Zollner explained, "All the animals in here have been challenged with a virus or bacteria."
"Challenged?" I asked. "Is that like infected?"
"Yes, we say challenged."
"Then what happens? They become less than well, then go into an involuntary nonbreathing mode?"
"Correct. They get sick and die. Sometimes, however, we sacrifice them. That means we kill them before the disease has run its full course." He added, "I think everyone who works here likes animals, which is why they are involved with this type of work. No one in this facility wants to see these creatures suffer, but if you ever saw millions of cattle infected with foot-and-mouth disease, you'd see why the sacrifice of a few dozen here is necessary." He put the chart back and said, "Come."
There was a great warren of these unhappy rooms, and we went from pen to pen where a variety of animals were in various stages of dying. At one pen, the cow saw us and walked unsteadily up to the door and looked at us looking at her. Dr. Zollner said, "This one is in bad shape. Advanced FMD-see how she walked? And look at those blisters on her mouth. She can't even eat at this stage because of the pain. The saliva looks like rope, it's so thick. This is a dreadful disease and an old enemy. There are accounts of this in ancient writings. As I said, this disease is highly contagious. An outbreak in France once spread to England on the wind across the Channel. It is one of the smallest viruses yet discovered, and it seems to be able to live dormant for long periods of time." He stayed silent a moment, then said, "Someday, something like this may mutate and begin infecting human hosts…"
By now, I think, we were all mentally and physically challenged, as Dr. Z might say. In other words, our minds were numb and our asses were dragging. Worse, though, our spirits were down, and if I had a soul, it would be troubled.
Finally I said to Dr. Zollner, "I don't know about anyone else, but I've seen enough."
Everyone seconded that.
I, however, had a last, stupid thought, and I said, "Can we see what the Gordons were working with? I mean, the simian Ebola?"
He shook his head. "That is Zone Five." He thought a minute, then said, "But I can show you a pig with African swine fever, which, like Ebola, is a hemorrhagic fever. Very similar."
He led the way to another corridor and stopped at a door numbered "1130." He examined the chart on the wall and said, "This one's in the final stages… the bleeding-out stage… he'll be gone by morning… if he goes before then, he'll be put in a cooler, then dissected first thing tomorrow, then incinerated. This is a very frightening disease that has nearly wiped out the swine population in parts of Africa. There is no known vaccine or treatment. As I say, it's a close cousin to Ebola…" He looked at me and motioned toward the viewing window. "Look."
I stepped up to the window and looked inside. The floor of the room was painted red, which surprised me at first, but then I understood. Near the center of the room was a huge pig, lying on the floor, almost motionless, and I could see blood around its mouth, snout, and even its ears. Despite the red floor, I noticed a glistening pool of blood near its hindquarters.
Behind me, Zollner was saying, "You see it bleeding out, yes? Hemorrhagic fever is terrible. The organs turn to mush… You can see now why Ebola is so feared."
I noticed a big metal drain in the center of the floor, and the blood was running into the drain, and I couldn't help it, but I was back in the gutter on West 102nd Street, and my life was draining into the damned sewer and I could see it, and I knew how the pig felt watching his own blood leaking out of him, and the rushing sound in the ears, and the pounding in the chest as the blood pressure dropped and the heart tried to compensate by beating faster and faster until you knew it was going to stop.
I heard Zollner's voice from far away. "Mr. Corey? Mr. Corey? You can step away now. Let the others take a look. Mr. Corey?"
CHAPTER 13
We don't want any viruses or bacteria hitchhiking a ride back to the mainland," Dr. Zollner said, unnecessarily.
We stripped, put the lab whites and slippers in a hamper and the paper underwear in a trash can.
I was not totally focused, just sort of doing what everyone else was doing.
We all followed Dr. Z to the shower room-me, Max, Nash, and Foster-and we stood under the showerheads washing our hair with a special shampoo, scrubbing our nails with a brush and disinfectant. We all gargled with some sort of horrid mouthwash, rinsed and spit. I kept soaping up and rinsing off until finally Zollner said, "That's enough. You'll catch pneumonia and die." He laughed.
I dried off with the provided towel, threw it in a hamper, then walked, naked, back to my locker, germ-free and squeaky clean, at least on the outside.
Other than the men I'd entered with, there was no one around. Even the attendant wasn't visible. I could see how a person could conceivably smuggle large items out of the lab and into the locker room. But I don't think that's what happened, so it didn't matter if it were possible or not.
Zollner had disappeared and come back with locker keys, which he distributed.
I opened my locker and began getting dressed. Some very thoughtrul fellow, quite possibly Mr. Stevens, had been kind enough to launder my shorts and in doing so had inadvertently washed the red clay right out of my pocket. Oh, well. Good try, Corey.
I examined my.38 and it looked okay, but you never know when some joker is going to file the firing pin, clog the barrel, or take the powder out of your rounds. I made a mental note to check the piece and the ammo more closely at home.
Max, whose locker was beside mine, said softly, "That was an experience."
I nodded and asked, "Now do you feel better about living downwind from Plum Island?"
"Oh, yeah, I feel fucking terrific."
"I was impressed with the biocontainment," I said. "State-of-the art."
"Yeah. But I'm thinking about a hurricane or a terrorist attack."
"Mr. Stevens will protect Plum Island from a terrorist attack."
"Yeah. How about a hurricane?"
"Same drill as a nuclear attack-bend over, put your head between your legs, and kiss your ass goodbye."
"Right." He looked at me and asked, "Hey, are you okay?"
"Sure."
"You sort of got spacey back there."
"Tired. My lung is wheezing."
"I feel responsible about dragging you into this."
"I can't imagine why."
He smiled and said, "If you nail Ms. Tightass, you owe me one."
"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about." I slipped into my docksiders and stood. I said to Max, "You must be having an allergic reaction to the soap. Your face is all blotchy."
"What?" He put his hands to his cheeks and made for the closest mirror. He kept looking at himself, leaning closer over the washbasin. "What the hell are you talking about? My skin is fine."
"Must be the light in here."
"Cut the crap, Corey. This isn't a funny subject."
"Right." I went to the door of the locker room where Dr. Z was waiting. I said to him, "Despite my bad manners, I'm very impressed with your operation, and I thank you for your time."
"I enjoyed your company, Mr. Corey. I regret having met you under these sad circumstances."
George Foster joined us and said to Dr. Zollner, "I intend to make a favorable report regarding your biocontainment procedures."
"Thank you."
"But I think that perimeter security could be better, and I'll recommend that a study be conducted."
Zollner nodded.
Foster went on, "Fortunately, it would appear that the Gordons did not steal any dangerous substance, and if they stole anything, it was an experimental vaccine."