Read Online Altered Genes: Genesis by Mark Kelly - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mark Kelly
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desktop. “Take your time and start at the beginning.”
He heard Gore take a few breaths.
“The sequence data I sent you came from a patient at BurnsHouse General Hospital in Glasgow. I have more samples from other patients and a nurse. It looks as if they were all infected with the same strain of C. difficile.”
“An outbreak?” Simmons sat upright, slightly alarmed.
“Yes—but not just at BurnsHouse. Two other hospitals in Glasgow have also reported cases. The sequencing isn’t complete, but it appears to be the same strain.”
Simmons felt his pulse quicken. C. diff outbreaks in a single hospital were unfortunately common, but outbreaks across multiple facilities at the same time were rare.“How did it spread?”
“The bacteria’s endospores are unique—very hardy,” the Brit answered. “They must have contaminated an infected patient’s clothing. They shuttle patients back and forth between the hospitals all the time.”
“How many cases now?”
“Thirty-seven at BurnsHouse and another twelve at the other two hospitals—all in the last three days,” Gore answered.
Simmons whistled in surprise.
“It’s infecting otherwise healthy patients, Tony. Nothing knocks it down…” Gore’s voice trailed off to a whisper.
Simmons heard the sound of knocking on a door through the phone. He waited while Gore asked who it was and listened as the Brit put the phone down and answered the door. A few seconds later, he heard the sound of voices arguing.
“Edward?”
"Edward, are you okay?”
“Hello?” a voice, not Gore’s, asked through the phone.
Startled, Simmons stammered. “Ah…I was just talking to Dr. Gore.”
“He’s busy,” the voice said and hung up.
What the hell?
Simmons stared at his phone. He decided to call the Brit back. The call went to voicemail after just a few rings. He hung-up and nervously drummed his fingers on the desktop. The encounter on the phone had left him with a sense of unease. He wondered what he should do. Even if I knew who to call, what would I say? That someone hung up the phone?
Hoping that Gore would call again, he decided to keep working. But the Brit didn’t phone. After a couple of hours, he gave up and went home for some much-needed sleep.
His house, a rental property on the other side of the campus, was a short walk. Sleep didn’t come quickly and he lay in bed, tossing and turning for hours as he dwelled on the enigmatic strain of C. difficile and the mysterious voice on the phone.
Exasperated and uneasy, he gave up on sleep a few hours before dawn and returned to Regent’s hall. He pulled the bacteria’s protein sequences up on his computer. As he studied them, he muttered to himself. It’s like a game of scrabble. it's just a matter of fitting the pieces together to create something meaningful. There were mysteries hidden within the genetic code. He would find them. But the hours went by and he found himself increasingly confused by the puzzle. Nothing fits, maybe I’m just too tired . He leaned back in his chair and began to rock.
The first few knocks on his office door were soft and went unheard, but the ones that followed couldn't be missed.
Thud…Thud…Thud —It sounded like a battering ram. His heart raced as he remembered the conversation with Gore, the strange voice. I’m being silly, he thought.
“Professor Simmons?"
“Professor Simmons…are you there?”
The voice sounded familiar. He recognized it after a few seconds.
“It’s open,” he yelled.
THUD…THUD…THUD —The knocking grew louder.
"Oh, for God's sakes.” He stomped to the door and pulled it open.
“What is it?"
Emma Rice stood in front of him with a sheepish look on her face, her fist raised in the air ready to knock again. She lowered it slowly and smiled.
“Hi, Professor Simmons, is now a good time?”
Flustered by her sudden appearance and odd question, he tilted his head and looked at her confused.
“Good time?”
“You said in
He heard Gore take a few breaths.
“The sequence data I sent you came from a patient at BurnsHouse General Hospital in Glasgow. I have more samples from other patients and a nurse. It looks as if they were all infected with the same strain of C. difficile.”
“An outbreak?” Simmons sat upright, slightly alarmed.
“Yes—but not just at BurnsHouse. Two other hospitals in Glasgow have also reported cases. The sequencing isn’t complete, but it appears to be the same strain.”
Simmons felt his pulse quicken. C. diff outbreaks in a single hospital were unfortunately common, but outbreaks across multiple facilities at the same time were rare.“How did it spread?”
“The bacteria’s endospores are unique—very hardy,” the Brit answered. “They must have contaminated an infected patient’s clothing. They shuttle patients back and forth between the hospitals all the time.”
“How many cases now?”
“Thirty-seven at BurnsHouse and another twelve at the other two hospitals—all in the last three days,” Gore answered.
Simmons whistled in surprise.
“It’s infecting otherwise healthy patients, Tony. Nothing knocks it down…” Gore’s voice trailed off to a whisper.
Simmons heard the sound of knocking on a door through the phone. He waited while Gore asked who it was and listened as the Brit put the phone down and answered the door. A few seconds later, he heard the sound of voices arguing.
“Edward?”
"Edward, are you okay?”
“Hello?” a voice, not Gore’s, asked through the phone.
Startled, Simmons stammered. “Ah…I was just talking to Dr. Gore.”
“He’s busy,” the voice said and hung up.
What the hell?
Simmons stared at his phone. He decided to call the Brit back. The call went to voicemail after just a few rings. He hung-up and nervously drummed his fingers on the desktop. The encounter on the phone had left him with a sense of unease. He wondered what he should do. Even if I knew who to call, what would I say? That someone hung up the phone?
Hoping that Gore would call again, he decided to keep working. But the Brit didn’t phone. After a couple of hours, he gave up and went home for some much-needed sleep.
His house, a rental property on the other side of the campus, was a short walk. Sleep didn’t come quickly and he lay in bed, tossing and turning for hours as he dwelled on the enigmatic strain of C. difficile and the mysterious voice on the phone.
Exasperated and uneasy, he gave up on sleep a few hours before dawn and returned to Regent’s hall. He pulled the bacteria’s protein sequences up on his computer. As he studied them, he muttered to himself. It’s like a game of scrabble. it's just a matter of fitting the pieces together to create something meaningful. There were mysteries hidden within the genetic code. He would find them. But the hours went by and he found himself increasingly confused by the puzzle. Nothing fits, maybe I’m just too tired . He leaned back in his chair and began to rock.
The first few knocks on his office door were soft and went unheard, but the ones that followed couldn't be missed.
Thud…Thud…Thud —It sounded like a battering ram. His heart raced as he remembered the conversation with Gore, the strange voice. I’m being silly, he thought.
“Professor Simmons?"
“Professor Simmons…are you there?”
The voice sounded familiar. He recognized it after a few seconds.
“It’s open,” he yelled.
THUD…THUD…THUD —The knocking grew louder.
"Oh, for God's sakes.” He stomped to the door and pulled it open.
“What is it?"
Emma Rice stood in front of him with a sheepish look on her face, her fist raised in the air ready to knock again. She lowered it slowly and smiled.
“Hi, Professor Simmons, is now a good time?”
Flustered by her sudden appearance and odd question, he tilted his head and looked at her confused.
“Good time?”
“You said in
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