their goodbyes, the door closed with a firm click, leaving her with only the muffled sounds from the corridor for company. If she listened carefully, she thought she could hear the faint rumble of traffic from the street below.She was alone. She closed her eyes and cried.
March 24th, 12h55 GMT : Bellevue Hospital, NYC
The Latino woman knelt by the side of the bed, her yellow plastic gown folded around her body. Her gloved-hands were clasped together as she prayed in silence. When she finished, she made the sign of the cross and lay her head down on the blanket that covered her daughter’s still body.
A neon green line displayed the child’s heart rate on a monitor by the side of her bed. Her vitals were stable—for the time being. The catheter inserted in her femoral vein supplied her with liquid nutrients and the IV drip kept her hydrated.
Mei stood on the other side of sliding glass door and watched. I should have got her on antibiotics sooner . She didn’t know if it would have made any difference. But it might have.
The orderly, Cohen, lay in the bed next to the girl. He was just as sick as the child. Excluding the British man, and two others who had died, there were now nineteen cases in the hospital. All had come in the last twenty-four hours. New cases were arriving every hour. Some were hospital staff, others were illegals—mainly Latino men. All were grievously ill.
9
Freak of nature or something else?
March 25th, 02h50 GMT : Georgetown University, Washington D.C.
H is own work long forgotten , Tony Simmons gently rocked back and forth in his office chair, ignoring the sound of the squeaky springs as he studied the genome data Gore had sent him.
It had been a day and a half since their telephone conversation. After a couple of false starts, he had finally found time to look at the Brit’s data and once he did, he was drawn in immediately.
He blinked to relieve the soreness in his eyes and reached for the ceramic mug on the desk. Cup in hand, he took a long sip of the cold coffee and swirled the liquid around in his mouth as he thought back on what he had discovered.
The tcdA and tcdB genes from Gore's strain were all different from the RT 027 reference genome. The Brit was right, they had mutated. Simmons was amazed. The odds were astronomical that after generations of stability, the DNA of those key genes would change at the same time.
It’s a freak of nature, he thought, or genetically engineered—but that made no sense, who tweaks a stomach bug?
He swallowed the cold coffee and opened the protein sequence for the tcdC gene. As he looked at it more closely, he saw hints that mutations in the gene might have disabled its anti-sigma factor. That would limit its ability to repress toxin production. The bacteria would produce toxins until it burned itself out.
He was about to dive back into his computer when the ring of his cell phone startled him. He watched as it vibrated across the top of the desk. It was late, who would be calling at this time ? He picked up the phone and looked at the display— a UK country code?
“Edward?” He answered, guessing at the caller.
“So sorry for calling at this time, Tony,” Gore said weakly.
He sounds tired, Simmons thought as he looked at the clock on his desk— just before 10 p.m. in Washington, nearly 3 a.m. in London. “That’s quite an interesting strain. Thanks for sending me the data. I’m still looking at it but what can I do for you?”
Gore hesitated and then started, the words tumbled out of his mouth in a cathartic flood. “I’m sorry for not telling you earlier, but a hospital in Scotland sent the sample to the institute the day before yesterday. It was a rush, they needed the results immediately. I was asked—told really—to drop everything. It doesn’t look natural. That’s why I needed your assistance. I don’t under—we need to—”
“Whoa, slow down.” He interrupted Gore and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the
March 24th, 12h55 GMT : Bellevue Hospital, NYC
The Latino woman knelt by the side of the bed, her yellow plastic gown folded around her body. Her gloved-hands were clasped together as she prayed in silence. When she finished, she made the sign of the cross and lay her head down on the blanket that covered her daughter’s still body.
A neon green line displayed the child’s heart rate on a monitor by the side of her bed. Her vitals were stable—for the time being. The catheter inserted in her femoral vein supplied her with liquid nutrients and the IV drip kept her hydrated.
Mei stood on the other side of sliding glass door and watched. I should have got her on antibiotics sooner . She didn’t know if it would have made any difference. But it might have.
The orderly, Cohen, lay in the bed next to the girl. He was just as sick as the child. Excluding the British man, and two others who had died, there were now nineteen cases in the hospital. All had come in the last twenty-four hours. New cases were arriving every hour. Some were hospital staff, others were illegals—mainly Latino men. All were grievously ill.
9
Freak of nature or something else?
March 25th, 02h50 GMT : Georgetown University, Washington D.C.
H is own work long forgotten , Tony Simmons gently rocked back and forth in his office chair, ignoring the sound of the squeaky springs as he studied the genome data Gore had sent him.
It had been a day and a half since their telephone conversation. After a couple of false starts, he had finally found time to look at the Brit’s data and once he did, he was drawn in immediately.
He blinked to relieve the soreness in his eyes and reached for the ceramic mug on the desk. Cup in hand, he took a long sip of the cold coffee and swirled the liquid around in his mouth as he thought back on what he had discovered.
The tcdA and tcdB genes from Gore's strain were all different from the RT 027 reference genome. The Brit was right, they had mutated. Simmons was amazed. The odds were astronomical that after generations of stability, the DNA of those key genes would change at the same time.
It’s a freak of nature, he thought, or genetically engineered—but that made no sense, who tweaks a stomach bug?
He swallowed the cold coffee and opened the protein sequence for the tcdC gene. As he looked at it more closely, he saw hints that mutations in the gene might have disabled its anti-sigma factor. That would limit its ability to repress toxin production. The bacteria would produce toxins until it burned itself out.
He was about to dive back into his computer when the ring of his cell phone startled him. He watched as it vibrated across the top of the desk. It was late, who would be calling at this time ? He picked up the phone and looked at the display— a UK country code?
“Edward?” He answered, guessing at the caller.
“So sorry for calling at this time, Tony,” Gore said weakly.
He sounds tired, Simmons thought as he looked at the clock on his desk— just before 10 p.m. in Washington, nearly 3 a.m. in London. “That’s quite an interesting strain. Thanks for sending me the data. I’m still looking at it but what can I do for you?”
Gore hesitated and then started, the words tumbled out of his mouth in a cathartic flood. “I’m sorry for not telling you earlier, but a hospital in Scotland sent the sample to the institute the day before yesterday. It was a rush, they needed the results immediately. I was asked—told really—to drop everything. It doesn’t look natural. That’s why I needed your assistance. I don’t under—we need to—”
“Whoa, slow down.” He interrupted Gore and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the
Similar Books
