The Neuropathology Of Zombies (15 page)

Without warning, I rapped on the window.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” whispered one of the Marines.
The ghouls didn’t flinch.
“Maybe they didn’t hear,” I said, and I pounded harder against the steel door. Someone to my left jumped back and swore under his breath. Still no movement from the Driftwood.
“Good. Gentlemen, we have zombicles!” I exclaimed.
“What are you going to do with them, Doc?”
“I don’t know yet,” I said, my voice trailing off. I had an idea of what I wanted to do with them, but it was going to have to wait until tomorrow.
We grabbed the samples and exited the autopsy suite. The door was padlocked shut and we made our way back down the unlit hallway towards the elevators. The lack natural light made it impossible to know what time it was. I hadn’t bothered to reset my watch to Island time, so it was useless.
“What time is it?” I said.
“Five thirty, sir,” replied one of the Marines.
I don’t know why the time mattered, I had no schedule. Everything felt illusional, dream-like, maybe the correct time gave me a place to be.

CHAPTER 16

The lab was busy. The technician was moving from machine to machine, checking dials, looking at data printouts. The microbiologist and the virologist were hunched over Petri dishes, holding them up to the light, and then setting them back on the table; they recorded their observations in black hard-cover notebooks.

Everyone turned to look at us as we walked through the door. “You’re back, how did it go?” the virologist asked.
“Well, it was interesting. We managed to almost get eaten, but ended up coming away with two badly decomposed bodies!” I answered, placing the box of samples on the table. A crowd gathered around me, anxious to see what kind of goodies I had brought for them.
“The internal organs were piles of mush, not much left of them, almost completely deco. The brains were odd, they were partially deco and partially preserved; I can’t account for that. It was hard to make any sort of gross diagnosis, I am hoping the microscopy will shed some light on things,” I said.
I handed the jars filled with tissue cassettes to the technician, “I think this is all we’ll have for today, so you can go ahead and put them in the processor and get them started.”
I looked at the two bug doctors and laughed, “Don’t worry, I have gifts for everyone.” They leaned over the box like anxious children.
I handed them several jars that contained pieces of each organ, “Here you go!” They scurried off, back to their respective bench top areas.
“I still don’t have any ideas about what is going on, I saw nothing in the autopsies that would suggest one thing over another. My best guess is a virus or a toxin, but we’ll see,” I said.
I lifted two more jars out of the box and slid them along the lab bench towards the technician, “These are for tox. After you get the cassettes into the processor, let’s put these through the mass spec.”
“You got it, Doc!” he answered.
The mass spectrometer, or mass spec as science geeks call them, are machines that can determine the elemental and chemical structure of unknown compounds. They do this by essentially vaporizing the sample, causing it to fragment into small, charged particles called ions. The type of ions that make up the sample are as unique as a fingerprint, and the pattern in which they break off the sample will identify virtually any compound known to man.
This lab had a new and high end mass spec model. It wasn’t that big of a surprise, mass spec is the work horse of forensic toxicology and is used to identify illegal drugs; I suspected that due to the special commerce of the Island, that forensic toxicology was big business, and such expensive toys were necessary. Most Stateside labs would have killed for that machine.
“Has anyone seen Dr. Allen?” I asked.
The technician turned his head and spoke as he was placing the autopsy tissue into the processor, “He was here about a half hour ago. I’ve been running blood samples for him about every hour. I have some urine I am going to test next. I guess things are progressing quickly.”
The Marines heard the news about their comrade and there was uncomfortable shuffling behind me. In the short amount of time I had spent with these men I had come to the firm conclusion that the Marine Corp is a brotherhood, and they were tight.
I turned to them, “Let’s go up and check on him. It might be nice for you to spend some time with him, if it’s ok with the doctor.”
They nodded and we headed for the door. “We’ll be back!” I waved.

CHAPTER 17

A faint glow came from a room at the end of the second floor hallway. I could hear the sharp chirps of the various life support machines being used to keep the sick Marine alive. All of the lights in the room were off, except for one small desk lamp. The green and red lights of the medical equipment blinked on and off in the dark.

The internist saw us approach and stepped out into the hall. “Hey, how did it go down stairs?” he whispered.
“More questions than answers,” I replied. “I’m hoping for something on the slides tomorrow. How about you, anything?”
“Well, he’s getting worse. His temperature is been holding at 106 degrees Fahrenheit, I can’t get it to drop. His pulse is stable and rapid at 120 beats per minute and his respirations are shallow rapid and 24 per minute. His blood pressure is 90/50 and is slowly dropping, despite the medication I’ve been giving him to bring it back up. He’s woken up a few times, occasionally knowing where he is, but more recently he has been waking up and moaning. He’s had two seizures, so I have placed him on some IV antiepileptics. He’s been showing sensitivity to light and loud noises, so I have been trying to keep the stimulation to a minimum. He’s been having some muscle spasms, but doesn’t appear to be able to move on his own, I haven’t given him any sort of paralytic, so I’m sure it’s part of the process. His pupils are dilated and reacting to light. I did a spinal tap when we got here, and I’ve been taking blood and urine every hour. The spinal tap was normal. The blood results only show an increased white cell count. Interestingly, both the acute and chronic inflammatory cells are elevated, neither is dominating the picture. Also, there is a shift to the left of the acute cells, suggesting a bacterial infection, but the increased chronic cells point to a virus. Even more interesting, there is a bump in the eosinophil count, suggesting an antigen-antibody reaction, such as a drug reaction, a hypersensitivity reaction, or a parasite. So, it’s not terribly helpful. He looks septic, but I don’t know why,” Allen said, glancing back into the room, his head shaking, fists pumped deep into the pockets of his white coat.
I was puzzled, “I have never heard of such a thing, except for maybe some kind of leukemia, but this isn’t cancer!” I paused, thinking, “Any chance of getting a CT scan or an EEG so we can see what is going on inside the head?”
“Well, there is a CT scanner in the hospital, but there’s no one to operate it. I can look around for an EEG, that I can figure out how to use,” he said. “It will give me something to do between blood draws.”
Dr. Allen then turned to the group of Marines standing behind me, “I am just about to draw some more blood for the lab, and after I’m done do you men want to have a few minutes with your friend? You can talk to him, just keep it soft.”
They all whispered ‘yes’ and stood silently in the dimly lit doorway, casting wide shadows behind them that stretched across the hall.
The doctor took his blood samples and waved the group into the room; they circled the bed, heads hung, hands entwined. I heard one of them begin to pray.
Allen pulled me aside, “I was reading the notes on Igor. The time course was pretty rapid. The interval from bite to death was around 24 hours. The interval from death to reanimation was about 30 minutes. That being said, it took him another hour or so to actually stand and start moving. Portions of the notes are hard to interpret, he may have died and reanimated before the record states, it looks like there was confusion as to when he was pronounced. He may have reanimated sooner, and they thought he was still alive. Regardless, I think we’ve got about ten more hours until death.”
“Ok, that doesn’t give us much time,” I replied.
“Well, I’m worried about what are we going to do with him when he wakes up. Any ideas?”
I didn’t have an answer for him, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. He disappeared down the corridor with his blood samples, flanked by an armed escort.
I let the soldiers continue with their bedside vigil and wandered into the room directly across the hallway. I walked over to the window and rested my shoulder against the wall. I lifted the edge of the curtain and watched the leaves of tall palm tree move in the breeze.
My brief moment of peace and quiet was ended by a scream, “Doc, Doc!”
I ran across the hall, the four soldiers were standing around the bed, I could see the whites of their eyes, their mouths hung open.
“He opened his eyes, Doc!” one of the men said, pulling me to the bedside. “Look, he opened his goddamn eyes!”
The Marine lay in his bed, motionless, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling.
I shouted, “Marine! Marine! Can you hear me?”
His eyes shot in my direction, his eyebrows lowered and his cheeks elevated, almost as if he was scowling at me.
“Can you hear me?” I repeated.
There was no verbal response. His gaze returned to the ceiling.
“If you can hear me, squeeze my hand,” I commanded and slipped my hand into his. There was no response.
Suddenly his eyes began to scan the room. A look of panic masked his face. The slow rhythmic chirp of the heart rate monitor sped up with his quickening pulse. Sweat poured from his forehead, and his focus shifted around the bed from person to person. You could feel the fear radiating off his body as he lay there, unable to communicate or use his well-developed musculature.
“Doc, do something!” one of the men shouted.
I looked at them, speechless, there was nothing I could do.
The Marine standing at the back of the room clinched his fists and quickly walked out the door. Just then, the body on the bed began to convulse, a white foam spewed from the mouth, the frothy substance spraying through the air as the body shook violently. A low-pitched growl rumbled from the chest, increasing in volume until it became a wail. The sound filled the room and echoed up and down the hallway. Everyone jumped back, the three remaining Marines drew their weapons.
“Wait! Wait!” I pleaded.
The trashing stopped and the chest began to heave, expelling deep, wet sounding breaths. And then there was nothing. I looked at the silent heart monitor, it was flat lined; after a few seconds it returned to the slow rhythmic chirp that greeted us when we entered the room. The Marine was motionless in the bed, clinging to life.
“What the fuck was that?” one of the men asked.
“Shit,” spouted one Marine in disgust and he stormed out of the room.
After several moments I spoke, “I don’t think there anything more we can do for your friend. I’m sorry.”
I followed the men out into the hallway. As we stood, defeated, Dr. Allen returned. I explained what had happened. He said that it sounded very similar to what he had observed earlier. However, the Marine appeared to have a brief moment of awareness during the most recent episode, which was unfortunate.
“Did you see any results from the last blood test?” I asked.
“Yes, but more of the same, no real change,” he answered.
“I guess now we just wait,” I said.
I started walking down the hallway towards the elevators. I had time to check in with the rest of the lab personnel before returning to the barracks for the evening briefing.
One of the Marines behind me grabbed my shoulder and whispered, “Doc,”
“Yes?”
He leaned in close, his lips nearly pressing against my ear, and spoke, “When the time comes, I want to do it. I’ve known him since we were in high school. We enlisted together. I want to do it.”
I looked him in the eye and held contact for several seconds. It’s not often that one get the chance to see another man’s soul, but when it happens, it is shocking and humbling.
“I understand,” I whispered.

CHAPTER 18

The helicopter ascended into a clear blue sky. Beneath us I could see the deserted streets winding through the town. The chopper banked hard to the left, and circled around the hospital, my side of the craft was nearly parallel with the ground. I could see hordes of Driftwood surrounding our building. The pack stood at least ten corpses deep. They pounded and clawed at every surface of the brick structure. Thankfully, the ground floor windows were still two or three feet above their reach.

“I think they’re hungry, and we’re the only dinner in town! The chopper coming and going is like flair to them, they can see us and hear us for miles! I hope the walls can hold!” shouted the Marine sitting next to me. I hoped so, too.

In a matter of minutes we were lowering onto the roof of the police barracks. The outer perimeter of the building was encircled by Driftwood. There were so many of them that they were beginning to pile up on top of one another. I wondered how many of rotting ghouls it would take to flood over the wall.

I stepped out the building and into the make-shift headquarters set up in the parking lot. The area was bustling with activity. Several Marines yelled into radios, while others pointed at large poster sized charts and maps; some of the soldiers stood in groups, sharing notes on pieces of paper.

The security wall was lined by armed guards. A group of men were trying to reinforce the main gate by welding blast steel across the bars. The zombies didn’t have much strength, but based on their numbers, the gate would soon be no match for them.

A heated discussion caught my attention. General Fitch was standing with a group of four other men, in the middle was the Governor. I walked closer, hoping I could hear what was happening.

The General saw me, “Doctor, just the man we need!” The volume of his voice caught me off guard, and I was taken aback, not to mention worried about why such a passionate conversation would involve me.
“Doctor, please, would you join us?” Fitch asked. The circle of men opened, giving me space to stand next to the General, “Lieutenant, would you please describe our situation to the good doctor?” Fitch nodded towards the Marine across from me.
“Yes, sir. Doctor, several hours ago multiple small groups of looters raided the city. They were all part of the same main group and members of the cartel. They struck from the caves to our north, drove into the town, took what they wanted in booked it out of Dodge.”
I interrupted, “Yes, I know, we saw a group of them looting the stores near the hospital. I think one of the men was bitten.”
“Exactly. That was one of the groups, and you’ve hit on our problem. It seems that the cartel is split, physically. One faction is hold up at the airport and now we can assume that the other is working out of the caves, along with a group of survivors and defected police officers. As of yet, they have not engaged us in any meaningful dialogue and have repeatedly stated that we are foreign invaders and blame us for the, as they put it, ‘raising the Tonrar’.”
I looked at the Governor as the lieutenant spoke. She interrupted, “Doctor, we are a superstitious people, as are most island dwellers around the globe; isolation lends itself to interesting story telling. The Tonrar are demons that take human form out of a blanket of fog. This fog moves on shore from the center of the ocean and drifts high up into the hills surrounding the city. Such a fog is a rare occurrence and maybe happens once or twice a decade, typically the fog will fill the bay, but go no further inland. In our culture, the center of the ocean is a hell filled with lost souls, it is a place of great terror and pain. Men who have set sail to find it have returned many years later, mad and diseased. Once in humanoid form, the Tonrar roam the Island searching for souls. It is said that in order to obtain the soul, they must eat the heart of a living person. If they do not find a victim, the Tonrar disappear with the fog at sunrise. If they find a heart, they will be freed from hell, and be able to wander the land immortal. But in order to remain in their undead state, they must consume more hearts. We had such a fog the day before this all occurred, they are now afraid, they think the Tonrar are running rampant through the Island.”
“Well, that’s not too far off the mark, is it?” I said. “It’s one of the more reasonable explanations I’ve heard.”
The Lieutenant continued, “As you stated, one of the men was bitten. They managed to get back to the caves, but they need medical attention. We’ve tried to offer them assistance over the radio, but they only respond by saying if we move in on their position, there will be a bloodbath.”
“We need to help them. We’ve got to get the man who was bitten to the hospital,” I said.
The Governor spoke up, “What good will it do, doctor, there is no cure in sight? There is nothing we can offer him.”
“We have to try. If we can get him to the hospital at the very least we prevent the entire cave from becoming Driftwood. It’s not about saving him, it’s about saving all of them.” I replied.
“I see your point. I think I can be of assistance,” the Governor said. “I will talk to them, they might listen to me.”
“What makes you think they’ll listen to you?” the General asked. The Governor hung her head, her voice became a whisper, “The young man who is their leader, he is my son.”
We all stared at her in shock. How could the son of this caring and warm person grow into a ruthless gun-slinging gangster? The answer to that question would have to wait. As the shock of the governor’s news was wearing off, a soldier came rushing up to the General.
“General,” his voice breathless and shaking, “There is a radio call for you in the barracks.”
“They can wait, soldier,” Fitch stated firmly.
“Sir, I don’t think so, sir, it’s the President.”
“Alright, I’ll be right there. Doctor, what are your thoughts on the people in the caves?”
“We have to go and get the guy who was bitten out of there!” I replied. “The Governor and I will fly to the caves, she can talk to them over the radio, maybe she can talk some sense into them. Then, we’ll air lift the infected man to the hospital. We can even bring along one of the cartel members, if they wanted to be sure that we aren’t going to hurt him.”
“Doc, there is no way to get the helicopter on the ground near the caves. The only way in is by road,” the Lieutenant stated.
“Then we drive!” I shot back.
“Have you seen the perimeter of this barracks, there is no way to get a vehicle out of here!” he fired back at me.
I thought for a moment, “We fly to the check point closest to the caves, from there we drive, get the sick man, drive back to the check point, and then fly him to the hospital.” I answered.
“Ok, sounds like a good idea. Lieutenant, call ahead to the check point and set it up,” the General commanded. Fitch looked at the Governor and me, “You had better get moving, there’s not much daylight left.”
I smiled at the Governor, “Alright, ma’am, let’s roll!”