Джон Болл - Phase Three Alert

“Is that your honest medical opinion?” Markley asked calmly.

“It’s one way of looking at it.”

The young internist took a deep breath and let it out again. “All right, but I’ve got a call in to Godthaab to alert them that we have at least a fifty-percent chance of a case of human rabies here. If the symptoms persist, or if I get any new indications, I’m going to ask them to send their Bennett up here.”

“With a team?”

“Yes. The moment that she shows the first sign of muscle spasms, if she does, I’m going to immobilize her.”

“Tough on the patient.”

“I know it, but not as tough as losing her young life. And that’s what I’m facing now.” He heard the phone ring on his desk and he hurried to answer it. While he was talking, Bowditch pushed a cart of supplies down the corridor himself on his way to check on the lacerations that he had repaired the night before. There was visible reddening around one of the spots where the girl had been bitten; as soon as he discovered it, he sent word to Markley.

Less than an hour later the hospital at Godthaab called back; the chief of staff there asked for the latest report. Markley confirmed that his patient was already showing many of the classical symptoms of rabies. She had been given her second Pasteur shot, but the indicated treatment probably had been started too late.

As Markley finished reporting, Bowditch was back and touched him on the arm. “She refused water, and when the nurse set it on the table beside her, she deliberately knocked it away.”

For a second Markely looked ashen, then with his voice a little tighter than usual, he reported the new information over the telephone.

“We will set up a team immediately,” the chief of staff at Godthaab advised. “They will start up in the morning and will bring our Bennett with them. When do you plan to immobilize?”

“At the first sign of muscle spasms.”

“Good — I concur. Look for our people tomorrow afternoon. Will you need them sooner?”

“No, doctor — we have a small respirator, here that is good for several hours.”

“You have enough curare? I can send some.”

“We have the curare. Doctor, thank you for this help; if I have to immobilize her, then your team will be essential as well as your respirator. How are they coming?”

“Helicopter to Sondrestrom; there we have a Twin Otter, ski-equipped, to make the flight. Please keep us advised on your patient’s condition.”

Markley promised that he would and broke the connection. He looked up to see Major Valen waiting in front of his desk. “May I see your patient?” the chaplain asked.

The young internist knew better than to refuse that; he took the major down the hall and ushered him into the room. Valen bent over the bed where the little girl lay, offering her a confident smile as he did so. She was clearly a plucky little thing and without the disfigurement of the bite, her small, Oriental-type face was appealingly attractive. When he began to talk with her through Thorlund, she asked if her family was all right and how the hunt was going.

Valen stayed only briefly; then he announced, “I’m going to the chapel.” Markley understood and nodded his appreciation; then he went back to work.

The watch was kept, uninterrupted throughout the night, as Bebiane slept. In the early morning she appeared somewhat better: she no longer had a headache and she ate moderately well, though for only a short time.

At almost the same time, a Sikorsky S-61 sitting on the helipad at Godthaab was loaded with the Bennett respirator bound for Thule. As soon as that vital piece of equipment had been stowed, Dr. Rasmus Lindegaard, the thoracic surgeon on the staff of the Dronning Ingrid’s Hospital, boarded the helicopter together with the three chosen nurses: Grethe Morgensen, Vibeke Toft, and Helle Nielsen, all of whom were specially qualified in the use of the Bennett.

As soon as the passengers had been seated and secured, the pilot increased the power, made a final check, and then lifted off the ground. In less than five minutes he was at his cruising altitude and headed north toward Sondrestrom.

During most of the morning there was no significant change detected in the condition of Bebiane Jeremiassen. Four of the men from Det. 4 came to see her and brought some little gifts they had bought for her in the BX. J Site phoned down for a bulletin. Scott Ferguson put in an appearance with a bag of candy. Since children were rare exceptions at Thule, there had been nothing available that was any more suitable. He sat with her a little while, but she did not know him and they could not converse in any common language. He left when he saw that the child was restless and that he was contributing nothing to her welfare.

A call came in that the helicopter from Godthaab had arrived at Sondrestrom and that the transfer was being made to the Twin Otter. Dr. Pedersen at Kanak was brought up to date. Major Kimsey checked with the hospital as to the advisability of laying on a trip to the Eskimo village to bring back Bebiane’s parents and possibly some other members of her family. Dr. Markley gave a qualified response, saying that her family could see her as long as her condition remained relatively stable. Invisibly, but powerfully, much of the life at Thule began to revolve around that one hospital room where a small Greenlander girl might or might not be critically ill. There were many fathers on the base, Danish and American.

Then, with abrupt suddenness, the issue was decided not long after 1200 hours. Since his patient had been resting as comfortably as could be expected, and no immediate developments were expected, Captain Markley had left the hospital for the mess hall and a hot meal that he badly needed — he had been exceedingly hard pressed for the past thirty hours. But he had only been eating for a minute or two when he was urgently summoned. He rushed out, jumped into his vehicle, and was back with his patient in hardly more than five minutes. In the sickroom he found Bowditch with two of the nurses. Muscular spasms had begun. That deadly symptom wiped out the last remaining doubt; he knew then that his patient did have rabies and, despite the courage that still showed in her frightened little face, she was almost certainly doomed.

Thrusting that fact out of his mind, he went to work without a wasted motion. As he checked the patient rapidly yet carefully, he was brought up to the minute on the little girl’s vital signs and condition. She was squinting her eyes against the overhead light and it was evident that a savage new kind of pain had entered into her slim body.

Markley gave swift orders. “Linda, get that light off and rig an IV. Bob, please check on the respirator and get it in here as soon as you can. Debra, I’ll need the curare. And tell Thorlund that I want him immediately.”

Bowditch opened the closet where the small respirator was ready and waiting. “I’ve already checked it out,” he reported. “And the curare is right here.”

He had just finished speaking when Thorlund appeared. “Listen,” Markley said to him. “I want you to explain to her that we are going to stop the pain and the spasms. To do that, we’re going to put her almost to sleep. She won’t be able to move — not a muscle of her body. She won’t even be able to breathe for herself; the machine will have to do it. But try to convince her not to be frightened or to worry. I’m sorry, but it’s the only way I can treat her now.”

The Dane bent down over the small, prone figure and spoke to her for half a minute in her own language. As he did so, her eyes came wider and there was fright in them; Markley had foreseen that, but there was nothing whatever he could do. She had to be told, otherwise she might become so terrified that she would lose her reason. Finally, through her growing agony, she said something in reply.