Victor Methos - Plague

He leaned down close to her, staring into her eyes. They were blue, but he saw that they were growing dim and wondered if it was life leaving her body or the disease eating away at her. The edges of the whites of her eyes were dark black; blood was seeping into them. Soon, she would be blind.

“What is it, honey?”

It happened too fast for him to notice. She seemed meek, mild mannered. Weakened from the disease and unable to defend herself. He hadn’t seen her coming.

He reached up and touched his face. The thick glob of black spit, mingled with her blood and mucus, dripped through his fingers. He jumped off the gurney as the girl laughed.

Ralph ran to the bathroom and ran the hot water. He splashed his face as much as he could, knowing the ooze had gotten into his eyes and onto his lips. The water burned him but he didn’t stop. He took soap and scrubbed his face until it was raw. Rummaging through the contents of a shelf, he found packaged iodine sponges and wiped his face before repeating the hot water and soap.

He wasn’t sure how long or how many times he repeated this but it must have been several dozen because his face felt like it had been stuck in a furnace. He stood over the sink, panting, looking at his eyes in the mirror. Had it gone into his mouth? Or had it hit his forehead and dribbled down, missing the orifices of his face and just dripping off his lips?

He stepped out into the room. The woman lay still on the gurney. He walked over to her. Her eyes still had life in them, but she wasn’t breathing. It’d be six minutes until brain death. He wanted to reach out and slap her across the face. Instead, he sat down again next to her, and held her hand.

A few minutes later, he saw the light in her eyes fade and he closed her lids and said a prayer. He rose and took his bag and left the room, turning the lights off behind him.

When Sam had thought of Iquitos, Peru, she had seen degraded huts about to fall onto the muddied floors they covered, swarms of mosquitos, meat hanging to dry on long ropes between trees. Instead, she saw a perfectly modest city with paved roads, plenty of apartment buildings, and red Spanish-tile churches and government buildings that could have been found in many European countries.

The plane landed on a small airstrip outside the city and she watched the massive green trees and lush grasslands that lay before her. There was another side to the city; shantytowns where the poor were huddled in the huts she had imagined. Some of the children were wearing little more than shorts, their feet hardened like clay from not possessing any shoes. As the rented cars with the young drivers pulled to a stop and they climbed aboard, Sam stared at the hovels. She could see families inside them, and not just nuclear families. Probably uncles, aunts, cousins, and grandparents. Many of the huts didn’t look like they were any larger than studio apartments.

She rode with Duncan and Agent Donner and they wound through the city streets, avoiding bicyclists and rickshaws and the occasional donkey hauling coffee beans or rice. They drove for what seemed like an hour and Agent Donner spoke to the driver in Spanish. The driver, suddenly, looked like he had seen a ghost.

“What’d you say?” Duncan asked.

“I told him that he shouldn’t push his hours up or we won’t use him again.”

Samantha said, “That’s all?”

“That’s all. Why?”

“He looks frightened.”

“They rely heavily on the tourists. They don’t want to piss anybody off and have me leave bad reviews all over the place.”

From there, it only took five minutes to get to the hotel. It was a baby-blue structure of three stories and they parked at the curb. The driver hopped out first and collected their bags, taking them inside. Agent Donner got out and stretched his back, inhaling a deep breath of the city air.

“You know,” he said, “even ten years ago the air here was crisp and refreshing. Like the air at the top of a mountain. It tastes like exhaust now. It’s a shame our species had to ruin that. We’ll miss it when it’s gone, I think.” He looked to a small café across the street. “I’m going to grab some lunch. Anyone care to join me?”

“I’m starving,” Duncan said. He turned to Sam. “You in?”

“No, I’m exhausted. I need to get some shut-eye.”

“Suit yourself. Come by if you change your mind.”

The two men walked across the street as Sam watched. Agent Donner never let his back relax; it was always straight, held stiff as if he were waiting for an inspection. She got the feeling that he was a man that never lost control.

She walked inside the hotel. She was going to ask the desk clerk in her broken Spanish where her room was. But he already held out a key that said 121 on it and she smiled and said, “Gracias,” before heading down the hallway.

Sam found room 121 and unlocked the door. A couple was in the room, laughing. They were dressing and it was such a surprise Sam didn’t say anything. They quickly put on their clothes and snuck past her, apologizing. She glanced to the bed and saw that it was messy.

She walked in and sat down on the couch, asleep before she could think about whether they had used the couch as well.

Duncan sat across from Agent Donner at a table that was set outside on a veranda. There were a few other people there, mostly tourists, and they sipped coffee and beer and ate snacks rather than large meals.

Agent Donner ate an odd smelling beef stew and drank something that smelled like paint thinner. Duncan watched him a while and Donner said, “What?” without looking up from his food.

“Nothing. I’ve just never seen someone eat something that smelled so bad with that much gusto.”

“This is nothing. In Ghana, there’s a large rodent that I still don’t know the name of. They barely cook it over a large spit and then slice off pieces, fur and all, and if you don’t eat it with them, because food is so scarce and they’re extending their hospitality, they’ll never talk to you again.”

“What were you doing in Ghana?”

“Research.”

“On what?”

“Their water supply. Water’s privatized over there and warlords own it. You think Microsoft or Standard Oil were monopolies? You should see a methed-up warlord with a machete try to keep his market share.”

Duncan took a sip of coffee. It was so strong it made his nostrils burn. “You seem to have travelled a lot. Didn’t know the FBI paid for so many flights.”

“New world now. We’re not the former accountants in black suits anymore.”

“How long was your training in Quantico for?”

Duncan watched as Agent Donner wiped his lips with a napkin and then looked him in the eyes. “Twenty-one weeks. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. Seems like an interesting job to me. So what’d you do after Quantico?”

“I was in violent crime and then computer forensics before being transferred to terrorism after 9-11. If you’re so curious, you should apply. The bureau could always use good scientists.”

“No, I can barely stomach working for the government as it is. Don’t know how I’d feel if I actually impacted people’s lives.”

Agent Donner took a long sip of water and then placed the glass down as if to signal that he was done with the conversation. He looked at Duncan, their eyes locking. A grin came over his face. “We should go. You need some rest before we go trekking through the jungle together.”

Sam woke sometime in the evening to a knock at her door. For a moment, she wasn’t sure where she was, the surroundings completely alien, and then she heard Duncan’s voice on the other side of the door.