Steve Doyle

Thanks to Jamie Hughes and Cecily Webster for critique and suggestions.

Bad Blood

A gavel strikes a sound block, bringing the many voices to a hushed silence.

The tall figure behind the battered podium waits for the noise to subside. “This meeting is now called to order. Let’s get started. We don’t want to be here all night, do we?”

Chuckles and nods of agreement scatter throughout the auditorium.

“First of all, I’d like to thank everyone for taking the time to come to this meeting. Some of you have traveled a great distance to be here, and I appreciate it.”

The speaker pauses to adjust the microphone. “Today we are faced with a truly serious problem—one that threatens our very existence. Fundamental to the success of this latest pestilence, other than scientists’ failure to eradicate it, is our inability to recognize it. It leaves no identifiable symptoms upon its victims. No discoloration of the skin or eyes, no lesions, no sores, no tell-tale marks of any kind. Why, even we leave tell-tale marks.”

More laughter circulates around the room.

“Some of you will remember how society once aided us by segregating the sick—those with leprosy, bubonic plague, and other such diseases—so we knew to stay away from them.”

A few of the older attendees exchange nods.

“Yet even in those days, when mistakes were made the result may have been unpleasant but was seldom serious. Not so with this new affliction. I’m talking about HIV, the Human Immunodeficiency Virus. It’s reaching epidemic proportions among the population and doctors seem to be unable to stop it. To appreciate the severity of the situation and the problems it poses for us, one must only consider for a moment what this disease does. It travels through the blood stream and attacks the immune system.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd.

“Yes,” the speaker responds with a nod. “I see you understand the significance. It’s our immune system that keeps decay at bay. Without it, we can’t stop the process of decomposition. Moreover, once damaged, no amount of ‘good blood’ will repair it and the end is inevitable. One may as well stay up and watch a beautiful sunrise.”

No laughter follows this remark.

“What are we to do?” asks a voice from the audience.

“Well,” the speaker replies, “I believe we have to help them find a cure.”

The motion is made, seconded and carries. The meeting closes and the attendees disperse into the moonlit night to feed and to hunt down a cure for the dreaded disease.

“What a disappointing day.”

Standing with slumped shoulders and furrowed brow, my assistant looked exhausted, even defeated. I felt the same way. It had been a long and frustrating day. “Why don’t you go on home and get some rest? I’ll document today’s test results.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, go ahead. I’ll be leaving soon myself. Marie’s been complaining about the long hours again. She says the kids forget what I look like.”

“All right.” Janson rubbed his forehead, then ran his hand through thick blond hair and rubbed the back of his neck. “I really thought we had it this time. Good night, John.” He gave me a weary nod and donned his heavy overcoat. The echo of his footsteps disappeared down the hallway.

Alone in the lab I reviewed the day’s events. The test subject, a rhesus monkey, had shown marked signs of improvement. The virus was in remission and the T₄-cell count was actually increasing although the treatment had been stopped a week earlier. It seemed the aggressive doses of medication had given the monkey’s immune system the upper hand and with this boost he was on his way to recovery. Our hopes had been dashed today when the subject succumbed to the virus which had come roaring back. Perhaps if we had continued the treatment a while longer. . .

I opened the black three-ring binder and fumbled a ball-point pen out of my pocket watching annoyed as it clattered on the clean white tile. When I bent to pick it up, a wave of nausea came over me, the room spun, my vision blurred and my knees buckled. I clutched the stainless steel table just to keep from falling. Stabilized, I squeezed my eyes shut, pinched the bridge of my nose, and took a deep breath whereupon I detected an unexpected odor, a strong scent of pine like the forest after a rain. A few seconds later my head cleared. I straightened up and opened my eyes. I turned around and nearly collapsed.

A black-clad figure stood before me, towering over my six-foot, five-inches. Ebony hair hanging about its shoulders framed a pasty white face. I stared transfixed by two gaping holes; the thing had no eyes. Still, I could feel it examining me, sizing me up, those cavernous craters sucking me in. Scarlet lips formed a hideous grin revealing eye-teeth at least an inch long.

“Good evening, Doctor.” The deep voice was silk-smooth.

“Wh-Wh-Who are you?” My mind screamed at me to back away, even run, but I stood frozen to the spot and despite my repulsion could not tear my gaze from those empty voids.

The bloodless corpse moved closer. It seemed to glide rather than step. “I thought you were going to ask ’What are you’, but of course, a man with your credentials recognizes death when he sees it. My name is Gaston Kohl.” It held forth a hand, slender and pale but with fingernails black, long and sharp. I shrank away lest it touch me.

“Wh-Wh-What do you want?”

The thing drew its claw away. “Relax, Doctor. It’s not what you think. I’m here to help you.”

My own hands were shaking, and I expected my knees to buckle again at any moment. I swallowed hard and made a conscious effort to control my quivering voice. “Help me? How?”

“You seek a cure for HIV, do you not?”

“I’m working on a treatment plan. There is no known cure.”

“I have one.”

“You have one?”

“Yes.” The creature nodded in affirmation. “You may well imagine this disease of the human race concerns my kind greatly. So much so it has been decreed that doctors and scientists such as yourself are ‘off limits’ so to speak.” The ghoul smiled, a ghastly grin, exposing again its sharp teeth and black tongue. Perhaps it meant to put me at ease but it certainly did not.

The grin faded. “It was also agreed that we would do whatever we could to help find a cure for this horrid affliction.”

“And you say you’ve got one?” I could not believe it.

“Yes.” The corpse nodded again. “Most people refuse to believe we exist—those who do learn the truth are often unable to pass on the knowledge—but we are legion. We are old and our memory is long. This troublesome HIV is itself fairly young, but has an ancient ancestor which reared its ugly head some seven hundred years ago. The Bubonic Plague.”

The creature paused and tilted its head. “Yes, the Black Death which so depopulated Europe has much in common with this virus. It turns out the survivors developed an immunity which saved them from future attacks. This same protection should prove effective against HIV infection as well. I have scoured Europe searching for someone who contracted the disease but did not succumb to it.”

“And?” I raised my eyebrows, my distrust losing out to the overwhelming power of my curiosity.

The thing reached into an inside pocket and produced a tiny vial of liquid which it held up for my inspection. “Doctor, I present Abbot Thomas of Birmingham, plague survivor and savior of mankind.”

I was still working when Janson arrived in the morning. Obviously, my evening visitor had departed.

“Didn’t you ever go home?” A concerned look clouded his features.

I shook my head. “Couldn’t. We’ve got a breakthrough.” My observations during the night had enabled me determine how the mutant antibody worked. I invited Janson to peer into the microscope. “Here, have a look.”

While he adjusted the lens and examined the slide, I explained what I’d discovered. “This antibody resembles a T₄ cell. The HIV penetrates its membrane and enters its nucleus where it expects to find the cell’s DNA.”

“Yeah,” Janson said. “I see it happening now. The HIV is about to hijack the T₄ to make it produce viruses instead of healthy cells.”

“But watch closely. The antibody’s nucleus does not contain DNA but RNA which it will infuse into the viral nucleus. So the HIV’s reverse transcription is actually going to build another antibody instead of a virus. This thing uses the attacking virus to reproduce itself.”

Janson looked up from the scope and nodded his head, a smile spreading across his face. “That’s pretty cool. ‘Hey, you think you’re gonna come in here and turn me into you? I’m gonna turn you into me. Take that!’ It’s brilliant! But how did you find it? Where did you get it?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Of that fact I had no doubt.

Further tests proved the antibody’s potency in destroying the HIV. It also served to immunize those subjects not already infected. The vaccine developed from Abbot Thomas’ DNA rendered this deadly and dreaded virus completely harmless. Bursting with excitement I phoned my boss with the news. He told me not to release any information about it until he’d contacted the sponsors of the project. He said he wanted the CDC involved in any formal announcements. Independent confirmation of our findings would be required before we were allowed to go public. I’d expected that.

I did not expect the two men who arrived at the lab the next morning. Young, tall, clean shaven, neatly dressed in pressed dark gray suits and sunglasses, they looked like federal agents. Standing side by side, they flashed a pair of gold badges and identified themselves as such, Boyer and Ellison of the CIA.

“Dr. John Saunders?” Ellison asked.

“Yes. Have I broken some law?” I asked, half-joking.

The humorless men remained rigid; neither one so much as cracked a smile. Agent Boyer said, “We understand you’ve discovered a cure for AIDS.”

“Well, I’ve developed a vaccine that wipes out HIV, the virus which causes AIDS.”

The agents exchanged quick glances. Then without another word they pushed past me, inviting themselves into the lab where they began rummaging around.

“Let me explain, Doctor.” Agent Ellison slowly ran his finger along the spines of the binders on the shelf. “It is not the government’s wish to wipe it out.”

Boyer investigated the contents of my overhead and desk drawers. “We want to control it, not kill it.”

My confusion must have been evident. Ellison said, “It took years to develop a retrovirus that would infect a human. Working through the NCI, our first attempt resulted in Ebola, a disaster which killed within ten days of infection.”

“At least HIV has been known to keep the host alive for ten years.” Boyer continued perusing my files.

Ellison moved to the shelving unit along the back wall. “Yes. Developed at Fort Detrick, Maryland, HIV is a ‘slow’ virus, first tested in Africa, where it was administered through the smallpox vaccination program. Our next tests involved inmates in Philadelphia’s Holmesburg State Prison and children at the Willowbrook State School here in New York, where we used a vaccine for Hepatitis-B.”

“Prisoners? Developmentally disadvantaged children?” I could hardly believe what I was hearing.

“Excellent test subjects,” Boyer explained. “It’s justifiable to inoculate them for Hep because of the environment they’re in, and since they’re under constant supervision, it’s easy to keep tabs on them and track their medical progress.”

“Of course,” Ellison pointed out, “it wasn’t so excellent when the press got wind of it.”

“Yes.” Boyer agreed with a nod. “There was an uproar and those tests had to be discontinued. However, we were able to give the vaccine to homosexual men in the city who volunteered for our Hep inoculation campaign.” The agent looked directly at me as if to make a point. “Some of those test subjects are still alive a decade later.”

In a seemingly choreographed move, Ellison, whose back had been to me, spun around. “But that’s not enough to justify mass injections. We need the projected life-expectancy to be much longer.”

Boyer said, “We need treatment that doesn’t have long term toxicity and doesn’t build up the resistance of the virus. Treatment without side effects so severe patients give up taking it.”

“The ideal situation,” said Ellison, “would be asymptomatic carriers.”

My gaze shifted from one agent to the other and back again. “What the devil are you guys talking about?”

Boyer slid a desk drawer closed and cocked his head to the right. “Do you believe in vampires, Doctor?”

Icy fingers crawled up my spine. Did they know about Gaston Kohl?

Ellison asked, “Are you aware there’s a war on?”

“The war on terror?” I purposely avoided the first question.

“No.” Ellison shook his head. “The war on vampirism.”

My attempt to appear surprised must have failed because the agents did not bother trying to convince me of the creatures’ existence.

“The government has an obligation to protect its citizens,” explained Ellison in a condescending tone. “The goal is to develop a virus humans can live with but is deadly to vampires.”

“HIV destroys them,” Boyer added.

“Unfortunately, it also kills us. But if we could find a way to keep it under control, we could infect an entire generation through our mandatory childhood vaccination program and force the vampires to find other prey.”

“Those vermin would learn very quickly to avoid humans. Too dangerous a food supply,” Boyer said.

“But if you develop a serum to neutralize our most effective weapon . . .” Ellison looked out the window, his voice trailing off.

I thought of my own kids. Timmy and Lisa could well expect to reach adulthood, old age even, without so much as a glimpse of a vampire. But to purposely infect them with a killer virus? And without their knowledge or consent? I shuddered to think of it. “Do you mean to tell me, you would infect a whole generation of Americans with a deadly virus in order to control vampires?”

“Not just Americans,” answered Boyer.

“Not until the virus could be controlled,” Ellison stressed.

“Gentlemen, you don’t understand. This killer can’t be controlled. Its rate of mutation is such that—”

The agents swept in on me and Boyer interrupted. “What we want you to do, Doctor, is hand this ‘cure’ over to us and continue your research into a viable long-term treatment plan which will give people a reasonable life-expectancy.”

“But we have an opportunity to destroy a virus that’s been responsible for killing millions. Don’t you see?”

“Our most effective weapon, Doctor,” Ellison said again.

Boyer stepped up and got right in my face, his offensive breath smelling of garlic. “Doctor Saunders, speaking of control, let me be quite clear. We control your funding, which means we control your research. In effect, we control you.”

I glared at the man, aggravated at the tone of his voice and indignant at his attempt to intimidate me. “Well, try as you might, gentlemen, you’ll never control HIV.”

Ellison said, “I’m sure we can find a replacement for you, Doctor, if you’d rather not cooperate. But it would be a shame to lose someone with your background and credentials.”

“It’s always a tragedy,” Boyer said, the stench of his breath punctuating his words, “when a gifted and dedicated researcher is lost.” He stepped aside and gestured toward my desk upon which lay a folded newspaper. He must have put it there when he was going through the drawers, though I hadn’t seen him do it. I walked over and looked down at the page. Janson’s smiling face stared up at me from a grainy black and white photograph. The headline read, ‘Fatal Crash Claims Researcher.’

“What have you people done?”

“What makes you think we had anything to do with it?” Boyer asked. The hint of a smile gave me my answer.

Drained by the shock of my colleague’s passing and with an emptiness in the pit of my stomach, I gathered up the vials of vaccine I’d made from Abbot Thomas’ DNA and surrendered them to the agents who thanked me with fake politeness and strode out of the lab. After they’d gone I sat down and read the article concerning Janson, already convinced his death hadn’t been an accident, but rather meant to serve as a warning to me. A brutally sinister threat by my own government.

Gaston Kohl returned in the evening as he’d promised, eager to learn the results of my tests. Though I’d been expecting him and the odor of wet pine preceded his arrival, his sudden appearance still startled me. And I simply could not get used to his lack of eyes.

I held up my hand, stealing a moment to catch my breath and regain my composure. Then I showed him the newspaper. “They killed Janson.”

He pursed his lips, dark eyebrows narrowed. “Who?”

“Nils Janson, my assistant.”

“I’m aware of who he is, Doctor. I mean to ask who killed him.” Kohl’s formerly smooth voice now sounded like gravel.

“The government, the CIA specifically, and they seem to know all about you.”

“Me?”

“Well, your kind at any rate. They intend to use HIV as a weapon in their ‘war on vampirism’.”

He listened attentively while I recounted my visit from agents Boyer and Ellison.

“How do they intend to deploy this weapon?”

“Initially through the DPT inoculation for American children. Later on I’m sure they’ll utilize the World Health Organization to infect Europeans and everybody else.”

“And how do they propose to get people to accept the virus? They can’t exactly claim there’s a danger of vampire attack. No one would believe them.”

“They don’t have to. People will believe there’s some sort of disease going around, like the flu, against which they need to get vaccinated. They won’t know the vaccine is tainted with HIV.”

“What happens when they start getting sick? Surely there will be an uproar then.”

“If the government has its way, no one will get sick. They’ll just carry the virus around. But what the Feds don’t seem to understand is that this virus mutates. It cannot be controlled and it will not stay dormant. There is no way to make it ‘safe’ for humans. I tried to explain, but they wouldn’t listen.”

“You realize, Doctor, their solution will kill far more people than my kind ever will.”

“Yes, and that’s why I’m telling you about it. How do we stop them?”

“Do you think government officials would infect themselves?”

“Somehow I doubt it.”

“Not even to save their own necks?” Gaston apparently had a sense of humor.

“Wait, what?” I suddenly realized he might not have been joking. “What are you suggesting?”

“Open season on American politicians,” he replied without hesitation. “We’ll start with those who came up with this terrible idea. Meanwhile, continue making your vaccine. You’ll need a load of it if the government actually begins carrying out this plan. Do you need more DNA from the abbot?”

“No, I didn’t give them all of it. But I’m afraid they’ll be back and who knows what they might do? As I told you, I’m convinced they killed Janson, maybe to keep him quiet and maybe to keep me in line.”

“Don’t worry about them, Doctor. My associates will see to them. Now, if there is nothing else, I shall take my leave. Let there be no ‘bad blood’ between us.”

I actually shook the vampire’s hand. As I studied his eyeless face it occurred to me that even though the agents were human, I had never seen Boyer’s eyes or Ellison’s either.