be thrilled to no end. He loved epidemiology and wanted to excel in his time in the EIS program.

  But the whole thing had taken a terrible toll on him and his family.

  In the weeks since losing the baby, Gretchen had taken on a strange remoteness. He knew part of it was the resentment she still harbored against him, but he subtly kept an eye on her, worried she might also be slipping into depression. She still took care of Lara and handled the more mundane chores, but she seemed to be just going through the motions these days. He tried to give her the space and time she needed to heal and work through the loss, but he would need to intervene soon if she didn’t start to improve.

  He gazed out the window at the late November sky. Snow had begun to fall, and an early twilight was fast approachi
ng. The short, frigid, and gloomy days of winter in Minnesota couldn’t be helping Gretchen, either. Maybe they should take a little break somewhere bright and warm before he went on to his next assignment. Vic would probably understand, given the circumstances.

  Lara sat in her playpen, clutching Baa-Baa and watching Mommy make dinner.

  “Mommy?”

  Mommy didn’t turn around, didn’t answer. “Mommy?”

  Why didn’t Mommy answer?

  Lara stood up, Baa-Baa in one hand, and grabbed the rim of the playpen.

  “Mommy?”

  Mommy turned around. She looked mad. Lara stepped back, accidentally dropping Baa-Baa over the side of the playpen. She shrieked and started to cry.

  “Gimme Baa-Baa!”

  Mommy turned back around, grabbed something, then came at Lara with something shiny and sharp in her hand. She picked her up, fast and mean, and dropped her down on the floor in the corner. The floor was so hard, it knocked all the air right out of her mouth.

  Mommy held her down with one arm, then raised up the shiny-sharp thing.

  Mommy looked mad. Why was she so mad?

  Lara’s piercing scream jolted Kyle to his feet. He ran into the kitchen, stopping short as he took in the sight.

  Gretchen crouched in the corner, where she’d pinned Lara’s tiny body against the wall with her left arm across the child’s chest and arms. Lara howled in terror and stared up, wide-eyed, at the butcher knife Gretchen held aloft in her right hand.

  “No!” Kyle burst forward, but too late.

  Gretchen ignored him and swung her arm down before he could stop her. Lara screamed even louder as the knife sliced into her tiny shoulder. Blood welled up, soaking her pink-and-white-dotted T-shirt and dripping onto the tile floor beside her. She squirmed frantically, but could not free herself. Gretchen again raised the bloody knife high as she adjusted her grip on the shrieking, blood-slippery child.

  Before she could strike again, Kyle grabbed Gretchen’s right wrist with one hand and her shoulder with the other. He yanked her back, away from Lara. She kicked and screamed and struggled to free herself from his grip as he dragged her across the tiles to the opposite end of the kitchen.

  He twisted her wrist, hard. “Drop it!”

  She screamed and fought him, her face red, her eyes wild and devoid of recognition. She displayed a shocking amount of strength despite her weakened condition. Kyle shoved her down onto her back and straddled her. She swiped at him with the knife until he finally twisted her wrist hard enough that she released it. He pinned her arm down with a knee, grabbed the knife, and tossed it up and away into the sink.

  He stole a quick glance at Lara. She lay slumped in the corner, blood pooling around her across the flesh-colored tiles. Her screams had weakened to whimpers and her face had turned a deathly marble-white. She couldn’t withstand that rate of blood loss for long, but Kyle didn’t dare let go of Gretchen, or she’d try to kill them both.

  He shouted into her face, “What is the matter with you?”

  Gretchen kept screaming and struggling like a woman possessed. She whipped her head back and forth, trying to get close enough to bite his arm. She needed sedation, but he had nothing to give her, and no spare hands to do it with. He could only hope she’d tire before he did, but she showed no signs of it. If only he could call for an ambulance, but his cell was in the other room.

  Lara looked worse each time he had a chance to glance in her direction. Her face had gone slack as she lay in a puddle of blood, silent and still now. He couldn’t even tell if she was still alive. Fear, screaming, and struggle consumed Kyle for several minutes more, until he heard the sirens. Someone must have called 911 because of all the screaming. It sounded like murder.

  Moments later, a knock sounded on the door. “Police! Open up!”

  “In the kitchen—can’t come to the door!”

  The front door crashed open and two uniformed policemen rushed into the kitchen, guns drawn. One of them kept his gun trained on Kyle and Gretchen, while the other holstered his gun, then quickly went over to Lara. He checked her pulse.

  “She’s still alive! I’ll radio the ambulance.” He scooped up her limp body and dashed into the living room.

  “What’s going on?” The remaining policeman shouted over Gretchen’s screaming and stood, legs set, ready to fire if need be.

  “My wife. She went …” Kyle suddenly realized the significance of Gretchen’s behavior, and he felt sick. The antibiotics had been too late. Still pinning her to the floor, he bowed his head, the strength draining from him, as Gretchen continued to scream and struggle, oblivious to everything around her.

  “What, sir? What’s going on? Is she on drugs?”

  “No. She … she’s having a sort of breakdown. She became violent.” He sobbed. “She stabbed Lara before I could stop her.”

  Keeping his eyes trained on Gretchen, the officer turned his head partway toward the kitchen doorway. “Dennis, come back in here and help me soon as you can.” He shifted his stance. “All right, we’re going to restrain her. I need you to let go and step away as we get her under control.”

  “Okay.” He didn’t know how much longer he could hold her anyway.

  Dennis entered the kitchen and shouted to be heard. “She’s unconscious and still bleeding through the compress, but I got it to slow some. I found her crib and put her in there for now.”

  “Good. The wife’s having some kind of psych episode. Get the riot cuffs on her, so he can step away and we can get some control here. Careful, Dennis.” He aimed his gun directly at Gretchen’s head.

  “Got it.” Dennis reached for the plastic zip cuffs on his service belt. He approached Gretchen’s writhing body and, after several failed attempts, managed to cuff her wrists.

  Kyle eased off her and tried to push himself up. His knees buckled and he crumpled to the floor, watching the horrifying scene play out in front of him. Cuffed and furious, Gretchen started kicking in all directions, screaming until her voice began to fray. Dennis dropped to the floor and pinned her legs with his body as he zip-cuffed her ankles. She lay there writhing and screaming, but no longer able to hurt herself or anyone else.

  The first officer holstered his gun. “I’ll go out and meet the ambulance.”

  Shaking, Kyle struggled up onto one of the kitchen chairs. He wanted to cover his ears, to block out Gretchen’s screaming, but he was too weary even for that. He felt like he was somehow to blame, so he just let her increasingly hoarse cries batter him.

  “Sir, they’ll be right up to take care of them. There’s no point in you staying in here right now.” The second officer touched Kyle’s shoulder and gazed down at him with an empathetic look on his face. “Why don’t we leave them alone to do their job?”

  “Sure, okay.”

  “Get your jacket first. It’s beginning to snow.”

  “Oh, right. Thanks.” Kyle grabbed his jacket from the closet by the door, then hung his head and followed the officer out as Gretchen screamed on.

  They passed the paramedics in the hall as they headed for the elevator. Sitting inside the patrol car, Kyle did his best to answer the officer’s questions as the paramedics worked on Gretchen and Lara upstairs, but he barely registered what they were asking him.

  “Thank you, sir. That’ll be all.”

  They both waited in the police car in awkward silence as a light snow fell around them. A short while later, the first officer emerged and held the hotel door open. The paramedics came out, each pushing a gurney. Kyle was relieved to see Gretchen lying still beneath her blanket. They must have sedated her.

  The first officer returned to the patrol car and opened the door. “Sir, they’re about ready to go. We can escort you to the hospital, if you’d like.”

  “Thanks, I’d appreciate that.” Kyle got out, pulled his car around behind the ambulance and waited, engine idling. Snowflakes danced and winked in the hotel lights as they slid Gretchen and Lara into the waiting ambulance.


  The paramedics closed the ambulance’s back door with a loud slam—the sound of lives changing forever.

  CHAPTER 62

  Ted Warner stared, mesmerized, at the newsfeed on his office computer. Streaming video showed yet another incident in progress, this time a mass shooting at an oil refinery in Texas. Twenty people dead and counting, as well as an explosion that had flattened about a third of the plant and set off a massive fire that threatened a low-income neighborhood nearby.

  One more problem to solve: the violence stemming from the valine problem. He had a plan worked out, but knew it would be—to say the least—controversial. Not to mention expensive. But it didn’t matter. He had authority to do whatever needed to be done to protect the Homeland from terrorists. And as far as he was concerned, terrorist was a broad term indeed.

  First things first. It was all well and good to say B. metasonis occurred in forty-seven percent of the population, but who were those people and where were they? Step one would be to identify the enemy of the Homeland: anyone harboring that bacteria.

  So he declared a Homeland Security Emergency, which gave him the power to commandeer resources as he wished. Using that power, he ordered local police in all jurisdictions to go out and collect samples from everyone. Fortunately, the process didn’t require any complicated training. Local labs had been instructed to process the samples as they were collected. It was the most efficient way to cover the entire Homeland that he could come up with.

  Then the identity and personal information of those individuals testing positive would be forwarded to his department for further action.

  He frowned at his computer screen. He hated how the liberal media made such a big deal of something so simple and so necessary. After all, it was for the Homeland’s own good. Now they were airing video of a young family cowering in terror at their front door as the police showed up with their test kits.