Amanda's Story

by Brian O'Grady

  “Mrs. Flynn is my mother-in-law’s name,” she said, trying to get the voice to go away.

  “Amanda,” the voice said sharply, and her eyes snapped open.

  The lights were still muted and she was still in her hospital cell, as she had begun to think of it.

  “I’m Dr. Keyes; I’m one of the assistant directors of this facility.” He sat in a plastic chair that had magically appeared with him. “Excuse the suits; I’m sure you realize that for a time they are necessary.”

  “Well, good morning, Dr. Keyes, if it is morning. Would you mind telling me what facility we are in?” Her frustration with everyone’s compartmentalization of information came roaring back.

  “We are in the Tellis Medical facility, which is in Oklahoma.”

  “Tellis, and not Tela. Hmm, too close for my comfort.” She noticed a new set of scrubs at the foot of her bed and a small overnight kit sitting on the shelf above the sink. “I don’t mean to be rude, but could you excuse me while I … take care of some things?”

  “Of course. There is a call light on the arm rail.” He pointed at the bed rail. “Please press that when you are ready.”

  He left, and Amanda tried to clean herself up. Ten minutes later, the call of nature answered and feeling a little more presentable, she faced Dr. Keyes.

  “Let’s start at the beginning …” For the next two hours he took a detailed medical and family history and then went step by step through the activity of the last two weeks. He was more than thorough, he was exhausting, and remarkably good at prompting things that Amanda had forgotten or in a few instances suppressed. She tried to be honest, even with the more difficult events, but still kept a few things to herself. For his part, he remained purely clinical and nonjudgmental. Only once did he ask her about her emotional state, and simply nodded his head when Amanda recounted the details of Charlotte’s death.

  “Wow.” He took no notes, and Amanda was certain the entire session was being recorded. “Quite an ordeal.” He stared at her, almost as if he were expecting a response to his summation of one of the worst times of her life. “Are you up for a physical exam?” he asked suddenly, the time limit for her response having expired.

  “Okay,” she answered reluctantly. She knew it was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier. Her reaction to physical contact or even proximity had persisted throughout her journey to Tellis, and it was unlikely to have left her overnight.

  He examined her fully, but she had to stop him several times as her aversion to his presence nearly overwhelmed her. He checked every square inch of her without commenting except when he agreed to step back and give her a moment to refocus.

  “As far as I can tell, you appear to be completely healthy,” he said after a very difficult thirty minutes. “We will need some samples from you to confirm that.”

  “And then I can go?” It was a natural question, and she had expected a simple yes. It was only prudent to have her fully evaluated before releasing her back to the population, and she was willing to comply, but her willingness had a limit and she desperately wanted to be back home and see Lisa and Greg.

  “I don’t see why not, but cultures can take quite a long time.”

  “How long?” Her radar detected the first signs of evasiveness.

  “Well, tuberculosis cultures often don’t turn positive for six weeks.”

  “Six weeks!” she screamed. “You want me to stay here that long?”

  “Calm down, Amanda. You are a nurse, and I would like you to think like one. What option do we have here? Something unknown just killed thirty of thirty-one people in your little camp in a matter of days. Imagine what would happen if this somehow found its way into the general population. You have to be patient until we know for certain that it’s safe.”

  Of course, she knew he was right, and if the roles were reversed she would quite willingly counsel patience as well. Only, it was so hard to accept it when she was on the receiving end. “I want to contact my family,” she demanded.

  “Logistically that will be difficult. I believe that they have been informed of your transfer here.”

  “My aunt lives in Oklahoma City; surely accommodations can be made.”

  “Not until we start getting some results back. It would be irresponsible before then.” He stood and prepared to leave. “We will try and make this as comfortable for you as possible, but I will tell you right now that our main concern is the health and welfare of the citizens of this country. Your needs are a secondary concern.”

  ***

  “You lied to her,” Nathan Martin said to Byron Keyes as he emerged from the airlock.

  “You have some nerve, Martin. I was ordered to, and I have a strong suspicion you were behind it.” Keyes was an internist and a lieutenant in the newly formed Combined Services Medical Group. “I have a pretty good idea why you wormed your way into this case, and I will remind you of two facts. First, she is not your guinea pig, and second, a lot of people know that she is here, especially me.”

  “That is the most insubordinate thing …”

  “You’re not in the military or the chain of command, so go to hell with your insubordinate crap. As of six minutes ago she became your patient, Doctor. Remember that a long time ago you swore an oath to do no harm, and I will be around to ensure it.”

  A smug grin crossed Martin’s face. “No, you won’t. You’ve been reassigned. Nome, Alaska, I hope. I would suggest that you go find Colonel Bennett.”

  “What was all that about?” Stanley Cripps asked Martin after Keyes had stomped up the stairs.

  “We have a history, a long history,” Martin answered. “I’m not sure he’s comfortable with his lot in life.”

  “It sounded like there was a lot more than jealousy, Nathan. I know Keyes, and he can be insufferable at times but his judgment has always been excellent.”

  “What are you saying, Stanley?” Martin had turned to the Professor Emeritus of the University of Chicago, who had literally written the book on special pathogens even before they were called special pathogens.

  “I’m saying that I see the potential for great good and great evil in that young woman. Something inside that pretty lady beat off this very nasty bug, and if we can determine her resistance we will go a long way in furthering our fight against these outbreaks.”

  “I agree; that is exactly why I came here,” Martin said, his motivations out there for the whole world to see.

  “What I am worried about is in that focused search for the revelation, Amanda Flynn will be forgotten. I understand the pressures that you are under; you have some pretty big shoes to fill, if I do say so myself.” Martin had recently been appointed to become the second director of the the Centers for Disease Control and Preventions Special Pathogens Department after Stanley Cripps retired to Chicago. “It is only human nature to try and make a big splash the first time you jump into the pool. I believe that this is the root of Dr. Keyes’ concern.”

  “That is beyond insulting, Stanley,” Martin said. He knew that Dr. Cripps had never been his advocate, and rumors abounded that he was not even on Stanley’s personal list of replacements.

  “Ambition has a price, Nathan, and sometimes that price is transparency.”

  “So you have concerns that I can’t do this job; is that what you’re implying?”

  “Absolutely not. You are an excellent virologist, first rate. I wish I had half your brain. The problem is that I wouldn’t want the other half.” Stanley found his coat, slipped into it, and then turned to the smaller man. “You are politically astute, Nathan, and those who appointed you are also politically astute. Perhaps to run a department nowadays that’s more important than … other attributes.” The unspoken word “ethics” hung in the air. “Good night, Nathan. I will be here through the week to review the tissue samples from the other victims and to periodically check on her.”
r />   Martin watched the old man climb the stairs to the ground floor. In the span of five minutes two colleagues—one he could ignore, but one who held great influence—had questioned his morality. He couldn’t understand how both men could be so blind. There was only one morality here. Within Amanda Flynn’s blood, white cells, or DNA was an answer that could immediately save thousands, and if down the road things went really wrong, perhaps the entire human species. How could her life be balanced against that? Where was the morality in not searching for that answer with all their resources?

  Martin was alone in the observation booth; all the recording and monitoring was done in a room above, and he secretly watched his patient pace the length of the small room. She was a beautiful woman, there was no denying that, and she moved with a natural grace. Maybe not so much grace, but arrogance? he wondered as he studied her in the dark. Had society elevated her to a life of privilege simply because she had won the genetic lottery, allowing her to live by a different set of rules? She finally tired of her pacing and sat at the edge of the bed, her legs crossed demurely. What makes you so special, Amanda; why did you survive above all the others? It was as much a metaphysical question as a medical one. The noisy approach of a pair of medical technicians snapped Martin back to the real world.

  “Evening, Doctor,” the first man down said. “We were going to draw her blood now. Did you have plans to see her?”

  “No. I don’t need to see her. Dr. Keyes did an adequate job examining her earlier. Are you just collecting blood samples now?”

  “We’ll get the rest in the morning. They can only process blood work at this hour.”

  He almost ordered them to collect everything now, and if the samples weren’t useable they could be collected again, but simply nodded his head. No sense pissing everyone off on the first day.

  CHAPTER 16

  At least they had given her a television. The first couple days all she could pick up were the local channels out of Enid, but ten days ago someone ran a wire to a cluster of plugs and outlets on the wall and she suddenly had basic cable. She searched the 24-hour news channels for any information, but it appeared as if either no one knew or cared about the lost Red Cross team. It was strange, because the news cycle was fairly sparse and the loss of so many Americans in a foreign country should have invited hours of the typical empty speculations and over-analysis of official statements, at least until the next big thing happened.

  They had asked her the same questions either directly or with subtle twists, over and over again. Her family history as far back as she could remember was scrutinized in frustrating detail. Her medical history, although scant, was dissected to the point of absurdity. Every cold, flu, and sniffle she could remember drew tremendous interest. They asked her to review a six-page list of medications and check the ones that she had ever taken, circle the ones she had taken within the last six months, and underline those that she had taken the past thirty days. The following day they gave her back the same six-page list and asked her to review it for any allergies. They spent several days interviewing her about what exactly happened in Honduras. Each aspect was examined from every conceivable angle, from the moment that she landed in El Progresso until she landed on the USS Theodore Roosevelt. She was given a pen and drawing paper and asked to sketch the lesions and their locations on as many of the victims as she could remember. After several days of the intensive, almost non-stop debriefing, everything began to run together and she started to contradict herself, which led to only more and deeper questioning. She began to sense their frustration and perceived a subtle shift in their attitude. She was no longer the victim, no longer the sole survivor of a horrific experience.

  On her fourteenth day they suddenly shifted their focus, and a nurse spent three hours with her recounting the events of the previous three months in detail. She had come armed with a computer tablet that contained most of the answers, and every time Amanda deviated from their timeline she was asked to explain. When the woman corrected her for at least the tenth time, Amanda simply took the tablet from the woman’s hand and scanned through it.

  “You have reconstructed my entire life.” She turned the screen of the notebook to the stunned woman. “You know more about me than I can remember; why are you asking me this? I’m not hiding anything.” The poor woman stared back at Amanda with wide eyes, seemingly afraid to reach for the notebook or even move. “I’m not going to hurt you, whatever your name is.” When the woman had first arrived she hadn’t even bothered to introduce herself; she simply sat in one of the two plastic chairs that had been added to the room’s decor and informed Amanda that she had some questions. Amanda’s anger, fueled by isolation and loneliness, flared for a moment with this latest demonstration of the institutional mind-set of depersonalization, but instead of acting on it she cooperated for as long as she could.

  “Here, take it.” Amanda extended the small notebook. The frightened woman didn’t move. “Okay, I’ll leave it here if you change your mind.” She placed it on the chair next to her.

  “Now it’s my turn to ask some questions,” Amanda said after her interviewer recovered and retrieved her notebook. “I have been here two weeks now and have yet to hear back from my family. I was told that they were informed of my whereabouts.” She waited for a response.

  “I don’t know anything about that.” Her voice had found some of its former authority.

  “Well, I am telling you and whoever is watching this that I will not cooperate further until I hear from them.” No one responded, although she was convinced that she had been heard. “Well, I guess we have nothing more to discuss,” she said to her nameless guest. The woman quickly stood and walked as fast as her self-respect allowed and entered the airlock. Amanda watched through the glass as the woman stripped out of her suit, but only after storing the small computer tablet in a sealed container. They were taking her isolation seriously. She idly tried the door and once again found it locked. Obviously, someone had been watching to release the electronic lock and then re-engage it.

  ***

  “Okay, now what do we do?” Paul Oxford asked his partner, Gage Moore. On loan from the Army Medical Corp, the pair were distinct from the Combined Services Medical Group that staffed the rest of the facility. They were both battle-tested medics with twenty years experience between them, and the best they could rate was monitor duty. It had taken them only hours to learn that they were in with some very fast company; even the laboratory technicians had more training and experience than either of them.

  “You know what we have to do,” Gage, the senior NCO, answered, reaching for the phone.

  “Hold on just a second.” Oxford grabbed the phone. “Why don’t we keep this in-house? Colonel Bennett is here. I’d rather deal with him than that asshole Martin.”

  “That asshole just showed up,” said a voice behind the two medics. They turned to find Martin, in his clean white lab coat, and their temporary commanding officer, Colonel William Bennett. “What’s the problem?” Martin ignored the insult.

  “She refuses to cooperate until she hears from her family,” Gage answered, while Oxford literally and figuratively kept his head low.

  Bennett turned to Martin. “This is your call; you set this in motion.” It was a small violation in protocol for Bennett to be so forward in front of enlisted men, and if Martin had truly carried rank he would have excused the two medics.

  “We continue as we have.”

  “Just so I am clear, we continue to lie to her.” The last thing Bennett wanted was for this house of cards to fall on his head. The addition of Martin at the last minute had changed everything, and the executive order that put him in charge was enough for the colonel to consider retirement.

  “Would you rather tell her the truth?”

  Martin had meant the question to be rhetorical, but Bennett saw it as an opportunity. “Yes,” he said clearly, in front of two witnesses
who would be unimpeachable.

  “We would be knee-deep in lawyers and would lose this opportunity forever. I am following the letter of the law, and it is my decision, my responsibility.”

  “None of her cultures have turned positive,” Bennett said, satisfied that Martin was now clearly and solely on the hook.

  “It’s only been two weeks, and we have only blood and fluid cultures.”

  “So you still plan on moving on to an invasive investigation?”

  “I don’t see that we have a choice,” Martin said as he bent to exam the image on the monitor.

  “Once again, just to be clear, you wish to perform invasive procedures on this patient to determine whether she is safe to be released, or to identify the source of her resistance, which exceeds your mandate?”

  Martin’s face reddened. “I am very tired of the military second-guessing every decision I make. It is not up to you or your superior officers to interpret my mandate,” Martin said sharply. He laid his briefcase on the table, opened it, and gave Bennett a series of photographs. “That, Colonel, is an unidentified virus that in four days killed over a thousand people. It could have been tens of thousands if the Hondurans hadn’t evacuated. Exactly one individual survived that outbreak.” He pointed at the monitor. “We don’t know what this thing is …” he began to tick off each point with his fingers, “where it came from, or how it got there. And most importantly, how to treat it if this thing suddenly pops up in Detroit.” He snatched back the grainy pictures of a six-sided wheel. “In case you haven’t been paying attention, we are the only ones trying to answer those questions.”

  “Then level with her. Tell her what you just told me. Let her family know that she is alive instead of lost in Honduras.”

  “I never told them that she was lost in Honduras,” Martin said with a false sense of innocence. “Besides, we can’t take the risk of losing her.”