Laurell Hamilton - Affliction

‘That was a pathetic insult, Detective,’ Commander Burke said.

‘Come on, Ricky,’ I said, ‘at least call me a blood whore since I’m sleeping with vampires. Oh, wait, that’s not an original insult either; in fact, Micah’s crazy aunt and uncle already called me that today.’

‘Fine, fine, you’ve made your point.’

‘No,’ I said, ‘I haven’t begun to make my point. The vampire that tore me up the most broke my collarbone gnawing at me. The bend of my left arm has so much scar tissue that they said I’d lose the use of it, but enough weight lifting and stretching has kept me whole.’

‘So, you’re big and tough, we get it.’

‘Shut up, Ricky,’ Gonzales said.

Burke said, ‘If the vampire wasn’t trying to eat your flesh like a wereanimal, then why did he tear at you?’

‘Because he meant to hurt me, because he wanted me to suffer before he killed me. You can see what human teeth can do to bodies on these.’

‘I saw a ninety-pound cheerleader on PCP tear out a man’s throat with her teeth once,’ Burke said. He shuddered, and his professional cop look slipped a little and let the haunted look show through. Most cops had a haunted look; they hid it, but we all had it if we’d been on the job long enough. There were always things that happened that left stains on your mind, your heart, your soul. You saw the great, terrible thing and you couldn’t forget it, you couldn’t unsee it, unknow it, and you were never the same afterward. We had a moment of everyone’s eyes remembering something bad, it didn’t matter what, different memory, but same effect. We were all haunted; even Rickman’s eyes had the look.

I turned and looked at Rogers and Shelley, and the two doctors looked just as haunted. Cops; emergency medical personnel; hell, emergency personnel; firemen; ambulance drivers; all of us … you don’t need ghosts to be haunted. Memory does that just fine without any supernatural help at all.

The woman’s bite had been neater, but it had also been in her face, as if the zombie had tried to tear off her cheek. ‘I can’t tell how much damage was bite and how much was excised afterward.’

Rogers answered, ‘The patient wouldn’t sign off on the surgery to excise her wound. It was only after the patient realized that the disease was going to do more damage to her face than the surgery that she agreed to it, but it was too late. The disease had made its way to her brain and there was nothing we could do. I cut away as much of the infected tissue as I could, but when I realized that it wouldn’t save her life, I did what I could to make her comfortable. Once this thing gets into a major organ that is needed to sustain life there isn’t anything we can do, except pump them full of painkillers and make them comfortable until the end.’

I stopped looking down at the woman’s ravaged face and back up at him. ‘Is that why Sheriff Callahan is pumped up on pain meds? Has it reached a major organ system?’ My pulse sped a little, but outwardly I was calm, my best blank cop face forward.

‘No, the disease is also incredibly painful, and since we can only slow it, not stop it, we make the patients as comfortable as possible.’

‘You swear,’ I said.

He nodded. ‘I swear, Rush was lucky it was an arm wound. I was able to take a lot of the flesh. I thought I’d gotten it all, honestly, but it’s as if you can’t cut fast enough to stay ahead of it. If we hadn’t had the earlier patients to treat so we knew to put him on massive full-spectrum antibiotics and use the hyperbaric chamber, it would have spread everywhere by now, but we’re learning more with every patient.’

‘Why didn’t you excise flesh from the man’s shoulder wound?’ I asked.

‘He was the first we found alive. The emergency room doctor tried treating it as less virulent than it turned out to be. In his defense, you see the mess that the wound was. The thing really tore at him, so it was treated as a regular zombie bite, since they carry their own types of infection. By the time the attending doctor called me in it was simply too late. The infection had reached the man’s heart, and there was nothing we could do.’

‘Are you saying that his heart was rotted away?’ I asked.

Dr Shelley answered that question. ‘Yes, it was quite decayed. I’d never seen anything like it. You can see that the flesh on most of the chest is clean and looks healthy, but when I did the autopsy the heart looked more like the area around the initial wound.’

‘Why did his heart rot? Why her brain? Why didn’t it eat the outer healthy flesh first?’ I asked.

‘We aren’t a hundred percent certain,’ Rogers said, ‘but we think that this infection enters the bloodstream through the bite and rides the blood into a major organ system and rots from both ends, so to speak.’

‘So, bad luck about the face bite hitting the brain,’ I said.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘And if you’d known to excise the shoulder wound on the man, then he might have been able to hold on,’ I said.

‘If he’d been a later victim instead of one of the first, I believe his odds would have been as good as the sheriff’s,’ Rogers said.

I didn’t like the way he said it, not that Rush would make it, but better odds, but we all knew that unless a miracle cure showed up, it was just a matter of time for Micah’s dad. He and I had gotten on the plane knowing that, but still … I shook it off and concentrated on work, clues, we needed fucking clues. If we couldn’t save Micah’s dad, then maybe we could find who raised the aberrant zombies and kill them. Revenge wasn’t a substitute for saving his dad, not even close, but sometimes it’s the best you can do, and it beats the hell out of nothing, or that’s what I was going to keep telling myself until I couldn’t believe it anymore.

‘Where are the earlier victims, the ones who died even faster than shoulder-wound here?’

Rogers and Shelley exchanged a look; it wasn’t a look you see often between doctors, especially when one of them is a trauma surgeon and the other is a coroner. They didn’t want to see the bodies again. Something about them bothered both doctors. What the hell?

‘We’ll have to go into the other area,’ Shelley said.

‘Other area?’ I made it a question.

‘Where we keep the bodies that are so decayed that we, well, we wouldn’t want the smell to contaminate everything. No one would be able to work down here.’

‘You mean the room for floaters and bodies like that,’ I said.

‘Yes,’ she said, and she gave me a curious look, as if she hadn’t expected me to know that.

‘These don’t smell that bad; in fact, shouldn’t the infection make them smell worse?’

‘That is one of the odd things about it; it doesn’t seem to have the odor to match the putrefaction process. It’s a small blessing for the patients and their families, but it is odd.’

I frowned down at the bodies. ‘But you put the other dead bodies in the area with the stinky stuff; why?’

‘The early bodies decayed more completely. The infection spread from the initial bite site to encompass fifty to eighty percent of the available flesh in just hours.’

‘Wait, hours?’ I asked.

They nodded.

‘These victims died in hours?’ I asked.

‘The man did; we were able to prolong the woman’s life for three days.’

‘Did the early victims in the lockbox die from the infection hitting a major organ group?’ I asked.

‘No,’ Rogers and Shelley said together. She motioned to him.

He continued, ‘Actually, the infection seemed to spread faster through the flesh until it hit a major organ. It’s almost as if as the patient begins to die, the infection slows. It shouldn’t, but it seems to, and I emphasize seems to , because we have far too small a sample set to be sure of much with this infection.’