genetically consistent—meaning an experiment conducted on a white rat in Miami can be easily replicated in Munich using the same species. We inject these creatures with experimental drugs that alter their DNA. We expose our rats to high doses of radiation to give them cancer so we can try to cure them. We’re severing their spinal cords to cause paralysis in an attempt to repair the damage. This is only a Phase I protocol, meaning we’re still learning. Do you know how many rats suffer and die during a Phase I protocol, Mr. Wilson? The answer, so far, is all of them. These rats are our soldiers in the medical field, so if I were you I’d reevaluate your position on these noble creatures. Thanks to their sacrifice we’re on the verge of a major breakthrough.”
“Sorry. But how can you claim to be close to a major breakthrough if the patients keep dying?”
“Come with me and I’ll show you.”
She led us out the two exit doors and back into the main corridor to the next lab, labeled BSL3-B. We entered the anteroom, which was lit only by a purple interior light. The lab on the other side of the door appeared to be dark.
“Rats are nocturnal,” Dr. Kamrowski explained. “The labs are kept on rotating light shifts to simulate day and night. We handle the subjects in the light when they’re more docile. But it’s in the dark where we see the full effects of the drug. Stage 1 is the initial phase of the injection where the subject’s biology begins assimilating the shark stem cells. Stage 2 is the miracle—the bursting of cancer cells . . . the healing of the spinal cord. Wherever the damage exists, the stem cells seek it out and aggressively affect repairs. Stage 3 is the side effects. Anya, you’ve never seen a Stage 3 response, have you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Stage 3 occurs when the stem cells attempt to correct what they construe as deviations in the human genome. Weak spots are targeted and genetically altered. Before we go in, let me remind each of you that you’ve signed releases which prohibit the disclosure of anything you’re about to see. If you feel you cannot abide by that agreement, then wait outside in the corridor.”
Anya nodded. “I want to see.”
“Me, too.”
Dr. Kamrowski reached into a cardboard box on a shelf and removed three pairs of night vision glasses. “Put these on and follow me.”
The night glasses illuminated the darkness into an olive-green world. I watched in fascination as Kamrowski pushed open the lab door—unleashing a burst of air and the tortured squeals of rodents. The sound was unnerving—had Anya not been by my side squeezing my hand I would have surely spun around and retreated. I prayed she could not hear the trickling gurgle of my catheter bottle filling—my bladder’s response ruining our first moment of physical contact.
Dr. Kamrowski led us to the first row of rat habitats, their tags labeled in green glow pen as Stage 1, dated two days ago. The white rats’ eyes glowed luminescent-gray as they lay on their sides in obvious distress, panting heavily. A few habitats were labeled Hodgkin’s lymphoma; other rows included various tumor-based cancers. The last row was for those rats suffering from induced paralysis—their spinal cords severed at a point that impaired their hind quarters.
Now I understood what Nadja Kamrowski meant when she called these miserable creatures noble. They had been bred to be sacrificed, and the thought of that brought a lump to my throat.
After a few minutes we made our way to the Stage 2 habitats—each cage containing an invigorated, healthy white rat. Coming to a cage labeled Paralysis, I found myself mesmerized, my heart pounding with adrenaline at the sight of a rodent who had regained the use of its hind legs—jubilant at its own renewed sense of freedom.
The terrifying sounds coming from the next set of habitats were almost too unnerving to investigate.
“Oh . . . God.” Anya’s nails dug into my palm
“Sorry. But how can you claim to be close to a major breakthrough if the patients keep dying?”
“Come with me and I’ll show you.”
She led us out the two exit doors and back into the main corridor to the next lab, labeled BSL3-B. We entered the anteroom, which was lit only by a purple interior light. The lab on the other side of the door appeared to be dark.
“Rats are nocturnal,” Dr. Kamrowski explained. “The labs are kept on rotating light shifts to simulate day and night. We handle the subjects in the light when they’re more docile. But it’s in the dark where we see the full effects of the drug. Stage 1 is the initial phase of the injection where the subject’s biology begins assimilating the shark stem cells. Stage 2 is the miracle—the bursting of cancer cells . . . the healing of the spinal cord. Wherever the damage exists, the stem cells seek it out and aggressively affect repairs. Stage 3 is the side effects. Anya, you’ve never seen a Stage 3 response, have you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Stage 3 occurs when the stem cells attempt to correct what they construe as deviations in the human genome. Weak spots are targeted and genetically altered. Before we go in, let me remind each of you that you’ve signed releases which prohibit the disclosure of anything you’re about to see. If you feel you cannot abide by that agreement, then wait outside in the corridor.”
Anya nodded. “I want to see.”
“Me, too.”
Dr. Kamrowski reached into a cardboard box on a shelf and removed three pairs of night vision glasses. “Put these on and follow me.”
The night glasses illuminated the darkness into an olive-green world. I watched in fascination as Kamrowski pushed open the lab door—unleashing a burst of air and the tortured squeals of rodents. The sound was unnerving—had Anya not been by my side squeezing my hand I would have surely spun around and retreated. I prayed she could not hear the trickling gurgle of my catheter bottle filling—my bladder’s response ruining our first moment of physical contact.
Dr. Kamrowski led us to the first row of rat habitats, their tags labeled in green glow pen as Stage 1, dated two days ago. The white rats’ eyes glowed luminescent-gray as they lay on their sides in obvious distress, panting heavily. A few habitats were labeled Hodgkin’s lymphoma; other rows included various tumor-based cancers. The last row was for those rats suffering from induced paralysis—their spinal cords severed at a point that impaired their hind quarters.
Now I understood what Nadja Kamrowski meant when she called these miserable creatures noble. They had been bred to be sacrificed, and the thought of that brought a lump to my throat.
After a few minutes we made our way to the Stage 2 habitats—each cage containing an invigorated, healthy white rat. Coming to a cage labeled Paralysis, I found myself mesmerized, my heart pounding with adrenaline at the sight of a rodent who had regained the use of its hind legs—jubilant at its own renewed sense of freedom.
The terrifying sounds coming from the next set of habitats were almost too unnerving to investigate.
“Oh . . . God.” Anya’s nails dug into my palm
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