The Project Gutenberg eBook ofThe last vialThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: The last vialAuthor: Sam McClatchieIllustrator: Virgil FinlayRelease date: January 2, 2024 [eBook #72589]Language: EnglishOriginal publication: New York, NY: Ziff-Davis Publishing Company, 1960Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST VIAL ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: The last vialAuthor: Sam McClatchieIllustrator: Virgil FinlayRelease date: January 2, 2024 [eBook #72589]Language: EnglishOriginal publication: New York, NY: Ziff-Davis Publishing Company, 1960Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Title: The last vial
Author: Sam McClatchieIllustrator: Virgil Finlay
Author: Sam McClatchie
Illustrator: Virgil Finlay
Release date: January 2, 2024 [eBook #72589]
Language: English
Original publication: New York, NY: Ziff-Davis Publishing Company, 1960
Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST VIAL ***
The LAST VIALBy SAM McCLATCHIE, M.D.Illustrated by Virgil Finlay1. And I heard a great voice out of the temple saying to the seven angels, "Go your ways and pour out the vials of the wrath of God upon the earth."2. And the first went and poured out his vial upon the earth and there fell a noisome and grievous sore upon the men which had the mark of the beast and upon them which worshipped his image.Revelation 16.[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced fromAmazing Stories November, December 1960, January 1961.Extensive research did not uncover any evidence thatthe U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
By SAM McCLATCHIE, M.D.
Illustrated by Virgil Finlay
1. And I heard a great voice out of the temple saying to the seven angels, "Go your ways and pour out the vials of the wrath of God upon the earth."2. And the first went and poured out his vial upon the earth and there fell a noisome and grievous sore upon the men which had the mark of the beast and upon them which worshipped his image.Revelation 16.
1. And I heard a great voice out of the temple saying to the seven angels, "Go your ways and pour out the vials of the wrath of God upon the earth."
2. And the first went and poured out his vial upon the earth and there fell a noisome and grievous sore upon the men which had the mark of the beast and upon them which worshipped his image.
Revelation 16.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced fromAmazing Stories November, December 1960, January 1961.Extensive research did not uncover any evidence thatthe U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
CHAPTER 1
A little late, I pulled my Ferguson Cross-Country '62 into the space reserved for me and stepped out. The clouds were low and moving fast but the rain was soft on my bare grey head. The dark walls of the Laboratory rose close by. I felt the mass of it blocking off the light wind and, with the wind, the chill wetness of an autumn morning. It was good to be back, I thought, back to the quiet excitement of research, the prideful interest in my students, the comforting presence of my friends.
A female figure splashed by me hurriedly, her arms full of large brown envelopes. I half turned. "Lottie," I started to say ... it was the Lab's messenger girl ... but she was gone already. "Funny," I mused, "she's usually ready to stop and chat at the least excuse." I turned back towards the Lab and almost collided with another woman, also loaded with what looked like case reports. "What the Hell!" I muttered to myself, but she was gone too. I quickened my pace, ran up the stone steps two at a time and passed through the big glass doors that open on the main hall of the Laboratory Building.
As the electronic eye closed them behind me I shrugged off my raincoat. I dropped a dime in the news vendor and the paper popped up in its waterproof wrapper. The headline printed on the outside caught my eye as I started to shove it into my pocket. "New Epidemic Increases Hourly." New epidemic? What was the old one? Well, I'd find out soon enough. Maybe that explained Lottie and the case reports. I turned to go up the stairs to my office.
Behind the counter of the appointment desk Rosie, our senior receptionist, was watching me. Her bright black eyes and pert old face set under thick grey curls reminded me of a little bird curiously inspecting some strange new animal. Her high chirping voice completed the illusion.
"Good morning, Doctor Macdonald," she said and moved the sign on the arrival and departure board to show I was in.
"How was the vacation? Pat's in," she went on without waiting for an answer. "She says she ran into you a couple of times up in the Powell River Country."
I finished folding my raincoat before I looked at her.
"Yes, we did meet," I admitted cautiously but didn't explain further.
"I don't know how you manage that boat of yours all by yourself. Seems to me I'd want company to sail away up there in that rough water," she paused. "I hear Pat's a good sailor."
"You talk too damn much, Rosie," I growled and started along the hall. All the way up the stairs I remembered the twinkle in her eyes as I went past her.
The ground floor of the Laboratory is occupied by the Administration Office and Clinical Pathology Section. Shut off at the back are the white tiled walls and monel metal tables of the Autopsy Rooms. On the first floor the Tissue Pathologists sit at their microscopes and study the pretty blue and red stained slides of human and animal tissues which come from the batteries of Technicon machines and the skillful microtomes of the laboratory technicians. Here too are the Medical Library and the Hematology Section, where blood from thousands of patients is smeared on slides, stained, and examined for signs of disease. I was just rounding the banister at the top of the stairs when, coming out of the Serology Room, I saw the long thin slow-moving figure and wavy blond hair of Harry Cope, the hematologist. He saw me at once and waved a languid hand.
"Hello, John! How was the holiday?" he said in his soft English voice.
"Pretty good, Harry. Keeping you busy?"
"Not in my own shop," he said. "But Dr. Hallam will certainly be glad to see you back. I've had to give him a hand the last day or two."
"Why, what's up?" I was surprised. Harry knew quite a bit about Virology and had kept up his interest in it even though hematology was his specialty. However he seldom worked for us unless there was a real emergency.
"I'd better let the Director tell you himself, old man. I have an appointment just now. See you later." He moved down the hall, as quiet and impassive as usual.
A little worried now, I went up the stairs to the second floor, passed Bacteriology and poked my head into the Virology Section. The routine work on virus diseases goes on here. The Research Lab, Dr. Hallam's pet project, is in a specially designed penthouse on the third floor, alongside the animal house, and is never used for ordinary tests.
In the Tissue Culture Room, Pat was already busy with the specimens and had time only to wink at me. No hope for enlightenment there! I looked back at her trim figure as I moved away and, at the door of Electron Microscopy, ran head on into Polly Cripps, our electron microscopy technician and Harry Cope's fiancee. Even at thirty-five she was still good looking in a bold way, with white gold hair waving over deep blue eyes, a full mouth and a full figure to go with it.
When I recovered my breath after bouncing off that pneumatic form, I started to speak but, as usual, she beat me to it.
"My Goodness, John, you Northerners are always in a hurry," she gasped. "You almost mashed me flat."
"Ah caint see no difference honey," I parodied her Alabama drawl. "Say, Harry tells me something big is happening."
"It surely is," she said, "I've taken more pictures in the last two weeks than in the six months before that. I took a whole mess of them to Dr. Hallam this morning."
"Maybe I'd better go find out for myself. See you later, cutie." As I went by I gave her a friendly pat on her well rounded posterior and got the back of my head clipped for my temerity.
"You keep your cotton-pickin' hands to yourself, boy," she said, but she was smiling.
The time was late autumn. Because of a special project, I hadn't been able to take my summer vacation. Patricia Delaney, our senior virology technician, had worked with me and, as the days went by, it looked as if neither of us would get a break. The fall is the season for respiratory viruses to start causing trouble and we couldn't afford to take time off if even a minor outbreak appeared. But the weather stayed dry and finally, one lovely Indian summer day, Dr. Hallam had shoved us both out of the office for ten days' rest.
I stopped on the front steps of the Lab and looked at Pat, standing beside me, her brown curly head, topped by one of the new round space satellite hats, bent over as she fumbled at her handbag.
"Now what do we do?" I felt at a loss, a little tired and let down. I hadn't expected to get time off and consequently had made no plans for spending the next ten days. The sun was bright, the clouds were small and fluffy, the air was warm. It was autumn at its best. Surely it would be a shame to waste such wonderful weather.
Pat was speaking, her clear grey eyes thoughtful behind the heavy-rimmed glasses. The soft Louisiana voice was a treat after the harder northern accents of the Canadians.
"I don't know. I haven't made plans to do anything."
"Well then, let's go have some coffee and talk it over."
She nodded and fell into step beside me, her long legs, long for her medium height that is, keeping up with my short ones. In her high heeled shoes she stood as tall as I, her broad shoulders and slim but prettily rounded figure contrasting nicely with my stocky frame. We make a good pair, I thought, she, the American of Irish descent and I, the immigrant Irishman, educated in Canada and naturalized American during the Korean War. She had come to British Columbia just a year ago, when her marriage had broken up, to make a fresh start. The year before that I had returned to Canada to join the staff of the Civic Hospital as a pathologist.
We crossed the parking area to the main hospital building and went into the restaurant through the back entrance.
"How about this table?" I said and pulled out a chair for her. I tipped my head to the girl behind the counter and held up two fingers. The coffee came, not too strong, but at least it was hot. Pat shrugged out of her mackintosh, reached for the Players I held out to her and dragged at the battery match flame. I watched her as she leaned forward over the lighter. The tiny creases at the corners of her eyes, the slightly deeper lines of her mouth, marked her as a woman of thirty, mature, a little worldly, but still attractive. Delightfully so to me, I thought, since, at thirty-five and a casualty of the divorce mill too, I was no longer interested in young girls, good to look at but unseasoned by life.
She sat back in her chair and looked at me quizzically.
"Did I pass inspection?" she said.
I hadn't realized I'd been so obvious. It was a little disconcerting, even after dating her frequently in the last six months, to have my thoughts read the way she seemed to do.
I smiled at her. "I'll have to have a closer look to be sure."
"I don't know about that," she said teasingly. "I wouldn't trust you too far."
"How far would you trust me," I asked quickly, an idea growing hopefully behind my bantering tone.
She looked at me and her smile slowly faded. Again her intuition was right and the fear of getting emotionally tangled up with a man, the reluctance to bare her heart again so soon after it had been lacerated by another male, was obvious in her caution.
"It depends on what you want to do." She laid the cigarette down. It burned untouched as she watched my face.
"The satellite weather forecast is for good weather the next ten days," I said. "This looks like a perfect chance for a long cruise up the coast in my boat." I paused and looked straight at her, "but it takes two to work it properly."
She had been on one day cruises with me before this and was learning quite quickly how to sail. I knew she would love to go but....
"Where do we stay at night?" she said.
"I didn't figure on any definite itinerary. We could sleep on the boat, there's plenty of room."
"I know that, but there's only one cabin."
"I won't bite you."
"Strictly platonic?"
"You call the tune, I'll play it."
She stood up abruptly and reached out her hand to me. "We're wasting time," she said. "Let's go!"
I was thinking over those pleasant days and too platonic but still exciting nights as I came to the door of the Director's office. Dr. George Hallam, that straight backed old soldier, was sitting at his desk when I walked in. He was shuffling a pile of black and white photographs and, as they riffled over, I saw that they were some of Polly's electron microscope pictures of elementary particles. Hallam was a large man, but not fat, with black thinning hair combed straight back. Ordinarily a pleasant expression rested in the light brown eyes behind his rectangular spectacles, and a slight smile brightened his round, firm-fleshed face. Today he was definitely not happy, and under the white lab coat his big shoulders hunched forward determinedly like a fullback ready for a plunge through the line. I was wondering what bothered him until I caught a glimpse of the headlines in the "Sun" lying on the desk. EXTRA! Greatest Epidemic Ever! I noted the edition was later than the one I had bought. Flu Epidemic Spreads Through B.C. it said.
"Good morning, sir."
He nodded at me and I waved at the paper.
"What goes on since I left?"
"Five thousand cases of Flu." Bang! He slapped the desk. "Just like that. In one day!" He ran one big hand over his chin and was silent, leaning on his elbows.
I picked up the paper to read the lead as he spoke again.
"That was a week ago. For three days the cases rose to a peak and then eased off. We've been working on it and I think we've isolated the virus." He looked up at me. "Didn't you know about it?"
"Chief," I said reproachfully, "You don't think I'd have stayed away if I'd known."
"No ... no, of course not. I haven't had time to think much about it. But we could have used you and Pat. I'm damned glad you're back."
"We ... ah ... I didn't look at a paper for the whole time. Went for a trip in my boat. I even turned off the television."
"You must have had interesting company." He grinned at me slyly.
"Yeah, I had a good crew," I said and changed the subject. "But what about this epidemic?"
The fun died out of his eyes. "We've been expecting the second wave to hit anytime. Judging by the headlines we have it ... and it's a corker. The Department of Health tells me it's spreading faster than a dirty story both north and south of the border."
"You say you have isolated it?"
He picked out several of the photographs and passed them across to me. I looked at them for a moment.
"But these particles are irregular, and too big!"
He nodded.
"What about the agglutination tests?"
"It isn't A, B or C," he said. "It's a new virus, or at least one I've never heard of. There doesn't seem to be a relationship to any other flu virus ... and probably no immunity to it either."
"Then how do you know it is flu?"
"Only by the way it acts clinically. It fits the flu syndrome better than any other disease we can think of. Odd thing about this stuff," he mused, "as you can see, these first electron pictures don't look like flu and the Biochemistry Section also reports some unusual components in its chemical structure."
He stopped to light his pipe. "You remember how I broke up those simple plant viruses a few years ago and tried putting different pieces of them back together to make new ones?" He mumbled around his pipestem, blowing a little cloud of blue smoke with each word.
I hadn't been at the Civic at that time but I nodded in affirmation, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought.
"Well, this virus isn't the same of course, but it seems to be a relatively simple one and of such a peculiar composition it makes me wonder. Certainly, so far, it doesn't fit in with any of the natural viruses I've handled."
"Maybe it's an exotic variety brought in from overseas," I ventured. "Vancouver does handle a lot of foreign shipping. Or maybe it's a wild mutation from some ordinary flu virus. Look what happened in 1957 with that A prime mutation. Perhaps this thing has gone even farther away from the family tree."
"I thought of that, but I'm not convinced." He shook his head in exasperation. "Damn it, man, there's something queer in this whole thing ... and I can't put my finger on it!"
"What does the bug do to people, aside from the usual stuff?"
"They all get a sharp attack of the flu, lasting three or four days. The picture is typical as a rule, but on the mild side. Some of them act as if they had the mumps too."
"H'm, that's nice," I said. "Has there been much orchitis in the male patients?"
"Who else could get it?" he gibed. "Now that you mention it, I believe there have been some cases," he said drily, "but I've been more concerned with organic chemistry than with organs. By the way, how was your holiday?"
"The sly old dog," I thought. "He probably figures I've been having myself a time with Pat." Out loud I answered, "Just fine, Sir." I turned to go out. "Guess I'd better get started back to work. At least I got a good rest."
"Really, John, you call that a rest?" He was still chuckling as I shut the door behind me.
I changed to a white coat in my own small office. There was no definite job assigned to me now and I had no classes to teach this semester. I rambled around the office for a while, straightened out my desk and then decided to go down to Records and look up the case histories of the flu patients. It was partly idle curiosity but I knew that, sooner or later, the Old Man would have me working on it.
The girls in Records were full of questions about my vacation. That Pat and I were practically engaged was no secret, and the fact that someone had seen us together on my sloop was providing plenty of gossip.
"The hell with them," I thought. "Let them think what they want." At least it was not malicious gossip. We had a friendly crew in the Lab and the ribbing I was taking was all good natured.
I went back to my office with a large bundle of case summaries loading me down. With the tremendous interest aroused in virology and the nature of protein molecules, because of the polio research of the Fifties, the drive to investigate the virus theory of cancer and the flu epidemic of 1957, a great deal of money had been spent to make the Civic Hospital a first class research centre. Under Dr. Hallam's guidance and the sponsorship of the University of British Columbia, the Research Laboratory had become one of the best in North America. The Department of Health of B.C. cooperated enthusiastically in the field work and I was able to get from our files the most detailed case histories prepared by their trained investigators. I spread out the charts, picked one at random, and began to study it.
Three hours later I was beginning to get the picture, at least up to date. Most of the cases gave a routine history. A few hours before the fever began they had noticed a mild head cold. This was followed by aching in the limbs and back, headache, fever, lack of appetite, and feeling generally ill and depressed. Some had swelling along the sides of their neck or under the chin, but that was not a prominent feature of their complaint. Several of the males also reported slight swelling of the testicles, less than is usually the case in mumps, and it did not seem to incapacitate them at all. The occasional female reported abdominal pains which could have been due to inflamed ovaries, but it is difficult to make such a diagnosis with certainty. In inquiring about the movements of the patients before they became ill, the interrogators had turned up a few odd stories.
One woman reported that she had been standing in a crowded bus a few days before she got the flu when a man standing beside her had dropped a glass ball.
As she told it, "It looked like one of them souvenir things—you know, the kind that has a snowstorm inside it when you turn it upside down, or maybe it was a Christmas tree ornament. It broke just like you dropped a light bulb or somethin'. I thought I saw a kind of a cloud, like smoke, but it was only for a second. The man was nice about it, he apologised to me right away for scaring me. He was one of them D.P.'s I'm sure because he couldn't talk good English. That stuff that came out of it made my nose kinda itchy ... made me sneeze. But I have hay fever and sinus, you know, had it for years. Maybe there was nothing to it."
The tape record of a male patient's report was also peculiar. I played it back, in part, on my own Dictape.
"I was sitting in the Automatic lunch, the big one on Granville. Well, it was full to the doors, just after twelve, and this guy comes in and gets a seat that another man had just left. He wasn't very tall but sort of husky and he reminded me of a guy I know who comes from Slovakia or one of them countries down in Europe. This guy, the friend of mine I mean, he works for Baden Brothers in the Foundry.... Yeah, yeah, I'm getting to the point in a minute. Well, as I was telling you, this fella who looks like my friend has a pile of parcels and he's trying to manage a cup of coffee at the same time so I give him a hand.... I'm just about finished with my pie. We get the parcels down O.K. but he upsets one of the bags with his foot on the floor. I start to pick it up and he tries to beat me to it. These guys from Europe fall all over themselves to be polite. Anyway he grabs an insect bomb that fell out and somehow, I can't for the life of me figure it, he gets the thing stuck and the spray starts to go out all over the place. We couldn't shut it off but it didn't last long. He told me it was a new kind—good for one time only, so it was made cheap. I dunno if that stuff had anything to do with this flu but I know it made my nose itch for a while. Maybe that did it.... I knew a guy one time that...."
I shut off the tape and turned to another report.
"I was in the Paramount," she said, "watching that new Tri-Di movie they callHigh Time... it's a sort of a Western and musical all mixed up. It's a real good movie but that three dimensional stuff scares you when they show a fight. I don't think that's too good for little kids, do you? It was the part where the hero, what's his name, oh yeah, Bert Blaine, is getting romantic with Nellie Golding just before he rides away to catch the killer. It's kinda sad too and all of a sudden my eyes started to water. Well, I'm sentimental, you know, but I don't cry that easy and anyhow I hadn't felt like crying just yet if you know what I mean. It was more like an itch. I looked around in the dark to see what might be wrong and then I noticed a hissing noise like a radiator leaking. I leaned over to ask the man in the next seat if he heard it too but right about then it stopped and he got up and left. I don't know how he could have anything to do with it but I know my eyes and nose were itchy for a long time. I'll just tell you that I must have got the flu from that. My mother says that's nonsense but I don't care."
The rest of the reports were routine. Some noted exposure to colds but none to mumps. The three unusual stories I dismissed as having no real connection with the epidemic. Aerosol sprays of all shapes and sizes are so common nowadays that they are used in every kind of commodity which can be packed that way. I know of no disease caused by the gases they contain unless it be allergy to the various insecticides and other chemicals spread by the gases. People often have peculiar ideas as to what starts a cold. The statisticians had run off the figures, including the odd possibilities, on the Minicalculator at the Department of Health and their report stated there was no significance in such stories. So I guess that settled that in this mathematically minded era. Sometimes I wish that medicine were the art it used to be instead of the statistical science it has become. But I never did like mathematics.
Shortly after noon I gave up and strolled down to the Culture Room, looking for Pat. I found her busy with a dentist's drill, in the old fashioned way, cutting holes in the shells of fertilized eggs and transferring virus cultures from old eggs to new. Between the cap and mask only her cool grey eyes were visible, intent on the thin membranes that pulsated above the tiny heart of the young chicken. Her fingers were quick and sure as she injected the virus then released the opening with scotch tape, or sometimes with a glass coverslip, sealed around the edges with vaseline. Hallam wasn't too keen on the new short wave cutter and plastic film technique. When she paused for a moment to flame her needles I rapped on the glass partition to catch her attention and then made eating signs. She nodded and, a few minutes later, we sat over sandwiches and coffee in the hospital restaurant.
"How did the morning go?" she said, finishing her sandwich and starting on a second cup of coffee.
"The old man was needling me the way you needle those eggs of yours," I grumbled. "We don't have the private life of goldfish around here. The girls were hinting for information too."
"What do you expect," she laughed. "After all, you're the most eligible bachelor in the place."
I wandered over to the counter for a pack of Exports. The noon Sun was out and I saw the lead story. "Flu Epidemic Disorganizes Seattle, Tacoma, Portland." I bought the paper and went back to Pat.
"We're not much ahead of the news hawks," was all she said.
As we passed the front office, on the way back to Virology, Rosie waved at me.
"Dr. Macdonald, you're wanted in the Conference Room right away. And you too, Pat! There's some sort of big pow-wow. Tissue Path., Biochem., Bacteriology, Public Health, and all the clinical services too!'
"O.K. Thanks, Rosie," I said.
We went on up the stairs. The Director didn't like the elevators used, except for freight, so we all had to walk. Probably it was better for us too, I thought, comparing the slight shortness of breath I noticed on second floor with the way I'd hiked over the hills around Kumwha during the Korean truce talks of 1951, when there was nothing to do in my Battalion Aid Station but take morning sick call. But I'd sat in a lot of chairs since then.
The Conference Room, next to Dr. Hallam's office, was already crowded and he waved at us. "John, you find a spot somewhere along the wall. I'm afraid we can't seat everyone and I want department heads at the table. Pat, would you mind taking notes? Sit here beside me." He winked at her. "That is, if John trusts me."
The few remaining spaces were now filled and the Director stood up.
"Gentlemen, some of you know why I have arranged this meeting but the rest of you are still wondering. You may or may not agree with what I shall have to say, but, because of its unusual nature, I must have your promise that you will not repeat, outside of this room, what you will hear in the discussion that follows. Is that clear?" He paused and looked around the room. "Anyone who does not wish to give such a promise will please leave now, before we start."
I could see their faces from where I stood by the windows. Joe Armstrong, Chief of Medical Services, sat on Hallam's right. His dark, heavy-featured face was calm as he looked straight ahead. He knows, I thought. Beside him, Bruce Thompson, Chief of Surgery, lifted his bushy eyebrows and turned to whisper a quick question at Joe. Obviously he didn't know the secret, whatever it was. I looked on around the table. About halfway, I saw Ray Thorne, one of the best obstetricians in town and an old friend of mine. He caught my eye and winked. The Chief of Ob. and Gyn. wasn't there. Ray must be standing in for him. I wondered what the boss would have to say that could interest their department.
Hallam was talking again. "About a week ago, here in Vancouver there was a sudden outbreak of disease which, aside from a few unusual occurrences, seemed to be influenza. Now, in the past two days, we are confronted with thousands of new cases. You have seen the reports in the newspapers, I'm sure. I have been in contact with the public health authorities here, and also in the States of Washington and Oregon. The situation down there, especially in Seattle, Tacoma and Portland, is every bit as bad as it is here." He paused for a full five seconds. "Gentlemen, I believe this is no ordinary epidemic. I believe this may well be a man-made disaster!"
"For the love of God, George!" I don't know who said it, but it echoed all our thoughts. I could see the astonished and incredulous looks on the faces of all the experts as they watched him, standing there so straight and solid and sane.
My mind was racing about, trying to find reasons for his amazing assertion. Maybe he wasn't really serious, I thought, only to dismiss the idea immediately. Another look at that stern and sober face and I knew he meant it. And only a few moments ago he had been laughing and joking with Pat. I remembered a story I'd heard about him in World War II, how he had been in a Field Hospital with his New Zealand countrymen at Cassino and, during a heavy bombardment, had sat quietly joking with patients who could not be moved to safety. So, it could be true. If he could make jokes in the face of death, he could laugh during a disaster.
The buzz of conversation ceased as the Chief went on. "As of this morning there were fifty thousand cases in Vancouver city alone, with no tallies in, as yet, from Burnaby and New Westminster. More are being reported every minute. The hospitals are filling up even though they take only those with complications; and there seems to be no end of it so far. It's like the 1918 pandemic all over again but with some very peculiar differences." Again he stopped and turned to Dr. Armstrong. "Joe, do you see any differences clinically?"
Armstrong got to his feet. "Yes, I do, George," he said, in his slow careful way. "For one thing, it is the most explosive epidemic I have ever seen. Usually they start with a few cases and, after an incubation period of two or three days, a fresh batch of victims appears, growing in number each time. Here we have hundreds, all at once, then none for about five days or so, then thousands. It does look almost as if something or somebody had infected them all at the same time."
"My God," I thought, "not you too, Joe! Not old steady-boy down-to-earth Armstrong! Shades of the flying saucers!"
He continued. "The time lapse between the first outbreak and this new surge of cases is approximately five days, which is just a little longer than usual for influenza. Also, as Dr. Hallam has already mentioned, there are some peculiarities in the clinical picture. For instance, we are seeing patients with enlargement of the salivary glands ... not many of course ... and a few with orchitis. We even have the occasional female with what could be inflammation of the ovaries. That makes me think of mumps except that the time between the first and second waves is much too short, and anyway most of these people tell me they had mumps as a child."
One of the public health men down the table broke in. "I remember back in 1956 there was some sort of epidemic pleurisy, or Q-fever, in California, in which there were cases with involvement of the salivary and sex glands. It was quite an unusual thing but I don't remember the outcome. And there were miscarriages in the '57 flu epidemic, so the ovaries were probably involved in some cases. Nobody can say those weren't natural epidemics."
"Yes, that sort of thing does happen from time to time," Armstrong agreed. "We have to postulate a mutation in the virus. Even today we haven't classified them completely and this one could be a new variety with an odd life cycle. There's one good thing about this," he concluded, "although it seems to be far more infectious than anything we've ever seen before, it isn't anything like as dangerous as the 1918 flu, or even the 1957 pandemic. We haven't had anyone die yet. Most of them are well in three or four days after the fever begins. Maybe that's because we have the antibiotics to take care of the secondary bacterial invasion. That's what caused most of the pneumonia and all the other complications that killed so many people in 1918. Frankly I'm not worried, even though I talked it over with George, here, before the meeting. I think probably everyone will get it since people who have had the ordinary types of flu or flu shots do not appear to be immune. But it's no worse than a cold. When almost everybody has had it, it will die out. I don't agree with Dr. Hallam. I think it is a natural epidemic."
He sat down, the tension in the room already eased by his calm and sensible summary of the facts.
"What do you say to that, George?" Thompson sliced the silence with his question in the same decisive manner as he made his surgical incisions.
The Chief smiled at him. "Right now I can't prove a thing, Bruce. All that I have is suspicion ... call it a hunch if you will. That's why I don't want any loose talk. The whole pattern of this epidemic, and of the virus that seems to be the cause, is foreign to my experience. The electron microscope pictures that we have, so far, show a particle that is different in shape and size to our known influenza viruses, and to any other ordinary disease virus. Our serological tests don't identify it. The Biochemistry Section has been working on it twenty-four hours a day. As yet they haven't got too far, but far enough to show that there are definite differences in the molecular pattern between this virus and influenza as we know it. It seems to be a simpler than usual pattern, reminiscent of the synthetic viruses we made some years ago. There are some amino acid groupings like those of the mumps virus too, which could possibly account for its affinity for the salivary glands. I think it will prove able to transmit its characteristics indefinitely from one generation to the next—it has, so far. We have it growing in chick embryos right now but it's to soon to be definite about anything. If it continues to transmit all its characteristics, that would be a possible argument against my theory that this is a man-made epidemic." He paused for a sip of water from the glass in front of him.
"Would you care to elaborate on your theory?" Smith, the tissue pathologist interrupted, his long narrow chin thrust forward and his deep-set eyes intent on the speaker.
"Be glad to, Tom," Hallam agreed. "I believe this is a man made epidemic, as I said before. The timing is too orderly, too sudden, to be natural. I suspect, because of its unusual structure, especially the resemblance to previous experimental viruses, that this is a synthetic virus, made up either from relatively simple chemical compounds or perhaps from particles of natural viruses recombined in a different pattern. As you all know, it has been possible for years now to take a virus apart, so that it will not reproduce, and then put these parts together again, not from the same culture, but just as if you took parts of a motor from the stock bins and assembled an engine. When it is reassembled with parts similar to the ones it was originally made up of, it will reproduce again just like the natural virus. We have also been able to crystallize many viruses and then start them growing again by putting the crystals in the proper nutrient solutions. Recently it has been possible to combine amino acids and other chemicals into simple forms that act much like viruses but are not quite the same. But there is one obstacle that we have not yet overcome. Whether we have recombined different parts of various viruses or whether we have made up amino acid combinations, it has not been possible to have this synthetic virus transmit all its characteristics from generation to generation. It breaks up; it is not stable."
"But you all know this." He stopped to light a cigarette, gathering his thoughts as he watched the end glow. He exhaled little gusts of smoke as he spoke again. "As far as I can tell now, this virus is unchanged through each passage in the egg, which might put it out of the synthetic class. Mutations have been induced artificially by using chemicals such as the sulfonamides to interfere with the life cycle. This has turned some disease viruses into harmless types, but, unless the Americans in their Biological Warfare Center have done it, and they aren't talking of course, the reverse is not true. Certainly I know of nobody in the democratic world who has made such a virus."
There was no mistaking his emphasis. Again Smith spoke up.
"Are you implying that the Communists may have produced such a virus?"
The answer came slowly. Hallam was frighteningly serious now.
"Yes, I believe it is possible. In the last few years there has been a tremendous amount of research on viruses and nucleoproteins in Russia. Kaganovich and his associates have published some very advanced work on the synthesis of proteins and Magidoff is an outstanding virologist by any standards."
"Ay, that's true." Ian Gordon, the little sandy haired biochemist burst out in his broad Scots brogue. "And I wouldna think they've been puttin' out all they know either, if I'm to judge from what they said at the last International Conference in Stockholm."
"But where's the point in all this?" Joe Armstrong exclaimed. "This stuff isn't deadly; it isn't even serious, now we have the antibiotics to prevent complications. As a secret weapon it could have no more than nuisance value. Personally, I think old George may be chasing something red, but it will turn out to be a red herring instead of a Communist."
There were smiles all around the table. Even Hallam grinned. He and Joe had been great friends and sparring partners for years.
Joe went on, "I believe this is just one of those wild mutations that crop up occasionally and cause big epidemics. True, I can't explain the amazing suddenness of its onset, but to call it bacteriological warfare is just ridiculous."
"I can't deny what Joe says, but he can't prove I'm wrong either," Hallam retorted. "I hope I am but I wanted you all to know what I think so you will keep alert for any evidence for or against my theory. On the face of it, as Joe says, it seems ridiculous that any enemy would bother with such a harmless weapon. But it could be a trial run for something much worse. I have tried to keep my emotions out of my appraisal of the facts and when I do I still say that this thing is not natural. Once more I would remind you not to talk about this outside. It could start up a lot of trouble. That's all, thank you, gentlemen."
I was going out at the tail end of the crowd when the Chief lifted his chin at me in the come-hither sign. I stayed. Pat stayed too when he put a restraining hand on her shoulder.
"I suppose you think I'm way out on a limb, John," Hallam said quizzically.
"Frankly, sir, I thought Joe Armstrong had already sawed it off."
"Then I take it you aren't in favor of the virus warfare idea."
"Well, I did get a bit tired of B.W. talk in the U.S. Army. Down in the States they scare little kids with the word red, but after a while it loses its shock value."
"You'll have to admit this is a very unusual epidemic," he countered.
"True, but as Dr. Armstrong said, what possible purpose is there?" I lifted my shoulders and turned up my palms to emphasize my doubt. "Suppose the Reds are responsible. They wouldn't do it just to annoy us and I doubt if they would make a trial run in North America before letting the real disease loose. They are much too cautious for that."
"Maybe we haven't found the real reason," Pat broke in. "If this virus is the weapon it must be doing something that hasn't shown up yet ... some long-term effect."
"I think you've hit it, Pat," Hallam brightened up again. "And that's why I kept you two back here. I want you and John to drop everything else and work with me up in the Research Lab. We'll run a series of tests on our experimental animals until we find out what this virus really does. It may be too late by then to do anything about it but we must work night and day until that time comes. There's plenty of food in the penthouse kitchen. I got it stocked up yesterday. And we will have to use the bedrooms too, if Pat doesn't mind sleeping up there at night with two handsome chaps like you and me." He ogled her like the villain of an old melodrama.
"But sir," she said, playing her part, "I've never slept three in a bed before. Isn't it crowded?"
"Maybe we can arrange to push John out," he laughed. "But let's get up there now. There's no time to lose."
CHAPTER 2
When the Pathology Lab was being built, Dr. Hallam had insisted on a completely separate Research Unit on the third floor. It sat up there, next to the Animal House, a part of which connected with it, and with it alone, so that even the animals were isolated. The unit itself contained a complete set of the most modern equipment used in virology, equipment which was never touched except on Hallam's order. To prevent outside contamination and also to prevent the escape of harmful diseases, all who wanted to go into the unit had to put the clothes they were wearing into the ultra-sound sterilizer locker, take a complete shower and, in a dressing room where the blue rays of ultraviolet light killed more germs, put on white suits. Naturally anyone with a cold or other obvious disease was barred. All clothes needed for a long stay were processed through the ultra-sound locker and picked up on the other side of the shower room. These precautions were sufficient only for entry to the Penthouse, as Hallam had christened the living quarters. They consisted of a pleasant, if austere, suite containing bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchen and living room, where those who were working on a project would stay for days at a time. To get into the workrooms, it was necessary to wear what looked like modified space suits, which contained their own oxygen supply, and go through a chemical shower guaranteed to kill any living organism. Many of the experimental animals had been delivered at birth by special aseptic techniques and they and their descendants lived in air-conditioned rooms where the only germs were those introduced deliberately in experiments. Other animals, which were unsterile, were kept in separate rooms and handled by remote control devices as if they were pieces of radioactive material ... and some of them were, with injections of isotopes coursing through their blood. Even their feeding and cleaning was handled by remote control, by assistants especially trained for the task. At this particular time, all other special work was stopped or transferred to the Routine Lab. The Research Unit was cleaned and waiting for us.
Hallam and I went through the shower routine first and then sat waiting at the table in the living room for Pat. She came in soon afterwards, her cheeks shining from scrubbing and her pink lips, devoid of lipstick, smiling as she tried to tie up her hair with a towel.
"Gracious, that needle shower is rough," she said. "I've scrubbed so hard I must surely be sterile."
"T hope not, baby," I said. "I've got plans for your future."
"Really, John, sometimes you go too far." She blushed as Hallam laughed.
"What do we do now, Chief?" I said.
"I'm not particularly interested in trying to find out the structure of this virus," Hallam said. "We'll let Biochemistry and the Routine Lab people handle that. I've warned them to be particularly careful. What I should like to do up here is to find out if the virus has any hidden power ... if it does more to people than just give them the flu. The thing that bothers me is the time element. Right now nobody is really worried. I have to find enough evidence to convince the government so they'll do something. We'll keep passing the virus through chicken embryos ... we know it can be kept alive that way; and we'll put it in Hela cells and any other tissue culture we have, both human and animal. They aren't ordinarily suitable for flu virus but with this thing one can't tell."
He turned to me. "How many ferrets have we?"
"I can't say exactly, I haven't been here since my vacation. But there were plenty."
"And monkeys?"
"Do you want them for monkey kidney culture, or what?"
"No, I want to give them the flu and then see what happens. It could affect ferrets in a different way than human beings. We can't use people so it has to be monkeys."
"Well, we have more than a dozen, if we take all varieties."
"That'll do nicely. Pat, you might start on mice after you inoculate a fresh batch of eggs. John and I will tackle the ferrets and monkeys. They're difficult for one person to handle easily. And we'll do hamsters and guinea pigs too. Something ought to show up in a day or two."
Hours later it was finished. It isn't the easiest job in the world to inoculate ferrets and monkeys with virus, especially when it had to be put in their noses. Those nasty little weasels can bite and even through the puncture proof gloves I felt the pinch when one of them got loose. The monkeys weren't much better. Finally, covered with sweat inside my suit, I came back through the chemical shower, the water shower and the dryer and opened the headpiece for a breath of fresh air.
"You'd think they could have air-conditioned these damn suits," I grumbled. "Say Pat, when do we eat?"
Pat had just got the helmet off and was fluffing her brown curls, flattened down by the green surgeon's cap she had been wearing underneath it.
"Just as soon as you leave and let me get out of this diver's suit," she said.
Hallam winked at me as he opened the door. "Too bad these suits aren't transparent."
We were sitting around the table over the remains of steak and french fries when the midnight news reports came over the TV. There was nothing more to do at the moment; the animals were not yet sick even though we were hoping for a much shorter incubation period in the ferrets than in monkeys or man. It had to be shorter if we were going to do anything in time.
"First the British Columbia news," the announcer was saying. "We now have reports of outbreaks of influenza in the Interior. Kamloops has several hundred cases. Kelowna and Princeton hospitals are full. Across the border, Yakima and Spokane report a similar situation."
Hallam cut in. "There it is again. A sudden explosive outburst! It's not right, I tell you. It's not natural!"
"We now turn to the international scene." A brightly colored map of Europe appeared on the screen and, as the announcer spoke, he pointed. "Here, in the West German Republic, there are reports of an influenza epidemic that may be similar to ours. Apparently the Communists in the new country of Prussia, until recently called East Germany, feel it is serious. They have closed the border. An airlift to Berlin is beginning and the West Germans have requested the return of American and British transports to their old bases since their own air fleet is insufficient for the task. There are scattered reports from Yugoslavia which may indicate an epidemic there too, but the Tito government refuses to confirm this." He paused and the picture shifted to a map of the Far East. "Over in the Orient we have a different story. For the past several weeks there have been persistent rumors of a strange disease ravaging Tibet and West China. Communications are poor, of course, and the Chinese Communists have not authorized any official announcement. However, it is said that the disease has some resemblance to small pox. Other travellers insist it is more like a severe hemorrhagic measles. All agree that the mortality is high and that the already inadequate medical services of the Chinese, in those areas, are overwhelmed. The Russians are reported to be flying antibiotics to the Peiping government, but claim that they are having scattered outbreaks in Siberia which require their attention. They admit closing all frontier posts, ostensibly in an effort to prevent the spread of the disease."
I looked at Hallam. "Now what?"
He made a face. "My word! This complicates things, doesn't it? Not only are there two epidemics but the Reds have the worst one. If the reports are true, this Asiatic outbreak could be worse than the Black Death of the Middle Ages."
The TV had returned to reporting the local scene in detail.
"It is now ten days since the first cases of influenza appeared. The second big wave of cases is now passing its peak, the authorities believe, but we are getting thousands more cases scattered all over the city and the outlying metropolitan areas of New Westminster, Burnaby, North and West Vancouver. According to the Department of Public Health, this distribution suggests a disease of extremely high infectivity with about a five day cycle. However they also say there is no cause for alarm. Even though the number of cases is well into the hundreds of thousands, practically no deaths have been reported. What deaths there are have invariably been old people or those whose strength has been weakened by other illness."
He continued for a time but said nothing new and Hallam shut him off.
Pat stood up. "If you-all are going to keep your promise and clean up the dishes, I'll take a look in the viewing window and see how our pets are coming along. Then I'm going to bed."
I groaned in dismay. "Now let's not make a habit of this. I hate doing dishes!"
She pulled my left ear as she went by. "Do you good. You need the practice!"
"All right, John," said the Chief. "I'll wash and you dry. I should have installed an automatic dishwasher in this place. Didn't think of it at the time."
I'd just dried the first plate when the Intercom buzzed. I pushed the button.
"Dr. Hallam! John! Can you come up right away? I think things are starting to pop." She sounded excited and a bit puzzled.
The big man lifted his eyebrows and rinsed off his hands.
"I guess we'd better get over there," he said, mangling my teatowel to get the water off.
When we reached the viewing room we found Pat, completely engrossed, in the section which overlooked the cages containing the female ferrets. It was a one-way glass, and soundproof, as the weasel tribe are notoriously sensitive to outside disturbances. Pat pointed to one of the cages and said in an unnecessary whisper,
"That ferret is sick. She seems to be in labor."
"It's a good old ferret custom," I quipped.
"Idiot!" She frowned impatiently. "According to her chart, she was only in the early part of pregnancy, ... not due for a long time yet. She was the first one you inoculated today."
For a while longer we watched. There was no doubt about it. The ferret was aborting. I glanced at the Chief. His face was set, the normally gentle mouth was grim, the lips drawn and thin.
"God Almighty," he whispered. "They wouldn't try it. And yet, what better way?" He straightened up from his seat. Even now he couldn't resist a mild joke.
"When you say things are popping, young lady, I see you mean it literally."
He started for the exit. "Well, it appears that the real work is beginning. I'd hope we would all get some sleep but the flu virus works too fast in these ferrets. So let's go back for some coffee and see what happens."
Bacon and eggs certainly taste good after a long night, I was thinking as I champed into the last piece of toast. I got it down, drained my glass of powdered milk and held up my coffee cup to Pat. She looked tired, a little pale, from lack of sunlight, perhaps, and very thoughtful as she filled it. I touched her hand as the cup passed back to me and she smiled tenderly. If Hallam saw it, he made no comment. I felt sorry for him at times like that. He was, in spite of his friendliness, a lonely man. I remembered now that his fiancee, an Army nurse, had been killed at Cassino in the unit he commanded. Since that time he had turned to his work for consolation and apparently had never found anyone he really cared for.
"Sir," I said—somehow I never could bring myself to use his first name; habit is strong and he looked too much like a soldier even now, a soldier who commanded respect. "Sir, what did you mean last night, as that ferret was aborting, when you said they wouldn't try it, and yet what better way?"
"I suppose to explain that, I'd better give you my reasoning in this whole business." He looked at his watch. "We've an hour before the next stage of our experiments ... not enough to sleep. At any rate we can sleep later."
Pat refilled the cups and silently I passed around a packet of Sweet Caps. He lit one and started.
"As you both remember, after Stalin died there was a period of uncertainty and then, when Malenkov gave way to the Krushchev-Bulganin team, the so-called Geneva conference-at-the-summit initiated what has been called the peace offensive by the Russians. The Hungarian revolt and the trouble in East Germany and Poland put a crimp in their pious front. That front was still further dinted by their obvious interference in the Middle East. But aside from that, the uneasy truce has continued, mainly, I suppose, because of the fear of an H-bomb war. Except for Tibet, Red China too has been fairly quiet, mostly because she still doesn't have the industrial potential to fight a major war; and the Soviets have procrastinated in helping her because they, too, fear the dreadful potential of such a population, if armed."
"The Geophysical Year saw both Russian and American satellites circling the world and the race for the Intercontinental Ballistic Missile, with H-bomb warhead, seems to have ended in a stalemate. The Russians, the Yanks, and now the British Commonwealth, possess long-range rockets of great accuracy. The next logical step, since both atomic and ballistic wars promise mutual suicide, is into space. There, the two main opponents could spy on each other and neither the Iron Curtain nor the security regulations of the USA would hide secret preparations for a knockout punch. Also, there possibly are immense stores of valuable minerals open to the owners of the moon and planets. But space travel takes time and money ... and brains. Manned satellites are on the way, but are not yet established facts."
"The Sputniks of 1958 had shaken the States out of its complacency as nothing else could. By 1961, therefore, that country had reversed its trend in favor of labor and the common man and at last had recognized that it was the uncommon man who had enabled it to achieve its tremendously high material standards. They were catching up very rapidly with the Russians, who for a time had had a preponderance of scientific personnel, and had managed, by sacrificing consumer goods to heavy industry, to keep ahead of the States in the machinery of war. With a stalemate, at least temporarily, in science, the Americans turned back to economic warfare. For a time the Reds, with their lavish promises, had been ahead in this field too, but the deliveries of goods didn't match the promises and gradually disillusionment had set in. So the Americans, who could be depended upon to deliver the goods, gradually forged ahead. As it now stands, they are slowly but certainly pushing the Communists out of all but the captured satellite countries and even there, the years of repression and low standards of living have resulted in several serious revolts in the past ten years. Then too, in educating their people in the attempt to achieve scientific supremacy, the Communists have awakened them to the fallacies of the Marxist-Leninist doctrines."
"Now dictators seldom give up quietly. The Commies are strained to the limit and in danger of losing. They have to do something—but they aren't fools. You can't have atomic war without suicide. Local wars and political maneuvering have failed. They are losing the economic war. There is only one answer!"
Deliberately he paused to let the argument sink in ... a favorite habit of his.
"A new kind of war! That's the answer! A war that is over before anyone realizes it has started—and a war that cannot be blamed on them, so there is no danger of retaliation."
He drew hard on his cigarette, butted it firmly, and went on.
"I believe that this present epidemic has been started by enemy agents. I further believe that it is due to a synthetic virus which combines the terrific contagiousness of the 1918 flu with certain features of mumps, and perhaps German measles. I think the virus has been built up in such a way that there is no cross-immunity with any natural virus; in other words, having had mumps or flu or shots for either will be no protection. And, to make it even more diabolical, they have deliberately made it a mild type of infection so that almost everyone gets better, and people are therefore not concerned about it. As Joe Armstrong said, the stuff isn't serious. So why suspect sabotage until it is too late."
"But the Russians themselves are reporting cases," I said, "and how do you explain this pandemic in Red China that's killing off so many people. That is an entirely different disease."
"I agree," Hallam said thoughtfully, "and that's the beauty of the whole plan. If you learn to make one virus that transmits its characteristics, you should be able to make others. A killer virus let loose in North America would alarm the entire continent overnight. Our public health people would isolate whole cities, if necessary, and probably eliminate it before it got out of hand. We have no quarantine for this epidemic. Nobody is worried about it and many authorities feel if a big epidemic cannot be controlled by their inadequate medical staff they might as well be killed off now."
"You mean the Soviets want to eliminate the Chinese too?" Pat was incredulous.
"Yes, I do." The Chief nodded emphatically. "They want to rule the whole world, not just a part of it. As time goes by, the Chinese are more and more of a threat to their supremacy. That threat must be eliminated."
"What about reports of flu and the new small pox thing in Russia and Siberia?" I asked.
He was almost enthusiastic. "It's a lovely plan. Yes, lovely, if it weren't so horrible in its implications." He paused to drain his cup. "For the past several years there has been very strong emphasis on public health measures in the USSR. A tremendous drive for vaccination against polio, small pox and various other communicable diseases has resulted in the immunization of millions of children and adults. I'll bet if we could get some of those vaccines we'd find the antidote to both our flu virus and the Chinese small pox-measles, whatever it is. I think there has been deliberate selection of part of the population to carry on the Soviet system and the rest will be sacrificed just to fool us. After all, the Reds believe in genetics as we do, now that Lysenko and his theories are discredited, and what more logical than breeding a better race?"
"I'm not quite sure I follow that last part," I said. "Only the Chinese are being killed off."
"Only the Chinese are dying, as individuals," Hallam spoke slowly and emphatically, "but I fear we are also dying—as a nation!"
CHAPTER 3
The sloop bucked a little as the bow chopped into a wave and fell a few points off course. The steady chugging of the small marine engine pushed her on, sidling up over the low rollers and sliding down the other side joyfully like a little kid on a playground coaster. The wind was cool and gentle, the sun bright in the southeast. We were running north, close to the coast, with Bowen Island and Gibsons already far astern. At that time of year, and in the middle of the week, traffic was light. The nearest ship was only a smudge on the horizon. I bent a line around the tiller and went below.
In the starboard bunk Pat lay sleeping quietly. A light breeze from the port floated a wisp of hair and dropped it back on her forehead with each lift of the bow. I bent over and kissed her gently on the mouth. She smiled faintly in her sleep and her arms came up around my neck as she began to wake up. I disengaged them gently.
"Go back to sleep darling. It's not time for your watch yet."
I straightened the covers over her, and went into the tiny galley.
The coffee was hot and the eggs I had set on the stove previously were boiling. I sat down to eat. The benzedrine I had taken to keep me going all through the night was wearing off. I could feel the faint quivering of fatigue in my arms and legs. My eyes were dry and burning a little. In two or three hours I could wake Pat and get some sleep myself. In the meantime all I had to do was to steer the sloop north, towards one of our favorite islands, a small, uninhabited, rock and tree covered hump where we could be alone to rest and relax.
And as I ate quickly and quietly, as I cleaned up the dishes and went back on deck, the words of Dr. Hallam kept running through my head like a squirrel through a maze, darting and searching for the answer. "Only the Chinese are dying as individuals, but I fear we are dying—as a nation!"
I had sat there, flabbergasted, my mouth open like a moron, the incredible statement echoing through the suddenly empty chambers of my brain.
"The ferret...." Pat spoke through the horror-stiffened fingers that clawed at her mouth. Her eyes stared widely at the deliberately composed features of the director.
"Yes, my dear ... the ferret."
"Oh, no.... Oh, God no ... not now!" It was not a cry of anguish for the world but something personal, deeper, a cry of despair.
"What's all the fuss about?" I said crossly. "I don't get it." I turned to Pat. "What're you having a hissy about?"
Hallam looked at me with patient resignation.
"If you were a woman you'd be having a hissy too, as you call it."
"That's her word for it sir," I said. "If you two are all up in the air because a ferret has an abortion I can't see why. There are plenty of diseases that affect animals differently to man. What about undulant fever? It causes abortion in cattle but doesn't affect pregnant women any more than many other serious diseases do. So a ferret drops its kittens! So it might have done it equally with any other high fever."
"You're quite right John," Hallam said, "but remember, this is no ordinary disease. This is a secret weapon and, if it does cause miscarriages and perhaps permanent damage to the ovaries, the result will be a catastrophe for the West."
"Doggone it, Chief, if you'll pardon my saying so, you're getting positively paranoid about this whole business. We haven't a shred of real evidence so far."
"Again you're right, but this is one time where intuition and a high index of suspicion should prevail over cool scientific detachment. We haven't got time for a series of controlled experiments. We've got to guess, and guess right!"
"He's right, John!"
"OK Pat, OK! Trot out your woman's intuition and we'll all fly off into the wild blue yonder. I only hope we don't come down with a dull thud."
"All the ferrets are snuffling with the flu," Hallam said. "It's unfortunate that only one was pregnant, otherwise we might have had confirmation of our hunch by now."
"I haven't heard of any increase in miscarriages among pregnant women who got the flu," I said. "To me that's pretty good evidence that the bug doesn't affect human beings that way. For that matter, there were more reports of testicular involvement than of ovarian disease."
"If it does affect pregnant women, maybe it affects the fetus. Maybe children will be born deformed like the cases of German measles in early pregnancy," Pat said.
"That's a gruesome thought," I said. "You two give me the creeps this morning." I looked at my watch. "Lord it's five o'clock! This has been a rough session."
"And not finished yet," groaned Hallam, pushing up out of his chair. "Only the ferrets are sick so far. We'll sacrifice a few females ... and some males too. Send them down to Smith for examination. He has a doctor and technicians on twenty-four hour duty and they can get cracking right away. Tell him to concentrate on glandular tissues, with first priority for the sex glands. And get cultures from the usual tissues before you send them down."
"Will do," I said, and left the room.
I was back in half an hour. Both Pat and Dr. Hallam came into the living room shortly afterwards.
"None of the other animals show any sign of illness yet," Pat said. "We'll have to wait a little longer."
"Look, I don't think anything will happen for the next twenty-four hours," the chief said. "Why don't you two buzz off. Relax all you can. There's a busy time coming and you won't be able to get out again for a while. It's early ... you could get down to the boat and go for a sail. Keep away from people; I don't want you catching the flu. Come back early tomorrow morning so nobody will be around."
"What about you?" Pat and I said it together.
"I'll get some sleep now and then putter around and read until I hear from Smith."
"Smith was there himself. He said he would do some frozen sections as well as the usual paraffin."
"In that case I shall have some more toast and coffee and wait up for the reports. But you had better go now. It will be six o'clock before you get out of the building. Any later and there will be too many people about."
So here we were, running up the coast and running away from the world's troubles, if we could, for one bright day. I went below and woke Pat.
The sudden quietness as the motor died aroused me with a start. I sat up and looked through the porthole to see trees and rocks gliding slowly by. I recognized the little patch of brown sand set between two large green lichen-covered boulders. The anchor went down. We were at our island.
There were still two or three hours until sunset. The air was warm and the water calm in the sheltered cove. I yawned my way up on deck to see Pat, in a low cut bathing suit, spreading a large blanket for a sunbath.
We sat down on the blanket and she leaned over to pass me a cigarette. I took it, being careful not to look directly at her. There was much too much to see and my blood pressure was already high enough.
We smoked in silence for a while, watching the seagulls preen themselves on the rocks to which they had returned when the boat stopped moving.
"John, do you really believe the virus is a natural mutation?"
"I don't know, Baby, I just don't know."
"Then why do you keep arguing with Dr. Hallam about it?"
"I'm not arguing, Baby. I'm trying to keep this thing within the bounds of reason. We haven't a single bit of evidence yet to prove it isn't a natural disease, so why go overboard?"
"The structure of the virus isn't normal."
"So far, that seems to be so, but that doesn't prove it's synthetic either."
"But what if it does cause permanent damage to the ovaries?"
"Then, Toots, this old continent of North America is in one hell of a fix."
"I can't imagine how I'd feel if I got a disease and knew I could never have children."
"There are plenty of people that way now."
"Not millions of them, and not me! I always wanted babies but my husband wanted to wait. He was too busy making money ... and having a good time."
"A good time with whom?"
"That's the question that finally broke it up. It's just as well there were no children, I suppose." She leaned over towards me and put her hands on mine. "If I ever marry again, I want a man who wants children."
This time I looked straight at her, and the hell with my blood pressure.
"I want your kids," I said, and pulled her down into my arms.
She broke loose after a while, though I could feel her quivering. It was always the same. I had never been able to break down that last little bit of resistance, that fear of being hurt again. Maybe I never would. I sighed resignedly and sat up.
"Might as well go fishing," I said and I went to lay out the lines and hoist the mainsail.
The wall of fog had been moving towards us over the empty sea like a great, flat-topped Antarctic iceberg, shining whitely in the gold light of the Western sun. Beside me, the mainsail hung slackly from the mast, the edge flipping idly in a stray puff of wind. Slowly the white cliff approached, and as slowly changed to an amoeboid mass of vapor, tumbling lazily, sending out streamers that twisted and vanished as they reached too far from the cool mother mist. One, stronger than the rest, waved a filmy pseudopod over my head and, for an instant, the gold light whitened. Another came, and another, and then we were gone, into the soft wet coolness of the seaborne cloud. The light faded, both from the fog blanket and from the setting of the sun. I hauled in the fishing lines and stowed them. I lit the running lights. I was shivering as I secured the sail, checked the gear and went below.