McKean 02 The Neah Virus

by Thomas Hopp

  We decided to part company for the evening. Curtis would be tended by an orderly in a yellow pressurized biohazard suit. McKean would return to his office and retrieve his son, whom he had left in the care of Janet Emerson. “And you, Fin?”

  “I’m thinking, bed rest and plenty of vitamin C.”

  We left Kay Erwin at her office and rode the elevator down together. I parted from McKean at the emergency entrance and went to see John Steel. His condition hadn’t changed much. He lay resting as I had left him. But the room had changed. A brown leather shearling coat with Indian beadwork on it hung on a hook at the back of the room, and a rumpled paper grocery bag sat on the small table. A woman’s purse of tanned leather about the size of a saddlebag sat in one of the two visitor chairs. I went to the coat, grasped the auburn wool of one cuff and pulled the coat open to see the entire design on its back. Myriad tiny beads of red, black, white, and turquoise portrayed the mythic Thunderbird with wings spread, carrying a whale in its talons. A faint sound at the doorway startled me and I dropped the sleeve and turned. Tleena Steel eyed me curiously.

  “Admiring Aunt Edna’s beadwork?” she asked.

  “It’s very nice,” I replied, embarrassed to have been caught pawing her property.

  “John’s better now.” She went to his bedside. “My Uncle Charlie gave me a ride from Neah Bay. John was pretty restless, so I gave him some of this.” She picked up a small dropper bottle of purple liquid that was sitting on the table beside the grocery bag. “Father makes this from salal berries and some herbs. I put a couple of drops on his lips and he woke up for a few minutes. He was glad to see me but the drugs in his iv made him sleepy. Before he nodded off again, I fed him some of these.” She picked up a small canning jar from the table. It was filled with the dark greenish paste I recognized as sea spinach. She opened the lid and held the jar under my nose, smiling at the wry face I made at the rancid smell. “Father insisted I bring them along.”

  “Trying to get rid of them, is he?”

  “Aww,” Tleena said with feigned pout. “You told me you liked them at the elder center. Were you lying?”

  “No,” I lied again.

  She smiled. “Want to try some more, then? I’ve got four jars. That’s way too much for John.” She reached into the grocery bag and handed me a jar containing about a half a cup of the vile looking blackish-green paste. To please her, I took it and tucked it into my coat pocket. “What’s in that stuff, anyway?”

  “I don’t know, exactly. Father keeps his recipes secret, even from me. I’m not a real shaman like him, at least not yet.”

  “But he’s for real?”

  “Oh, yes. He’s one of the few Makahs who still keep the ancient ways. Learned most of what he knows from an old man that lived in a cabin down at Hobuck Beach. The old guy died before I was born.”

  “Where are you staying?” I asked, changing the subject. “I can offer you the couch in my apartment. It folds out into a bed.”

  “No thanks, Fin. I’m staying with my Aunt Edna and Uncle Charlie, except tonight. I’ll stay here tonight. I want to keep an eye on John.”

  After a moment I said, “I’m getting hungry. Would you like to join me for dinner somewhere?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve already eaten.”

  With both chairs taken, one by Tleena and one by her prodigious purse, I stood around awkwardly for a time making small talk while she fussed over John. Satisfied that she had done what she could for him, she curled her legs under her on the chair cushion and arranged a spare pillow to rest her head. “See?” she said. “I’ll be comfortable enough.”

  I lingered for a while, feeling out of place. I took one last wistful look into Tleena’s pretty face as she watched her brother sleep, and then I said goodnight. It was dark when I went out the front doors of the hospital.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Arriving at home a little past 6:30, I let myself into the Denny Heights Apartment Building and trudged up the tiled steps to the first landing. As I put my key in my door lock, I heard the familiar sound of Penny Worthe opening her door from the inside just as I opened mine from the outside. I suspect she has the hearing of a bat.

  I turned toward her. “Hi, Penny.”

  She wore a familiar dressing gown of satiny pink, cross-stitched fabric. Her legs were bare and her fuzzy pink slippers completed a picture of domestic comfort that she always seems ready to share with me. Penny is a woman of modest size, shape, and looks. She has never made my dating list, but she’s a good friendly neighbor. We water each other’s plants when one or the other is away. She grows three kinds of orchids that seem always to be in bloom. I grow large and small peace lilies that always seem a little wilted and brown around the edges. Between the two of us, we keep each other’s plants going.

  “Hi, Fin,” she said, lingering in her doorway as she often does when I come home.

  I said, “I brought you something.” Her eyes lit up when I reached into my coat pocket, but she scowled when I held out the jar Tleena had given me. She took it and looked dubiously at the dark green contents. “What is it?”

  “Sea spinach!” I exclaimed in an infomercial announcer’s voice. “All the way from Neah Bay Washington! The healthiest, most nutritious food ever. Full of antioxidants, vitamins, minerals and life-extending miracle ingredients!”

  “What’s it made from?”

  “I’m not exactly sure. But try it. You’ll love it.”

  “Thanks,” she said, looking dubiously from the jar to me, and then back at the jar again. I turned, and as I closed the door behind me, I called out, “Let me know how you like it.”

  “I will,” she called back.

  I locked the door, went straight to my refrigerator, opened a beer and took a long pull. I hung my coat on its peg on the wall and then sat down on the couch, grazing the TV channels on a fruitless search for news from Neah Bay. There was a sharp knock on my door and I answered. Penny Worthe held up the jar of sea spinach. “Eeew!” she said with a scowl. “What’s in this?”

  I laughed out loud.

  “How could you do that to me? It tastes like it’s a couple years past its expiration date. Here! Take it back!” She thrust the jar at me.

  “Did you eat very much?” I held up the jar to inspect its contents, which weren’t significantly changed.

  “A tablespoon and that was too much!” She spun, crossed to her door, and then looked back in irritation. “Have a good night, Fin. I’m getting some mouthwash!”

  “Goodnight Penny,” I chuckled.

  Chapter 10

  I slept soundly and spent the early morning tidying up my neglected apartment. McKean called at 9 am and I went to join him at ImCo. I found him in his office talking with Janet Emerson, who was in her usual seat at the computer.

  “Two important pieces of news, Fin,” McKean said by way of greeting, directing me to my customary guest chair with a gesture. “First of all, Janet and her coworker, Beryl Shum, have isolated a large number of viral gene fragments from the corpse tissue. Among them are two that react strongly with our DNA probes corresponding to segments of the rabies and VHSV viruses.”

  “And the second piece of good news?”

  McKean hesitated. “We have just established Koch’s critical proof of transmission of both virus and disease.”

  “How?”

  “Robert Johnson, our tissue culture specialist, has managed to cultivate the virus that is making Leon Curtis ill, from a sample of Leon’s blood Kay Erwin sent us. And this morning Beryl confirmed both rabies and VHSV DNA probes react positively with it.” His brown eyes were lit with the excitement of discovery.

  “I wish I could share your joy,” I said dourly. “But that’s pretty bad news for Leon Curtis, isn’t it? And I’m nervous about what’s growing right here in your labs. Is it - ?”

  “Dangerous?” Janet finished for me. “Relax, Fin. You’ve seen our BCL-4 bio-containment lab. It’s got an airlock to get in and out, it’s sterili
zed by ultraviolet light, and anyone who goes in is gowned from head to foot.”

  “Yes, I know, I’ve watched you and Peyton through the windows. But you’ve also been working in the main lab with those viral gene fragments. Couldn’t you get infected?”

  “Answer: no,” said McKean. “Not when you consider how broken up the virus is in the Spaniard’s tissues. It has rotted for two hundred years. We were lucky to get anything at all out of that bit of bone.”

  Janet agreed. “We’ve isolated a dozen viral gene segments so far, but none of them contain enough of the virus’s genetic material to grow.”

  “On the other hand,” said McKean, “the fragments will allow us to read the entire viral genome in overlapping segments.”

  “You’ll sequence its DNA?”

  McKean laughed. “Before I answer that, Fin, let me give you a little virology lesson. As you are aware, viruses, like all living things, utilize the genetic code.”

  “DNA,” I said.

  “Good assumption, Fin, but in this case, wrong. Rabies viruses use the other genetic coding molecule, RNA. In fact, their lack of DNA is a cornerstone of the ‘RNA World,’ theory of evolution, in which the original coding molecule of life is thought to be RNA, not DNA. In that theory, DNA is a more recent invention of life, useful for storing rather than utilizing genetic information. Whatever the reason, it is a fact that these viruses possess only RNA. Accordingly, they are among the most ancient forms of life on earth.”

  “Ancient and deadly,” I said.

  “True,” McKean agreed. “But not so deadly when isolated in separate fragments, each of which lacks several of the genes necessary to encode a whole virus.”

  “How many genes are there?”

  “These are very compact viruses. Rabies virus RNA encodes only five genes laid out in a straight line on a single RNA strand. The VHSV virus contains six genes. Compare that to humans, who possess around fifty thousand genes on forty-six chromosomes.”

  “Five or six genes,” I marveled. “That’s incredibly simple for something that can drive a person mad.”

  McKean nodded, and then continued. “So that’s your virology lesson for today, Fin. And now to the point of all that. Janet?”

  Janet brightened at the thought that McKean hadn’t kept all the pleasure of lecturing me for himself. She said, “The genes are always arranged in the same way on the RNA strand. They start at one end and go to the other in the order, N-P-M-G-L. And here’s what’s really interesting. Our rabies DNA probe matches the viral RNA within the N gene, and our VHSV probe matches the viral RNA in the L gene. So our probes stick to the two opposite ends of the viral RNA. Get it?”

  “Get what?”

  Janet and McKean exchanged glances acknowledging they were initiates to mysteries not commonly understood.

  “Well?” I insisted.

  McKean said, “This implies that we have a recombinant virus, as I suspected. Somewhere in the middle of this virus we can expect to find a crossover point where the rabies virus RNA stops and the VSHV RNA begins.”

  A qualm ran through me. “So we really are looking at a virus with properties of two different diseases?”

  “Exactly.” There was a note of triumph in McKean’s voice that I could not share.

  “It sounds horrible,” I said.

  “Potentially,” McKean agreed, sobering somewhat.

  “It’s eerie,” I said, “but you know what this reminds me of? The images on the coffin and John Steel’s sculpture. The double-headed snake is like the viral RNA with one end rabies one end VSHV.”

  “An interesting analogy,” McKean remarked.

  We paused in separate thoughts until I asked, “What do you plan to do next?”

  McKean’s expression warmed and the glow of scientific inspiration reappeared. “Our first order of business will be to use Beryl and Janet’s fragments to determine the entire structure of the viral RNA. We have already used enzymes to translate the RNAs into DNA copies. Next we’ll load them into our DNA sequencing machine and read their codes one letter at a time. How many code letters do we anticipate, Janet?”

  “We’ve got a rough approximation of about thirteen kilobases.”

  McKean translated her jargon. “That’s thirteen-thousand A, T, C, and G code letters. But with our gene sequencers reading several hundred code letters per run, I think we’ll see most of the sequence within a few days. Correct, Janet?”

  She made a wry face. “Was sleeping at night a part of your calculation?”

  He chuckled. “Within a week or so, then. And some gene segments will be analyzed sooner than others. We might get a look at something quite interesting tomorrow if we’re lucky.”

  “I’ll get on this right away.” Janet rose to go.

  McKean turned to me as Janet went across the hall. “Any other questions, Fin?”

  I thought a moment. “So what does this say about Leon’s chances?”

  McKean’s high forehead wrinkled. He thought a long moment before answering. “I’m afraid I am much less certain of that.”

  “Poor Leon,” I said. “How is he doing?”

  “This morning they added one more symptom to the list - a slight fever. If his disease continues to progress at a slow rate, perhaps we’ll find a way to help him before he gets much worse.”

  “Once you’ve read the code, how many days will it take to make a vaccine?”

  “The same rules apply as for other viruses,” McKean said gravely. “It takes months to produce each year’s influenza vaccine, and that’s a virus we have a lot of experience with. Given an unknown virus like this, it might take years to create a new vaccine.”

  “Years! Isn’t there a shortcut?”

  “We could try producing the virus’s surface protein in a bacterial culture - a subunit vaccine. That might be accomplished in weeks or months.”

  “But that might be too late for Leon - or us, if we’ve been exposed.”

  His expression darkened. “Kay Erwin told me this morning that the number of people with symptoms like Pete Whitehall’s has grown to eight. That’s enough to convince me the virus is dangerous, even if the CDC still isn’t sure. How have you been feeling, Fin?”

  “Fine, so far.”

  “Me too.” He paused in thought a moment. “Another thing continues to intrigue me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The latest Neah Bay victim is another European American, another sport fisherman from out of town.”

  “Still no Makahs?”

  “No Makahs, nor any local non-natives - no one at the Coast Guard station, for instance.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “Makahs may have a genetic resistance if they were exposed to this virus centuries ago. But that still would not explain the local non-natives. Perhaps there are other determining factors.”

  “Such as?”

  “Lifestyle, general health, climate.” He paused with a distant look in his eyes. “You know, Fin,” he murmured, “I’ve been thinking about Gordon Steel a lot lately.”

  “About his curse?”

  “That, and his knowledge of old times. I’d like to find out all he knows about this Lost Souls disease. It seems likely it was the ancestor of the present virus.”

  “Tleena Steel is in Seattle now, looking after her brother. Maybe she can tell us how to reach him.”

  “Good idea, Fin.”

  I called a number Tleena had given me, using McKean’s speaker phone to reach her on her cell phone at John’s bedside.

  “They’ve had him up and walking,” she proclaimed happily. “He’s on his way to a full recovery. They’re going to watch him for another twenty-four hours and then release him.”

  McKean said, “I want to speak with your father about the Lost Souls disease. Can you give me a phone number?”

  “No I can’t. Sorry. There’s no phone where he lives.”

  “I see. Then I would like very much to pay him a visit, if he’ll meet
with me.”

  “You’ll have a hard time finding him. Most Makahs don’t even know where Spirit Cove is.”

  “You could help with that, by taking me to him.”

  “I don’t know. I should stay here until John is released.”

  “But you said he’s doing much better. There’s nothing more you can do for him, is there?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “You could help me a lot by getting your father to talk to me. Leon Curtis is very sick.”

  “Oh, my. I guess it would be all right for me to go.”

  “Good!” McKean exclaimed. “That’s settled then. There should be a late-morning ferry sailing. We can pick you up in front of the hospital at ten. Will that be enough time?”

  “I guess it will have to be.”

  “Now wait a minute, Peyton,” I interjected. “You just said, ‘we’ will pick her up. Besides yourself, who do you mean?”

  “Why you, of course, Fin. You know I hate to drive, and how poorly I do at the task, always distracted by thoughts and conversations.”

  “And you know what happened last time I went to Neah Bay,” I resisted. “I got buried alive and exposed to a deadly virus.”

  “Come on, Fin,” McKean cajoled. “Where’s your spirit of adventure? The spirit that sent researchers into swamps where yellow fever lurked a century ago? The spirit that still draws researchers to lands swarming with malaria mosquitoes, tsetse flies - “

  “You’re not convincing me,” I said.

  “How about this then - for the sake of a good story and the company of a beautiful woman?”

  I sighed. “You’ve got me there, Peyton.”

  “All right then,” McKean concluded, smiling. “Let’s be off to Neah Bay on the next ferry!”

  “Excuse me,” said an intrusive voice. McKean turned as a newcomer appeared at the door without a greeting smile. It was David Curman, a brown-haired man in a white lab coat whose face was reminiscent of a weasel.

  “If you’re going off to Neah Bay,” Curman began as he entered the office uninvited, “why not let me put my team on the project? Give me some of your samples and we’ll get them analyzed for you.”

  “No need.” McKean turned away from him and began adjusting the piles of scientific papers on his desk. “I’m sure Janet and Beryl and Robert will get it done in a timely fashion.”