The Virus by Stanley Johnson Published by Witness Impulse on March 26, 2015
Genres: Thrillers
Format: eBook
Goodreads
How do you stop an invisible killer?
When a young woman in New York City dies mysteriously after a trip to Brussels, top epidemiologist Lowell Kaplan identifies the cause of death as the Marburg Virus—a fatal strain that has surfaced only once before in history.
Determined to trace the source of the disease, Kaplan follows a trail of intrigue from the labs of Germany to the jungles of Central Africa.
With danger nipping at his heels, and the secrets of the virus's origin kept deliberately under wraps, Kaplan must go to unimaginable lengths to stop a deadly scheme.
Buy on Amazon
Buy on Barnes and Noble
Buy on iTunes
As they rode into the city together, Graham filled in the details. “I don’t know how much they told you,” he began, “but I’ll begin from the beginning and try and give you the whole picture.”
“Go ahead. All I’ve had so far is a brief talk on the telephone with New York City’s Chief Medical Officer. And he sounded worried as hell. Then I left at once for the airport. Delta had to hold the plane, even then.”
As they joined the stream of traffic coming into the city in the early evening, Graham reviewed the history of the case so far.
“What we’ve got is a young female student — around nineteen years old — who’s been spending the summer in Europe. She returned from Brussels a few days ago, came straight to her apartment in the city and went to bed. One morning, six days later, she had a pain in her throat and could barely swallow. She consulted her doctor, who examined her and found several blisters on her neck and yellowish ulcers in the back of her throat and inside each cheek. She had a fever and seemed unusually nervous.
“During the next three days her temperature soared; she began bleeding under the skin, there was swelling in her neck, she appeared unusually weak and drowsy, her speech grew slurred, her mouth was dry, she had great difficulty in swallowing and her face alternately flushed and turned pale. By then her doctor was extremely alarmed. He called us up and we had her brought in to Columbia-Presbyterian Hospital. That was four days ago. Since then we’ve had her in an isolation ward.”
The traffic thickened as they crossed the Triborough Bridge and waited impatiently for the line of cars to pass the toll booth. At last their driver threw his handful of coins at the basket and the light went green for them.
“And how is she now?” asked Kaplan.
“Bad. In fact, I don’t think she’s going to make it. She’s lost twenty pounds in two days and most of her hair. I could weep. She must have been a real looker before this happened.”
“I know. That’s the worst part of this job. You’re dealing with people, not just patients.”
As they passed through Harlem on their way to the hospital, Kaplan looked out at the crumbling red-brick tenement blocks, the garbage piled high on the street-corners, the tattered store-fronts. If ever there was a place ripe for the spread of disease, this was it. He shivered.
They parked in the hospital forecourt, walked down the long main corridor to the bank of elevators at the end and rode up to the isolation ward. Outside the ward they donned gowns, masks and gloves. They entered the room and stood beside the bed. For a long minute, neither of them spoke.
At last Dr Graham said: “I don’t think there’s much else we can do. We’ve tried to keep her hydrated but she loses it as fast as we put it in. She’s quiet now, but before you came she was literally writhing in agony. She was sweating so much you could have driven a steam engine.”
Kaplan looked at the wasted, shriveled figure on the bed. It was hard to recognize what a beautiful girl she must once have been. Her blond hair had come out in handfuls, her skin had dried out and cracked, her face was contorted.
“Heart?” Kaplan asked.
“Not good. She’s been under terrific strain. Personally, I don’t think she’s going to last the night.”
“Is she sleeping now, or is she in a coma?”
“I’m not sure. She moves in and out.”
As they spoke the girl stirred on the bed. She tossed her head from side to side and mumbled a few words.
Kaplan tried to make out what she was saying.
“Mon . . . mon . . . monkeys,” the girl said, suddenly audible. “Green monkeys.” Suddenly, she rolled back her head and appeared once more to drop into a trance.
Read our review of The Virus by Stanley Johnson.
Leave a Reply