Pandemic

A hospital guide, fully suited in blue HAZMAT gear like the rest of the staff behind the doors, acted as their translator. The chubby man led the two emerging pathogens experts to a hospital room on the second floor. Haldane was surprised to see that the door was locked. They had to wait for a security guard to let them in. "Why the guards?" Haldane asked the translator.

The translator spoke to the security guard and then turned to Haldane. "The men might still be contaminated," he said in a voice that was muffled by the spacesuitlike hood he wore. He pointed to the guard opening the door. "They take no chances."

Inside, with the door locked behind them, they stood in a bleak windowless hospital room befitting a second-world country. Two beds were hidden behind drawn curtains. On the other side of the room, two men wearing masks, gloves, and shower caps along with standard hospital pajamas sat across from one another on narrow cots and played mahjong with small white domino-like tiles.

"Why are they still here?" McLeod pointed at the healthy-looking men.

"Still might be contaminated," the translator replied.

"'Infectious"', Haldane corrected distractedly. He waved to the two men, who responded with friendly nods, and then he asked the translator. "When did they become sick?"

The translator spoke for several minutes to the two patients in their native Mandarin.

"Watch," McLeod said, shifting impatiently from foot to foot. "I've seen translators do this a thousand times before. They'll gab back and forth for half an hour and then the guy will turn to us and say 'yes' or 'no.'"

Haldane had witnessed the same frustrating happening, but in this case, McLeod was wrong.

"Both men live in the same town fifty miles north of Jiayuguan," the translator said. He pointed to the smaller man on the cot nearest them. "Seven days ago, Xiang got a high fever. In a day, he started to cough. Then he became very, very sick. The oxygen did not help him. He was suffocating on his own mucus." He put both hands on his own throat and pantomimed a choke. "The town's doctor arranged to bring Xiang here, but he told his wife it was probably no good. Here at our hospital, the doctors put Xiang on a life-support machine. After three days, he got much better." The translator snapped his finger to indicate the rapidity of his sudden improvement. "Now, he waits for two days until the doctors say he is no longer infectious." The translator glanced at Haldane with a proud nod.

Haldane chuckled and nodded back. "And the other man?" he asked.

"Tan," the translator said, thumbing at the tall, thin man. "He also got sick a week ago. He never became as very sick as Xiang. Only a heavy cough. But…" The translator cleared his throat. "Tan's sister died from the virus three days ago."

"Oh," Haldane said. "Please tell him how sorry we are."

The translator and Tan spoke for a moment. Tan raised a hand and waved it at Haldane, leaving him confused as to the intent of the gesture.

"We want to ask some questions about their illness," McLeod said to the translator.

Through the translator, McLeod and Haldane focused their questions on the early symptoms of the infection. Neither patient had the classic sore throat or vague aches that are the harbingers of the common flu. Their symptoms began with a sudden fever and weakness, followed within hours by agonizing muscle pain, cough, and some degree of respiratory collapse.

Haldane had heard enough to know that whatever caused ARCS was one scary pathogen. It hit quickly. And it hit hard.

After thanking the patients for their time, the translator banged on the door. Released by the security guard, they headed into a stairwell and up to the fourth floor. Haldane had to twice catch the railing when he tripped on the stairs walking in his bulky rubber suit.

On the fourth floor the contingent passed through another set of sealed doors. Though Haldane couldn't read the Chinese lettering, from the bustling activity of the staff at the nursing station he recognized the ward for an Intensive Care Unit. Not as sleek or modern as the North American or European ICUs Haldane had seen, the air was taut with the same sense of urgency. Maybe more so.

After consultation with the nurses, their translator led them to one of the closed rooms that surrounded the nursing station like the spokes of a tire. But this door wasn't locked. As soon as they opened it, Haldane understood why. The patient wasn't going anywhere soon, except possibly the morgue.

As they approached the bed, the translator explained, "This is the doctor. Dr. Zhao Fung."

"Which doctor?". McLeod asked.

But Haldane answered before the translator. "He's the town doctor. The one who looked after the two men we just interviewed."

The translator nodded his head vigorously.

"Shite!" McLeod said. "I thought they told us there hadn't been any intra-hospital spread."