Plague Ship (9 page)

thirteen

From the foot of
the b
ed in the captain’s quarters, David watched Rutherford transfer command of his ship to the first officer, Jonathan Locke. It was being done in an orderly, prescribed manner, despite the dire co
nsequences. Rutherford was a sea captain to the very end, David thought, the man obviously more concerned about the ship and its crew and passengers than himself.

“So follow these instructions and you will get the
Grand Atlantic
home safe,” Rutherford was saying. He paused to raise his head off the pillow and cough before continuing on. “You are to depend on Dr. Ballineau for all medical matters. His word, which comes directly from the CDC, will be law. Understood?”

“Aye, sir,” Locke said obediently.

“And be particularly wary of Mr. Scott,” Rutherford warned. “He’s rebellious and rambunctious and, if there is to be a mutiny, he will lead it.”

“I’ll watch him and hopefully be able to reason with him.”

“Good luck,” David murmured to himself, thinking that Scott would intimidate Locke and push him aside in the blink of an eye. The first officer was a thin, quiet man, middle-aged, who wore horn-rimmed glasses and looked more like a college professor than a sea captain. His appearance would not engender confidence among the passengers.

“And always stick to your seafaring instincts,” Rutherford
instructed. “No matter what, stick to those instincts. They will serve you well.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Finally,” Rutherford concluded as he lay back on his pillow, now totally exhausted, “you will bury me at sea.”

“But, sir,” Locke argued mildly, “you may pull through.”

“Not very likely,” Rutherford said, accepting his fate. “Remember, at sea, wrapped in a simple cloth.”

David and Locke left the captain’s quarters and headed down a long passageway that led to the bridge. The corridor was clear except for two masked crewmen washing down the walls and doors with disinfectant. A third deckhand was on a ladder mopping the ceiling and ventilation ducts.

“Is it as hopeless as the captain says?” Locke inquired.

“I’m afraid so,” David said honestly.

“And what about burying the captain at sea?” Locke asked. “If his body is loaded with the virus, won’t it infect the ocean’s food chain?”

It was a good question, one that David hadn’t thought of. “I’ll pass it by the CDC.”

And what about Will Harrison and the others who are sure to die?
David asked himself.
If they can’t be buried at sea, where could the bodies be stored to prevent them from contaminating the entire ship? Perhaps in the food freezers. No! No! Then the food would become—

“I’m concerned about Richard Scott,” Locke broke into David’s thoughts. “How should I deal with him?”

“You don’t have to for now,” David said. “He’ll wait to see if the infection spreads to the whole ship or is limited to just a few.”

“What if is spreads?”

“Then you’ll have your hands full,” David replied. “And, in all likelihood, Scott will encourage the others to take over the ship.”

“We do have firearms, you know,” Locke said, lowering his voice.

“And how many do you think you’ll have to shoot to put down a mutiny?” David asked. “One? Five? Maybe ten?”

Locke sighed to himself and slowly nodded. “I see your point.”

The men walked through a door and entered the bridge. The three officers at their duty stations straightened their postures, all aware that Locke was now in commend of the ship. But their expressions and eyes told David that, to a man, every one of them wished that Rutherford was still at the helm. Not that it really mattered, David thought darkly. Because, regardless of who was captain, the luxury liner would stay at sea, isolated and quarantined, until the virus problem was solved or everyone aboard was dead.

Locke called out to the officer piloting the
Grand Atlantic
, “Have we passed the outer reaches of the storm?”

“We’ll be clear within the hour, sir,” came the reply.

“Steady as you go, then.”

Locke led the way out to the narrow deck at the front of the bridge. The air was still so heavy with moisture that the plants around them were dripping wet. David gazed out at the gray, gloomy sky, then down to the expansive deck beneath them. It was deserted and eerily quiet. There were no strollers or joggers or anyone relaxing in lounge chairs. The passengers were frightened, all staying in their cabins away from others who might infect them.

“I feel like I’m captain of a ghost ship,” Locke remarked.

More like a plague ship
, David started to say, but held his tongue.

“How long will they remain in their cabins?” Locke wondered aloud.

“Until they know for sure whether the virus is spreading.”

“And then?”

“And then, those who are sick will stay in their cabins because they have no choice, and those who aren’t will take over the
Grand Atlantic
and try to jump ship.”

Locke looked at David oddly. “But we’re surrounded by a thousand miles of open sea.”

David pointed to the lifeboats that hung along the sides of the ship. “They’ll use those.”

“But they’ll never make shore.”

“Desperate men do desperate things.”

The door to the bridge opened, and an officer stuck his head out. “Excuse me, sir, but Dr. Ballineau is needed urgently in the sick bay.”

David hurried through the bridge and down the passageway to a waiting elevator. The door was open, the elevator deserted except for a deckhand mopping the interior with disinfectant. David motioned the man out and stepped in, then pushed the button for the G level. He was convinced that the washed-down elevator would be less contaminated with the virus than the staircase, which was being used by virtually all passengers because they feared being crowded into a small space with infected people. And their fear was justified, David thought miserably. The high-filtration N-95 masks and Tamiflu were supposed to protect them, but it was now clear that those measures had limited effect at best.

The elevator jerked to a stop and David quickly exited. The passageway was empty except for two people sitting in chairs outside the sick bay. They were an elderly couple dressed in Ohio State warmup outfits. Both looked sick and were coughing up bloody sputum. Neither was wearing a mask.

“Where are your masks?” David asked brusquely.

“We couldn’t keep them on,” the man answered in a hoarse voice. “They were filling up with phlegm and we couldn’t breathe through them.”

“We’ll get you new masks,” David said and wondered how many other people the maskless couple had infected.

The inside of the sick bay looked like an emergency room with mass casualties. A dozen or more people were slumped down in chairs or sprawled out on the floor, all coughing harshly through their blood-stained masks. Two were having shaking chills and had wrapped themselves in woolen blankets. David stepped over a portly man who was lying on his side and gasping for air. It was Sol Wyman. A woman near the wall called out and pleaded for help.

David held up a hand in a gesture of
I’ll be with you in a minute
, and entered the examining room. Off to his left he saw a scene of overwhelming grief, and it tore at his heart. Marilyn Wyman was sobbing uncon
trollably as she rested her head on the chest of her dead son. Will’s face was now pale, and one could see his freckled cheeks, which, along with
his tousled hair, made him look like a sleeping little boy. David choked for a moment, then swallowed back his sadness. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Carolyn, who was finishing a phone call, and walked over.

“When did Will die?” he asked.

“About ten minutes ago,” Carolyn whispered, then lowered her voice even more. “Marilyn won’t allow us to cover the boy.”

“Let him stay the way he is,” David said and thought about the terrible grief a parent must feel when they lose a child. It had to be beyond unbearable. “We’ll move the body to her cabin later.”

Carolyn nodded. “And it won’t matter to her or Sol because they’ve both got the disease.”

David nodded back and tried to come up with the logistics of moving the dead boy. It would have to be done on a gurney late at night when everyone was asleep. They’d use an elevator programmed to only stop at the level where Marilyn’s cabin was located. And they’d leave the boy’s head uncovered, for Marilyn’s sake.

The phone rang.

Carolyn answered it and quickly put the caller on hold. “This is spreading like wildfire, David. I’ve already spoken to at least a dozen passengers with the disease, and the calls keep coming.”

The phone rang again and Carolyn ignored it. “How should we handle it?”

David thought for a moment before giving specific instructions. One thing was certain. The sick bay could not accommodate those who were already sick or those who were about to become sick. “Have everybody return to their rooms, even if you have to use wheelchairs and gurneys. For those who call in, get their room numbers and tell them to stay put. Somebody from the medical staff will come by to see them.”

“What about medications?”

“Tylenol or Motrin for fever.”

“And their coughs?”

“There’s nothing we can do for that.”

Carolyn glanced over her shoulder at the coughing patients. Half had their masks up or off, so they could breathe. “They’re taking their masks off because the damn things are filling up with bloody sputum.”

“Then give them new masks.”

“Our supply is running low.”

“I’ll get more,” David said and quickly looked around the sick bay. “Where’s Maggio?”

“Still asleep, I guess.”

“Wake him up,” David directed, then asked, “What about Karen?”

“I tried her room, but there was no answer.”

“And Steiner?”

“He’s with his wife,” Carolyn replied. “She has asthma and is coughing her guts out. He’s not sure if it’s asthma or the avian flu.”

“Shit!”

“Yeah.”

David snapped his fingers suddenly as a thought came to mind. “What about the other ship’s doctor and his nurse-wife? You know, the ones who were so seasick.”

“Now they’re both sick as hell with the bird flu,” Carolyn reported. “His wife is already turning cyanotic.”

“Shit!” David said again, even louder. “This is turning into a full-blown nightmare.”

“And it’s going to get worse,” Carolyn added.

“Hold the fort,” David said, turning for the door. “I’ll be back.”

Before leaving, David stopped by the examining table that held Will Harrison’s body. He gently patted Marilyn’s shoulder and waited for her to look up, then said, “You stay with Will. I’ll return in a little while to be with you.”

Marilyn nodded, and placed her head back on Will’s chest and began sobbing again.

David hurried out of the sick bay and down the passageway, zooming by more people on their way to the medical facility. Quickly he estimated how many passengers had come down with avian influenza. At least three dozen, he decided, which meant the virus now had an ever-increasing reservoir to thrive and multiply in. The air would soon become so thick with the killer virus that there’d be no escaping it.

As he reached the bank of elevators, the door suddenly opened and Karen Kellerman stepped out.

“David! Thank goodness!” She reached out and grabbed his arm. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

“For what?” David asked quickly.

“Your daughter,” Karen said and, winded, paused to swallow and catch her breath.

“What about her?” David cried out, instantly alarmed. He grasped Karen’s shoulders and shook her. “What about Kit?”

“She’s really frightened,” Karen went on. “She thinks Juanita has the bird flu.”

“Oh Christ!” David groaned.

“Kit ran into me in the passageway and begged me to look at Juanita,” Karen told him. “Apparently she couldn’t find you, and all the phone lines to the sick bay were busy.”

David waited for his heart to stop racing. He was still rattled by just the thought that Kit might be ill with the deadly disease.
Thank Goodness Karen was there when she was needed
, he told himself. And Kit knew she could turn to Karen for medical help. They had become friends when he and Karen were lovers. Good friends. Kit was so disappointed when the two broke up. Despite repeated questions from Kit, David never told his daughter the real reason why the couple had split apart. He saw no need to. Finally David asked, “Did you examine Juanita?”

Karen nodded. “She’s sick, but I’m not certain it’s the bird flu. There are conflicting signs. She has a cough, but fever is low-grade and she’s had no chills.”

“It sounds viral, though.”

“But that doesn’t make it bird flu.”

“Chances are it is,” David said glumly, recalling that he had given the nanny Motrin for her recurring headaches. And that drug, like all the anti-inflammatory agents, could suppress the early symptoms of flu. Even bird flu.
Shit!
His mind turned quickly to Kit, who had been in almost constant close contact with Juanita. “Where is Kit now?” he asked in a rush.

“I thought it best to put her in my room.”

“Good.”

“You should examine Juanita to see if she really has bird flu,” Karen suggested.

“I will shortly,” David said. “But there is something very important I must do first.”

“What?”

“Find out if there’s any way to treat her,” David said and hurried into the elevator.

fourteen

There was a prolonged
silence on the phone line connecting the
Grand Atlantic
with the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta. David and Karen stared at the speakerphone and waited for a response.

“They’re in a real quandary,” Karen whispered in David’s ear. “They’ve never encountered anything like this.”

“Nor has anyone else,” David whispered back.

They were sitting in a small communications room that was adjacent to the bridge. Except for an oval, teak table and chairs, the windowless room was unadorned, with no ornaments or special electronics other than a flashing green light atop the phone that indicated the line was secure. The room was designed to be private and used only for extraordinary circumstances.

Suddenly a burst of static came over the speakerphone. In the background, they could hear isolated words, which sounded like
isolation
and
quarantine
. This was followed by a chorus of muttered, unintelligible phrases.

Karen asked quietly, “Do you think they’re trying to come up with ways to get us ashore?”

David shook his head. “More likely they’re devising plans to keep us out in the middle of the ocean.”

“Can you imagine the public outcry if they learned the CDC was doing that to us?” Karen paused to swallow back her growing fear. “It would be like an execution order for everyone aboard this ship.”

David shrugged. “The public won’t be that upset. It would be a choice of their survival or ours. Which do you think they’d choose?”

Karen rested her head on David’s shoulder and said, “I’m getting scared out of my wits.”

“Welcome to the club.”

“You’re really not frightened, are you?” She glanced up at his face and studied it briefly. “How come you never show fear?”

“It’s a genetic defect.”

A faint smile came to Karen’s face, then faded. “Did they teach you how to do that in Special Forces?”

“I guess,” David answered, but he knew the trick wasn’t to mask fear, but rather to push it into a side compartment of your brain and ignore it and not let it interfere with the task at hand. You can shake and scream later. Or have flashbacks. He felt Karen nestling her head against him, her warm breath brushing by his ear. For a moment, it caused him to shiver pleasantly. He peered over to Karen, with her gorgeous face and slim body, and again realized there would always be a part of him that was attracted to her. There was no getting around that. But, like fear, he would push the feeling into a side compartment of his brain and ignore it.

Lawrence Lindberg’s voice came over the speakerphone. “Dr. Ballineau, I’m sorry about the delay, but we’re trying to develop a plan that will save as many passengers on the ship as possible yet keep the virus from spreading to the mainland. I think you can appreciate the difficulties we’re facing.”

“Concern yourself with saving the lives of the passengers,” David said bluntly. “The virus can’t reach land as long as we’re at sea.”

“Your point is well taken,” Lindberg said. “And of course our primary focus will be on the passengers aboard the
Grand Atlantic
.”

Bullshit!
David thought, but remained silent.

“First, there are a number of questions we still have,” Lindberg went on. “And we need specific answers. If you don’t know, say so.”

“Get on with it,” David growled impatiently.

“Are you certain the sick passengers took their Tamiflu capsules?”

“I’m certain the captain of the ship did,” David replied. “I asked him specifically, and, to be sure, I checked his blister pack of Tamiflu. The correct number of capsules were missing. And the little boy who died was started on the drug within twenty-four hours of his initial symptoms.”

“What about the others?”

“I’ll have to ask them,” David said. “But I’ll bet they did because they’re really frightened. They’re facing death and they know it.”

“Please check for us.”

“I will.”

“And keep in mind that Tamiflu is not a cure,” Lindberg continued on. “In most patients it will only make their illness somewhat shorter and less severe. Now that may not seem like much, but it could make the difference between life and death.”

“What about other antiviral agents if the virus proves to be resistant to Tamiflu?” David asked, glancing down at a list of questions he had for the experts at the CDC.

“The virus is being tested against a variety of such agents, including Relenza, Ribavirin, and M2 ion channel blockers,” Lindberg said. “Hopefully, the virus won’t show resistance to these as well.”

“And if it does?”

“Then our problem becomes magnified a hundredfold.”

David and Karen exchanged knowing glances. The prospects for their survival were looking dimmer and dimmer.

“But even in that case, it is still possible to avoid the disease,” Lindberg went on. “The N-95 masks can be very protective. They’re not perfect, but they will be your best chance to keep the virus at bay.”

David leaned toward the speakerphone, bothered by Lindberg’s phrase
They’re not perfect
. “When we talked initially, I was told the N-95 masks offered excellent protection. Has something happened to change that?”

“Not really. The masks are quite good, but not perfect.”

“Define ‘quite good,’” David pressed.

“In the best-controlled study from China, the masks protected 75 percent of the individuals exposed to the influenza virus.”

“Were they exposed to the high concentration of virus that the passengers aboard the
Grand Atlantic
will encounter?”

There was a long pause before Lindberg answered, “Probably not.”

David groaned inwardly. The N-95 masks weren’t working nearly as well as he had hoped. With a sky-high concentration of avian flu virus in the air, the infection rate on the ship could easily surpass 50 percent. That would amount to over four hundred very sick patients.
Shit!

“Ballineau? Are you still there?”

“Still here,” David said, coming out of his reverie. “Are you finished with your questions?”

“Yes.”

“Good, because I’ve got a lot of things to discuss with you.” David again glanced down at the list he’d prepared earlier. “First, we need more N-95 masks. The passengers are taking them off because the filters become clogged and they can’t breathe through them.”

“Oh, no!” Lindberg raised his voice. “They must keep them on at all times!”

“Have you ever tried to breathe through a mask that’s filled with bloody sputum?”

“I’ll see that you’re supplied ASAP.”

“Next, we’ve already had one death, and there are surely more to follow. We should keep them isolated so they don’t serve as a reservoir that continually contaminates the ship. Unfortunately, we don’t have a satisfactory storage area, and burial at sea doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

“No burials at sea!” Lindberg demanded sharply.

“That’s what I figured,” David said. “Do you think it could infect the ocean’s food chain?”

“Perhaps,” Lindberg told him. “But an equally terrifying prospect is that migratory birds might see the floating bodies and decide to feed on them. Then we’d have infected birds flying to all the continents.”

David shuddered at the thought of infected birds traveling up and down the great flyways of North and South America. The birds would represent the perfect way to start and perpetuate a worldwide pandemic. And, as long as there were birds, the disease would persist. A nightmare! A nightmare come true!

David refocused his mind on solving the body problem. “The safest way to deal with the dead is to place them in body bags, which you’ll have to supply us with.”

“Done.”

David’s eyes went to the last item on his list. “And finally, I’ve set up a quasi-isolation plan for the ship, which consists of the following. All infected passengers will stay in their rooms and have food and medicines delivered to them. The others will be told to avoid any gatherings or crowds and wear their N-95 masks at all times.”

“How will you keep an accurate record of those who are sick and should be confined to their rooms?”

“Let me think about that for a moment.”

“Take your time,” Lindberg said. “But also come up with a mechanism to alert everyone that a particular room has a sick person in it and will be heavily contaminated with the virus.”

David concentrated his mind for several seconds, then nodded to himself. “I’ll have the doors of the sick marked with a splash of red paint.”

“Kind of like Passover,” Lindberg remarked without humor.

David nodded again as he recalled the Jewish holiday of Passover, in which God punished Pharaoh by instructing the Angel of Death to kill the firstborn male of every Egyptian family. Those to be spared had their doors splashed with the blood from a lamb and would be passed over. But aboard the
Grand Atlantic
, the Angel of Death would be visiting those with a red mark on their door.

At length, David said, “And I have one final request. As you can imagine, the medical staff we have is already overwhelmed with the sick and dying. Besides myself, there’s only a nurse, a radiologist, an anesthesiologist, and the ship’s doctor who is old and a bit fragile. Add to that a poorly equipped sick bay, and you can see the problem we’re facing.”

“I guess there are some ways we could arrange for some ventilators and monitoring equipment to be delivered—”

“That won’t help!” David cut him off. “All the equipment in the world won’t help, because we don’t have the staff to set it all up and monitor the patients. From a clinical standpoint, only the nurse, the anesthesiologist, and I can look after the really sick patients. What we need is more medical personnel.”

There was a very long pause before Lindberg spoke. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible until we know whether the virus is sensitive to the agents we have available. For now, the only personnel who would be allowed to come aboard would have to be wearing Biosafety Level 4 outfits, which require space suits and an external oxygen supply. It simply can’t be done.”

“Yeah, I guess,” David said, making no effort to hide his disappointment.

“Let’s hope the virus responds to one of our antiviral agents,” Lindberg said tonelessly. “Until we know the results of our studies, you’ll have to get by on your own. We’ll of course be available 24/7 to help with any new problems.”

“Get back to us on those test results ASAP.”

“Will do.”

The phone line went silent. The light atop the speakerphone stopped flashing and turned from green to red.

Karen looked over to David and asked, “What do you think?”

“I think Lindberg just told us that we’re all dead.”