Chris Ryan - Outbreak

He was awakened by a bump. Bleary-eyed, he pushed himself up from his mattress to see his dad collapsed on the floor. Ben jumped out of bed and bent down to help him up. Russell looked terrible. His face was drawn and had the yellow pallor of candle wax; his skin was moist with sweat. Ben put a hand to his forehead and felt that it was burning hot. He hooked his father's arms over his shoulders, then hoisted him up with all his strength and sat him back on the bed. Russell collapsed once more, heavily and without control, onto his mattress. He lay there for a few moments, his breath still rasping; this time Ben could also hear his chest rattling weakly.

His eyes were closed, but occasionally they would flicker open with difficulty and stare at the ceiling; then they would shut again. Ben had no idea whether his father was aware of his presence or not. 'Dad!' he said in an urgent whisper, not entirely sure why he was keeping his voice down. 'Dad! Wake up!'

Russell's eyes opened again, and he turned his balding head to look at his son. He smiled weakly. 'My head…' he murmured, before dissolving into a fit of hoarse coughing that seemed to jerk his entire body. As Ben watched his father struggling, an uncomfortable feeling crept over him. He had deteriorated impossibly fast overnight, and he didn't have to be a doctor to realize how likely it was that the ominous red cross might soon be being painted on the front door of their temporary home. He thought back to the previous night, to Halima's description of her parents' illness. The symptoms seemed identical, and his father had been down the mine only yesterday. 'Dad!' he whispered again. 'Dad, you've got to listen to me. I've got to tell you something.'

Russell's eyes flickered open and he looked blankly at Ben, who couldn't really tell if he was in a position to take in what he had to say. 'I'm ill,' the older man whispered. 'Malaria… I need medicine…'

'It's not malaria,' Ben told his father urgently.

Russell breathed out heavily. 'Ben,' he said wearily. 'This isn't the time. You've got to stop-'

'No, Dad,' Ben interrupted. 'I know what you're going to say, but you have to listen to me. Even the villagers don't believe it's malaria, and they should know – they've seen enough people dying of it.'

'Ben.' Despite the weakness of his voice Ben could hear his father trying to adopt that patient but slightly condescending tone he used when he was trying to explain something to his son. 'There are many different strains of malaria. Suliman told us…'

'I know what Suliman told us, Dad, but he's wrong. Think about it – we've only been in Africa for two days. What's the incubation period for malaria?'

Russell closed his eyes. 'A week to a month,' he said finally.

'Exactly. And anyway, you've been taking Larium for two weeks.'

Russell started to cough again, and Ben found himself wincing at the dreadful sound he made. He grabbed his hand and held it tightly, waiting for it to subside. Finally it did so, but it took a few more moments for Russell to summon up the energy to speak again. 'OK, Ben. Tell me what you think.'

Ben took a deep breath and started to speak. As he did so, Russell appeared to be trying to regulate his breathing, keeping it as measured as his weakened state would allow him. It clearly took a lot of effort: more sweat started dripping down his face, and his body started to tremble. 'Last night, while you were asleep, I went to the other side of the village with a girl I met. There was a ceremony of some sort, with a witch doctor and the village elders. They believe that the village is cursed because the miners have disturbed some ancient burial site, and that's why everyone's dying.'

'That's ridiculous, Ben.'

'I know, Dad.' In the depths of night and the strange surroundings, Ben had found himself half believing what Halima had told him; now, in the reassuring light of day, he knew that the sensible reaction of his scientist father was correct. 'But it's still true that it's the mine-workers who fell ill first, and that their families fell ill next. On our way back, we ran into Suliman. He was angry – angry with Halima, I think. Worried that she might have told me something.' He squeezed his dad's hand a little harder. 'And look at you now, Dad,' he said, his voice a little softer. 'You were only down there yesterday. We need to get you to a doctor.'

There was a silence between them, which Russell broke suddenly. 'Let go of my hand,' he hissed with surprising vigour.

Ben was confused.

'Let go of my hand,' Russell repeated firmly. 'And forget about the doctor for now.' His abdomen arched slightly as he tried to prevent another fit of coughing. 'Tell me more about what you've learned.'

'Not everyone gets it,' Ben told him. 'About two thirds of the mine-workers. And it's not' – Ben almost stopped himself, but an encouraging look from his father made him go on – 'it's not always fatal, Dad. Halima told me that only about three-quarters of the people who come down with the illness die.'

Russell gently closed his eyes, as though trying to come to terms with this information. Ben tried to think of something to say, but couldn't. It was his father who broke the silence. 'The bats,' he whispered.

Ben looked askance at him.

'A reservoir,' Russell insisted more strongly. 'They found a reservoir.' He dissolved once more into a fit of coughing.

'What do you mean, Dad?' he asked gently. 'Are you all right? Let me try and phone for a doctor.' He was worried that delirium might have set in.

'Listen to me, Ben.' Russell managed to sound impatient, despite his faltering voice. 'Have you ever heard of Ebola?'

'Sort of.'

'It's a virus – a nasty one. It's very rare, but the first outbreaks were found in this country, near the Ebola river. It causes death in most of its victims – horrible death.'

'What do you mean, Dad?'

'Fever, headache, nausea, then internal bleeding and haemorrhaging. Ebola sufferers start bleeding from every orifice and then, in most cases, they die within seven to fourteen days from multi-organ failure.'

Ben blinked as his brain struggled to decode his father's scientific language; but then Russell made himself plain.

'They bleed to death from inside and out. It's a terrible way to go.'

Ben felt his blood run cold. What his dad was saying vaguely rang bells with him: he had seen pictures in a Sunday newspaper supplement of people suffering from something similar. They'd had blood streaming from their nose and even seeping into their eyes; their skin had been covered with huge, weeping sores and welts. It was horror-movie stuff, but it was very, very real. 'Is that what you think this is?'

'No, Ben. No, I don't. Ebola only rarely transmits itself between humans. But it's not the only virus of its type out there, you can be sure of that. There's a similar strain of Ebola called Marburg that causes the same kind of symptoms; but the chances are that there are thousands of others, undocumented by humans, that have lain dormant for millennia.'

Russell paused to catch his breath. 'When I was in the mine yesterday, I kept seeing dead bats.'

'I don't understand, Dad. Why's that important?'

'Viruses lie dormant in what's called a reservoir.'

'Water, you mean?'

'No, Ben. Listen to me. Not that sort of reservoir. A virus reservoir is an organism that plays host to the virus. It could be a plant, it could be an animal or a bird. Nobody knows what the Ebola reservoir is, but there is some evidence that it might be fruit bats…'

'… and you think the dead bats you saw in the mine were the reservoir for this virus?'

'No. The reservoir remains unharmed by the virus. I think these bats have disturbed something down there that is hosting the virus, and that they're now passing it on to humans. It's not Ebola, but if what you're telling me is correct, it is a viral infection of some sort; and if it's as contagious as it seems to be, it could be a hundred times worse than Ebola. We have to do something about it.'