The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pandemic, by Jesse Franklin Bone
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: Pandemic
Author: Jesse Franklin Bone
Illustrator: Barberis
Release Date: August 6, 2008 [EBook #26206]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PANDEMIC ***
Produced by Greg Weeks, Dave Lovelace, Stephen Blundell
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
https://www.pgdp.net
_PANDEMIC_
_BY J. F. BONE_
_Generally,
human beings don't do
totally useless things
consistently and widely.
So--maybe there is
something to it--_
"We call it Thurston's Disease for two perfectly good reasons," Dr.
Walter Kramer said. "He discovered it--and he was the first to die of
it." The doctor fumbled fruitlessly through the pockets of his lab coat.
"Now where the devil did I put those matches?"
"Are these what you're looking for?" the trim blonde in the gray
seersucker uniform asked. She picked a small box of wooden safety
matches from the littered lab table beside her and handed them to him.
"Ah," Kramer said. "Thanks. Things have a habit of getting lost around
here."
"I can believe that," she said as she eyed the frenzied disorder around
her. Her boss wasn't much better than his laboratory, she decided as she
watched him strike a match against the side of the box and apply the
flame to the charred bowl of his pipe. His long dark face became half
obscured behind a cloud of bluish smoke as he puffed furiously. He
looked like a lean untidy devil recently escaped from hell with his
thick brows, green eyes and lank black hair highlighted intermittently
by the leaping flame of the match. He certainly didn't look like a
pathologist. She wondered if she was going to like working with him, and
shook her head imperceptibly. Possibly, but not probably. It might be
difficult being cooped up here with him day after day. Well, she could
always quit if things got too tough. At least there was that
consolation.
He draped his lean body across a lab stool and leaned his elbows on
its back. There was a faint smile on his face as he eyed her
quizzically. "You're new," he said. "Not just to this lab but to the
Institute."
[Illustration: ILLUSTRATED BY BARBERIS]
She nodded. "I am, but how did you know?"
"Thurston's Disease. Everyone in the Institute knows that name for the
plague, but few outsiders do." He smiled sardonically. "Virus pneumonic
plague--that's a better term for public use. After all, what good does
it do to advertise a doctor's stupidity?"
She eyed him curiously. "_De mortuis?_" she asked.
He nodded. "That's about it. We may condemn our own, but we don't like
laymen doing it. And besides, Thurston had good intentions. He never
dreamed this would happen."
"The road to hell, so I hear, is paved with good intentions."
"Undoubtedly," Kramer said dryly. "Incidentally, did you apply for this
job or were you assigned?"
"I applied."
"Someone should have warned you I dislike clichés," he said. He paused a
moment and eyed her curiously. "Just why did you apply?" he asked. "Why
are you imprisoning yourself in a sealed laboratory which you won't
leave as long as you work here. You know, of course, what the conditions
are. Unless you resign or are carried out feet first you will remain
here ... have you considered what such an imprisonment means?"
"I considered it," she said, "and it doesn't make any difference. I
have no ties outside and I thought I could help. I've had training. I
was a nurse before I was married."
"Divorced?"
"Widowed."
Kramer nodded. There were plenty of widows and widowers outside. Too
many. But it wasn't much worse than in the Institute where, despite
precautions, Thurston's disease took its toll of life.
"Did they tell you this place is called the suicide section?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Weren't you frightened?"
"Of dying? Hardly. Too many people are doing it nowadays."
He grimaced, looking more satanic than ever. "You have a point," he
admitted, "but it isn't a good one. Young people should be afraid of
dying."
"You're not."
"I'm not young. I'm thirty-five, and besides, this is my business. I've
been looking at death for eleven years. I'm immune."
"I haven't your experience," she admitted, "but I have your attitude."
"What's your name?" Kramer said.
"Barton, Mary Barton."
"Hm-m-m. Well, Mary--I can't turn you down. I need you. But I could wish
you had taken some other job."
"I'll survive."
He looked at her with faint admiration in his greenish eyes. "Perhaps
you will," he said. "All right. As to your duties--you will be my
assistant, which means you'll be a dishwasher, laboratory technician,
secretary, junior pathologist, and coffee maker. I'll help you with all
the jobs except the last one. I make lousy coffee." Kramer grinned, his
teeth a white flash across the darkness of his face. "You'll be on call
twenty-four hours a day, underpaid, overworked, and in constant danger
until we lick Thurston's virus. You'll be expected to handle the jobs of
three people unless I can get more help--and I doubt that I can. People
stay away from here in droves. There's no future in it."
Mary smiled wryly. "Literally or figuratively?" she asked.
He chuckled. "You have a nice sense of graveyard humor," he said. "It'll
help. But don't get careless. Assistants are hard to find."
She shook her head. "I won't. While I'm not afraid of dying I don't want
to do it. And I have no illusions about the danger. I was briefed quite
thoroughly."
"They wanted you to work upstairs?"
She nodded.
* * * * *
"I suppose they need help, too. Thurston's Disease has riddled the
medical profession. Just don't forget that this place can be a death
trap. One mistake and you've had it. Naturally, we take every
precaution, but with a virus no protection is absolute. If you're
careless and make errors in procedure, sooner or later one of those
submicroscopic protein molecules will get into your system."
"You're still alive."
"So I am," Kramer said, "but I don't take chances. My predecessor, my
secretary, my lab technician, my junior pathologist, and my dishwasher
all died of Thurston's Disease." He eyed her grimly. "Still want the
job?" he asked.
"I lost a husband and a three-year old son," Mary said with equal
grimness. "That's why I'm here. I want to destroy the thing that killed
my family. I want to do something. I want to be useful."
He nodded. "I think you can be," he said quietly.
"Mind if I smoke?" she asked. "I need some defense against that pipe of
yours."
"No--go ahead. Out here it's all right, but not in the security
section."
Mary took a package of cigarettes from her pocket, lit one and blew a
cloud of gray smoke to mingle with the blue haze from Kramer's pipe.
"Comfortable?" Kramer asked.
She nodded.
He looked at his wrist watch. "We have half an hour before the roll tube
cultures are ready for examination. That should be enough to tell you
about the modern Pasteur and his mutant virus. Since your duties will
primarily involve Thurston's Disease, you'd better know something about
it." He settled himself more comfortably across the lab bench and went
on talking in a dry schoolmasterish voice. "Alan Thurston was an
immunologist at Midwestern University Medical School. Like most men in
the teaching trade, he also had a research project. If it worked out,
he'd be one of the great names in medicine; like Jenner, Pasteur, and
Salk. The result was that he pushed it and wasn't too careful. He wanted
to be famous."
"He's well known now," Mary said, "at least within the profession."
"Quite," Kramer said dryly. "He was working with gamma radiations on
microorganisms, trying to produce a mutated strain of _Micrococcus
pyogenes_ that would have enhanced antigenic properties."
"Wait a minute, doctor. It's been four years since I was active in
nursing. Translation, please."
Kramer chuckled. "He was trying to make a vaccine out of a common
infectious organism. You may know it better as _Staphylococcus_. As you
know, it's a pus former that's made hospital life more dangerous than it
should be because it develops resistance to antibiotics. What Thurston
wanted to do was to produce a strain that would stimulate resistance in
the patient without causing disease--something that would help patients
protect themselves rather than rely upon doubtfully effective
antibiotics."
"That wasn't a bad idea."
"There was nothing wrong with it. The only trouble was that he wound up
with something else entirely. He was like the man who wanted to make a
plastic suitable for children's toys and ended up with a new explosive.
You see, what Thurston didn't realize was that his cultures were
contaminated. He'd secured them from the University Clinic and had, so
he thought, isolated them. But somehow he'd brought a virus
along--probably one of the orphan group or possibly a phage."
"Orphan?"
"Yes--one that was not a normal inhabitant of human tissues. At any rate
there was a virus--and he mutated it rather than the bacteria. Actually,
it was simple enough, relatively speaking, since a virus is infinitely
simpler in structure than a bacterium, and hence much easier to modify
with ionizing radiation. So he didn't produce an antigen--he produced a
disease instead. Naturally, he contracted it, and during the period
between his infection and death he managed to infect the entire
hospital. Before anyone realized what they were dealing with, the
disease jumped from the hospital to the college, and from the college to
the city, and from the city to--"
"Yes, I know that part of it. It's all over the world now--killing
people by the millions."
* * * * *
"Well," Kramer said, "at least it's solved the population explosion." He
blew a cloud of blue smoke in Mary's direction. "And it did make
Thurston famous. His name won't be quickly forgotten."
She coughed. "I doubt if it ever will be," she said, "but it won't be
remembered the way he intended."
He looked at her suspiciously. "That cough--"
"No, it's not Thurston's Disease. It's that pipe. It's rancid."
"It helps me think," Kramer said.
"You could try cigarettes--or candy," she suggested.
"I'd rather smoke a pipe."
"There's cancer of the lip and tongue," she said helpfully.
"Don't quote Ochsner. I don't agree with him. And besides, you smoke
cigarettes, which are infinitely worse."
"Only four or five a day. I don't saturate my system with nicotine."
"In another generation," Kramer observed, "you'd have run through the
streets of the city brandishing an ax smashing saloons. You're a lineal
descendent of Carrie Nation." He puffed quietly until his head was
surrounded by a nimbus of smoke. "Stop trying to reform me," he added.
"You haven't been here long enough."
"Not even God could do that, according to the reports I've heard," she
said.
He laughed. "I suppose my reputation gets around."
"It does. You're an opinionated slave driver, a bully, an intellectual
tyrant, and the best pathologist in this center."
"The last part of that sentence makes up for unflattering honesty of the
first," Kramer said. "At any rate, once we realized the situation we
went to work to correct it. Institutes like this were established
everywhere the disease appeared for the sole purpose of examining,
treating, and experimenting with the hope of finding a cure. This
section exists for the evaluation of treatment. We check the human
cases, and the primates in the experimental laboratories. It is our
duty to find out if anything the boys upstairs try shows any promise. We
were a pretty big section once, but Thurston's virus has whittled us
down. Right now there is just you and me. But there's still enough work
to keep us busy. The experiments are still going on, and there are still
human cases, even though the virus has killed off most of the
susceptibles. We've evaluated over a thousand different drugs and
treatments in this Institute alone."
"And none of them have worked?"
"No--but that doesn't mean the work's been useless. The research has
saved others thousands of man hours chasing false leads. In this
business negative results are almost as important as positive ones. We
may never discover the solution, but our work will keep others from
making the same mistakes."
"I never thought of it that way."
"People seldom do. But if you realize that this is international, that
every worker on Thurston's Disease has a niche to fill, the picture will
be clearer. We're doing our part inside the plan. Others are, too. And
there are thousands of labs involved. Somewhere, someone will find the
answer. It probably won't be us, but we'll help get the problem solved
as quickly as possible. That's the important thing. It's the biggest
challenge the race has ever faced--and the most important. It's a
question of survival." Kramer's voice was sober. "We have to solve this.
If Thurston's Disease isn't checked, the human race will become
extinct. As a result, for the first time in history all mankind is
working together."
"All? You mean the Communists are, too?"
"Of course. What's an ideology if there are no people to follow it?"
Kramer knocked the ashes out of his pipe, looked at the laboratory clock
and shrugged. "Ten minutes more," he said, "and these tubes will be
ready. Keep an eye on that clock and let me know. Meantime you can
straighten up this lab and find out where things are. I'll be in the
office checking the progress reports." He turned abruptly away, leaving
her standing in the middle of the cluttered laboratory.
"Now what am I supposed to do here?" Mary wondered aloud. "Clean up, he
says. Find out where things are, he says. Get acquainted with the place,
he says. I could spend a month doing that." She looked at the littered
bench, the wall cabinets with sliding doors half open, the jars of
reagents sitting on the sink, the drainboard, on top of the refrigerator
and on the floor. The disorder was appalling. "How he ever manages to
work in here is beyond me. I suppose that I'd better start
somewhere--perhaps I can get these bottles in some sort of order first."
She sighed and moved toward the wall cabinets. "Oh well," she mused, "I
asked for this."
* * * * *
"Didn't you hear that buzzer?" Kramer asked.
"Was that for me?" Mary said, looking up from a pile of bottles and
glassware she was sorting.
"Partly. It means they've sent us another post-mortem from upstairs."
"What is it?"
"I don't know--man or monkey, it makes no difference. Whatever it is,
it's Thurston's Disease. Come along. You might as well see what goes on
in our ultra modern necropsy suite."
"I'd like to." She put down the bottle she was holding and followed him
to a green door at the rear of the laboratory.
"Inside," Kramer said, "you will find a small anteroom, a shower, and a
dressing room. Strip, shower, and put on a clean set of lab coveralls
and slippers which you will find in the dressing room. You'll find
surgical masks in the wall cabinet beside the lockers. Go through the
door beyond the dressing room and wait for me there. I'll give you ten
minutes."
* * * * *
"We do this both ways," Kramer said as he joined her in the narrow hall
beyond the dressing room. "We'll reverse the process going out."
"You certainly carry security to a maximum," she said through the mask
that covered the lower part of her face.
"You haven't seen anything yet," he said as he opened a door in the
hall. "Note the positive air pressure," he said. "Theoretically nothing
can get in here except what we bring with us. And we try not to bring
anything." He stood aside to show her the glassed-in cubicle overhanging
a bare room dominated by a polished steel post-mortem table that
glittered in the harsh fluorescent lighting. Above the table a number of
jointed rods and clamps hung from the ceiling. A low metal door and
series of racks containing instruments and glassware were set into the
opposite wall together with the gaping circular orifice of an open
autoclave.
"We work by remote control, just like they do at the AEC. See those
handlers?" He pointed to the control console set into a small stainless
steel table standing beside the sheet of glass at the far end of the
cubicle. "They're connected to those gadgets up there." He indicated the
jointed arms hanging over the autopsy table in the room beyond. "I could
perform a major operation from here and never touch the patient. Using
these I can do anything I could in person with the difference that
there's a quarter inch of glass between me and my work. I have controls
that let me use magnifiers, and even do microdissection, if necessary."
"Where's the cadaver?" Mary asked.
"Across the room, behind that door," he said, waving at the low, sliding
metal partition behind the table. "It's been prepped, decontaminated and
ready to go."
"What happens when you're through?"
"Watch." Dr. Kramer pressed a button on the console in front of him. A
section of flooring slid aside and the table tipped. "The cadaver slides
off that table and through that hole. Down below is a highly efficient
crematorium."
Mary shivered. "Neat and effective," she said shakily.
"After that the whole room is sprayed with germicide and sterilized with
live steam. The instruments go into the autoclave, and thirty minutes
later we're ready for another post-mortem."
"We use the handlers to put specimens into those jars," he said,
pointing to a row of capped glass jars of assorted sizes on a wall rack
behind the table. "After they're capped, the jars go onto that carrier
beside the table. From here they pass through a decontamination chamber
and into the remote-control laboratory across the hall where we can run
biochemical and histological techniques. Finished slides and mounted
specimens then go through another decontamination process to the outside
lab. Theoretically, this place is proof against anything."
"It seems to be," Mary said, obviously impressed. "I've never seen
anything so elegant."
"Neither did I until Thurston's Disease became a problem." Kramer
shrugged and sat down behind the controls. "Watch, now," he said as he
pressed a button. "Let's see what's on deck--man or monkey. Want to make
a bet? I'll give you two to one it's a monkey."
She shook her head.
* * * * *
The low door slid aside and a steel carriage emerged into the necropsy
room bearing the nude body of a man. The corpse gleamed pallidly under
the harsh shadowless glare of the fluorescents in the ceiling as Kramer,
using the handlers, rolled it onto the post-mortem table and clamped it
in place on its back. He pushed another button and the carriage moved
back into the wall and the steel door slid shut. "That'll be
decontaminated," he said, "and sent back upstairs for another body. I'd
have lost," he remarked idly. "Lately the posts have been running three
to one in favor of monkeys."
[Illustration]
He moved a handler and picked up a heavy scalpel from the instrument
rack. "There's a certain advantage to this," he said as he moved the
handler delicately. "These gadgets give a tremendous mechanical
advantage. I can cut right through small bones and cartilage without
using a saw."
"How nice," Mary said. "I expect you enjoy yourself."
"I couldn't ask for better equipment," he replied noncommittally. With
deft motion of the handler he drew the scalpel down across the chest
and along the costal margins in the classic inverted "Y" incision.
"We'll take a look at the thorax first," he said, as he used the
handlers to pry open the rib cage and expose the thoracic viscera. "Ah!
Thought so! See that?" He pointed with a small handler that carried a
probe. "Look at those lungs." He swung a viewer into place so Mary could
see better. "Look at those abscesses and necrosis. It's Thurston's
Disease, all right, with secondary bacterial invasion."
The grayish solidified masses of tissue looked nothing like the normal
pink appearance of healthy lungs. Studded with yellowish spherical
abscesses they lay swollen and engorged within the gaping cavity of the
chest.
"You know the pathogenesis of Thurston's Disease?" Kramer asked.
Mary shook her head, her face yellowish-white in the glare of the
fluorescents.
"It begins with a bronchial cough," Kramer said. "The virus attacks the
bronchioles first, destroys them, and passes into the deeper tissues of
the lungs. As with most virus diseases there is a transitory
leukopenia--a drop in the total number of white blood cells--and a rise
in temperature of about two or three degrees. As the virus attacks the
alveolar structures, the temperature rises and the white blood cell
count becomes elevated. The lungs become inflamed and painful. There is
a considerable quantity of lymphoid exudate and pleural effusion.
Secondary invaders and pus-forming bacteria follow the viral destruction
of the lung tissue and form abscesses. Breathing becomes progressively
more difficult as more lung tissue is destroyed. Hepatization and
necrosis inactivate more lung tissue as the bacteria get in their dirty
work, and finally the patient suffocates."
"But what if the bacteria are controlled by antibiotics?"
"Then the virus does the job. It produces atelectasis followed by
progressive necrosis of lung tissue with gradual liquefaction of the
parenchyma. It's slower, but just as fatal. This fellow was lucky. He
apparently stayed out of here until he was almost dead. Probably he's
had the disease for about a week. If he'd have come in early, we could
have kept him alive for maybe a month. The end, however, would have been
the same."
"It's a terrible thing," Mary said faintly.
"You'll get used to it. We get one or two every day." He shrugged.
"There's nothing here that's interesting," he said as he released the
clamps and tilted the table. For what seemed to Mary an interminable
time, the cadaver clung to the polished steel. Then abruptly it slid off
the shining surface and disappeared through the square hole in the
floor. "We'll clean up now," Kramer said as he placed the instruments in
the autoclave, closed the door and locked it, and pressed three buttons
on the console.
From jets embedded in the walls a fine spray filled the room with fog.
"Germicide," Kramer said. "Later there'll be steam. That's all for
now. Do you want to go?"
Mary nodded.
"If you feel a little rocky there's a bottle of Scotch in my desk. I'll
split a drink with you when we get out of here."
"Thanks," Mary said. "I think I could use one."
* * * * *
"Barton! Where is the MacNeal stain!" Kramer's voice came from the lab.
"I left it on the sink and it's gone!"
"It's with the other blood stains and reagents. Second drawer from the
right in the big cabinet. There's a label on the drawer," Mary called
from the office. "If you can wait until I finish filing these papers,
I'll come in and help you."
"I wish you would," Kramer's voice was faintly exasperated. "Ever since
you've organized my lab I can't find anything."
"You just have a disorderly mind," Mary said, as she slipped the last
paper into its proper folder and closed the file. "I'll be with you in a
minute."
"I don't dare lose you," Kramer said as Mary came into the lab. "You've
made yourself indispensable. It'd take me six months to undo what you've
done in one. Not that I mind," he amended, "but I was used to things the
way they were." He looked around the orderly laboratory with a mixture
of pride and annoyance. "Things are so neat they're almost painful."
"You look more like a pathologist should," Mary said as she deftly
removed the tray of blood slides from in front of him and began to run
the stains. "It's my job to keep you free to think."
"Whose brilliant idea is that? Yours?"
"No--the Director's. He told me what my duties were when I came here.
And I think he's right. You should be using your brain rather than
fooling around with blood stains and sectioning tissues."
"But I like to do things like that," Kramer protested. "It's relaxing."
"What right have you to relax," Mary said. "Outside, people are dying by
the thousands and you want to relax. Have you looked at the latest
mortality reports?"
"No--"
"You should. The WHO estimates that nearly two billion people have died
since Thurston's Disease first appeared in epidemic proportions. That's
two out of three. And more are dying every day. Yet you want to relax."
"I know," Kramer said, "but what can we do about it. We're working but
we're getting no results."
"You might use that brain of yours," Mary said bitterly. "You're
supposed to be a scientist. You have facts. Can't you put them
together?"
"I don't know." He shrugged, "I've been working on this problem longer
than you think. I come down here at night--"
"I know. I clean up after you."
"I haven't gotten anywhere. Sure, we can isolate the virus. It grows
nicely on monkey lung cells. But that doesn't help. The thing has no
apparent antigenicity. It parasitizes, but it doesn't trigger any immune
reaction. We can kill it, but the strength of the germicide is too great
for living tissue to tolerate."
"Some people seem to be immune."
"Sure they do--but why?"
"Don't ask me. I'm not the scientist."
"Play like one," Kramer growled. "Here are the facts. The disease
attacks people of all races and ages. So far every one who is attacked
dies. Adult Europeans and Americans appear to be somewhat more resistant
than others on a population basis. Somewhere around sixty per cent of
them are still alive, but it's wiped out better than eighty per cent of
some groups. Children get it worse. Right now I doubt if one per cent of
the children born during the past ten years are still alive."
"It's awful!" Mary said.
"It's worse than that. It's extinction. Without kids the race will die
out." Kramer rubbed his forehead.
"Have you any ideas?"
"Children have less resistance," Kramer replied. "An adult gets exposed
to a number of diseases to which he builds an immunity. Possibly one of
these has a cross immunity against Thurston's virus."
"Then why don't you work on that line?" Mary asked.
"Just what do you think I've been doing? That idea was put out months
ago, and everyone has been taking a crack at it. There are twenty-four
laboratories working full time on that facet and God knows how many more
working part time like we are. I've screened a dozen common diseases,
including the six varieties of the common cold virus. All, incidentally,
were negative."
"Well--are you going to keep on with it?"
"I have to." Kramer rubbed his eyes. "It won't let me sleep. I'm sure
we're on the right track. Something an adult gets gives him resistance
or immunity." He shrugged. "Tell you what. You run those bloods out and
I'll go take another look at the data." He reached into his lab coat and
produced a pipe. "I'll give it another try."
"Sometimes I wish you'd read without puffing on that thing," Mary said.
"Your delicate nose will be the death of me yet--" Kramer said.
"It's my lungs I'm worried about," Mary said. "They'll probably look
like two pieces of well-tanned leather if I associate with you for
another year."
"Stop complaining. You've gotten me to wear clean lab coats. Be
satisfied with a limited victory," Kramer said absently, his eyes
staring unseeingly at a row of reagent bottles on the bench. Abruptly he
nodded. "Fantastic," he muttered, "but it's worth a check." He left the
room, slamming the door behind him in his hurry.
* * * * *
"That man!" Mary murmured. "He'd drive a saint out of his mind. If I
wasn't so fond of him I'd quit. If anyone told me I'd fall in love
with a pathologist, I'd have said they were crazy. I wish--" Whatever
the wish was, it wasn't uttered. Mary gasped and coughed rackingly.
Carefully she moved back from the bench, opened a drawer and found a
thermometer. She put it in her mouth. Then she drew a drop of blood from
her forefinger and filled a red and white cell pipette, and made a smear
of the remainder.
She was interrupted by another spasm of coughing, but she waited until
the paroxysm passed and went methodically back to her self-appointed
task. She had done this many times before. It was routine procedure to
check on anything that might be Thurston's Disease. A cold, a sore
throat, a slight difficulty in breathing--all demanded the diagnostic
check. It was as much a habit as breathing. This was probably the result
of that cold she'd gotten last week, but there was nothing like being
sure. Now let's see--temperature 99.5 degrees, red cell count 4-1/2
million. White cell count ... oh! 2500 ... leukopenia! The differential
showed a virtual absence of polymorphs, lymphocytes and monocytes. The
whole slide didn't have two hundred. Eosinophils and basophils way
up--twenty and fifteen per cent respectively--a relative rise rather
than an absolute one--leukopenia, no doubt about it.
She shrugged. There wasn't much question. She had Thurston's Disease. It
was the beginning stages, the harsh cough, the slight temperature, the
leukopenia. Pretty soon her white cell count would begin to rise, but
it would rise too late. In fact, it was already too late. It's funny,
she thought. I'm going to die, but it doesn't frighten me. In fact, the
only thing that bothers me is that poor Walter is going to have a
terrible time finding things. But I can't put this place the way it was.
I couldn't hope to.
She shook her head, slid gingerly off the lab stool and went to the hall
door. She'd better check in at the clinic, she thought. There was bed
space in the hospital now. Plenty of it. That hadn't been true a few
months ago but the only ones who were dying now were the newborn and an
occasional adult like herself. The epidemic had died out not because of
lack of virulence but because of lack of victims. The city outside, one
of the first affected, now had less than forty per cent of its people
left alive. It was a hollow shell of its former self. People walked its
streets and went through the motions of life. But they were not really
alive. The vital criteria were as necessary for a race as for an
individual. Growth, reproduction, irritability, metabolism--Mary smiled
wryly. Whoever had authored that hackneyed mnemonic that life was a
"grim" proposition never knew how right he was, particularly when one of
the criteria was missing.
The race couldn't reproduce. That was the true horror of Thurston's
Disease--not how it killed, but who it killed. No children played in the
parks and playgrounds. The schools were empty. No babies were pushed in
carriages or taken on tours through the supermarkets in shopping
carts. No advertisements of motherhood, or children, or children's
things were in the newspapers or magazines. They were forbidden
subjects--too dangerously emotional to touch. Laughter and shrill young
voices had vanished from the earth to be replaced by the drab grayness
of silence and waiting. Death had laid cold hands upon the hearts of
mankind and the survivors were frozen to numbness.
* * * * *
It was odd, she thought, how wrong the prophets were. When Thurston's
Disease broke into the news there were frightened predictions of the end
of civilization. But they had not materialized. There were no mass
insurrections, no rioting, no organized violence. Individual excesses,
yes--but nothing of a group nature. What little panic there was at the
beginning disappeared once people realized that there was no place to
go. And a grim passivity had settled upon the survivors. Civilization
did not break down. It endured. The mechanics remained intact. People
had to do something even if it was only routine counterfeit of normal
life--the stiff upper lip in the face of disaster.
It would have been far more odd, Mary decided, if mankind had given way
to panic. Humanity had survived other plagues nearly as terrible as
this--and racial memory is long. The same grim patience of the past was
here in the present. Man would somehow survive, and civilization go
on.
It was inconceivable that mankind would become extinct. The whole vast
resources and pooled intelligence of surviving humanity were focused
upon Thurston's Disease. And the disease would yield. Humanity waited
with childlike confidence for the miracle that would save it. And the
miracle would happen, Mary knew it with a calm certainty as she stood in
the cross corridor at the end of the hall, looking down the thirty yards
of tile that separated her from the elevator that would carry her up to
the clinic and oblivion. It might be too late for her, but not for the
race. Nature had tried unaided to destroy man before--and had failed.
And her unholy alliance with man's genius would also fail.
She wondered as she walked down the corridor if the others who had
sickened and died felt as she did. She speculated with grim amusement
whether Walter Kramer would be as impersonal as he was with the others,
when he performed the post-mortem on her body. She shivered at the
thought of that bare sterile room and the shining table. Death was not a
pretty thing. But she could meet it with resignation if not with
courage. She had already seen too much for it to have any meaning. She
did not falter as she placed a finger on the elevator button.
Poor Walter--she sighed. Sometimes it was harder to be among the living.
It was good that she didn't let him know how she felt. She had sensed a
change in him recently. His friendly impersonality had become merely
friendly. It could, with a little encouragement, have developed into
something else. But it wouldn't now. She sighed again. His hardness had
been a tower of strength. And his bitter gallows humor had furnished a
wry relief to grim reality. It had been nice to work with him. She
wondered if he would miss her. Her lips curled in a faint smile. He
would, if only for the trouble he would have in making chaos out of the
order she had created. Why couldn't that elevator hurry?
* * * * *
"Mary! Where are you going?" Kramer's voice was in her ears, and his
hand was on her shoulder.
"Don't touch me!"
"Why not?" His voice was curiously different. Younger, excited.
"I have Thurston's Disease," she said.
He didn't let go. "Are you sure?"
"The presumptive tests were positive."
"Initial stages?"
She nodded. "I had the first coughing attack a few minutes ago."
He pulled her away from the elevator door that suddenly slid open. "You
were going to that death trap upstairs," he said.
"Where else can I go?"
"With me," he said. "I think I can help you."
"How? Have you found a cure for the virus?"
"I think so. At least it's a better possibility than the things they're
using up there." His voice was urgent. "And to think I might never
have seen it if you hadn't put me on the track."
"Are you sure you're right?"
"Not absolutely, but the facts fit. The theory's good."
"Then I'm going to the clinic. I can't risk infecting you. I'm a carrier
now. I can kill you, and you're too important to die."
"You don't know how wrong you are," Kramer said.
"Let go of me!"
"No--you're coming back!"
She twisted in his grasp. "Let me go!" she sobbed and broke into a fit
of coughing worse than before.
"What I was trying to say," Dr. Kramer said into the silence that
followed, "is that if you have Thurston's Disease, you've been a carrier
for at least two weeks. If I am going to get it, your going away can't
help. And if I'm not, I'm not."
"Do you come willingly or shall I knock you unconscious and drag you
back?" Kramer asked.
She looked at his face. It was grimmer than she had ever seen it before.
Numbly she let him lead her back to the laboratory.
* * * * *
"But, Walter--I can't. That's sixty in the past ten hours!" she
protested.
"Take it," he said grimly, "then take another. And inhale. Deeply."
"But they make me dizzy."
"Better dizzy than dead. And, by the way--how's your chest?"
"Better. There's no pain now. But the cough is worse."
"It should be."
"Why?"
"You've never smoked enough to get a cigarette cough," he said.
She shook her head dizzily. "You're so right," she said.
"And that's what nearly killed you," he finished triumphantly.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm certain. Naturally, I can't prove it--yet. But that's just a matter
of time. Your response just about clinches it. Take a look at the
records. Who gets this disease? Youngsters--with nearly one hundred per
cent morbidity and one hundred per cent mortality. Adults--less than
fifty per cent morbidity--and again one hundred per cent mortality. What
makes the other fifty per cent immune? Your crack about leather lungs
started me thinking--so I fed the data cards into the computer and keyed
them for smoking versus incidence. And I found that not one heavy smoker
had died of Thurston's Disease. Light smokers and nonsmokers--plenty of
them--but not one single nicotine addict. And there were over ten
thousand randomized cards in that spot check. And there's the exact
reverse of that classic experiment the lung cancer boys used to sell
their case. Among certain religious groups which prohibit smoking there
was nearly one hundred per cent mortality of all ages!
"And so I thought since the disease was just starting in you, perhaps I
could stop it if I loaded you with tobacco smoke. And it works!"
"You're not certain yet," Mary said. "I might not have had the
disease."
"You had the symptoms. And there's virus in your sputum."
"Yes, but--"
"But, nothing! I've passed the word--and the boys in the other labs
figure that there's merit in it. We're going to call it Barton's Therapy
in your honor. It's going to cause a minor social revolution. A lot of
laws are going to have to be rewritten. I can see where it's going to be
illegal for children not to smoke. Funny, isn't it?
"I've contacted the maternity ward. They have three babies still alive
upstairs. We get all the newborn in this town, or didn't you know.
Funny, isn't it, how we still try to reproduce. They're rigging a smoke
chamber for the kids. The head nurse is screaming like a wounded tiger,
but she'll feel better with live babies to care for. The only bad thing
I can see is that it may cut down on her chain smoking. She's been
worried a lot about infant mortality.
"And speaking of nurseries--that reminds me. I wanted to ask you
something."
"Yes?"
"Will you marry me? I've wanted to ask you before, but I didn't dare.
Now I think you owe me something--your life. And I'd like to take care
of it from now on."
"Of course I will," Mary said. "And I have reasons, too. If I marry you,
you can't possibly do that silly thing you plan."
"What thing?"
"Naming the treatment Barton's. It'll have to be Kramer's."
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _Analog Science Fact and Science
Fiction_ February 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any
evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without
note.
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pandemic, by Jesse Franklin Bone
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PANDEMIC ***
***** This file should be named 26206-8.txt or 26206-8.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
https://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/2/0/26206/
Produced by Greg Weeks, Dave Lovelace, Stephen Blundell
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
https://www.pgdp.net
Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.
Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.
*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
https://gutenberg.org/license).
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an
individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check
the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked
to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or
distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
that
- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is
owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments
must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License. You must require such a user to return or
destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
Project Gutenberg-tm works.
- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
of receipt of the work.
- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the
Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy
is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at
809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
[email protected]. Email contact links and up to date contact
information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
page at https://pglaf.org
For additional contact information:
Dr. Gregory B. Newby
Chief Executive and Director
[email protected]
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To
SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
particular state visit https://pglaf.org
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
https://www.gutenberg.org
This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
