The Oasis of Filth
Read The Oasis of Filth Online
Authors: Keith Soares
Bufflegoat Books
© Copyright 2013 Keith Soares. All rights reserved.
Second electronic edition 2.0, March 2014
ISBN 978-0-615-84520-3
Original publication date July 4, 2013
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Special thanks to my wife, Layla, for giving me the time and feedback to actually do this. Additional thanks to Jeff Yeatman for his copious notes on expanding this world, and to Susan Gd. G. Clutter for pointing out a rather indigestible error.
Edited by Christopher Durso.
Also from Keith Soares
☄
The Oasis of Filth
Part 1: The Oasis of Filth
Part 2: The Hopeless Pastures
Part 3: From Blood Reborn
The Fingers of the Colossus
(Ten Short Stories)
[Forthcoming]
“Noah, you have leprosy,” I said to the poor kid as he sat there, nervously sweating despite the coolness of the day. Noah Parker, just 14 years old. I wish I could have saved that poor kid. But more than that, I wish I had understood what I was looking at. He was the first one I ever saw. But obviously not the last.
Some people say, “How could you be so blind?” I tell them the truth. We weren’t blind. We saw everything. We just didn’t
understand
.
You know, as obvious as something might be, if you’ve never seen it before — never contemplated the possibility that something universally believed to be fiction might actually be true — then how can you possibly be prepared to accept it, even if it’s sitting in your own office, chewing gum, wearing a green and white Wildcats high school football jersey? Or at least that’s what I tell myself. After all this time, when you’ve seen the things that I have, if you don’t tell yourself something to keep going, you’ll just give up. I’m not quite ready for all that.
Not that I have much choice. Time is not on my side. Noah Parker got the bad news in my office almost 11 years ago. At the time, I was a 52-year-old family practice doctor in central Maryland. I made a good living, and most of the community looked up to me — the guy who made them feel better. Things change. Noah died 18 days later. It’s amazing what the mind can recall and what it can forget. Whatever tragedies I went through yesterday — and I’m sure there were some — are all but forgotten in the blur of repetition and the daily effort to keep moving on. But this I remember clearly: In the fall of 2013, Noah Parker walked into my office with a few skin lesions. He told me it started as one, and he ignored it — he couldn’t remember, but he thought it might have been from cutting himself while mowing the lawn. That specific lesion was tiny but looked ragged, like it had been torn or bitten. When the third lesion appeared, he was worried. He told his parents once he had six, and came to see me the next day.
I missed the forest, but I saw the trees. Leprosy. Before I went to medical school, I wanted to just go
somewhere
— get away. I knew the next several years of my life would be devoted to the singular cause of graduating and working toward my own practice. So before all that, I traveled to India for escape. My parents told me to be careful, watch out for this or that. For several years already, I’d been a solo backpacker, staying in tiny, rundown hostels every place I had visited, so I assured them that I could do it there, too. In India, with the seed of a medical education about to grow in my mind, I was confronted first hand with leprosy. Aimlessly backpacking, I stumbled across a leper colony, and curiosity took over. I talked to the one doctor I could find there. His English was excellent. He told me how they tickled the faces of young children to detect where they could no longer feel. He showed me what the skin lesions looked like. He told me the cycle of treatment; the isolation he said was required. I ended up looking into leprosy briefly during my freshman year. I learned, most importantly, that it had been cured. Nonetheless, some places like India kept alive the culture of the leper colony. I dug into it pretty deeply for a time. But like most random things, after a while the interest waned.
Then, here was this kid in my office. And it clicked: This looks
familiar
. I dug up information as fast as I could. But in the end, it was just instinct and experience. I know most doctors in the United States, even more experienced ones, would have totally missed it. But I knew: leprosy. When I told Noah, his eyes almost bugged out of his head. His parents were aghast. They blurted the obligatory comments. Was I
sure
? How was this
possible
? I told them that I could be wrong, but I’d seen it before, up close. And I told them that leprosy was completely curable. To me, the physician, that felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders; I could actually
do
something for this kid. Then I looked at his parents. They were shell-shocked. I might as well have told them their son was dying within the hour. The idea that their own flesh and blood had something so horrific as leprosy stunned them beyond words. Noah’s mother, who looked like she was clinging to her youth with every fiber, wearing tight jeans and a fashionable yellow top, seemed to age 15 years as she crumbled into her husband’s arms. Noah’s father, for that matter, had lost his normal ruddy complexion and jovial nature. His eyes glassed over, shining empty above his dark navy sport jacket and white shirt worn with no tie. I stared. Could I be wrong? Did I just send an entire family into a downward spiral on a whim? No, I got it right, I thought to myself. Noah had leprosy.
In the end, it didn’t really matter. Because what I missed were the other things. The flu-like symptoms, the anxiety. I was so proud of myself for being able to recognize leprosy that I completely missed it. The kid also had rabies.
Leprosy and rabies in one kid. What an unlucky bastard, right? Well, of course, you must be familiar with the story. But maybe you don’t know the details. It wasn’t just Noah. It was happening in lots of places, all over the world in fact. Again, were we blind? No. Nothing we believed prepared us for something to swoop in so quickly from so many places. It was like a coordinated attack, but there was no general, no army, no battlefield. Every soldier in this attack operated independently. The only cohesion came from the fact that it all happened at the same time. I was focused on the case of Noah, who was getting rapidly worse, with other symptoms I didn’t understand. It wasn’t until five days later, when Noah lashed out, that I realized my hubris had made me miss the signs.
That fifth day, Noah bit my nurse, Terry Rawlins, on the arm. Tore skin off in his madness. What the hell would make him do that? That’s when I realized this wasn’t just leprosy. After I’d sedated Noah, had him transferred to a hospital for round-the-clock care, and was done patching up Terry, I started to analyze the other symptoms I was seeing. But give me no credit. That night, I turned on the news just to take a mental break. And there I saw it. Doctors in Georgia had identified three cases of people with leprosy
and
rabies, and were reporting that somehow these conditions had become
intertwined
within the patients — like they happened together. It was such a medical mystery that it appeared at the end of the newscast — not a top story of concern, but an afterthought, to make the audience scratch their heads and have something bizarre to talk about over dinner.
I sat upright in my chair. That explained the other symptoms! Noah definitely had rabies, too. I dialed into the office and looked up his records, then called his parents. After the briefest of pleasantries, I asked, “Was Noah bitten by an animal recently, like a raccoon? Has he been to Georgia recently?” But the answer to both questions was no. Regardless, I told the parents how I believed Noah’s other symptoms may stem from rabies. They were incredulous. How could their son — their
own
son, living in America in the 21st century — have both leprosy
and
rabies? They must have thought I was a complete quack. But there was no time for that, rabies doesn’t wait. I called the hospital and spoke to Noah’s attending physician. He was skeptical. Even after I told him of the cases in Georgia, he found it hard to believe that there was any relation or truth to it.
It wasn’t until the next morning that the attending physician started to believe. Noah — fitful from a night of almost no sleep — tore into a rage and tried to break free of his straps, simply from the sight of an orderly bringing in water. Treatment was ordered. It was too late. Terry Rawlins went mad, too. She lasted seven weeks in restraints, with researchers focused on her 24 hours a day.
Soon after, reports came out of Maine, Arizona, Utah. Then from overseas. Patients were cropping up all over with a combination of leprosy and rabies. Doctors tried — unsuccessfully — to treat one or the other, to remove at least part of the problem. Nothing took. Lesions, fever, increasing anxiety, lack of sensation in nerve endings, flattened nose, thickening skin, dementia, rage. All the classic symptoms of leprosy and rabies, combined. And patients got worse, all of them. Restrained and fed through tubes, they could last a really long time, although many died horribly. Or were killed. Sometimes it was quick, like Noah Parker, but sometimes it went on for many, many months before the end.
They called the disease RL2013, a not-terribly-clever nod to rabies, leprosy, and the year of discovery. We mostly called it
the disease
, or just
it
. We still do. “Stay away from him, he’s got
it
,” or “That baby has
the disease
.” We called the infected by another name. Given the symptoms, the physical changes, the mental changes, the bloodlust. The fact that what they had was contagious as hell. These people — people you may have known, may have loved — became deformed, raging lunatics. They weren’t some sort of undead monster, they had no magical powers, and you could kill one as easy as you could kill anybody else. But it spread like wildfire, and God help you if one bit you: There was no cure. So despite our best attempts to rationalize the hell around us, we had to admit it was true.
Zombies walked among us. And they were winning.
