James Tabor: The Deep Zone

“Yes. You’re early.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Stilwell chuckled. “Not much sleeping going on here, Doc.”

“I’m not a doctor. Not a medical doctor. I’m a microbiologist.”

“I see.” Stilwell did not sound happy to hear that. “Do you really need another biopsy? They’ve already taken about a pound of flesh for tests.”

“No, it’s not that. I…” Now that she was here, she found it difficult to explain to this woman why .

“Take your time, Doctor,” Stilwell rasped. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Neither am I. What’s your name, Doctor?”

“Um, it’s Leland. Hallie Leland. I know your sister, Mary.”

Stilwell did not sit up—could not—but the surprise was clear in her voice. “Hallie Leland. I remember meeting you at our home. What on earth brings you here?”

“I…” What had brought her here? Should she tell Stilwell about the whole Cueva de Luz effort? No. Too complicated. “I learned you were in here yesterday.” Leave it at that.

“So if you’re here, you must know about ACE?”

“Yes. A lot.”

“That surprises me. They’ve been working hard to keep this contained.”

“I work in a government facility that’s been researching countermeasures. For ACE, I mean.”

“What facility?”

“BARDA. Biomedical Advanced Research and Development Authority.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Most people haven’t.” She hesitated. “What you did. Over there. Incredible.”

Stilwell let out an exasperated sigh. “No big deal. It’s war. Those boys get shot and die every day. I’m going to leave them when things finally get dangerous in my house? Not likely.” She winced, groaned, obviously in sudden pain.

“Should I call someone?” Hallie could see a small area of infection on the left side of Stilwell’s neck, and one the size of a half dollar on her forehead. They looked like third-degree burns, red and raw and oozing.

“No. It passed. Nerve endings flare up when they die, but just for a few seconds.” She got her breath back. “Of course, there are billions of nerve endings, so I have plenty to look forward to.”

“Lenora, maybe I should go. I don’t want to make this worse.” Hallie was damning herself, feeling selfish now, for having interrupted this good woman’s rest.

Stilwell waved a bandaged hand. “Lenny. My friends call me. Stay. Good to talk.”

“All right. I feel stupid in the suit, though.”

“You’d feel stupider if you came down with this stuff. So don’t even think about taking that off. But you can come closer.”

Hallie stepped to the side of the bed.

“How is Mary? She won’t answer my emails or phone calls,” Stilwell said.

“I know. She’s…” Was this the time to tell her big sister about the drinking? No. “She’s doing okay. I’ve spent some time with her recently, down in Florida.”

“She really okay?”

Then again, was this a time to lie? “Not really.”

“The Army treated her like dirt.”

“I know.”

Stilwell did not speak for a while. Then: “Husband know you’re down here?”

“I’m not married.”

“Sorry. Shouldn’t assume. Can’t see your hand, though. Is news about this stuff getting out?”

“Not yet. They fear there will be a panic.”

“My family doesn’t know anything, either.” Real pain of a different kind came into Stilwell’s voice.

Hallie couldn’t believe that. “They haven’t been notified?”

Stilwell shrugged, winced. “Two things you learn about the military. Follow orders. And often they suck.”

“Do you want me to call them? I’ll do it right now.”

“Not just yet, thanks. They couldn’t visit now, anyway. I think it will be easier to wait until I’m a little better.”

The ACE mortality rate thus far was 90 percent. So there was at least a chance. But Stilwell did not look like she was on the road to recovery.

“Tell me about your family.”

“Tampa. Husband’s name is Doug. We met in college. Tall. Looks like Jimmy Stewart. Great dancer. Son Danny. Fifteen. Plays football. Boyfriend?”

Hallie realized it was a question.

“Not just now. Well, maybe.” She smiled at her own confusion. “Time will tell. Danny plays football, you said?”

“Varsity already. Wrestling team, too.”

“College plans?”

“No. Wants to enlist. Day he turns eighteen.”

“Jesus.” Hallie regretted that the moment she said it.

“Exactly.” Stilwell started to say more but coughed violently. At one point she raised a bandaged hand and pointed at the vomit pan on her bedside table. Hallie held it, clumsily with the thick gloves. When the bout finally subsided, Stilwell spit out a volume of red-and-black mucus dotted with solid yellow bits of tissue.

“Should I call someone now?” Hallie put the pan aside.

“Nothing they can do.” Stilwell was gasping, struggling for air. “Pulmonary edema. Body trying to flush itself. Feels like drowning.”

They waited until Stilwell’s breathing settled. She said, “Danny. Terrifies me. But how to discourage? Wants to do his part.”

“A military academy,” Hallie said. “In four years, the war might be over. Or at least winding down.”

Stilwell shook her head. “No. Afghans don’t know anything but war. They need it. Go on forever.” She paused, coughed. “It’s like their baseball.”

They sat in silence for a while. Stilwell’s eyes were closed, her breathing shallow and rapid. Then her eyes opened wide. Her back arched, her mouth stretched, as though readying to scream, but no sound came out. Her body convulsed twice, violently, and she collapsed onto the bed. She did not move. Her chest did not rise and fall. There was no pulse visible in her neck.

It took Hallie a second to react. She searched for the nurse-call button. Because Stilwell could not use it with her bandaged hands, they had secured it on a hook near the top of her bed, on the other side, and Hallie could not see it. She looked at Stilwell, lying there, not breathing, in arrest. She yelled for help, then screamed for it, but the biosuit hood trapped her voice. Hallie grabbed Stilwell’s wrist to check for a pulse, but the heavy gloves kept her from feeling anything.

She could run to the nurses’ station, alert someone. But she could not really run in the damned suit. Without oxygen, Stilwell’s brain was dying right now. That would take too long. Hallie’s mind made a flash calculation, like the one when she had been standing with Kathan by the cenote. Odds and probabilities. This woman has ACE. If I help her, I might get ACE. If I don’t help her, she will die. If I do get ACE, we may be able to kill it .

She ripped the zipper open, threw the hood back over her head, screamed “HELP!” twice as loudly as she could. She pulled back the sheet and did fifteen fast chest compressions, expecting an explosion of pain in her sutured hand, but felt none. Adrenaline , she thought.

Then she tilted Stilwell’s head back, made sure her airway was clear, and blew three breaths into the unconscious woman. Fifteen more compressions, three more breaths. Hallie tasted the blood in Stilwell’s mouth, sour fluid coming from her nose, ignored them, kept compressing and ventilating.

A nurse appeared at the door, saw what was happening, rushed back toward the floor’s main station. The biosuits made running nightmare-slow. Hallie kept working, compressions and breaths, compressions and breaths. She lost track of how much time elapsed before the biosuited code blue team came race-waddling into the room. Someone in a suit pushed her out of the way. More suits kept squeezing in, and soon she was pressed back out into the hall.