The Blood Artists
- Автор: Хоган Чак
- Год: 1998
- Язык: английский
- Год: William Morrow
- ISBN: 978-0-688-15622-0
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «The Blood Artists». Краткое содержание книги:
A glance at the chart confirmed this. Maryk could not explain Stephen’s rapid recovery and for that reason it troubled him. Stephen tried to relax as Maryk felt the underside of his jaw and worked his gloved hands along the neck in firm circular strokes. Maryk probed the lymph area around the muscle and felt nodules as hard as acorns.
He was close to Stephen’s face. “If you feel a cough coming,” Maryk said, “let me know.”
Stephen’s eyes were on the ceiling. “You gave me your blood, too.”
“Stop thanking me and raise your arms.”
Stephen raised his arms as high as he could and Maryk massaged his armpits. He felt marbles inside.
“Pain?”
“Not bad.”
Stephen was a poor liar. Maryk guided his arms back down to his lap and explored his chest through the thin gown. “How do you feel overall?”
“Tired. Better.”
“Better than you should be.”
“Only you would sound discouraged by that.”
The nurse appeared with her air hose trailing her along the ceiling track. “Anything else before I go, Doctor?”
Maryk and Stephen both turned to her and at the same time said: “No.”
Maryk paused in his examination. Stephen looked at him. The nurse waited awkwardly.
“Thank you,” Stephen said quietly.
Maryk said nothing. He resumed his examination as soon as the nurse went out.
He worked over the ribs where the gown clung to Stephen’s moist skin. “When are you going to tell me what happened?”
“Orangeburg,” Stephen said. “I was pulling blood—”
“We have an entire serology department for that.”
Maryk could feel the change in Stephen’s breathing and knew he should keep quiet. He would let Stephen talk it through.
“The second patient I saw. He flinched somehow as I withdrew the needle, nudged my arm. I stuck my palm. I went out and cleaned up, flushed out the wound. But when I returned, the bed was empty. The patient was gone.”
“Dead.”
“No. I don’t know. Just gone. I couldn’t find him anywhere, and no one knew anything about him. At first I thought I had imagined the whole thing. That was what I wanted to believe—”
He sucked in breath as Maryk probed his abdomen. “Pain here?” Maryk said.
“—Some.”
Maryk reached under the gown. “Hold on,” he said. Stephen’s right testicle was swollen and soft like a tomato too long on the stem. Maryk saw sweat appear on Stephen’s brow and upper lip. “More than ‘Some,’ ” Maryk said. He straightened and worked hand over hand along each hip and Stephen relaxed in degrees.
“Listen,” Stephen said. He was still regaining his breath. “I don’t think this was an accident.”
Maryk stopped and looked at him. “Those catatonics had been in a dead sleep for twenty years.”
“This patient was different. He was further along the syndrome than the others. He called me over by name. There was no way he could know that. And the way he was looking at me... afterward, I couldn’t get over the feeling that he had bumped me on purpose.”
It was classic physician denial. Maryk said, “Give me one good reason.”
Stephen gave up. “I don’t have a reason. Just a feeling.” He was quiet a while as Maryk continued his examination. He was studying Maryk. “No other cases?” he said. “I mean, in Amagansett?”
Maryk said, “None.”
“And Sixteen?” His voice was different. “The BDC?”
“Contained.”
Stephen was watching him and Maryk felt he was waiting for a more specific answer. “None?”
“There was one case.” Maryk felt tension in Stephen’s legs but kept moving. “Someone from in Public Affairs named Peri Fields.”
Stephen’s breathing shortened. Maryk concentrated on finishing his examination and worked attentively down each kneecap, lower leg, ankle, and foot. He moved to the counter and changed gloves and pulled on a surgeon’s mask and goggles. When he returned, Stephen had collected himself His red eyes were wet and he was swallowing.
Maryk asked him to open his mouth. Stephen held it open shakily. Through strings of bloody phlegm Maryk saw brown sores beneath Stephen’s tongue and along the insides of his gums. He moved to the eyes and thumbed up both lids. Each eyeball was suffused with blood.
“Sight?” he asked.
“Floaters,” said Stephen. He was trying to look at Maryk. “Normal otherwise.”
“Any hearing loss? Ringing in your ears?”
“A steady tone.”
Maryk removed his mask and goggles and set them down on the counter. He changed gloves again as he spoke.
“By all evidence, Stephen, you should not even be awake right now, never mind coherent. You should not be speaking. You should not be able to sit up in bed. You are getting too strong, too fast.”
“It’s known as ‘healing.’ ”
“It’s not. The virus is well entrenched in the lymphatic system. I’ve done all the blood work, I’ve looked at all the scans. Plainville has already colonized some of your organs. All I’ve done is stall the feeding frenzy, primarily in the brain. I don’t know how long that will hold.”
Stephen blinked and played at being strong. “All right,” he said. “When do you go back after it?”
“I don’t. Any more viral therapy and your immune system will collapse. You’d self-destruct, a road you are well along anyway. You’re doing better than I ever could have expected right now, but the revival of your strength can only be explained as a mirage. The virus is everywhere inside of you. The diagnosis remains the same.”
More primary emotions played upon the diminished palette of Stephen’s face. Fear. Then Dismay. His head and neck quivered until his bloodied eyes returned to search Maryk’s.
“You said yourself,” he said, “there were survivors.”
Maryk nodded. “One lives. A girl, ‘Milkmaid.’ She beat the infection at Plainville.”
“Over four years ago?”
“She’s fully recovered, and not only that, she’s immune. Her antibodies resist each Plainville mutation. That’s why I tracked her all this time. But the Plainville survivors were the exception; that treatment has not worked since. That’s why she is so vital to this effort. I’ve since saved others with her blood sera, but you understand the time factor involved. If you had turned yourself in to BioCon at Orangeburg, I could have helped you. But you bid it, you ran off to New York. By then it was too late.”
Stephen looked away and Maryk was quiet and let him stare. But Stephen’s eventual response was not what Maryk expected.
“I want to work again, Peter,” he said. He looked back at Maryk with eyes that were strong. “It’s been a few years — I know. But the equipment is already here for me.” Stephen motioned toward the animal room. “This virus is my virus now. No one else could work with it safely, not even you. Maybe I can find some chink in its armor.”
It was as though the long-dormant scientist part of Stephen had taken over. Maryk nodded to encourage Stephen’s pride. “Good,” he said.
“But I need to meet her. The survivor.”
Maryk realized that he meant the girl. “No,” he said. “That would not be a good idea.”
“I need to speak with her, Peter. That will give me some strength.”
“She’s just a girl,” Maryk said. “She has no special powers. No secret knowledge. Only her blood.”
Stephen’s grimace began to relax. His strength was fading. “Bring her to me,” he said. “And then I will help you.”
Stephen’s eyelids slipped over his eyes. His breathing slowed and Maryk waited by the gurney. Stephen’s eyes opened once more before sleep finally consumed him. “Peri,” he whispered. Then he succumbed.