Infected

21.

It felt so good to be out of the Racal suit. She couldn’t wait to take a shower, because she smelled riper than a rotten egg. She had to clean up-Murray was on his way to the hospital for an official update. At the moment, however, the shower had to wait. She read the report on the analysis of the strange fiber growing out of Martin Brewbaker.

“After a few hours, the fiber dissolved,” Amos said. “They still can’t figure out why. It seemed rot-free when we cut it out, but something triggered the effect.”

“But this report came before that, right? This is from the fiber itself, not from the rot?”

Amos nodded. He was also thrilled to finally be free of the suit. He looked as relieved as a teenage boy who’s just lost his virginity.

“That’s right, they were able to analyze it before the effect kicked in. Pure cellulose.”

“The same material that made up that triangular growth.”

“Exactly. Well, almost. The growth’s cellulose seemed to be a structure-shell, skeleton, elements responsible for form. Most of the growth was the cancerous cells.”

They were out of the suits because there was no more point in examining a body that was nothing but black, liquefying tissue and a strange green mold that covered half the table. They’d done all they could, as fast as they could. They hadn’t really found any answers, just more questions. One such question bothered her to no end-the cellulose.

“So the blue fiber, same material as the triangle structure, both sources composed of cellulose, a material not produced by the human body,” Margaret said. “And we think this is some kind of parasite. You have any theories on the blue fiber?”

“I think it’s a fizzle,” Amos said.

“A fizzle?”

“I think the blue fiber is part of a parasite that didn’t quite make it to the larval stage.”

“We know the stages now?”

Amos shrugged. “For lack of a better term, let’s call the triangle in the body the larval stage. Obviously, there’s a prelarval stage. The triangle is mostly cellulose, the fiber is cellulose, you do the math.”

It made sense in a way. Some cellular automata producing raw materials that were never quite used, or perhaps a mutation of the parasite that just produced cellulose and never moved to the “larval” phase, as Amos suggested.

And that word bothered her as well.

“So if there’s a larval stage,” she said, “I suppose it turns into something else in the adult phase.”

Amos clucked his tongue at her. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Margaret. Of course it does. And no, I don’t know what that is. Right now I don’t care-I want a shower before I have to face Murray Longworth.”

Maybe Amos could turn off his curiosity, but Margaret could not. Perhaps more accurately, she couldn’t turn off her fear.

If this was a larval stage, just what the hell awaited them in the adult form?