The Angel of Death

"Recommendation"

In religious mythology, Michael is viewed as the good Angel of Death, carrying the souls of the deceased to Heaven. One may not escape the Angel of Death. Where the Angel of Death appears, there is no remedy. God protects the Angel of Death.

I looked up from the blood samples I was analyzing and glanced around the temporary lab. At the moment it was eerily quite for a triage base. This was the first time in two days I found myself alone, and for a brief moment, I relaxed. I tried to forget I was in a quarantine station in the middle of a small farming town and that outside this tent were hundreds of people, many infected with Typhoid fever.

Two days ago the town of Davidson was declared a critical threat. Thirteen possible cases of gram-negative bacteria were observed in the last two weeks. Numbers like that drew the attention of my government employers.

My thoughts were interrupted by a nurse peeking through the plastic clean room tarps, telling me I was needed at the barrier. I adjusted my white biohazard suit, making sure my filtration mask was secure, and followed her out.

The morning sun was bright and my eyes took time to adjust. When they did, I saw a large important looking man standing at the barrier with several dozen townsfolk behind him. They stared at me, and although I was used to being observed, a shiver ran down my spine. I knew well the gaze of stifled fear.

"Could someone tell me what is going on," said the man, his voice trembling ever so slightly.

"The Operations Officer would like you to speak with Mayor Hofferman and try to calm him down. We don't want to start a panic," said the nurse.

Giving a reluctant nod, I approached the barrier.

"Mayor, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Michael Troke, one of the doctors here to evaluate the severity of Davidson's infection. How can I help?"

"You could start by telling me why the power has been cut off," he replied curtly.

"We are only trying to ensure the safety of all civilians. Quarantine is necessary to prevent further contamination. Follow me and I will explain."

I led the mayor out of earshot of the crowd. After showing him my credentials and imparting confidentiality, I began addressing his concerns.

"All our connections to the outside world have been cut off and soldiers are blocking every road out of Davidson," Hofferman said.

"I understand your concerns, but I can assure you this is all in your towns' best interest."

"How is treating us like prisoners, in our best interest?"

"You are not prisoners, you are patients. We have multiple cases of Typhoid Fever here. Quarantine procedures must be enacted until further data is collected. Sealing off the town allows us to contain the outbreak."

"This is ridiculous. You have been running tests all morning. How much more data do you need?"

"It would be beneficial if everyone gave blood samples, but we are experiencing some reluctance from the population. Maybe you could help."

I understood the distrust of the government, the fear of those smarter than you. What the townsfolk didn't know was that refusing to give samples was far worse. Without full compliance, we had to estimate the rate of infection.

"How am I going to convince healthy people to give blood to government men in white suits?"

"Healthy? Do you see that woman leaning on the barrier?"

"Sarah Collins?"

"A woman of her age should not have trouble standing. Muscle weakness and fatigue are clear indications of Typhoid Fever. Who is the little girl with the teddy bear?"

"That's Claire. Is she ill?"

"Look at the way she keeps wiping the teddy bear across her forehead. She's sweating and it's only sixty degrees outside. There is a red dotted rash running down her right arm. I'm positive she has Typhoid and given the progression, she could be patient zero."

"My god," he replied, wiping his nose with a tissue.

"Even you Mr. Hofferman are sick. I've watched you trying to conceal your rather obvious nose bleed. It's common among people with Typhoid, especially for those who are sixty plus years of age and taking medication to treat their Rheumatoid arthritis."

He straightened and wiped his bleeding nose. I saw the bewilderment on his face. I knew the type of man he was; a big fish in a small pond. I did my best to calm his fears and assured him we would send representatives to answer any questions. We parted amicably and I got back to work.

I understood the mayor's point of view, but regulations were regulations. The world was in this position because for years we ignored regulations and recommendations. Every time a doctor prescribed amoxicillin to a kid with a cold we inched closer to this very point. We were to do no harm, but in our ignorance, thousands suffered.

The first gram-negative players hit the world in the early twenty first century. The most populated countries were hit the hardest, but none went unscathed. Governments did what they could, but most were unwilling to enact the ruthless policies required to stop the spread. That was a mistake made by our predecessors, an error that forty percent of the population paid for with their lives.

I looked down at my computer, the report was coming in. If my observations were correct, the data will confirm my suspicions. The centrifuges whirled and beeped as they processed the samples. The machines separated the blood into its three components, each cultured and digitally scanned against a DNA database.

When the machine signaled their completion, I dismissed the nurses and waited for the results. The information was restricted. I couldn't take the chance of word leaking out before arrangements were made. The black cursor blinked for what seemed like an eternity then spelled out ten fateful words.

CATEGORY: SALMONELLA-TYPHI
GRAM-NEGATIVE STRAND: GENERATION-UNKNOWN
SIX SAMPLES INFECTED

I removed a sample and looked at it under my microscope. It was frighteningly beautiful. Its capsule and cell wall were remarkably thicker than previous generations, but the markers were there. This was evolution in progress; a new generation.

On my computer, I opened a direct link to the DPH headquarters. There was no point in delaying. I took a deep breath in and typed, "Gram Negative detected. New Generation. Visually confirmed by Dr. Michael Troke".

"RECOMMENDATION?"

The reply was cold. I stalled. I knew the protocol, but that didn't make my response any easier. This was a dangerous disease, if it spread, millions could die. I typed the one-word that would set everything in motion.

"COUNTERMAND"

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