“What if” she said, turning back to face Dr Khalil, “What if there was some local epidemic around here back when those kids were born? Something like rubella? That explains your birth defects, it explains why outsiders are free of them…”
“With the exact same symptoms in each? And what about their parents? The man in the shop? The woman at the news-stand?”
“Yeah” mumbled Carla. “It’s not a perfect fit, I admit.”
“Not really” agreed the medical examiner – not unkindly. He seemed to have something to add, but was hesitant, searching for the right words.
“Ah, look. Look. I did have an idea of my own – about how this syndrome might be explained. It’s probably ridiculous, but…”
He looked at Carla. She raised her eyebrows in mute encouragement.
“Well, I wondered if it might be atavism.”
“Atavism?”
“Yes. Well, the changes are so dramatic, and – syndactyly, changes in soft and hard tissue, cartilage growth, ichthyosis, tooth loss… maybe if the victims were exposed to some kind of agent – a chemical, or even a virus—”
“And it triggered dormant genes” finished Carla. “Caused point mutations, reactivated old DNA.”
“Exactly!” said Khalil, excitedly. “Ancient sequences that used to code for proteins that we don’t use any more! From way back in human evolution. Before we even were human, maybe before we even crawled up out of the sea. It is like the babies that, even today, sometimes are born with tails. Those genes are still in us, lying dormant. Of course, these genes would probably be older than that – but who can imagine all the scrap that clutters our genome?”
Carla was sceptical. “Well, atavism is obviously a known phenomenon. It’s… theoretically, it’s probably possible” she allowed. “But it’s wildly unlikely. The trouble is, we haven’t established any parameters. We don’t know how many cases we’re talking about, what time period they cover, or even exactly what the symptoms are. There’s no way to look for commonality between the cases until we’ve done that. We need data.”
“You might find that the residents are not very forthcoming with that information” cautioned Khalil.
“Well, we can get it from medical records, direct observation, whatever. It has to be the first step. What about the doctors here?”
“The nearest doctor’s office is in Newburyport. I spoke to her. She says that she’s never had an Innsmouth patient with these kind of features in her office. She knew what features I was talking about, but she’d always just assumed that there were a lot of ugly people in Innsmouth.”
Carla laughed, half-heartedly. “It would be really convenient if she was right.” She turned back out to sea, and sighed.
“Look, I don’t have the resources to do a full epidemiological investigation here. I don’t even know if the CDC as a whole does, as it doesn’t look as though lives are at immediate risk. All I can do is collect as much information as possible in the next few days and recommend further action.”
“I understand” said Dr Khalil, gravely. “Of course I will help you in any way I can.”
Carla glanced at him. “Can you get birth records from the local hospital? If you can go through those and find any details of abnormalities recorded by obstetricians, it would help to give us an idea of how many cases we’re dealing with. Start with the records of the four kids killed in the car crash.”
“I… can do that” allowed Khalil. “It might take a few days. I don’t think it will turn up much though.”
“Why not?”
“Well, it might. But I’ve not observed any young children carrying these symptoms. They’ve all been as old as the ones in the car, or older. Maybe the symptoms are only triggered by the onset of puberty.”
“Well, even if it only rules out a congenital defect, it still adds to the information we have. In the meantime, I’ll look around the town. Try and talk to anyone who looks like they have symptoms, see if they’ll open up.”
“You might find people here quite hostile to… strangers” warned the examiner.
“Doesn’t matter. If they don’t want to talk to me there’s not much I can do, but I should try. It might help us build up a list of the features of the disease, might even help us pinpoint other things they all have in common.”
Khalil looked at his watch. “I should go” he apologised. “I have a meeting at half past ten. I will start looking through birth records this afternoon though.”
“That’s OK.” Carla extended her hand and the medical examiner shook it. “Thankyou for coming to meet me. And for presenting such an… interesting problem.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Dr Edwards. I will speak to you again soon.” He turned to go, but paused and called over his shoulder. “And be careful, Dr Edwards.”
Carla watched him jog back across the road, turning the collars of his coat up against the stiffening breeze and the first spattering of rain. There was still nobody else around. She decided to walk further down the seafront, past the darkly decomposing warehouses.
One of them was in a far better state of repair than the others, with fresh cement cladding and glossy, PVC roofing membrane. It had no windows and only one visible door. A state-of-the-art security camera fixed to the eaves stared down expectantly at this point of entry. A large, though faint, wooden sign above the door declared the place to be home to the “Evangelical Order of David” – clearly the church group that Dr Khalil had mentioned. There were smaller words beneath in gaudily elaborate lettering. Carla had to cross the road to read them.
Carla recognised the line instantly, even without wanting to. Psalm 77. A favourite of her mother, who would recite it at breakfast time whenever the rent was due. Even as a child, Carla had found it rather a plaintive and obsequious verse.
She forced her mind back to the matter at hand. The makeshift church might be a good place to get information if she could find whoever was in charge – though there was no sound or sign of life at that moment. She considered trying the door but decided against it. It was early in the morning; there wasn’t likely to be anybody answering anyway.
With a final glance up at the security camera, Carla moved on. The rain had grown from a light drizzle to a steady shower and was growing in intensity every second. She quickened her pace and fished a knitted, woollen hat out of her coat pocket. Wearing it would probably do her hairstyle no more harm than the rain otherwise would. Even so, within a hundred paces the water had begun to soak through the wool. She resolved to look for shelter until the downpour passed.
The rough-looking bar on the corner had not been open when she passed it with Dr Khalil, so there seemed little point in heading back to it now. Nor was there any obvious refuge ahead of her. There was, however, a collapsed warehouse to her left. The ground was cluttered with broken bricks and chunks of mortar that had not been cleared, but fifty or sixty feet of graffiti-garnished wall was still intact, and in the far corner a remnant of the ground-floor ceiling still offered the prospect of shelter.
Carla picked her way warily through the wreckage of the wall that had abutted the road, and trotted gingerly through the debris field beyond. It was only when she reached the far corner that she noticed the child.
He was squatting by a pile of bricks with his arms wrapped around his knees, facing the vandalised wall and rocking slowly on his haunches. His face was hidden beneath the hood of a parka. A seam on the back of the coat had torn, as had the knee of his grey trousers. The sole of one of his scuffed and muddy trainers was coming away too. With a large and grubby bandage dressing his left hand, he looked like a poster child for inner city deprivation. He didn’t acknowledge Carla at all.