Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
I sip my coffee and bite back a moan. It’s wonderful. Even if the world is growing darker by the day, coffee always gives it a spark.
“We need to talk about the blood sample,” Wyatt says around a mouthful of scone. He’s eating with one hand and digging through his record collection with the other.
“Sorry I didn’t make it back yesterday. I had to see my sister.” I take a bite of Danish. It’s cold and maybe a tad stale, but to me, it’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten.
“It’s fine. It took me a while to get the sample prepped in the HCL. I only just got it back out this morning. It’s clear of virus, but that’s the least interesting thing about it.”
I follow him to his desk toward the back of the room. It’s neat, everything set out in an organized sort of grid with sticky note reminders on top of some items. “Re-check centrifuge balance” and “subvert immune mediator via replicon process?” are written in big black Sharpie.
“Guys,” he calls. “Group huddle.”
Everyone comes over, and the room seems a little warmer now from the coffee and food. The other scientists still keep their distance from me a little. I’m a new cog in their machine, so I suppose it’ll take some getting used to for all of us. After all, I’ve only ever been on my own when it comes to plague research. Most of the faculty left early on in the crisis, returning to their hometowns or countries. Only the ones with local ties—like Sledge—remained to keep the doors open. Now, I wonder if anyone at all returns to campus or if it’s already turned into something else in the short time I’ve been gone.
“First off, the blood wasn’t a fresh collection.” Wyatt clears his throat. “Was it, Dr. Clark?”
“Georgia,” I remind him. “And no, it wasn’t.”
“Why not?” Aang asks.
“This is what I received, and it’s all I was given.”
“That’s not what we were promised. We were told—”
“I know, and it’s not what I want, either. All right?” I snap and meet his gaze. Then I remind myself that we’re on the same team and gentle my tone. “Sorry, headache. Look, I was under the same impression you were, but that’s not how it played out. I can’t get more. This is it. This is all I have for now.”
“For now?” Gretchen asks.
“He said I’d get a fresh sample every week.”
“Every week? That’s not enough. Not even close.” Evie digs around in her desk and hands me a bottle of ibuprofen. “We need several vials. For DNA analysis alone, we need—”
“Guys, she said that’s what she received, and she can’t get more. We’ll have to work with it.” Gretchen motions toward Wyatt. “Go on. Tell us what we’ve got.”
I could kiss Gretchen. Instead, I sip more coffee and down the meds.
“First off, the levels of fibrin in the sample are so high as to make it almost unusable.” Wyatt pulls up an image on his screen. “The clotting is also a problem. We need fresher samples. As you can see, the fibrin—”
“Fuck the fibrin, what is that?” Aang points to what should be a red blood cell.
“That was my second point.” Wyatt enlarges the image. “This blood didn’t come from a human.”
“How much of the sample has poikilocytosis?” I lean forward, the image on the screen defying every bit of biological knowledge I’ve studied. The cells should be round with a darker center. At worst, some cells could be mutated into other forms as in the case of sickle cell anemia patients. But these cells are built like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Round with a multitude of spikes protruding from all sides, the entire thing densely packed.
“All of it.” Wyatt expands the image to show dozens of the same cells.
“Holy fucking shitballs.” Gretchen shakes her head. “What the fuck is this? We need to … we need to run DNA on it. It’s not human, but what is it?”
“It’s simply not possible.” Evie squints at the screen. “There’s no basis for that in biology. The cells are shaped more like—”
“A virus,” I finish for her.
“Yeah.”
“The plasma?” I ask.
“No good. What separated was mostly waste. No antibodies.”
“None?” I look at him.
“I told you, the sample was on the verge of viability to begin with.” Wyatt runs a hand through his shaggy waves. “I did what I could.”
“All right, yeah, I get it. So where’s the lab for DNA? Let’s start there,” I ask. “All we need are some white blood cells. We can cull those out and keep the rest for our studies.”
“Atlanta, but this sample won’t work.” Wyatt frowns.
I need to know more about this specimen. I need to know everything about it. “We can send it via courier overnight or we can dry some samples and send that way, but we—wait. Zoom out more.”