I wrote this in 2002 and just thought about it today and had to go searching for it on the PC. Crudely edited and formatted as this was from eighteen years ago...

                                                                                                         OUTBREAK

  

To Meg O’Malley, Doctor Brian Hunter seemed more like a college student then a full-fledged MD with a degree in communicable diseases and another in hematology.  He had the sort of boyish good looks that would keep people mistaking him for a much younger man all his life.  His naturally wavy, sandy-blond hair was flyaway and shoulder length, combed haphazardly back away from his face and more or less contained in a stubby ponytail.  There were always stray, wispy strands of hair standing out around his head forming a delicate aura that shone white in the sunlight.  He seldom bothered to shave, but would never allow a full beard or moustache to grow in.  He wore small pewter-framed glasses for close work. His eyes were a startlingly clear blue, very piercing when he was at his most intense.  In this equatorial climate his standard uniform was a black t-shirt, khaki cargo shorts, an old pair of Nikes and his white lab coat.  Every time she saw him in the camp’s clinic or lab she was jolted by his youthful appearance and his boundless energy.  Sometimes he seemed to fairly vibrate, even when he was sitting still, hunched over his microscope.  Often he could be seen rushing around the compound, the tails of his lab coat flying in the still, torpid air.  He spoke as rapidly as he moved.  It was disconcerting to work with someone like Brian Hunter, but he was brilliant and dedicated, so they all more or less had gotten used to his presence.  “Here are the blood sample slides you wanted,” she said, setting the rack of slides down on the counter to his left.  He was left-handed.

 “Thanks, Meg.  That was quick,” he replied, pausing to push his glasses up in order to rub his eyes.  He had been peering into the microscope since dawn.  Now his stomach growled loudly as he glanced at his field watch.  “One o’clock already!”  He looked stunned, then flashed a lopsided grin at the pretty Irish lab technician.  “Suppose you’ve eaten already.”

 “Over an hour ago.”  She pulled a cheese sandwich from one coat pocket, a can of Coke from the other.  “I thought you might be too busy to eat.”

 “That’s what I admire about you.  You’re a thinker.”  He took the sandwich and soda  setting them on the counter.  “What’s the latest?” he asked.

  “Three more have died.  Seventeen more have been brought in.  Four of those appear to be in an advanced stage as they exhibit signs of liver and renal failure.  Pat is preparin’ some slides of blood samples drawn from the new patients right now.  I’ll bring them to you as soon as they’re ready.”

  “Has the little girl died?”

  “No.  She’s still hangin’ in there.”

  “When you get a chance draw another sample.  Three tubes should be enough.   I’m going to be running some additional tests later today. Her case is progressing differently from all the others. It’s the same virus, but her body appears to have the ability to sustain a prolonged counterattack on whatever it is that has invaded the blood of these people. I’m trying to find and isolate an antigen in her blood.  If I can do that then perhaps we can develop an antibody or a vaccine and offer these poor people some hope and relief from this thing.”

  “I’ll draw the blood myself, but I’m not sure I can get three tubes out of her.”

  “Do the best you can.  And no slacking in barrier technique,” he warned.  His blue eyes met hers briefly.

  During those few seconds he looked straight at her Meg was rocked by the sudden realization that Brian Hunter had feelings for her beyond those of a co-worker.  How had she missed all the previous signals he must have sent in the past few weeks- or was this something new, something only he’d just become aware of himself?  Her heart skittering in her breast, her mind trying to reconcile itself to this unexpected but not unwelcome revelation , she went out into the corridor and immediately collided with a technician, masked, gloved, and goggled, who was carrying a rack of test tubes containing freshly drawn blood from the isolation ward.  The two technicians staggered and stumbled trying to regain their balance.  The test tube rack tilted and the tubes fell to the floor and shattered, sending up a spray of fine shards of glass and blood.  The masked technician had thrown his arm up to further protect his face, but Meg, completely caught off guard, was struck in the face by sharp glass and drops of blood.

   She was leaning against the wall, her right hand over her right eye, stunned, when Doctor Hunter came rushing out of the lab.  He looked from the mess on the floor, to the masked and safety-goggled technician, then to Meg who only wore latex gloves.  His face was very pale, his blue eyes wide with shock.  “No, Meg!” he cried as the tip of her tongue darted out to lick the droplet of blood poised dead center on her lower lip.  “Spit it out!” 

 With horror she did exactly that, and then felt her stomach roil.  She struggled not to vomit as Doctor Hunter came closer, his eyes on her face.  “God Almighty,” he murmured, a note of near panic in his voice.  He grabbed her by the left wrist and pulled her away from the wall.  “Come on!  Hurry!”

  In the lab he leaned her over the sink and splashed water on her face.   Leaning hard on her shoulders he forced her under the faucet, turning her head to let the water wash directly over her face.  “You’re drownin’ me!” she cried.

  “Hold your breath!” he snapped.  Meg thought for sure he was going to kill her. 

“Don’t just stand there!  Go get Doctor Rosen!” he shouted wildly at the other technician who must have followed them into the lab.  She could not see. Her injured eye was still clamped shut protectively and her left eye was full of water and tears.  “Come on.  Open your eye for me,” he said in a more soothing tone.  “Meg, open your eye and let me see what’s in there.”

  “It hurts!”
              “I know.  I know,” he said quietly.  Gently his fingers probed around her still closed eye.  “Is it glass then?” he asked.

  “I think so.”

  “Damn,” he swore softly.  “All right.  Easy now.  I’m going to blot your face dry.”

  Meg stayed bent over the sink while he blotted her face with paper towels.  She felt the draft caused by the lab door swinging open quickly.  “What’s happened?” Doctor Rosen’s voice demanded brusquely.

  “She collided with the other lab tech in the hall and was splashed with blood.  We think there’s a bit of glass in her eye from one of the broken test tubes.”

  “She’s been contaminated?”  The doctor’s voice held a note of shock and horror.

Meg began to shake.

   “Yes,” Brian Hunter replied, a curious quaver in his response.

   “Then she’s as good as gon…”

   “Doctor, will you kindly examine her eye and treat her injury.”  Doctor Hunter’s voice was suddenly clipped and authoritative.  He put his gloved hand on Meg’s blood splattered sleeve. “Do you want me to go with you?”  She nodded.

   Meg lay on a cot in the isolation tent.  Insects buzzed incessantly around her head, but she was too weak to swat at them.  Her body was wracked by a persistent burning fever. Her head ached.  Her throat was sore.  She was extremely thirsty, but an hour ago she had been unable to hold even an ounce of water down.  The IV irritated her left hand and they had tied her right wrist to the cot rail to keep her from pulling it out.  If the disease didn’t kill her first she was going to die of starvation and dehydration.  Already her fingers were so thin that she had lost her school ring.  Brian had found it, getting down on his hands and knees to search every inch of the floor until with a cry of triumph he’d held up the ring. She had seen a glint of gold, but hadn’t been able to see the ring clearly.  Her injured eye was bandaged. The vision in her good eye was disintegrating.

   As she lay in the hot tent her thoughts ping-ponged tiredly from her family to her cozy little Galway flat, to Brian Hunter hunched over his microscope searching desperately for answers that would come too late for her.  She wanted to cry.  He was trying so hard to find a cure.  Every time he came to see her his face behind the mask looked more gaunt and haggard, his boyish appearance rapidly being replaced by the bleary-eyed visage of a fanatic.  At least his voice was the same.  He still sounded warm and caring.

Doctor Hunter stood beside the small girl’s cot.  It was all he could do not to grab her and shake her, to scream at her to give up her secrets.  He’d seen so many people die already.  Meg was dying.  He could deal with the deaths of strangers, of patients, but not Meg’s imminent passing. She’d come to this distant, hot, nearly primitive country to help these people,  not to die from whatever it was that was decimating the villages in this immediate area.  Why was this child still alive?  Why hadn’t he been able to successfully isolate the antigen in her blood?  Why were all his tests failures?  Dead ends?  Time was running out.  It was rapidly, irrevocably running out.  For all of these people…for Meg.

           He clenched his fists as he turned and strode quickly away.

Meg sensed someone nearby.  She could not open her good eye, but she turned her head very slightly with great effort toward the left.  “It’s me, Meg.”

 “…thirs…ty,” she whispered.  He dabbed her parched lips with a wet cloth.   A few drops of water trickled into her mouth causing her to retch violently.

“Shh!  Shh!” he soothed, stroking her hot, dry cheek.

“I’m…dying.”

“I’m sorry, Meg,” he said, his voice hollow with despair and defeat.

“Bri…an….I”

 “Don’t speak.”

 “I…love…” She heard him bite back a sob.  “Send…ring…home…to Mum.”

 “I will,” he whispered.

 “Tell her…tell…her…I…”  Meg could not speak any longer.  Her strength was gone.

 “I’ll tell her you love her. I’ll take care of everything.  I’ll see that you get home.”  He bent and pressed his masked lips against her cheek.  “I love you,” he whispered at her ear.  A flicker of a smile at the corners of her mouth just preceded a terrible seizure mercifully cut short by the sudden arrival of death.  Meg’s ravaged body sank wearily into Death’s embrace.

  Brian looked at her for a few moments longer then he walked outside into the sultry twilight.

Less than a week after Meg’s death Doctor Hunter was hurrying across the compound when he happened to notice a small boy of about nine years of age carrying a bundle of sticks and boards toward the pit where the bodies of the local victims of the wretched disease were being burned. What caught his eye were pieces of weathered board with something painted on them in black and yellow.  “Hey!  Wait up!” he called.

           The boy, startled by his shout, dropped the bundle and fled.  Brian crouched down, grabbing the narrow, flat slats, pulling them free of the bundle of sticks.  Flipping them all painted side up he put them together like a macabre puzzle, his heart thudding, his stomach roiling.  “My God!” he cried.  “Oh, my God!”  He stood up, looking wildly about him.  The boy was long gone, but Brian knew he must have found the weathered boards somewhere nearby.

 He turned his eyes toward the boards again and the words were like a knife plunged straight into his heart- “U.S. GOVERNMENT BIOLOGICAL WARFARE WEAPONS TESTING AREA-DANGER-DO NOT ENTER!”