"Absolutely not!" Perlman exclaimed. He scrambled up and tried to reach around her. "I'm down to only two pure cultures. If those are contaminated, it'll take a week to be sure I have another pure—stop that!"
Too late; she'd already splashed a couple of drops of water into the open dish. "There," she said with satisfaction. "Fifteen minutes, and it'll be ready to give to Deb."
"Damn it, Jo! Now I only have one dish! That means I can't do anything until I'm sure a pure strain will grow from it!"
"You don't need them anyway," she said. "Look."
"Don't be absurd," he said curtly. "You can’t see a saprobe without a microscope." He smacked a closed fist against his forehead. "God, I can't believe you did that!"
"Can't see a what?" Jo asked mildly.
Perlman sighed. What good would it do to be angry with this child? "This bacterium is a saprobe," he answered patiently. “An organism that can exist in a low air environment and uses nonliving animal matter as food."
"Ah," Jo said. "That's what these are?" She waved her hand at the dishes. “And the dead animal then—"
"Decomposes." It was a simplified but basically sound explanation.
"What will this do to living things?" She picked up the dish to which she'd added water and brought it close to her nose.
"Nothing," Perlman responded. "If it's present at all, it's a symbiotic relationship." Jo looked at him quizzically. "The person would only be a vehicle for movement," he explained. "A protective carrier. Like bats—they carry hydrophobia but don't contract the disease themselves, yet the fleas living in their fur do."
"Ah," Jo said again. She went to the other end of the counter and began unscrewing the tops from his discounted cultures and pouring tiny drops of water into each.
"Jo, those are dead," he said. "Nothing will do those any good." For safety's sake, he hurried to the counter and whisked away the Petri dish containing the last pure culture.
"That one's already been done," she commented as she twisted the top back on the flask, then shook it lightly. "Still a little left." She set it on the counter.
"What do you mean, 'already done'?" he challenged. "You never even opened it!"
"Nevertheless." She smiled at him. "Men of science are always so . . ." She touched a finger against her mouth pensively.
"Skeptical?" He held up the second dish and examined it, then mentally cursed as he realized what he was doing. There was no way it could be contaminated.
Could it?
"Why don't you put this one under your microscope?" She offered him a dish.
"There's nothing to see," he insisted. "The bacteria that were there were absorbed by the vampire skin I added, and most of that dissolved in the daylight when I brought it up here."
"Would the bacteria still be in the stuff that's left?" she asked.
"Of course, but it's dead. It looks like burned paper.”
“Will you show me?"
"Look," he said. "These cultures are ruined—"
"You have something more important to do in the next five minutes, Dr. Perlman?"
He pressed his lips together. "Fine." He took the dish from her and made a quick scraping, then pushed the slide under the lens. "Put your eyes here, turn this knob to focus the view."
She obeyed, carefully adjusting the focus, then studying the slide. "I thought you said these bacteria were dead."
"They are."
"Doesn't look that way to me. But then I'm not a doctor." She raised her gaze to him. "Care to see?"
To humor her, Perlman stepped up and peered through the viewer, then gasped. The slide was covered with moving, familiar Clostridia, yet each was encased in a sort of thickened, protective plasma membrane, or a sheath of the type found in iron bacteria. "What happened here?" he asked in bewilderment. He fumbled the slide free, then hurriedly prepared another from the newest of the culture dishes. "This is incredible!" He straightened, then picked up her flask, fumbling at the unexpected warmth of the metal. "What's really in this?" he demanded. He dropped it back on the counter. "You mean that all I needed was water and all this work meant nothing?"
"It contains water, Doctor, as I said before, but don't ever think your efforts were wasted. After all, the water's always been there, hasn't it? Without you to make the bread and yeast, it would still be just . . . water." She turned to leave and for an instant the sun transformed her hair to a sheet of glowing white. "You can go downstairs and give it to Deb. She's sleeping quite soundly, so it’s safe for you to go alone. Don't . . .” She hesitated. "Don't let Alex know just yet."
Though he wanted badly to turn and glance at the windows, Perlman could only stare after Jo as she stepped out the door and disappeared down the hall. How odd, he thought as he finally turned to the panes of glass that had been the lab's source of daylight for many, many months. How pretty the sun's rays had been as they'd highlighted her hair. Though he knew he should hurry down to the shelter and Deb, it still took a few minutes to pull himself away from the windows.
Everybody knows the sun doesn't shine from the north.
2
REVELATION 13:7
And it was given unto him to make war. . . .
~ * ~
"We want everybody ready first thing in the morning," Alex said. "Make sure all your equipment—weapons, flashlight, whatever—is set out tonight. We should walk into Hanley-Dawson no later than eight. There we pick up the torch and the tanks and go on to the Mart."
"What time will we get to the Mart?" asked Elliot. He and the others looked at Alex expectantly.
"Nine o'clock," Alex guessed. "It's not that far." His gaze searched out McDole. "You're sure the torch works?"
"Well," the older man said, "we know it's got pressure. Elliot fiddled with it—"
"—but I really didn't know what I was doing," Elliot finished. "I figured if I kept going I'd probably blow up the place. I never used anything but propane in shop class."
Alex's forehead creased. "We'll find out tomorrow. An outfit like that is bound to have a couple of spare tanks anyway." He looked around. "What else?"
"How long to get the chains off?" McDole asked.
"I can't answer that without knowing what they're made of. My guess would be only a few minutes each."
"And the people won't get burned?" Ira asked.
Alex shook his head. "It's a directed flame. For the sake of speed I'll go through a couple of links away from the skin, and we'll cut the rest off when we get back here."
McDole held up a hand. "Getting them loose may not be the hardest part," he reminded them. "We still don't know how many people are actually there. It could be fifteen or thirty. No one's seen them all, not eyed—his gaze flicked to Alex—"Deb. Chances are they're probably weak and sick. They may or may not be able to walk, and they'll probably get frantic when they see us." He laced his fingers on the table. "We don't know what we're getting into here. The guard may be armed and he may fight. Every decision you make will be critical, so be careful and be sensible. No heroes—we don't want to hold any memorials next week." They all nodded grimly.
"What if it's still raining?" C.J. asked from the window. "Do we go anyway?"
"No." At Alex's surprised look, McDole thumped a knuckle against the map spread on the table. "It's just too risky. Cold, wet weather will triple the odds that we'll leave a track or imprint somewhere that could be followed, and God knows what it'll do to the travel time."
"And dragging those folks through the rain won't help anything," Ira commented.
"Exactly" McDole sat back "The object is to get everyone back here alive and safe, and if we have to wait for a dry day, then we wait." He leaned forward again, his expression grave. "We can't leave anyone behind, understand? Or we'll have to move both the people here and the ones we rescue."
"Christ," Elliot muttered. "How could we leave anyone anyway?" His mouth was tight. "Imagine being there and watching everyone else escape, knowing you're the only person left to face those creatures
. Talk about a nightmare!"
"So we're set?" Alex looked at them, then glanced toward the door. "What's that?"
"Sounds like the doctor." McDole rose and walked to the stairwell, then his eyebrows lifted. "He's mighty excited."
There was a clattering on the stairs and Perlman burst into the room. "We've got it!" he cried. He waved a syringe and McDole flinched away from the swinging needle.
"What?" Alex asked warily.
The physician grabbed his arm and grinned, his eyes wide and wild.
"The way to kill the vampires!"
~ * ~
"This is it." Calie and Louise joined the group as Perlman raised the syringe for everybody to see. "Suspended in a glucose solution. It's safe, effective, and I tried it an hour ago. I've actually seen it work."
"What does it do?" Louise asked.
"It makes them decompose, the way a human body does when the person dies," Perlman answered. "The way they should have when they died."
"That's great," McDole said doubtfully. "But what do we do now? Ask if they want a shot?"
Perlman chuckled. "Watch." There was a collective gasp as he plunged the syringe into his arm, dispensed its contents, then drew out the needle. From his pocket he pulled a small packet containing an alcohol-soaked piece of gauze and dabbed at the spot. "I just became a passive carrier."
"It's not going to make you sick, is it?" Calie's face was frightened.
"It’s not going to make anyone sick—anyone living, that is. To put it simply, it feeds only on dead flesh. In or on a living organism, it stays dormant."
"How can you be sure?" McDole queried. "Don't you need more time to research or something?"
"I'm sure because I know my work," Perlman said. His face was sincere. "Besides, I've already tried it."
Alex started. "You have? How?"
The room went silent.
Finally, the doctor answered. "I gave it to Deb early this morning, Alex. The process has already started."
Alex made a choking sound. "But we—all of us—you never even asked—"
"Jo told me to," Perlman said, as though it was all the reason needed. "The credit—and I mean credit, not blame—goes to her. She actually . . . I don't know how to describe it. Made it work, I suppose. Everything was stalled until she showed up in the lab right after dawn."
"I wonder how she gets in," McDole said absently.
"Who cares?" C.J. came forward. "What matters is that this germ of yours works, right, Doc?"
Perlman nodded vigorously and Alex looked sicker than ever.
"How long does it take?" Elliot asked innocently.
"Not very." Perlman took a deep breath; the truth was unavoidable. "At the rate it's going, the process appears almost retroactive. I'd say . . . less than a day." Alex looked stunned and Perlman forced himself to continue, regretting his bold, insensitive announcement. "On some the process may be faster because they haven't—"
Alex bolted from the room.
"Alex!" When McDole started to go after him, Perlman's voice made him pause.
"Let him go," he said. The physician suddenly felt very weary, and very guilty. "There's no way to stop him from going to the shelter, and it doesn't matter anyway. Not only is Deb still sleeping, she's considerably weaker than she was last night. He'll be safe."
"Oh," Calie said softly. "She's . . . dying."
Perlman hung his head. "Yes."
"Is she in pain, Bill?" McDole's voice was filled with dread.
Perlman went to the window and stared out at the rain, thinking of how Michigan Avenue had once looked on a gray, wet afternoon like now. Then it had been all lights and shine on the streets; now it was dreary and deserted. "Yes," he said finally.
"God," Louise said in a small voice.
"She never hurt anyone." Calie's words were quiet.
Perlman's eyes fixed on the floor. "No," he agreed. "She never did." It was a cowardly thing to think, but Perlman was glad he wouldn't be at Northwestern when Alex opened the door to the bomb shelter.
Neither Alex nor Deb deserved what he would find.
3
REVELATION 18:9
He shall see the smoke of her burning.
~ * ~
Alex was afraid to open the shelter.
He was filled with the dread that came with seeing Deb as a vampire, a creature that preyed on human beings for food, or would have, had she been less strong-willed. But the real truth was that he knew what he would see would tear him apart.
The smell smacked him as soon as he pushed open the door, ugly, thick, like a rotting frog forgotten on the back shelf of a biology-class closet. He fought the gag reflex and won only by pinching his nostrils hard enough to bring tears to his eyes as he breathed through his mouth. His other hand closed around the spotlight and snapped it on. He regretted it instantly.
The light, bright enough to illuminate a room twice the size of the shelter, showed everything in lurid, horrifying detail. Deb was on the floor, twisted atop a blanket Perlman must have given her, curled protectively as though trying to hide beneath the still-luxurious waves of her hair. Part of her face was visible, as were the hands that clutched her knees against her chest. Alex's breath hitched miserably.
Skin slick and swollen with mottled decay, covered with a fine sheen of noxious-smelling slime, she looked like a melting, unformed fetus.
"Oh, Deb," he whispered. She moaned lightly, as though she'd heard him say her name. Her head turned toward him for a moment, then returned to face the wall; the agony Alex saw there was nearly unbearable. He wanted to sink to his knees and scream, pound on the wall, anything to get this horrible hurt out of him, and even then, how did she feel? Had anyone considered that she might be in pain?
His fists bunched uselessly as she sighed in her sleep; Alex could have sworn she sounded . . . lonely.
He didn't care about the danger when he joined her on the floor, took her in his arms, and rocked her like a baby.
4
REVELATION 12:2
And she being with child cried . . .
and pained to be delivered.
~ * ~
"It's a boy," Bill Perlman announced. His smile was wide but shadows of exhaustion ringed his eyes.
There was a burst of applause. "That's great!" McDole said heartily. "It's about time we had some good news around here!"
"Wasn't he early?" Calie asked. “Are they all right?"
"Mother and son are fine," Perlman assured her. "He could be a little bigger, but for being a month premature, five pounds is a damned good size."
"Five pounds!" Tala was amazed. "Wow—that's no bigger than a sack of onions!"
"He's fine," Bill repeated. "But since you're all here, I want to let you know what's going to be happening in the future."
"Great," C.J. muttered. "Crystal ball time." He rolled his eyes despite Calie's severe look.
"We have a new addition, though I can't tell you his name since his mother hasn't decided. She did ask me to immunize the child."
McDole looked puzzled. "Immunize?"
The doctor folded his arms. "Like me, Evelyn and the baby are now carriers of the bacterium that was tested this morning, which I've called V-BAC for lack of imagination."
"Is that really safe?" It was the first time Alex had spoken since he'd returned from Northwestern a couple of hours earlier.
"Completely," Dr. Perlman said. "And desirable. In fact, I recommend that everyone be injected."
C.J. chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, then cleared his throat. "The way I understand it, this bacteria thing isn't going to save us if we're caught by a vampire, so why bother?"
Perlman raised his forefinger. "That's where you're wrong. It will save you—in a way. Will it stop an attacker from killing you? No." He looked around the room. "But the vampire that attacks you will become infected and die within twelve to twenty-four hours." He lifted his chin. "As a carrier, you'll already have V-BAC present in your body. It's doubtful
you'll last long enough to become one of them, and if you do, you won't be strong enough to attack anyone else. You'll be gone for good by the end of thirty-six hours."
"It'll keep us from becoming vampires ourselves?" asked Ira, his face bright with interest. "Or at least from staying that way?" Perlman nodded.
"I'm all for it." Heads turned at Louise's enthusiastic words. She stood and rolled up her sleeve. "You got the needle? Stick it right here, Doctor." She tapped the inside of her elbow.
"Me too," C.J. said suddenly. "I'll go for it."
McDole looked thoughtful. "And you're positive it won’t hurt living humans. Isn't medicine normally tested for years before using it on human beings?"
The doctor nodded again. "Yes, but these aren't normal times, are they? If there'd been any doubt, I might still have tried it on myself, but never on Evelyn and certainly not the baby."
Alex finally looked up from his study of a map of the north Loop. He had returned to the group a half hour earlier only because of the desperate need to free the prisoners in the Mart; until now he'd stubbornly avoided joining the conversation. His clothes smelled of death and the others shifted nervously. "Did you say you took your first shot at the same time you gave one to Deb?"
"Yes, and I think Jo herself somehow . . . ingested a dose before that. My second shot was just for demonstration."
"Well," Alex said in a thick voice, "I've had a firsthand view, and the doctor looks a helluva lot better than Deb does." He turned back to the map.
"Wait a minute—does this mean someone has to literally sacrifice himself to spread it?" Calie asked with wide eyes.
Not at all," Perlman responded. "V-BAC is like any common bacteria—it is a common bacteria. Spread by touch, airborne, surface contact, anything a carrier touches, spits on, sneezes on, whatever, receives a sizable dose. This bacteria is not only strong and incredibly durable, it consumes food and reproduces at an amazing rate." He grinned self-consciously. "It sounds nasty, but if you people take these shots, then walk around spitting on the sidewalk for a couple of weeks, V-BAC will easily spread throughout the city—especially if we inject it into leftover food and toss the scraps in the subway entrances and sewers for the rats. That'll take care of those things down there." Perlman gave them a pleased smile.
AfterAge Page 28
