The Totem

"You did a brain scan?"

"I did everything, I told you. He was dead as far as I could tell. I started working with him on the table, and he looked up, and he grabbed for my throat. I-"

"Take this slowly. One thing at a time. You're saying he was catatonic. That's it? That's your story?"

"On occasion, it can happen. Rarely. There are cases where a patient has been certified as dead, and he wakes up on a slab at the morgue."

Slaughter looked at Owens. "This is true?"

"I'm not a doctor, but I've heard of things like that. It's rare, just as he said, but it can happen."

"But Jesus, a brain scan."

"Look," the medical examiner said. "Once we thought that no sign of a heartbeat proved that someone had died. Then we found out that a person's heart could beat so weakly that our instruments couldn't detect it. So we made up other tests. For body heat. For electrical impulses in the brain. The fact is, we don't know exactly when a person dies. A patient goes to surgery. He's doing fine when suddenly his heart and brain fail.

We try everything we can to resuscitate him. No success. He's dead. Then all of a sudden, on its own, his heart starts beating again. So tell me how that happened. You explain it. I can't."

Slaughter looked at them, more disturbed. "All right, let's assume your argument's correct. The sedative wore off along with the paralysis."

"He grabbed for me. We fought. I knew I couldn't let him bite me, scratch me. Never mind how small he was. I couldn't let him touch me. He kept coming at me. I was kicking, yelling for help, but those two doors muffled the sound. We dodged around the table. I got cornered. I was scared and lashed out with the scalpel I was holding, and I killed him."

They were silent, staring at each other.

"Oh, my God." The medical examiner pounded a fist on the table.

Slaughter walked close. "Take it easy."

"But I-"

"Take it easy. Everything is going to be all right."

The medical examiner trembled.

"Something else. The mice died," Owens told them.

"What are you talking about?"

"We have mice down at the lab for doing tests on viruses," Owens said. "The mice were born and raised in sterile conditions, as the parents were, and those before them, so we know they're not contaminated. We can study any symptoms they develop from injections we give them and be certain that the injections caused the symptom. It's a way of isolating what we're dealing with and finding what will cure it. Anyhow, a standard test for rabies is to inject infected tissue into mice. If they live, then we're not dealing with the virus we suspected. If they die, then we have perfect samples of the virus to examine. Well, our first tests on this virus weren't conclusive. Oh, we knew that it was deadly, but the slides we studied looked a little different than they should have, so I did more tests. Instead of looking at the dog's brain, I injected several mice."

"And now they're dead?"

Owens nodded.

"Well, that isn't news. You said that it was deadly."

"But the mice don't normally develop symptoms for at least a week. These mice died in less than four hours. It was like a spedup version of the rabies symptoms. First, a subtle difference in behavior, then hostility, lack of coordination, finally paralysis and death. The hostility was quite pronounced, although they didn't snap at one another, only at the glass enclosures. But the point is that instead of surviving for seven days, they barely lasted four hours."

Slaughter's mind raced, making jumps in logic. "Show me."

Owens frowned at him.

"I want to see them. Show me where they are," Slaughter insisted.

"I didn't have the instruments I needed. An electron microscope for one thing, so I came up here to-"

"Never mind. Just show me."

"Over there. I brought them with me."

Slaughter pivoted toward a metal case and reached to lift its clasp. "It's all right if I open this?"

Owens nodded. "Everything is sterile. You won't be infected."

Slaughter pushed the lid up, staring at the specimens in sealed glass containers. He saw the white fur of mice, and something else that he had dreaded but expected, lifting one container, showing it. The medical examiner had turned now, he and Owens staring, and the mouse in there was snarling at them. Slaughter felt the scrape of its claws through the glass.

"But they were dead, I tell you!" Owens insisted. He crossed to Slaughter, pulling out the other glass containers. In them, every mouse was frantic.

"You're certain?" Slaughter asked him.

"Don't you think I know when something's dead?"

The medical examiner added, "As certain as I was when I examined that boy."

They continued staring at the frantic mice.

"Then I believe you." Slaughter grimaced. "I didn't, but I do now. I don't know what's going on, but I do know that it's happening." He frowned at the farthest table. "What about the boy? The mother and the father won't believe us when they see him. I can't think of any way to tell them."

"Then we won't." The medical examiner braced his shoulders, coming toward them, color in his face now. "I'll continue with the autopsy. I'd have to do it anyway, to learn how the virus works. I'll fix that slash across his stomach so it looks like it was part of the autopsy, and the three of us will be the only ones who know."

Suddenly they looked at one another, understanding the significance of their conspiracy, ever after their dependence on each other.

They were silent. Slaughter nodded, Owens with him.

"Owens, did you bring the samples for the microscope?"

"I've got them with the mice."

"Okay then, let's get started. Slaughter, if you go up to my office, you'll find a stack of books beside my desk. Search through the master index and read everything that you can find on rabies. That's not what we're dealing with. It's close enough, though, and we can't waste time from now on, telling you what we'll be doing."

Slaughter studied him. "How long till you know?"

"At least a couple of hours."

Slaughter glanced at his watch and saw that it was three a.m. "I don't look forward to the morning."

"For a lot of reasons."

"They'll be coming to me with their questions."

"Well, let's see if we can find the answers."

Slaughter nodded. Trying to smile in encouragement but failing, he started toward the doorway.

SEVEN

"This is what a rabies virus looks like."

Slaughter peered at where the medical examiner was pointing.

"Yes, I know. I read about it," Slaughter told him.

"Fine. Now here's a micrograph from the electron microscope. The virus from the dead dog."

Slaughter watched the medical examiner put down the micrograph beside the book that they'd been looking at. He studied it.

He thought about it quite a while. "Well, this one's thi

"Yes, that's one of several contrasts. Normally we say a rabies virus has a bullet shape, but this one looks like, I don't know…"

"A missile," Owens said.

They glanced at him.

"Why not? All right, then, a missile." The medical examiner pointed at the micrograph again. "A missile is in keeping with the speed of this thing anyhow. The point is that a lot of viruses are shaped in general like this. Vesicular stomatitis would be one. But this thing isn't quite like any of them. It's much sleeker, and while there's an indentation at the bottom, there's no sign of an appendage there. What's more, the nervous system of the boy was not infected."

Slaughter looked at him. He knew enough from what he'd read that rabies moved along the nervous system, fed off it, and finally destroyed it. He frowned. "But I thought that-"

"Yes, I know. It shouldn't be. This is unlike any virus I've ever studied. It did infect his limbic brain, however."