Lieutenant Colonel Johnson gave her a short briefing on procedures and then helped her lower the helmet over her head. The helmet was made of soft, flexible plastic. Johnson looked at her face, visible through the clear faceplate, to see how she was doing.
She closed an oiled Ziploc zipper across the suit’s chest. The zipper made a popping sound as it snapped shut, pop, pop, pop. The moment the space suit was closed, her faceplate fogged up. She reached over to a wall and pulled down a coiled yellow air hose and plugged it into her suit. Then came a roar of flowing air, and her suit bloated up, fat and hard, and a whiff of dry air clear away some tiny beads of sweat that had collected inside her faceplate.
Around the Institute, they say that you can’t predict who will panic inside a biological space unit. It happens now and then, mainly to inexperienced people. The moment the helmet does over their faces, their eyes begin to glitter with fear, they sweat, turn purple, claw at the suit, try to tear it open to get some fresh air, lose their balance and fall down on the floor, and they can start screaming or moaning inside the suit, which makes them sound as if they are suffocating in a closet.
After he had helped Nancy Jaax put on her space suit, and had looked into her eyes for signs of panic, Tony Johnson put on his own suit, and when he was closed up and ready, he handed her a pack of dissection tools. He seemed calm and collected. They turned and faced the stainless-steel door together. The door lead into an air lock and Level 4. The door was plastered with biohazard symbol and warning:
The international symbol for biohazard, which is pasted on doors at USAMRIID whenever they open through a major transition of zones, is a red trefoil that reminds me of a red trillium, or toadshade.
The Level 4 air lock is a gray area, a place where two worlds meet, where the hot zone touches the normal world. The gray area is neither hot nor cold. A place that is neither provably sterile nor known to be infective. At USAMRIID, toadshades bloom in the gray zones. Nancy took a breath and gathered her thoughts into stillness, using her martial-arts training to get her breathing under control. People performed all kinds of little rituals before they walked through that steel door. Some people crossed themselves. Others carried amulets or charms inside their space suits, even though it was technically against the rules to bring anything inside the suit except your body and the surgical scrubs. They hoped the amulets might help ward off the hot agent if there was a major break in their suit.
She unplugged her air hose and unlatched the steel door and entered an air lock, and Tony Johnson followed her. The air lock was made entirely of stainless steel, and it was lined with nozzles for spraying water and chemicals. This was the decon shower. Decon means “decontamination.” The door closed behind them. Nancy opened the far door of the air lock, and they crossed over to the hot side.
TOTAL IMMERSION
1983 September 26, 1330 Hours
They were standing in a narrow cinder-block corridor. Various rooms opened on either side. The hot zone was a maze. From the walls dangled yellow ar hoses. There was an alarm strobe light on the ceiling that would be triggered if the air system failed. The walls were painted with thick, gobby epoxy paint, and all the electrical outlets were plugged around the edges with a gooey material. This was to seal any cracks and holes, so that a hot agent could not escape by drifting through hollow electrical conduits. Nancy reached for an air hose and plugged it into her suit. She could not hear anything except the roar of air in her helmet. The air rumbled so loudly in their suits that they did not try to speak to each other.
She opened a metal cabinet. Blue light streamed out of it, and she removed a pair of yellow rubber boots. They reminded her of barn boots. She slid the soft feet of her space suit into the boots and glanced at Johnson and caught his eye. Ready for action, boss.
They unplugged their air hoses and proceeded down the hallway and entered the monkey room. It contained two banks of cages, positioned facing each other along opposite walls of the room. Jaax and Johnson replugged their hoses and peered into the cages. One bank of cages contained two isolated monkeys. They were the so-called control monkeys. They had not been infected with Ebola virus, and they were healthy.
As soon as the two Army officers appeared in space suits, the healthy monkeys went nuts. They rattled their cages and leaped around. Humans in space suits make monkeys nervous. They hooted and grunted—“Ooo! Ooo! Haw, wah, haw!” And they uttered a high-pitched squeaclass="underline" “Eek!”.
The monkeys moved to the front of their cages and shook the doors or leaped back and forth, whump, whump, whump, watching Jaax and Johnson the whole time, following them with their eyes, alert to everything. The cages had elaborated bolts on the doors to prevent fiddling by primate fingers. These monkeys were creative little boogers, she thought, and they were bored.
The other bank of cages was mostly quiet. This was the bank of Ebola cages. All the monkeys in these cages were infected with Ebola virus, and most of them were silent, passive and withdrawn, although one or two of them seemed queerly deranged. Their immune systems had failed or gone haywire. Most of the animals did not look very sick yet, but they did not display the alertness, the usual monkeys energy, the leaping and the cage rattling that you see in healthy monkeys, and most of them had not eaten their morning biscuits. They sat almost motionless in their cages, watching the two officers with expressionless faces.
They had been injected with the hottest strain of Ebola known to the world. It was the Mayinga strain of Ebola Zaire. This strain had come from a young woman named Mayinga N., who died of the virus on October 19, 1976. She was a nurse at a hospital in Zaire, and she had taken care of a Roman Catholic nun who died of Ebola. The nun had bled to death all over Nurse Mayinga, and then, a few days later, Nurse Mayinga had broken with Ebola and died. Some of Nurse Mayinga’s blood had ended up in the United States, and the strain of virus that had once lived in Nurse Mayinga’s blood now lived in small glass vials kept in superfreezers at the Institute, which were maintained at minus one hundred and sixty degrees Fahrenheit. The freezers were fitted with padlocks and alarms and were plastered with biohazard flowers and sealed with bands of sticky tape, because it seals cracks. It could be said that without sticky tape there would be no such thing as biocontainment.
Gene Johnson, the civilian scientist, had thawed a little bit of Nurse Mayinga’s frozened blood and had injected it into the monkeys. Then, as the monkeys became silk, he had treated them with a drug in hope that it would help them flight off the virus. The drug did not seem to be working.
Nancy Jaax and Tony Johnson inspected the monkeys, moving from cage to cage, until they found the two monkeys that had crashed and bled out. Those animals were hunched up, each in its own cage. They had bloody noses, and their eyes were half-open, glassy, and brilliant red, with dilated pupils. The monkeys showed no facial expression, not even pain or agony. The connective tissue under the skin had been destroyed by the virus, causing a subtle distortion of the face. Another reason for the strange faces was that the parts of the brain that control facial expression had also been destroyed. The masklike face, the red eyes, and the bloody nose were classic signs of Ebola that appear in all primates infected with the virus, both monkeys and humans. It hinted at a vicious combination of brain damage and soft-tissue destruction under the skin. The classic Ebola face made the monkeys look as if they had seem something beyond comprehensive. It was not a vision of heaven.