We spoke to another dozen or so men and women who knew or worked with Tom and Judy, and while we were getting a more clear and more fully formed picture of their work, we didn't learn much new about their heads.
Still, I thought this was a useful exercise — I like to fix in my mind the milieu of the deceased, and later I usually think of something bright to follow up on. Sometimes, just casual chats with friends, family, and colleagues will turn up a word or two that can lead to the solution. Sometimes.
Zollner explained, "Most of these viruses and bacteria cannot cross the species barrier. You could drink a test-tube-ful of foot-and-mouth disease virus and not get much more than an upset stomach, though a cow would die from a quantity that would fit on the head or a pin.
"Why?"
"Why? Because the genetic makeup of a virus has to be able to… well, mesh with a cell to infect it. Human cells do not mesh with FMD virus."
Beth said, "But there's some evidence that Mad Cow Disease has infected humans."
"Anything is possible. That's why we're careful." He added, "Bugs bite."
Actually, bugs suck.
We went into another brightly lit room, and Zollner said, "In here we work with parasites. The worst is the screwworm. We've found a clever way to control this disease. We have discovered that the male and female screwworms only mate once in their lives, so we sterilize millions of the males with gamma rays and drop them by plane over Central America. When the male mates with the female, no offspring result. Clever, yes?"
I had to ask, "But is the female screwworm fulfilled?"
"She must be," Zollner replied. "She never mates again."
Beth offered, "There's another way to look at that."
Zollner laughed. "Yes. There is a female point of view there."
The persiflage finished, we all took turns looking at screwworm larvae under a microscope. Disgusting.
And on we went, into laboratories, and into rooms where horrible microbes and parasites were grown and stored, and into all sorts of weird places whose purposes and functions I only dimly understood. I kept in mind that my friends, Tom and Judy, walked these corridors and entered many of these rooms and labs every day. And yet, they seemed not to be depressed or anxious about any of it. At least not so I noticed.
Finally, Dr. Z said, "That's all of Zone Three. Now, once again I must ask you if you want to go farther. Zone Four is the most contaminated of all the zones, more so, actually, than Zone Five. In Five, you are always in a biohazard suit and respirator, and everything is decontaminated often. In fact, there is a separate shower for Zone Five. But Zone Four is where you will see the animal pens, the sick and dying animals, and also the incinerator and the necropsy rooms, if you wish. So, though we are clinically dealing here with animal diseases only, there may be other pathogens in the ambient environment. He added, "That means germs in the air."
Max asked, "Do we get face masks?"
"If you wish." He looked around and said, "All right. Follow me."
We approached yet another red door, this one marked "Zone rour, with the biohazard symbol. Some clown had stuck a particuarly gruesome skull-and-crossbones decal on the door — the skull was cracked and a snake slithered out of the crack and threaded itself through one of the skull's eye sockets. Also, a spider was crawling out of the grinning mouth. In fact, Dr. Zollner said, "I believe Torn is responsible for that horrible thing. The Gordons added some levity to this place."
"Right." Until they died.
Our host opened the red door, and we found ourselves in a sort of anteroom. There was a metal cart in the small room on which was a box of latex gloves and a box of paper face masks. Dr. Z said, "For anyone who wishes."
This was sort of like saying parachutes or life vests are optional. I mean, either you need the damn things or you don't.
Zollner clarified his offer. "It's not mandatory. We're going to shower out after this anyway. I personally don't bother with gloves or masks. Too cumbersome. But you may feel better with them."
I had the distinct feeling he was daring us, as in, "I always take the shortcut through the cemetery, but if you'd rather walk the long way, that's okay with me. Wimp."
I said, "This place can't be any dirtier than my bathroom."
Dr. Zollner smiled. "Most probably a lot cleaner."
Apparently no one wanted to look like a pussy by practicing good prophylaxis, which is how little bugs get us in the end, so off we went, through the second red door, and found ourselves in the same kind of gray concrete corridor as in the rest of the biocontamment zones. The difference here was that the doors were wider, and each one had a big latching handle on it. Zollner explained, "These are airlock doors."
I noticed, too, that every door had a small window, and a clipboard hung from the wall beside each one.
Dr. Zollner took us to the closest door and said, "All these rooms are pens and all have viewing windows. What you see may upset you or make your lunch unsettled. So no one has to look." He examined the clipboard hanging on the concrete wall and said, "African equine fever… " He peeked through the viewing window and said, "This guy's not bad. Just a bit listless. Take a look."
We all took turns looking at the beautiful black horse in the enclosed, prison-like room. True enough, the horse looked okay, except now and then you could see him heave as if he were having trouble breathing.
Zollner explained, "All the animals in here have been challenged with a virus or bacteria."
"Challenged?" I asked. "Is that like infected?"
"Yes, we say challenged."
"Then what happens? They become less than well, then go into an involuntary nonbreathing mode?"
"Correct. They get sick and die. Sometimes, however, we sacrifice them. That means we kill them before the disease has run its full course." He added, "I think everyone who works here likes animals, which is why they are involved with this type of work. No one in this facility wants to see these creatures suffer, but if you ever saw millions of cattle infected with foot-and-mouth disease, you'd see why the sacrifice of a few dozen here is necessary." He put the chart back and said, "Come."
There was a great warren of these unhappy rooms, and we went from pen to pen where a variety of animals were in various stages of dying. At one pen, the cow saw us and walked unsteadily up to the door and looked at us looking at her. Dr. Zollner said, "This one is in bad shape. Advanced FMD — see how she walked? And look at those blisters on her mouth. She can't even eat at this stage because of the pain. The saliva looks like rope, it's so thick. This is a dreadful disease and an old enemy. There are accounts of this in ancient writings. As I said, this disease is highly contagious. An outbreak in France once spread to England on the wind across the Channel. It is one of the smallest viruses yet discovered, and it seems to be able to live dormant for long periods of time." He stayed silent a moment, then said, "Someday, something like this may mutate and begin infecting human hosts…"
By now, I think, we were all mentally and physically challenged, as Dr. Z might say. In other words, our minds were numb and our asses were dragging. Worse, though, our spirits were down, and if I had a soul, it would be troubled.
Finally I said to Dr. Zollner, "I don't know about anyone else, but I've seen enough."
Everyone seconded that.
I, however, had a last, stupid thought, and I said, "Can we see what the Gordons were working with? I mean, the simian Ebola?"
He shook his head. "That is Zone Five." He thought a minute, then said, "But I can show you a pig with African swine fever, which, like Ebola, is a hemorrhagic fever. Very similar."
He led the way to another corridor and stopped at a door numbered "1130." He examined the chart on the wall and said, "This one's in the final stages… the bleeding-out stage… he'll be gone by morning… if he goes before then, he'll be put in a cooler, then dissected first thing tomorrow, then incinerated. This is a very frightening disease that has nearly wiped out the swine population in parts of Africa. There is no known vaccine or treatment. As I say, it's a close cousin to Ebola…" He looked at me and motioned toward the viewing window. "Look."