Greg Bear - Darwin's Children

“Conditions in Asia and the United States have quickly deteriorated to what can only be described as panic. The prospect of the so-called virus children producing an unknown pathogen capable of causing a pandemic has haunted world governments for a decade, certainly since the strange and disturbing case of Mrs. Rhine seven years ago. And yet the children have remained healthy, in their schools and camps and with their beleaguered families. Now, this new and so-far unexplained illness—given no official diagnosis—is causing widespread disruption in North America, Japan, and Hong Kong. International and even some local airports are blocking flights from affected areas. In the past forty-eight hours, public and private hospitals in the United States have closed their doors to this new illness for fear of becoming part of a proposed general quarantine. Other hospitals in the UK, France, and Italy, announced that should the disease spread to these shores, which some regard as inevitable, they will accept SHEVA children and their relatives only in isolated wards.”

“If you see a vet’s office, stop,” Kaye told him.

“Okay,” Mitch said.

“The illness has not yet spread to Africa, which has the smallest population of SHEVA children, some say because of the prevalence of HIV infection. In Washington, Emergency Action denies that it has begun taking measures based on a top-secret presidential decision directive, a confidential order dating from the early years of Herod’s plague. On some widely touched Web sites, the specter of bioterrorism is being invoked with alarming frequency.”

Kaye turned off the radio and squared her clasped hands in her lap. They were passing through a small town in the middle of fields and grassy plains. “There’s a pet hospital,” Kaye said, pointing to a strip mall on their right.

Mitch swung off the road into the parking lot and parked opposite a square blue-and-gray stucco building. Kaye drew the sun shades in the Jeep’s windows, though the sun was still low in the east and the air was actually cool. “Stay in the back with her,” she said as they both got out. Mitch tried to give Kaye a brief, encouraging hug. She squirmed out of his arms like a cat, made a vexed face, and jogged across the asphalt.

Mitch looked over his shoulder to see if they were being watched, then climbed into the backseat, lifted his daughter’s head, and placed it on his lap. Stella drew breath in short jerks. Her face was covered with small red spots. She curled her knees up and flexed her fingers. “Mitch, my head hurts,” she whispered. “My neck hurts. Tell Kaye.”

“Mom will be back in a few minutes,” Mitch said, feeling a gnawing helplessness. He might as well have been a ghost watching from the land of the dead.

Kaye peered through the venetian blinds in the glass door and saw lights inside and figures moving in a hallway in the back. She banged on the door until a young woman in a blue medical uniform approached with a puzzled look and opened the door a crack.

“We’re just starting the day,” the woman said. “Is this an emergency?” She was in her midtwenties, plump but not heavyset, with strong arms, bleached blonde hair, and pleasant brown eyes.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but we have some trouble with our cat,” Kaye said, and smiled with her most ingratiating and harried expression. The woman opened the door and Kaye entered the hospital’s small lobby. She turned nervously and looked at the admissions counter, the racks of specialized pet food and other products. The woman walked behind the counter, perked up, and smiled. “Well then, welcome. What can we do for you?” Her pocket tag showed a smiling cartoon puppy and the name Betsy.

The good caring women of this Earth, Kaye thought. They are hardly ever beautiful, they are the most beautiful of all. She did not know where this came from and shoved it aside, but first used the emotion to put a sympathetic spark into her smile.

“We’re traveling,” Kaye began. “We’re taking Shamus with us, poor thing. He’s our cat.”

“What’s wrong?” Betsy asked with genuine concern.

“He’s just old,” Kaye said. “Failed kidneys. I thought I brought our supplies with us, but… they’re back in Brattleboro.”

“Do you have a doctor’s sheet? A phone number, someone we can talk with?”

“Shamus hasn’t seen the doctor in months. We moved recently. We’ve been taking care of him on our own. We’ve already been to one pet hospital, up the road a ways… They got mad. It’s so early, and we’ve been up all night. They turned me down flat.” She wrung her hands. “I was hoping you could help.”

Betsy’s eyes glinted with the merest shade of suspicion. “We can’t supply narcotics or pain killers,” she warned.

“Nothing like that,” Kaye said, her heart thumping. She smiled and drew a breath. “Oh, forgive me, I’m so worried about the poor thing. We’ll need Lactated Ringer’s, four or five liters, if you have it, with butterfly clamp, and as many sets of tubes and needles—twenty-five-gauge needles.”

“That’s a little thin for a cat. Take forever to fill her up.”

“It’s a he,” Kaye said. “It’s all he’ll put up with.”

“All right,” Betsy said doubtfully.

“Methyl prednisone,” Kaye said. “To calm him while he’s traveling.”

“We have Depo-Medrol.”

“That’s fine. Do you have vidarabine?”

“Not for cats,” the young woman said, frowning. “I’ll have to check all this with the doctor.”

“He’s at the cabin—our cat. He’s doing poorly, and it’s all my fault. I should have known better.”

“You’ve handled this before… haven’t you?”

“I’m an expert,” Kaye said, and put on a brave, tearful grin.

The young woman entered the list onto a flat-screen monitor. “I’m not sure I even know what vidarabine is.”

Kaye searched her memory, trying to remember the long hours she had spent searching PediaServe, MediSHEVA, and a hundred other sites and databases, years ago, preparing for some unknown disaster. “There’s a new one we use sometimes. It’s called picornavene, enterovene, something like that?”

“We have equine picornavene. Surely that’s not what you’re looking for.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“It comes in quite large doses.”

“Fine. Famicyclovir?”

“No,” Betsy said, very suspicious now. “Drugstore might have that. What kind of life has your cat lived?”

“He was a wild one,” Kaye said.

“If he’s that sick…”

“He means so much to us.”

“You should wait for the vet. He’ll be back in an hour.”

“I’m not sure we have that long,” Kaye said, looking at her watch with a desperate expression she did not have to fake.

“You’re positive you’ve done all this before, you know how it works?”

“We’ve kept him alive for a year. I’ve had him for eighteen years. He’s a brave old tom. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

The assistant shook her head, dubious but sympathetic. “I could get in trouble.”

Kaye felt no guilt whatsoever. If she had had a gun, she would have held them up, right now, for everything she needed. “I wouldn’t want that,” she said, staring right at the woman.

The assistant waggled her head. “What the hell,” she said. “Old cats. Pain in the butt, huh?”

“You know it,” Kaye said.

“And it’s not like we’re in the big city. Five liters Ringer’s, two hundred mils equine picornavene—that’s the smallest we’ve got—and the Depo-Medrol—” Betsy picked up the printed list. “Credit or debit?”

“Cash,” Kaye said.

OHIO