The Neuropathology Of Zombies (21 page)

CHAPTER 28

I sat in front of the microscope in the pathology lab. Marines were stationed at the door, and the microbiologist and the virologist were busy writing in their notebooks. The technician adjusted the dials on the tissue processors while they ran the samples from the autopsies on the frozen Driftwood. For the first time since I arrived on the Island I felt alone, or at least at peace; now maybe I can do some thinking.

All of the gray cardboard slide trays were open and spread across the table. The light magenta hue of the hemotoxylin and eosin stained tissue gleamed as the overhead lights bounced across the slides. My eyes scrutinized each of the sections, my mind trying to decide where to begin. I was feeling guilty about trying to have a moment of quiet before I returned to work; but my head was splitting and my chest burned with every breath. I attempted to push thoughts of home out of my mind, I was sure that everyone was safe and sound.

I began to examine the slides without the distraction of all the people around the microscope. I always enjoyed having residents or medical students join me at the scope, but when a real tough case came along, I needed quiet and solitude.

The slides made a scratching sound as they skidded across the stage. I scanned every micron of the sample. Although I felt like I was noticing more detail, I saw nothing new. I had yet to discover the key that would unlock this mystery. I struggled to correlate the histopathology and the EEG findings with the observations I had made during my close encounters with the Driftwood. How was it all related?

My eyes darted around the room, watching the other men work. The white noise of the lab equipment was beginning to distract me. I couldn’t quiet my mind. What I really needed was a restroom; as I said before, some of my most brilliant ideas where born in the john. I stood up and walked towards the Marines guarding the door.

“I need to take a piss, where’s the bathroom,” I asked. “Three doors down, on the right,” one of them said.
“You coming with me?”
“No, sir, I can see the door from here, you’ll be alright.” “Great, if I’m not back in 15 minutes, come find me.” I laughed. The squeak of opening steel door echoed against the bare tiled walls.

The bathroom was much colder than the rest of the hospital and I shuttered. I stood at the sink and splashed cool water on my face. I pulled a brown paper towel from the dispenser on the wall and dried myself off. I looked in the mirror at the gash on the top of my head, it felt worse than it looked.

There was a small ledge jetting from beneath a narrow frosted window. I leapt up onto it, and stared at the floor. The room was perfectly silent and I could feel my mind clearing of all the clutter it had acquired over the past two days. I leaned back and rested my head against the window.

The door burst open, I sat up. “Doc?” a voice asked. It was General Fitch.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, jumping off the ledge.
His words dragged out slowly, his tone filled with nervous caution, “You alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just needed a quiet place to think for a few minutes. I’ve always seemed to solve problems in the shitter, don’t know why.”
“I have a problem,” he shot out without hesitation.
“Okay,” was all I could mutter before he cut me off.
“We have an outbreak on the ship.”
“The aircraft carrier?”
His voice became stern and commanding, but not threatening, “Yes, and I need to know what this thing is and how these people are getting it. And I need to know now.”
“Who is affected?” I asked.
“So far, three of the people we rescued. They became sick last night. No one thought anything of it until a few hours ago when two of them attacked several people while they slept.”
“Your medical teams examined all the people that boarded the ship, didn’t they?”
“Yes, every man, woman, and child was stripped down and examined, head to toe. No bite marks. Everyone was clean.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I chewed nervously on my bottom lip, a bad habit I developed during ward rounds in medical school.
“Okay, okay, let me think,” I said, pacing around the cramped room.
“We know you can catch it by being bit, that’s for sure.” I rubbed the back of my head attempting to divine information out of the ether, “I autopsied two Driftwood this morning who were in the morgue body storage cooler when we got here. They came in from the Marina Star Hotel and died of apparent natural causes. When I examined them, they had no external injuries, no bite marks. So, this must be transmitted more than one way. The autopsy results are conclusive that this is a virus, I’m one-hundred percent certain of that. If the virus is spread by a bite, what is it about the bite? The saliva. The virus must be shed in the saliva. If that’s the case, maybe it’s airborne,” I continued to rub my head and think out loud, “But if it’s airborne, why don’t any of us have it? Why didn’t I catch it from Igor, or from the Marine we had upstairs. None of us have contracted it. General, I need to get on that ship!” I exclaimed.
“Let’s go,” he said, holding the door open for me.

CHAPTER 29

The sun climbed higher into the sky and the rancid stench rising from the street intensified. The odor stung my nose. I followed the General to the helicopter. The rotor began to spin as we approached the craft. We seemed to be zipping across the water in a matter of seconds, headed towards the aircraft carrier.

A staticy voice exploded in my headset, “So, you’re pretty sure it’s a virus?” the General asked.
“Yeah, no doubt about it. It’s causing an infection in the brain, something called encephalitis. But I am not sure how it’s bringing the dead to back to life.” I yelled back into the microphone of my headset.
“I am anxious to hear your thoughts on the situation aboard the ship,” he said, his eyes focused on mine.
Before I could respond, the chopper banked and started to descend. I looked out the window and watched the small dot in the ocean grow into an enormous sea vessel. Hundreds of people were spread out across the flight deck. They were gathered into groups and surrounded by armed guards.
“What have you told them?” I asked.
“Not much. Just that there was a fight last night between members of two rival gangs and that we need to make sure we identify every gang member, so everyone is going to be questioned,” he replied.
“What about witnesses?” I asked.
“It was only seen by five individuals in the sick bay, they have been placed into quarantine in the battle dressing station until we’re sure they’re not carrying the virus,” the general responded. “What’s the incubation period for this thing?” he continued.
“Well, from bite to reanimation, maybe twelve to twenty four hours. I have no idea about what the time course might be if an individual contracts it without a bite, if that’s what is happening. The two bodies brought into the morgue from the hotel died the day before this all began. That’s an additional 24 hours we have to worry about. Who knows how long it’s been since some of these people contracted it.” I answered. “One thing you better do is find out who has left this island in the past week and see how they’re feeling. I can’t even imagine what would happen if this reached the U.S., or the U.K., or any other populated area!”
Fitch grimaced, “I agree.”
We touched down with a jolt and the engine slowed. The fresh sea air, with a slight touch of diesel, was a refreshing break from the putrid stink of the city. I breathed in as deep as my ribs would allow.
The flight deck was chaos. People were yelling and pushing one another. The crowd was nearly out of control. The soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder, their rifles stretched out in front of them forming a human barricade around the agitated groups. There was barely room to walk between the masses and I felt several hands reach for me as I moved towards the control tower.
“Jesus Christ!” I muttered once I was safely behind the door of the tower stairwell. “They’re about to riot!”
“I know, we have problems,” Fitch said, his voice slow and soft. “We did not anticipate this situation.”
I sat down on one of the stairs. “Let’s go see the bodies. Tell me exactly what happened.”
The general pointed to a naval seaman standing a few stairs above me, “I’ll let the ensign tell you about it, he was there.”
“Yes, sir. Doctor Hawk, sir.” He said, climbing down the steps. I stood up and allowed him to pass. “Well, Doctor it was about 1800 hours when two members of the party began to complain of not feeling well. They’d been on the deck and wished to return to quarters to rest.”
“Was everyone allowed to move freely around the ship?” I interrupted.
“Yes, sir, within reason, obviously. The two individuals returned to the sleeping compartment, which was an area we had secured on the main hanger deck, below the flight deck. We were trying to keep them in groups of twenty or so in hopes of limiting any interpersonal conflicts. I was assigned to liaison with this particular group at 2000 hours. We used the term ‘liaison’ in place of guard, we didn’t really feel the need to guard them, we just wanted keep them from getting into any trouble, and help them with any needs they may have while on the ship. I was made aware that they were not well when I arrived at my post.”
“Did they know each other prior to coming on board?” I interrupted again.
“Yes, sir. Husband and wife.”
“How many people were in the group at that time?”
“Maybe 12 of the 20, sir.”
“No one else had any complaints?”
“No, sir, not in my group.”
“In any of the groups?” I turned to ask the General.
“Not until about an hour ago. Was saving the best for last, Doc. We’ve got nine folks clogging up our sick bay,” Fitch answered.
“Shit.” I looked back at the ensign, “What happened next?”
“Well, they got worse and at about 2230 hours I called for the ship’s doctor. He took a look at them and suggested we move them to the sick bay. I switched out with another liaison so I could accompany them. They got real sick over the course of the night and we moved them to the ICU. At 0300 hours they both appeared to die and the medic covered them with a sheet.”
“Did they both die at the same time?” I asked, puzzled.
“No, sir, about fifteen minutes apart. After they were covered by the sheet, I was helping out with some paperwork when one of them started to groan. It was a crackly sounding moan, raspy, like a bad cold. We got excited at first, thinking we made a mistake, and that they were still alive. The doc ran over and put his stethoscope on one of their chests. While he was listening, the thing reached up and grabbed his head, and pulled him down. I heard doc scream and he struggled to get free. The thing finally let go and the doc fell to the ground, half his face was missing, blood gushed out on to the floor. I looked at the thing, lying there on the stretcher, it was shoveling docs flesh into its mouth. The thing stood up and lunged at the medic, bit him on the neck. The medic’s blood squirted across the room and on to the ceiling. The screams were so loud. That’s when the other one stood up, still covered by the sheet.” He paused for a second, he was shaken, and was trying to remain calm as he spoke, “That’s when one of the SP officers ran into the room. When he saw what was happening, he yelled for them to stop, but they didn’t. They came at us, and the SP opened fire and shot them both several times, but they kept coming at us. He sprayed them both with automatic fire until they finally fell to the ground.” He stopped speaking and swallowed hard.
“Who else was in the room?” I asked.
“Just myself, the SP, and three other Navy men,” he replied, regaining his composure.
“Were any of them sick, the three other Navy men?”
“No sir, they were in sickbay for other reasons. Injuries from the flight deck.”
“How long would you estimate it took them to reanimate?”
“Maybe about 30 minutes.”
“That’s something you don’t see every day, is it?” I asked softly.
“No, sir, and I hope not to see it again.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, sir. I’m fine.”
“Well, I think I need to see these bodies.”
“They’re in the ships morgue. It holds four bodies. We’d use the hanger deck for anything major,” the General said.
“What else do we know about the two new Driftwood?” I inquired as we began to descend down the stairs to the lower decks.
“Both U.S. citizens. That’s all I know at this point, their files are in the sickbay,” the General stated.
“What about the nine in sick bay now? What’s their story?” I asked.
“They’re from three different groups. The remaining members of the groups are being monitored from the group sites. They’ve been told there is a bad intestinal bug going around and that members of their camp have picked it up, we’re trying to isolate them to make sure no one else has it and can spread it. They seem okay with that. So far no one else is sick,” the ensign said.
“So you have three populations: the big group on the main deck, the group in sick bay, and the three groups in isolation?” I asked.
“That’s correct. The two groups in sickbay are in two different areas; one is in the battle dressing area under the hanger deck, and the other nine sick patients are in the ship’s ICU, so they’re not together,” Fitch clarified.
I lost track of how many levels we had climbed down, but we were deep in the bowels of the ship. The atmosphere was more compressed and the echoes off the steel walls sounded flat. The door to the morgue opened revealing a long, narrow tomb; the walls were covered by square white tiles and the floor lined by a dull gray laminate. A single gurney sat off to the side, straight ahead was the body storage cooler.
The storage cooler was old style, consisting of four sliding drawers, two on the top and two on the bottom.
The ensign pointed, “They’re on top.”
I walked over and pulled open the top shelf. The body was wrapped in a white sheet; a black stain marked the location of the head. The dark fluid had dried and the sheet was stuck to the corpse.
“Is there any way we can get it onto the gurney so I can take a better look?” I asked, dropping the hardened covering back onto the body.
The General and the ensign carried the stiff carcass to the stretcher; it was in full rigor and the body hung in their arms like a bundle of firewood.
I removed the sheet, exposing the body. It was clad and a hospital johnny, pox marked by bullet holes. The top of the head was missing, all that was left was the lower jaw and multiple small fragments of skull. Pieces of brain slid off the fractured bones, oozing out of the open head and on to the gurney; this type of destruction was typical of high-powered rifles.
I removed the johnny and performed an external examination. I was looking for bite marks, or anything that may offer a clue as to how this virus was transmitted. The remains were that of a white man, around 60 years of age. There were a few scars on the hands, and a red boil on the calf surrounded by a small red rash, but otherwise the body was unremarkable.
“I see nothing, other than the obvious gunshot wounds. There’s nothing to indicate a bite mark,” I said. I was beginning to worry that the virus had mutated and become airborne. Nothing about this infection was typical, so I felt anything was possible. Most viral infections take a few days to develop, this was taking hours. With that rate of replication, mutation of the genome was guaranteed; it had every reason to become airborne.
We placed the body back on the shelf and slid it into the cooler. I pulled open the second drawer and found a similar appearing white sheet with a large black stain marking the head. We lifted the carcass onto the gurney and I removed the johnny.
The body was that of a white female, also around 60 years of age. The torso was riddled with bullet holes, and the head was absent from the jaw up. Thick black fluid dripped from the jagged splinters of bone. Her external exam was notable for a Caesarean section scar across the abdomen. There was a deep red rash on her upper arm that extended into her armpit.
“Nothing here either,” I muttered. “Let’s put her back and go see the people in the ICU.”
My stomach tightened and I felt my skin flush. I wondered if anyone noticed my face turning red or heard my breath quicken. I had a feeling that the virus was airborne, and that we were all in trouble.
I walked into the ICU and was amazed at how much it resembled an actual hospital. I was expecting something compact, and make-shift. This was a full-fledged medical center.
The General noticed my amazement, “Not bad, for a boat, eh Doc?” he said.
I stood at the foot of the bed, staring at the body of a sick man. His chest rose and collapsed with the pumping of the ventilator, his limbs rested motionless by his side. I pulled back the blanket and examined him. He had a youthful appearance, maybe in his mid-thirties, and I could tell by the well-defined musculature that he was in good shape. A young, apparently healthy man immobilized by the virus. This was also unusual, viruses prey on the old and sick, he should have been able to fight it.
I scanned the skin. A deep red rash covered the left calf.
“Another rash, just like the other two,” I said, bending over to take a closer look.
The rash was splotchy, it looked like someone flung red paint at the leg. The outer edge was light pink and faded into the surrounding skin. In the center of the red blotches were raised white nodules.
“What is it, Doc?” asked the ensign.
“Probably just a viral erythema, basically a viral rash. It’s pretty common with viral infections,” I answered. “But. I’ve never seen one this bad.”
I examined the other eight patients and found similar rashes on their bodies.
“They all have it, the same rash. I didn’t notice it on any of the Driftwood, but their skin was decomposed, so it might not have been visible. The two Driftwood in the hospital morgue were better preserved, but I didn’t see it on them either, they did have skin slippage, though,” I said.
“What about Igor, or the Marine who was bitten?” the General asked.
“No, nothing on either of them.”
I looked around the room, Why is that?” I asked myself.
I waved my finger at the patients in front of me. “Can I see the people still in the camps where these individuals came from?”
“Absolutely, where is the closest camp, ensign?” Fitch asked.
“Two decks above us, sir. I’ll take you,” the ensign replied.