di.
Returning to the fifth floor, Marissa ran into Dr. Navarre. He looked as tired as Marissa felt. "Dr. Richter's condition is deteriorating," he said. "He's bleeding from everywhere: injection sites, gums, CI tract. He's on the brink of kidney failure, and his blood pressure is way down. The interferon we gave him had no effect whatsoever, and none of us knows what else to try."
"What about Helen Townsend?" asked Marissa.
"She's worse, too," said Dr. Navarre. "She's also starting to bleed." He sat down heavily.
Marissa hesitated for a minute and then reached for the phone. She placed another collect call to Atlanta, hoping Dubchek was already on his way. Unfortunately, he wasn't. He came on the line.
"Things are pretty bad here," reported Marissa. "Two patients are experiencing significant hemorrhagic symptoms. Clinically, it is looking more and more like viral hemorrhagic fever, and no one knows what to do for these people."
"There's little that can be done," said Dubchek. "They can try heparinization. Otherwise, supportive therapy-that's about it. When we make a specific diagnosis we may be able to use hyperimmune serum, if it is available. On that track, we've already got your samples, and Tad has begun processing them."
"When will you be coming?" asked Marissa.
"Shortly," said Dubchek. "We've got the Vickers Mobile Isolation Lab all packed.
Manssa woke up with a start. Thankfully, no one had come into the little room behind the nurses' station. She looked at her watch. It was ten-fifteen at night. She'd only been asleep for five or ten minutes.
Getting to her feet, she felt dizzy. Her head ached and she had the beginnings of a sore throat. She prayed that her symptoms were a product of exhaustion and not the beginnings of viral hemorrhagic fever.
It had been a busy evening. Four more cases had presented themselves in the ER, all complaining of severe headache, high fever and vomiting. One already had hemorrhagic signs. The patients were all family members of the previous victims, underlining the need for strict quarantine. The virus was already into the third generation. Marissa had prepared viral samples and had them shipped to Atlanta by an overnight carrier.
Recognizing that she was at the limit of her strength, Marissa decided to go back to her motel. She was just leaving when the floor nurse said Dr. Richter's wife was able to see her. Realizing it would be cruel to put her off, Marissa met her in the visitors' lounge. Anna Richter, a well-dressed, attractive woman in her late thirties, did her best to fill in her husband's schedule over the past two weeks, but she was desperately upset, not just alarmed about her husband but fearful for their two young children as well. Marissa was reluctant to press her for too much detail. Mrs. Richter promised to provide a more complete chronology the next day. Marissa walked her to the doctor's BMW. Then she found her own car and drove to the Tropic Motel where she fell directly into bed.
3
January 22
ARRIVING AT THE CLINIC the next morning, Marissa was surprised to see a number of TV trucks pulled up to the hospital entrance, with their transmission antennae raised against the morning sky. When she tried to enter through the parking garage, she was stopped by a policeman and had to show her CDC identification.
"Quarantine," the policeman explained, and told her to enter the clinic through the main hospital entrance where the TV trucks were located.
Marissa obeyed, wondering what had been happening during the six-plus hours she'd been away. TV cables snaked their way along the floor to the conference room, and she was amazed at the level of activity in the main corridor. Spotting Dr. Navarre, she asked him what was going on.
"Your people have scheduled a news conference," he explained. His face was haggard and unshaven, and it seemed obvious he had not been to bed. He took a newspaper from under his arm and showed it to Marissa: A NEW AIDS EPIDEMIC, shouted
Returning to the fifth floor, Marissa ran into Dr. Navarre. He looked as tired as Marissa felt. "Dr. Richter's condition is deteriorating," he said. "He's bleeding from everywhere: injection sites, gums, CI tract. He's on the brink of kidney failure, and his blood pressure is way down. The interferon we gave him had no effect whatsoever, and none of us knows what else to try."
"What about Helen Townsend?" asked Marissa.
"She's worse, too," said Dr. Navarre. "She's also starting to bleed." He sat down heavily.
Marissa hesitated for a minute and then reached for the phone. She placed another collect call to Atlanta, hoping Dubchek was already on his way. Unfortunately, he wasn't. He came on the line.
"Things are pretty bad here," reported Marissa. "Two patients are experiencing significant hemorrhagic symptoms. Clinically, it is looking more and more like viral hemorrhagic fever, and no one knows what to do for these people."
"There's little that can be done," said Dubchek. "They can try heparinization. Otherwise, supportive therapy-that's about it. When we make a specific diagnosis we may be able to use hyperimmune serum, if it is available. On that track, we've already got your samples, and Tad has begun processing them."
"When will you be coming?" asked Marissa.
"Shortly," said Dubchek. "We've got the Vickers Mobile Isolation Lab all packed.
Manssa woke up with a start. Thankfully, no one had come into the little room behind the nurses' station. She looked at her watch. It was ten-fifteen at night. She'd only been asleep for five or ten minutes.
Getting to her feet, she felt dizzy. Her head ached and she had the beginnings of a sore throat. She prayed that her symptoms were a product of exhaustion and not the beginnings of viral hemorrhagic fever.
It had been a busy evening. Four more cases had presented themselves in the ER, all complaining of severe headache, high fever and vomiting. One already had hemorrhagic signs. The patients were all family members of the previous victims, underlining the need for strict quarantine. The virus was already into the third generation. Marissa had prepared viral samples and had them shipped to Atlanta by an overnight carrier.
Recognizing that she was at the limit of her strength, Marissa decided to go back to her motel. She was just leaving when the floor nurse said Dr. Richter's wife was able to see her. Realizing it would be cruel to put her off, Marissa met her in the visitors' lounge. Anna Richter, a well-dressed, attractive woman in her late thirties, did her best to fill in her husband's schedule over the past two weeks, but she was desperately upset, not just alarmed about her husband but fearful for their two young children as well. Marissa was reluctant to press her for too much detail. Mrs. Richter promised to provide a more complete chronology the next day. Marissa walked her to the doctor's BMW. Then she found her own car and drove to the Tropic Motel where she fell directly into bed.
3
January 22
ARRIVING AT THE CLINIC the next morning, Marissa was surprised to see a number of TV trucks pulled up to the hospital entrance, with their transmission antennae raised against the morning sky. When she tried to enter through the parking garage, she was stopped by a policeman and had to show her CDC identification.
"Quarantine," the policeman explained, and told her to enter the clinic through the main hospital entrance where the TV trucks were located.
Marissa obeyed, wondering what had been happening during the six-plus hours she'd been away. TV cables snaked their way along the floor to the conference room, and she was amazed at the level of activity in the main corridor. Spotting Dr. Navarre, she asked him what was going on.
"Your people have scheduled a news conference," he explained. His face was haggard and unshaven, and it seemed obvious he had not been to bed. He took a newspaper from under his arm and showed it to Marissa: A NEW AIDS EPIDEMIC, shouted
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