Breach 2

The quarantine zone has been breached and I do not know if this can be contained...

The National Guardsmen went to the office where Mr. Stanton had escaped the blue smoke. They crept up a steel staircase from the shop floor on the north end (Alpha Group) and the back interior stairwell to the office hall on the south (Delta Group), four men in each group. They came armed with flash bang grenades and small automatic guns bigger than uzis, but much more compact than the AK-47s I saw the militia men carrying when the ebola outbreak took me to Africa two years ago.

I was able to listen to the whole operation through a walkie talkie Davolo borrowed for me from one of the Guardsmen stationed by our little quarantine area. I was told I could only speak on matters directly related to the contagion and was warned the radio would be taken back if I tried to speak for any other reason.

Delta Group reported seeing the blue smoke as soon as the entered the building standing about three inches deep on the floor. Alpha Group saw nothing on the shop floor, but reported the same mist when they opened the door to the upstairs hallway where they also saw Delta approaching from the opposite end about 100 feet away. Both units said it was odd how the smoke seemed to be increasing in piles at their knees as if it were climbing them, but neither worried as they were all outfitted with gas masks.

The groups converged on the door in question and two men took positions on the wall opposite, aiming their weapons at chest height on the door. Another pulled a flash bang and aother prepared to kick in the door. There was a quick three count while everyone covered their eyes. Then the kicker threw all his weight into the boot heel that struck right by the doorknob. He fell back to the floor , swinging his gun to the ready as he did and the crouched soldier beside him simultaneously lobbed the grenade into the office and thrust a foot in the doorway to keep the swinging wood from bouncing back.

There was a moment of silence, and then a pop came over the radio, the explosion of the grenade. The guy who had lobbed the grenade counted to three very fast then apparently rolled out of the way for the others to charge in the door. Two went through, eyes still closed to avoid being stunned by the flash. One of the next in line said “Oh my lord....the smoke...it’s falling out the door like a...like the room was filled with water...”

At the same time, some gurgling sounds started coming over the transmission that I later learned were the two men on the floor choking in the mist washing over them. It is safe to say the gas masks did not do their intended job.

There was a scuffle, and two more men were ordered through the door while the last two pulled their fellow soldiers off the floor. The man in the lead through the door was struck by something that pushed him back through the air, colliding into the man behind him and sending them both to the floor and pinning the man in back against the far wall.

Gunfire erupted inside, and glass shattered. A spotter in the alley reported a Guardsman falling out the window, blue smoke trailing behind him all the way to the ground.

Animal sounds came through the radio as if something was attacking the remaining soldier in the office. There was more choking and gurgling, more sounds of struggle, and a sustained burst of automatic fire that must have emptied the gun firing it in seconds.Honestly, there was nothing one could do to discern anything in the confusion coming over that little speaker.

And then, for a second, all was silent.

Someone on the outside began barking orders for a report, but the only response was wheezing and choking. The outside spotter reported the blue smoke continued pouring out the window , not at a trickle, but like it was being forced out by a huge industrial fan. It flowed to the north end of the block, and then swept west through the alley and out of sight. I wish I could say it dissipated in the wind from there, but if the Greenland cloud is any indication we have not seen the last of it.

Ambulances that had been waiting two blocks away converged on the building while a third group was sent in to retrieve the soldiers from the first two groups. They entered from the shop floor and paused at the door that opened to the office hallway. Looking through the window in the door, they reported seeing no blue smoke at all, but they did see four of their comrades on the floor outside the door.

One was sitting upright against the wall opposite the door with his legs splayed. Another was sitting on the floor in front of him, between his legs as if they were lovers sitting around a campfire. A third was halfway through the door, facing away on his side, and wrapped around the frame like a drunk’s car around a tree. The fourth lay spread eagle on his back on the floor to the near side of the doorway with a considerable pool of blood forming a halo around his head.

The third team opened the door to the hall and moved forward cautiously with their weapons raised. They paused to check each of the soldiers outside the door. None were breathing.

Two of the third team soldiers stood and put their backs to the wall on either side of the door frame. They raised their weapons gave a three count, and charged in. In the center of the room, they turned back to back and swept the muzzles of their guns around the room. One shouted “clear!” and the other got out to about “cle--” before dropping to one knee and vomiting violently everything he had eaten for the past three days, sounding as if he were pulling food from his soul to surrender to the scene.

One civilian slumped against a filing cabinet beside the shattered window. His forehead was missing from just above his eyes to his hairline. His brain peeked out, exposed and cooked, burns surrounded the opening. This guy has apparently caught the flash-bang that started the melee right between the eyes.

The other civilian, our missing teen, lay on his side beside the door. When he was rolled onto his back it was easy to see how he had died. Bullet holes started in his right thigh and ran in a straight zipper up the center of his torso and finished with the most lethal shot: a neat little hole right above and between his eyebrows.

One soldier lay slumped over the top of the desk. No wounds were visible but blue smoke was so thick in his gas mask that they had to pull it off to be sure of who he was.

Another Guardsman was face-into the wall on the right side of the room. His legs were behind him, flat on the floor. His pelvis was jammed into the corner, bent 90 degrees the wrong way, allowing him to “sit” upright. The back of a wooden chair lay on top of his legs as if somebody with superhuman strength had driven the chair into the base of his spine and folded him backwards into that crease.

The final two soldiers lay on their backs in the center of the room. They were mirror images of each other, their feet about three feet apart and their heads opposite. One had a bloody bullet hole in the front of his gas mask right over his left eye, the other had suffered a bullet tearing right through his Adam’s apple. It was like their target had run between them while they were firing, causing them to take each other out simultaneously.

With no blue smoke to report and everybody dead, the third team became the cleanup crew. I will spare the gruesome details of that operation, but suffice it to say that there is nothing worse for military morale than to have to clean up bodies of soldiers after a failed operation.

The bodies have been brought back to the pier for autopsy, and while I will still be in quarantine I will be able to supervise the examination by computer video link. Hopefully we can ascertain something about this contagion before this thing gets too out of control. Though I fear that the mist cloud is already drifting to claim its next set of victims while we do this.

I know this little journal of mine has already acquired a small set of followers, and to you, all I can suggest is that you pray and if you live on the East coast, you may want to take this opportunity to cash in on any vacation time you may have coming.

Hope against hope

Guardsmen with gas masks were sent 20 minutes ago to investigate the office Stanton reported his encounter. I nervously await word. If there are two people trapped in that office as Stanton suggested and one is Stanton's employer, hopefully the other will be Brian Phelps, suggesting the contamination has been limited.

We have managed to secure and equip ten more shipping containers for quarantine. These are just the standard heavy plastic bubble setups like you see in the movies, not the plexi boxes like I am in. Because of this, I have ordered the patients placed in these units strapped to their beds so they do not tear the containment bubbles if they become violent like our Patient Zero.

Excerpt from an interview with a man brought to quarantine

TIME OF ARREST: 07:32
AGE/GENDER: 34/M
NAME: Marcus Stanton
NATIONALITY/LINEAGE: American/Italian
NOTES: Displays no sign of infection despite possible contact with contagion; ordered to quarantine for 72 hours; interviewed by Henry Pierce

“I knocked and opened the door a crack and said ‘Hey boss, you need me to do anything else before I clock out?’ the way I always do before heading home. I was looking at the floor, not wanting to invade his privacy or nothin’, and this blue smoke starts pouring out about six inches deep on the floor.

“That was strange enough, but it looked like it was starting to crawl up my leg. I stepped back out of it, but it was like it clung to me. Not a second later, something slams into the door and starts clawing at it like a dog was scratching to be let out but if it was a dog, it was a damn big one because the scratching sounded like it was at shoulder height.

“I was freaked and took another step back. I looked down again, and that smoke was winding up just below my waist like something out of a movie. The scratching was furious, and now sounded like two things were clawing the door. The night time darkness, the animals, the smoke climbing me...it all just seemed too weird, so I booked it out of there.

“The smoke stayed with me for a couple steps, then seemed to wash behind me in the breeze.

“I ran down the steps, out the door, and jumped in my car. I looked down to put the key in and turned the engine over. When I looked up, there was a military dude in front of the car with a big gun pointed at me. Another one was outside the driver’s door, tapping on the window with the barrel of his gun hollering for me to ‘turn it off and get out of the car NOW!’

“I did what he said and he told me to lean on the car with my hands visible. He didn’t frisk me, like for weapons or nothin’, but he looked me up and down real good and told me to turn around.

“He asked if I had been attacked by anyone, and I said no, I had been working the machines all night but somethin’ strange was going on in my boss’s office on the second floor and I wanted to get the hell out. He told the other guy to stand guard and wait for backup, and then led me back here at gunpoint.”

Box, sweet box

Davolo just left my temporary home. He sat for a while on the other side of the inch-thick lucite box that lines the back two-thirds of this shipping container, making up the containment box that keeps any germs I might be carrying safely away from the outside world. He read my vitals from the terminal on his side of the box and cheerily proclaimed me “not dead yet.” Yet. At least I have no typical symptoms of infection.

Actually, none of the quarantined guests are showing any signs of an infection, at least not any they did not carry before any of this started. Davolo joked that one of the fishing boat crew -- a surly middle-ager aptly named Fischer -- is near to tears rubbing his crotch and begging for some salve for his “flea bites” as he calls them.

But after the initial pleasantries, Davolo got very solemn, a demeanor he generally only adopts in the lab when we are fighting a particularly bad bug. He explained that “Christian Slater,” whose real name is apparently Brian Phelps, escaped the area and remains at large. The National Guard troops have set up a perimeter one mile from where our patient zero came ashore, but that is a huge area to try to contain completely. There are not as many people in that space as if it had been a residential area, but it’s still enough to fill the containment shelter that has been set up in a warehouse about two blocks up the road from here. If you have never tried to contain a large group of dockworkers, security guards and shift managers, Davolo assures me it's something nobody would ever want to do

Breach

INSTANT MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT

12:18:32 DocBruceSteve: Was that guns?

12:18:56 HawkeyePierce: yeah, someone attacked the perimeter guards on the beach

12:19:15 DocBruceSteve: A gawker get out of hand?

12:19:40 HawkeyePierce: no, swimmer.

12:19:52 DocBruceSteve: Swimmer? Explain, please.

12:20:25 HawkeyePierce: kid came out of the water, attacked one of the g-men, grabbing and biting

12:20:46 DocBruceSteve: Teenager, dark hair, 6 feet tall, big gash on his arm?

12:21:05 HawkeyePierce: yeah...friend of yours?

[More gunshots are heard]

12:21:20 DocBruceSteve: OH GOD

12:21:36 DocBruceSteve: That sounds like the kid that attacked me on the boat...situation?

12:22:15 HawkeyePierce: how could that be? christ, he must be bulletproof...took at least 8 shots. One in the leg has him limping, it’s like the rest had no effect.

12:22:48 DocBruceSteve: HE MUST BE CONTAINED

12:23:22 HawkeyePierce: 2 g-men down, 2 others in the area tending to them, kid is limping off to the street, nobody else in the area

12:23:56 DocBruceSteve: LISTEN TO ME: the guards MUST be quarantined

12:24:10 DocBruceSteve: Kid MUST be stopped and quarantined also

12:24:25 DocBruceSteve: Anyone approaching must use EXTREME caution -- avoid direct contact at ALL costs -- infection is AIRBORNE -- kid is patient zero

12:24:56 HawkeyePierce: understood. will try. g-men aren’t really equipped for that

12:25:11 DocBruceSteve: Then God help us all.

Good news, REALLY bad news

The good news is that we returned the fishing boat crew to shore with no incident. None of them appear to be infected with anything worse than they put to sea with, which is to say four venereal diseases, two colds and a case of severe diarrhea due to some very spicy Mexican food that was consumed on the way to the crewman getting on the boat.

The bad news is that I just woke up in quarantine. My staff provided me with a laptop with a wireless connection so I could keep abreast of the situation and report my status or any symptoms I develop on an hourly basis. Basically, I am on work-from-home status and ‘home’ for the next seven days is a shipping container turned isolation chamber, under protocol that I dictated while driving to Baltimore.

Since I have a bit of down time here, I may as well relate as much of what happened as I can in the interest of keeping a good history of the situation.

Four members of my team, the two National Guard security men and I boarded the motorboat and sped out to the cabin cruiser. Two of my team (Davolo and Pierce), one of the security guards (Ephram) and I boarded the boat with the dead teens and sent the rest of the team with the motorboat over to the fishing trawler. They immediately tied off, boarded and began checking the fishermen for any unusual symptoms.

Davolo and Ephram went below to make sure the rest of the boat was clear, Pierce and I began our investigation at the bow, following orders from Admiral Davies to not approach the victims without someone with a gun watching over us. Over the radio Davolo reported that there was nothing below but a lot of blood and obvious signs of struggle as if someone had been fighting off an attacker while bleeding from a very bad wound. Ephram did not “report,” but it was obvious the muttered “Oh shit” and “My God” expletives that came over the radio were from him.

I looked toward the stern of the boat and noted a neck injury on one of the girls that could have easily sprayed most of her blood around if she were the victim in question. While I was looking at her, I swear one of the boys -- a hulking kid that had to be on the football team -- shifted his vacant stare to me, but I dismissed it and returned to examining the bow.

I told Davolo to stay below and keep cataloging what he saw with one of the video cameras we brought along for that purpose. Ephram was to come on deck and stand guard while I examined the bodies of the teens and then sealed them for transport to a lab where they would be fully autopsied in search of cause of death.

I approached the kids and caught that eerie feeling again of being watched. Again I dismissed it as the feeling you get when the eyes in a painting seem to be following you across a room.

All four kids were obviously the popular types from their school, and the fact that they were on this boat suggested money as well as good looks. I scanned the camera from left-to-right, feeling for a pulse on each as I did. None of them had one.

The first was a boy about six feet tall and 145 pounds. He was probably not into sports, he seemed instead to be one of those guys that never plays on a team but still hangs out with the preppy athletic crowd. Handsome with dark brown hair, he made me think of Christian Slater in his earlier days.

Second was a waif of a blonde. If she was not a cheerleader and homecoming queen, I would eat my lab coat. She was the one with the hole in her throat big enough to pour out all the blood she had in under a minute.

Third was the football player with his buzzed light brown hair -- as true to the Biff Tannen image as you could get without getting sued by Amblin Entertainment for copyright infringement.

Finally there was the girl with the auburn hair that reminded me of a Graduate Assistant named Gretchen that helped in my freshman chem class all those years ago when Eugene and I first met.

I moved closer to Christian and scanned him with the video camera from top to bottom, noting any wounds I encountered. That done, I took a step to the right and began repeating the process on the cheer queen.

I leaned in to get a close shot of the neck wound which was difficult since the light from the camera was throwing strange shadows in the darkness, and I wanted to have the most accurate record possible. As I concentrated on the image in the camera, Ephram shouted behind me, “Look out Doc!” and I suddenly felt something clamp on my right bicep.

I looked around and saw Biff clenching my arm. His eyes were still completely dead, but his mouth was now open, teeth exposed, a bit of blue smoke wafting from the back of his throat and spilling out over his chin. A gunshot sounded behind us and Biff and I both turned towards Ephram.

“Get your fuckin’ hand off the Doc right now or the next one doesn’t miss!”

Biff launched up from his seat, pushing me back and dropping me to the deck as he went. He flew amazingly fast toward Ephram who fired a shot into the boy’s shoulder. Bits of bone and tissue and surprisingly little blood erupted from the bullet hole. Biff twitched a little, but continued as if barely effected by the bullet.

“Stop or die!” Ephram screamed. He let Biff take another step and then put a bullet through his head. The football player lumbered forward on inertia, but fell quickly and crashed into the wall beside the door leading below deck. The force of his head hitting the wall caused it to crush flat like he had been crowned with a mallet that would make Gallagher envious.

I started to say “Oh my G--” when I realized the other three kids were falling on top of me. Reacting only on instinct, I got my right leg cocked, put it on Christian’s chest, and kicked him backwards. He teetered on the brink for a long second and then fell overboard.

Blondie had one hand on my knee, one on my ankle. She forced down with all her weight and her lips pulled back from her teeth like she was a dog about to bite its way through the rope that held it. This I saw from one corner of my eye.

The horror in the other corner was no less terrifying. In the same instant, the Gretchen-esque girl pinned my shoulder under one knee and lifted my gloved right hand to her face with such strength it was like I offered no resistance.

I heard Ephram shout “Back away, goddamn you!” but neither girl so much as paused. A shot exploded from his gun and Gretchen’s head erupted in spray of brain tissue and some blood and she slumped over onto Blondie just as the cheer queen bit through my biohazzard suit and into my shin.

I had time to notice blue smoke pour from Blondie mouth toward my wound, then another gun crack and my head swam and I passed out.

I was told later that one member of the second team jumped into the motor boat, collected me, took of my suit hood and attached an oxygen mask to my face that we had brought for the fishing boat crew. He rushed me to the dock as fast as the motor would push us.

I awoke here about two hours ago. Davolo told me that the cheer queen had been shot in the heart with the blast that I heard and stood to rush Ephram. She made it two running strides before he put a second bullet in her left temple. She dropped and did not get up again.

Davolo went on to explain that the team had dressed my wound, put me on every vital monitor we had at hand, and kept me on the respirator. So far, he said, nothing was showing out of the ordinary, but they planned to keep me in quarantine for a week per my protocol. I did not try to argue, I only asked that they keep me in the loop as much as possible, and he said that was the plan.

So I guess I am poised to run this hot zone from my sealed contain---

I think I just heard gunshots. I will write more after I find out what’s going on.

Fingers crossed

We are in Baltimore at the docks. The fishing boat is still reporting in and so far there have been no incidents to make us think any of the crew has been infected.

My staff is setting up a trio of quarantine units in shipping containers right on the wharf. If all goes well, the shipping boat crew will be in them in a couple hours.

Admiral Davies is here and has commandeered for us a motorboat for travel to and from the boats. He has also brought a troop of National Guardsmen that have sealed off the wharf. Two of them, will be going to the boats with us to act as security. None of them volunteered for the security detail, but the two men ordered by the Admiral to accompany us seem capable and brave. As a civilian going out to investigate, I feel better having them with me.

I have to admit I have a bad feeling about the whole situation. I have certainly had the pleasure of touring my share of hot zones, but I would be lying to suggest I was not still shaky from the events surrounding Eugene's ship.

It is time to get suited up. Pray for the best.

Official word

The report from the Baltimore Sun’s website:

BALTIMORE -- Four teens were found adrift on a 30-foot cabin cruiser owned by one of the teen’s parents off the coast just after dawn this morning. The cruiser was towed into the harbor by a fishing trawler that discovered it.

All four teens (not yet identified because of their age) were reported to be covered in blood and seated together in the rear of the boat.

Admiral James Davies of The Pentagon has ordered both boats to wait at anchor in the harbor, about one half mile from the docks. They are holding position pending further orders.

Both boats are considered quarantined and are not to be approached by civilian traffic under any circumstances until the quarantine is lifted by the CDC.

Rumors are circulating on the shore that the dead teens are somehow connected to the blue mist aboard the Northern Belle that The Navy destroyed and sunk last week. Neither The Pentagon nor the CDC will confirm or deny these rumors.

Something different to worry about...I hope

I am leaving work to drive to Baltimore. Some teens that were found adrift off the coast on a private boat early this morning. All of the teens are reported to be covered in blood and sitting slumped on the bench at the stern of the boat.

A deckhand on a fishing boat spotted them. The captain apparently took it upon himself to tow the boat to shore. He did not even call the harbor master and tell them about his trailer until he was on approach to dock. Since all maritime authorities on the East coast have been ordered to report anything unusual to The Pentagon for the next couple weeks, Admiral Davies got word of it immediately and called me. He also ordered both the private boat and the fishing quarantined pending my arrival. I only have time to write this because my team is gathering equipment and biohazard suits for the investigation.

What if some of the mist somehow got off Eugene’s ship? I’ll call Amanda on the way and journal more as soon as I can.

Mourning my friend

I suppose there is something ironic or at least telling of my lack of commitment to this journal that for the past two days I have been two busy absorbing myself in my work and wallowing in grief too much to record anything. A combination of things have kept me from writing. Obviously, the loss of a friend is huge, but I think as we get older, the more sensitive we get to death and the idea of it.

When I was a child, I would not say I was fearless about death. It would be more accurate to say that I was completely oblivious of it. Grandparents and great-aunts and uncles passed away, but they were too distant for it to be real.

In my late teen years, someone I went to school with died of a heart defect in the middle of the term in his sleep. I did not know the boy well, but we shared a couple classes and had spoken to each other on several occasions. I liked him well enough. He was handsome enough to be popular and modest enough to treat anybody with respect -- a very rare combination in the teenage world. The point is, we were not close, but I appreciated him all the same. And then one day he did not come to school because he was gone. He died in his sleep. His death did more to make the concept of death real to me than anything in my life up to that point. A few dead relatives, countless dead on my television, and a religious upbringing based on preparing myself for the afterlife (and therefore death) -- none of it made the concept as real to me as the day Tom Jackson did not make it into school.

However, the sting of death faded and lost it’s edge. The great enlightenment that comes with young adulthood and the worldly insensitivity that comes with complete absorption into a new career made chasing success trump everything and left no time for pondering such etherial concepts as death and the meaning of life.

Now, Eugene is the first of my contemporaries to fall. I suppose that’s odd, considering that most people have a friend that died of an early heart attack or knows somebody that died in a traffic accident or has at least some other experience with close death through the middle of their lives. Not me, though. My parents are still alive and well I know of people my age that have died, but even the ones I went to school with I never really knew. Eugene is the first to go in this part of my life, and I think the dim circumstances surrounding the event -- the ‘not knowing’ -- have made it all the harder for me to accept.

I say that, though I am sure it is completely a “greener grass” scenario. Like when you lose a pet you love as a child -- you hold on to the thought that somebody kidnapped your beloved companion long after you know better. You say you wish you knew what happened, while at the same time, some part of you knows that is just so much talk. The mystery of it is anesthetizing. Rover wandering off into the woods until he collapses from the cancer eating his insides is harder to accept than the thought that he got caught up in a new found occupation of touring the country saving Timmys from wells.

I’m rambling. The short version (and the conclusion you probably already came to) is that I needed a couple days to process what happened and no amount of writing it out was going to make that coping time go easier or heal better.

As for real life, it looks like I need to be in Baltimore tomorrow. Three dead kids were discovered yesterday in a boat adrift in the Chesepeake Bay. A fourth was apparently found alive -- he was most likely the attacker -- but he was so completely inhuman and unable to communicate with investigators that it goes beyond being some kind of psychological dissociation. They say it is more like the human parts of his mind are completely dead and he has regressed to a violent animal level. The Baltimore police have called in the CDC to investigate the possibility of some kind of infection being involved; some kind of rabies. I hope it is rabies.

The pain of kindness

People that knew Eugene and I were friends offered condolences at work all day. I just wanted to go home and sleep off my pounding headache.

I received an email from Amada just before it was time to go home. It said simply “thank you.” I returned “you’re welcome” and shut off my computer.

Irish Wake

I went to Amanda’s house last night. We both needed to not be alone and I am certain that Eugene would have wanted me to be there with his wife in her time of need. I had stopped to get a bottle of wine to soothe our nerves a bit, but I ended up getting a bottle of Eugene’s favorite whiskey instead: Jameson. We sipped whiskey on the rocks and held each other on the couch all night long. I wanted to say something, but nothing seemed right and Amanda seemed comforted just to have someone close. Nothing inappropriate happened between us. We just embraced until we fell asleep somewhere around 3 AM with the muted television tuned to CNN. At 8 AM, I woke, gently laid my friend’s wife down and covered her with an quilt, and threw back the double shot of whiskey and water left in my tumbler, and quietly let myself out.

Horror

A number of things happened quickly this morning and this is the first opportunity I have had to journal about the course of events.

First, I received a call from the office of the Navy in the Pentagon. Admiral Davies said the UN team had actually landed about the same time the news reports about the recovering animals were hitting CNN. They arrived at the beach in troop landing craft and headed inland on 4 wheeler ATVs.

About a mile into their trip they came across a field strewn with the bodies of various rodents and some larger mammals and birds. Quick examinations of the bodies showed that they had mainly died of fatigue, their hearts having literally seized or ruptured (he used the word ‘exploded’) from the exertion of their frantic exodus.

Having found this to be the case with several animals, they remounted their ATVs and moved on in search of the ‘resurrected.’ The scientists had not moved far before they spotted a group of one hundred or so rabbits. They noted this as unusual for rabbits -- and rodents in general -- who generally do not move in packs or herds. The scientists dismounted their four wheelers and approached cautiously with tranquilizer guns. At first, nothing happened and the group of rabbits stumbled together Eastward, the direction of the stampede and the passed cloud.

The scientist in the lead, Anatol Petrovsk with the Russian version of the CDC, apparently stumbled over a gopher hole and fell. By the time he got his hands under himself to push up, three rabbits were on top of him, biting him on the face and neck. He struggled and actually managed to get his tranq gun under one and he squeezed the trigger. The force of the dart being launched from the gun lifted the rabbit off of Petrovsk’s shoulder and the teeth that had been sunk in up to the gums pulled free along with a decent patch of Petrovsk’s neck. Bunny Fufu (Admiral Davies said one of the other scientists had ironically dubbed the rabbit such because of the reference to the children’s song and because the name spelled out sounds like “eff you, eff you) landed about three feet away. The rabbit, who had been shot with enough tranq for a bearapparently stood up, shook like a wet dog, sending the dart flying, and lept right back onto Petrovsk. And sunk his teeth into the man’s chest to continue his meal.

The other scientists were getting ready to leap in (forgive the pun) to help their fallen colleague, but the two Marines that served as the armed escort for the expedition held them back and ordered the scientists to return to the boat. The reason for this was that the rest of the rabbit pack was moving toward them, and if it had taken only four to take down Petrovsk, a hundred or more would easily wound if not kill everyone left in the expedition.

When being briefed back on the British battleship that had been the landing pad for the expedition’s helicopter, the scientists reported that while the rabbits were violent, the rodent’s faces were unexplainably devoid of expression throughout the whole attack. They also reported seeing the rabbits breathing wisps of smoke tinged the same color blue as the cloud that had put them into a coma hours earlier.

Admiral Davies asked me what I thought this meant. Obviously, it suggested that the blue cloud was infectious and induced a coma followed by some sort of disease that effected some or all of the brain of the victims. He said he concurred and asked how I would fight it. I explained, that I could not even begin to devise an antidote -- if one were even possible -- without a sample from an infected animal. Barring that, I would stay the hell away from it. He said he concurred with that conclusion and excused himself to take care of some other pressing matter.

Not fifteen minutes after I hung up with the Admiral, Amanda called upset. She was not crying hysterically, but her voice cracked occasionally and she sniffled incessantly.

“Bruce,” she said, “they’re going to burn and sink the ship.”

I asked her how she could possibly know that and she explained that the Vice President had just called her.

“He said he was very sorry for the situation, that Eugene had been a great academic and that the loss of him would be felt throughout the scientific community. ‘But,’ he said ‘we have every reason to believe that his discovery in the arctic had killed every person aboard the ship and that it is imperative for the safety of millions of Americans that it not be allowed to come ashore and infect any more.’ He said the best option for containment was to napalm the ship to burn it with extreme heat and then sink it.”

She sobbed a but and then explained that she had said she understood and then thanked the VP for calling to let her know personally.

“Did they tell you when they planned to --” I started to ask when the HOLD button lit on my phone and tones played through the phone’s speaker to indicate the intercom system that plays through ever phone in the office was being activated. Not five seconds passed before the announcement started.

“Please forgive the interruption. This is Arthur Cannon, Director of the CDC, and I am broadcasting this message to all field offices simultaneously. We have been closely following the situation aboard the Northern Belle, the ship that discovered an unidentified biologic gel in the arctic 10 days ago. As you likely know, the ship stopped all external contact during its return voyage and witnesses have reported a probable contamination of the substance to all aboard. Due to this combined with accounts of the Greenland incident the President of the United States has decided that the risks to the security of the country are too great to allow the ship to land or have anybody investigate it in person. To this end an attack is being made on the ship as I speak to incinerate all contents and then sink the ship 300 miles off the coast. All CDC offices are asked to remain on alert status until it is deemed that this crisis is past. I thank you for you dilligence in this matter. An email with instructions for how to proceed will be sent to all employees immediately. Thank you.”

The intercom tones signaled the switch back for the phones. There was a moment of silence, and then Amanda spoke shakily through the handset, “Hello?”

“Amanda...I’m sorry...they...they jst attacked Eugene’s ship.”

“I know. I just watched it live on CNN.”

Consolation

I stayed the night at the Preskin house. Do not let your thoughts wander too far on that thought, Amanda prepared me a nice bed on the couch. I just wanted to be there for her while we waited for news of how our government was going to deal with the ship.

The ship.

Up until last evening it had always been Eugene’s ship, but I suppose we subconsciously decided what was probably going to be done because from the time I arrived at the Preskin house, we only referred to it as the ship.

Regardless, there was not much sleeping to be done. We reminisced through some of the evening, we sobbed quietly through some, at many points we did both. Throughout, we had either CNN or MSNBC on the television, hoping for more news. It was not until about 5 AM that the various talking heads were relieved for an update from Greenland.

There were reports from some of the remote observing news helicopters that many of the animals that had fallen at the passing of the cloud were reviving. They seemed disoriented and uncoordinated, stumbling over themselves and their yet fallen comrades, but they were rising nonetheless.

At 6 AM Eastern time, the UN issued a statement that a scientific team was being assembled for an exploration of the island to study and test the animals. At that point I apologized to Amanda that I had to go to work as I would probably be called upon to advise on the situation with the ship. She understood and thanked me for keeping her company through the night. I went right home, showered, dressed and headed back out to work where I am now.

So far there has been no call. Oh...something is happening...I have to go...I will update again later.

Judgement Day

from CNN.com:

GREENLAND -- Earlier this month, the Atlantic Transport freighter Northern Belle contracted for a research project funded by Carnegie Mellon University and led by Dr. Eugene Preskin, discovered an unidentifiable blue gel hidden within the ice of an Arctic glacier. Some of the blue gel turned into a blue mist that headed East on the wind currents as soon as it hit the air. Since that day it has been continuing East toward Greenland, where it finally reached this morning at approximately 10:30 AM local time.

Scientists have suspected that the cloud is biological in nature and have been curious to see what, if anything, would happen when the cloud came in contact with land and animals. Because they could not be certain what the results would be and because Dr. Preskin and the Northern Belle have been out of contact for several days, the precautionary measure of evacuating the small tourist town of Quqertarsuaq was made two days ago.

All air and maritime traffic were ordered to keep a radius of three miles from the blue cloud. Press helicopters equipped with long range cameras took up positions along the coastline to capture the cloud’s landfall. What they saw was amazing. As the cloud approached, all animals in the area seemed to sense approaching danger and began running or flying in all directions away from the cloud.

The cloud itself seemed to be dispersing for the first time in its long journey across the ocean, spreading to a thin line stretching north and south. But instead of completely dissipating, it held together forming a line like a front on a weather or military map, covering a much wider area of coastline.

As it moved inland pushed by strong wind currents, it began to overtake some of the smaller and slower animals making their exodus inland. It seemed that as soon as the cloud reached these creatures they fell, leaving fields strewn with the bodies. As it progressed, the cloud itself seemed to increase in size, continuously advancing.

The animals continued to charge East across the island, swarmed through the town of Quqertarsuaq and out the other side. When they reached the Eastern coast of the island about 90 minutes later, the animals still on their feet charged right into the ocean in an unprecedented mass suicide.

While scientists and governments continue to theorize on the exact nature of the cloud, evacuation orders have been issued for all inhabited areas of Greenland and all ships, boats and aircraft have been ordered to take part in what is the largest multinational evacuation effort to date. The UN has also advised any nations in the apparent path of the growing cloud to make preparations to evacuate as quickly as possible.

CNN will continue to follow this situation as it develops. We will be making constant updates to our television and internet outlets simultaneously until some sort of resolution is reached.

This confirms my grave suspicions of the status of Eugene’s ship. The question remains of how the Navy will proceed.

Friendly obligation

I went to work today because there was nothing pressing at home and work was the best place to get information. I cannot say I accomplished much for myself or the CDC, but it was somehow comforting just to be among some people without having an obligation to talk to any of them.

On the way home I stopped by to talk to Amanda in person. I wanted to give her the update on the things I knew, but I also wanted to tell her what I had been guessing about the Navy’s true intentions for Eugene’s ship. I did not have any desire to make her feel worse than she already was, but looking ahead I imagined telling her after the fact and how much worse she would feel. Not to mention if she found out later that I had my suspicions and held them from her, it would likely only make her angrier and kill our friendship.

Regardless, she cried at first and I said, something about being so sorry and that she should not worry since the only people that knew were not going to tell until after it happened.

She shook her head as she cried and after a minute she calmed doen enough to speak clearly. “I wasn’t crying because of what you said. I cried because I came to the same conclusion a couple days ago. At the time, I was ashamed and thought I must have been a horrible wife to harbor such thoughts. I cried because you’re a good man, Bruce. And I know what your relationship with Eugene meant to you. And if you have come to terms with such an unthinkable possibility, then maybe I’m not so bad after all. Thank you for your strength.”

Once more, have underestimated the strength and wisdom of this woman.

I held her and sobbed for about a minute before going. I know what she’s going through, having suffered the death of Cecile. I will make it a point to support her as much as I can in the tough times she has ahead.

Circling the wagons

The battleships caught up with Eugene’s ship about four hours ago, about 200 miles east of Philadelphia as planned. They took up positions roughly a quarter mile off the port and starboard sides and matched its speed precisely, a feat made easier by the fact that the company that owns the ship has surrendered complete control of the ship’s computers to the
Pentagon.

The CNN helicopter caught the entire maneuver on camera from the proscribed distance through long range lenses. The lone man on the deck apparently recognized the noise of the approaching battleship and ambled to the land side slowly with arms outstretched. He walked to the railing as he had when the Coast Guard cutter initially approached, but apparently lost his footing when he got there, because he slipped and fell over the side. The cutter, which was still trailing the ship at this point moved up and attempted to rescue the man, but he had already fallen beneath the waves in the short time it took them to close the gap. Of course it is impossible to be sure from the remote distance of the television cameras, but it seemed like he made no attempt to swim for even the weakest of swimmers could have stayed afloat for the short amount of time it took the cutter to reach his location. I am sure that the body will was ashore in the next couple days and the CDC will be called in to examine the remains.

Shortly after, the cutter gave up its part of the chase, presumably to refuel and return to its home port. About the same time, I received a call from Admiral James Davies of the Navy asking my advice on the best way to approach the ship and obtain a sample of the mist hovering above the deck. I advised him of several methods that might be used to do it, but suggested that it may be best to avoid any contact with the substance until the cloud makes landfall in Greenland and we have a better idea of what we are dealing with.

To that point, I also suggested to Admiral Davies that he call for an evacuation of Quqertarsuaq. As far as I know, there is no way to stop a cloud. It will be enough to see how the cloud effects the local wildlife without unnecessarily putting people at risk. He assured me that the Navy was tracking the cloud by satellite and that the government of Greenland had been advised of its progress at the same time the battleships were being dispatched from Norfolk.

Admiral Davies also asked if I had any insight about the blue mist and how to combat it if it turned out to be a problem. I said that I obviously did not have enough information about it at this point to give anything even remotely close to a diagnosis. I did, however, mention that all of the labs at the CDC are intentionally outfitted with flame cleansing systems. Most chemicals break down in the presence of intense heat and any life form we know of will be destroyed in the presence of enough fire. That being said, I am not sure how you burn a cloud and guarantee you completely consume it. The Admiral thanked me for my reasoning and said most of the heads in Washington, D.C. Had come to the same conclusion.

I suppose it remains to be seen what the threat will be and what can be done about it when the time comes.

The Waiting Game

The ship is 275 miles off the coast, on the same longitude as New York City. The Stout and Laboon will intercept when the boat is just north of Philadelphia . That should be in roughly 8 hours. The company that owns the ship has slowed it to guarantee the meeting.

The press has finally picked up the story. I doubt they were alerted officially, but since CNN had done the story on the discovery and now the object of their attention is being escorted by a Coast Guard cutter and soon to be accompanied by two battleships makes it a little hard to ignore. At least this will make the story easier to follow with or without inside information. They aired some footage of the ship as it cruised along taken from a distance saying that the military had ordered nobody to come within three miles of the ship.

The report also included an update on the mysterious mist that was released from the scene of the initial discovery. I had not much thought about it since then, but apparently the blue mist never did disperse but instead continued to travel east as a cloud mass. If it stays together, the blue cloud should make landfall somewhere around the town on Quqertarsuaq, Greenland sometime within the next two days. I shall have to track that story through the CDC for an idea of how it applies to the situation with Eugene’s ship.

Emily called tonight. In the wake of everything else going on, calling her after our brunch completely slipped my mind. The hurt in her voice in the beginning of the call, but she was very understanding about my overwhelming concern for my colleague and personal friend. I promised to take her out to dinner in ten days, thinking that there shoulld be enough time for this situation to resolve one way or another by then.

Anxiety

The Naval office in Norfolk just called to asked for my cell phone number. They requested that I keep the phone with me at all moments in case they call for a consultation. It was not directly stated, but I gather they are diverting Eugene's boat to Norfolk where they can handle the situation with the whole navy at their disposal. They did not, however, ask that I go there personally which makes me nervous about their plans in this situation.

I have not told Amanda, but I do not think Eugene is alive on that ship. If I did, I would be a lot more scared because I have a feeling the navy does not intend for that ship to ever land.

Keeping house

I left the office around 10 PM and stopped by Amanda's house on the way home to console her a bit in person and let her know what more I have heard about the ship. There was nothing more to share about Eugene.

I am going to try to get some rest. I do not expect to.

The tedium continues

After being up all night waiting for a response from Officer Rey and then crushing Amanda’s heart, I had intended to take a personal day from work. When I called in to my boss, Phil Hutchins, and explained my situation he suggested that I come in. Phil explained that since I had been assigned to the case with Eugene’s ship, orders had come in early this morning to hold my trip to Georgia until further notice and that his superiors at the Atlanta CDC promised to keep him appraised of the situation. Therefore, the best place to be to get more information about Eugene was at work. I relented, told him I needed an hour of sleep and a long, hot shower, but that I would be in for the afternoon.

The sleep was fitful, but the shower rejuvenated and now I sit here glued to my computer waiting for Phil to forward me updates. So far, the ship has advanced southwest to the same parallel as Hartford, CT. No more contact has been attempted. The Navy is sending two Destroyers, the Stout and the Laboon, from Norfolk to intercept and escort Eugene’s ship. Assumedly, the company that owns the ship will be able to connect to the ship’s computer and take it wherever the Navy wants, though if that decision has been made, the information has not yet been made available to the CDC.

I find this odd only because wherever they land it they will need to have CDC staff available to investigate. I have been told that when and if I am needed for the investigation, I will be told where to go immediately.

I’m a little concerned about the ramifications of “if.”

Fear of the unknown

I just got off the phone with Officer Rey. I almost did not answer the phone because I was waiting for his call and the call ID said it was from a different number than the last one. The area code was right, however, so I decided to take a chance.

Officer Rey did not sound himself for two reasons. One, his voice was low and hoarse and two, there was background noise that sounded like the ambient noise one might hear if the person on the other end was walking a gravel path between a beach and a highway.

He quickly and somewhat mutedly explained that he wanted to call because I deserved an update, but that he had been given strict instructions not to leak the information he had helped to gather. He made me swear not to alert the press or even repeat what he was going to tell me to a friend or he would be in danger of court-martial, among other, less pleasant things. I told him that I had to share information with Eugene's wife and he relented on the condition that I give her the same admonishment. I promised.

Here is the story as Rey related it to me. A cutter was dispatched to intercept the ship as it passed the southernmost portion of Nova Scotia, about 30 miles from land. The captain of the cutter, Benjamin Thomas, is an experienced and reliable man.

The cutter approached Eugene's ship from the rear, continuing to hail by the radio and then by bullhorn when it pulled within distance. Thomas reported concern that there was not a single light on aboard. Had the propellors not been spinning, he would have thought it to be a derelict, dead in the water. The cutter pulled alongside and illuminated the hull with its two massive searchlights. At first the cutter's crew saw nobody, which they thought odd as a ship that size generally has somebody on deck at all times in any weather. Stranger yet, there appeared to be a blue mist hovering on the deck, about two feet deep. The mist appeared to be contained within the boundaries of the deck, and though the wind was light, it should have been enough to blow any airborne matter into a trail behind the ship.

At this point in the story I thought of the mist cloud that parted from Eugene's initial discovery. I did not mention it to Rey because I did not want to waste his time and because it most likely came up in the work he had been doing since we last spoke.

Rey continued to explain that the cutter continued to try to communicate with someone on the freighter by bullhorn but had no success. After 15 minutes of this, Thomas was in the middle of calling the base for permission to board when a single person approached the rail of the freighter.

The man approached in a slow, limping shuffle. He was shirtless and covered in a number of gory but not life-threatening wounds. He walked right to the rail and appeared to continue walking even after it stopped his progress as if he did not have the presence of mind to stop.

Thomas called to the man through the bullhorn and he did not respond and his expression did not change. Thomas returned to his call to base and asked how to proceed. He was told to put 200 yards between the ships and continue along with it until the senior officers at the base could consult (presumably with The Pentagon or at least the admiralty of the Navy) and respond with a course of action. Again I asked him if this was normal procedure. He said that since 9/11 a more aggressive response was normal to things that seemed unusual and that this was about a 9.5 or the unusual scale.

Rey said that was where it still stood when he called. He was not privy to the discussions going on, but he did say that the highest-ranked officers of the base were called into a meeting that had lasted through the night and that the rumor going around was that the Pentagon and The President were in on the meeting via conference call. He doubted that he would be able to call again, but suggested that I would probably be able to get news from other sources soon since Eugene's ship had already received press coverage once, so that whatever was done would have to be public.

I thanked Officer Rey for his help and his information, to which he replied "Don't mention it...really, don't mention it to anybody or it's my ass." I assured him his secret was safe.

I could get into a long monologue about how this is making me feel, but this entry is already too long, and I do not think it would be too hard for any person with a soul to figure out what emotions are involved. At this moment all I feel is dread. I have to call Amanda.

Insomnia

Amanda just called in tears. I told her what I had been up to and that I had not wanted to call her and worry her without reason.

I am so foolish when it comes to dealing with people in situations of concern.

Of course she was worried. Of course me not calling only made it worse. I would be the same way. Why I was unable to realize she would be upset is incomprehensible.

Regardless, she is still agitated, but no longer hysterical. She thanked me for trying so hard to find an answer. I urged her to try to get some rest, to take a sleeping pill if necessary. But she will not sleep tonight, we both knew that. The chance of either of us resting rests secure in Rey's hands.

Surreality

I contacted The Coast Guard Search & Rescue in Eastport, Maine and asked if they would try to contact Eugene's ship. I explained that I had been unable to communicate with the ship and I suspected something may be wrong. I was referred to Petty Officer, 1st Class Eteban Rey who listened to my story and said he would see what he could do and then call me back.

Two hours later, he had still not called and I contacted him again out of frustration. Petty Officer Rey said The Coast Guard had tried to hail the ship and did not receive a response. He said they were looking into it further, but he did not want to say any more or speculate until he heard more. After making him promise to call me back within the hour whether there was news or not, I hung up the phone and went back to waiting.

Sixty three minutes later he called back.

"Doctor Stevenson? I don't want to alarm you, but we still have not heard back from the ship. We have it on radar. It seems to be on auto pilot. We have contacted the shipping company that owns the boat. We've also reported the lack of communication to Washington, and they have ordered us to send out a cutter to intercept and attempt to communicate by signal and failing that, by direct contact."

"Forgive me, but that seems a little extreme unless you have reason to believe the situation is very serious."

"Well sir, there are two main reasons for this level of concern. Even in this day and age, there are pirates out there who try to hijack ships they believe to be carrying something they can make money with. I would guess this is not the case here because this ship was not obviously carrying anything of interest, and moreso because pirates are very rare in this part of the world."

"I believe that. You said there were two reasons for concern. What was the other."

"To be honest sir, there is something curious about the lack of communication."

"Curious?"

"Yeah...um...see, they're not responding to us, but they are broadcasting."

"Broadcasting what?"

"That's the problem; they're broadcasting nothing."

I sat silent.

"We can hear a low engine groan. We can hear sounds of the outside -- water splashing, birds -- as if they left the door to the pilot house open. What we can't hear is any sign of people."

"If there are no people, how are they broadcasting?"

"That's the problem, sir."

We talked a little more, and he promised to tell me what he could after the cutter made contact. I told him to call me any time of the day or night. He said they should know something within three hours.

That was five hours ago.

Amanda called while I was on the phone with Officer Rey, but I did not dare call her back before knowing more. Rey better call soon, because I have a feeling that neither Amanda nor I will be sleeping until we receive news that Eugene and his ship are okay and I doubt Amanda will wait all night before trying to call me again. I am getting more nervous by the minute. I know it is irrational, but this is all so abnormal and I am at a loss for what to do next. Rey is my lifeline. Let him call soon.

Post-election Concerns

Eugene was supposed to call me this morning. He did not

Congratulations to President-elect Obama. I am sure when all of this excitement passes I will have many things to say about all of the hopes riding on his shoulders, but I am a bit distracted at the moment.

Eugene's ship should be passing Maine by now. Maybe I will start calling shipyards up that way and see if they can at least raise someone on the bridge.

Bumpy seas

I had to get this down before going to bed this evening. Not because it is so profound, but because it is the kind of thing that if it progresses, people in my line of expertise always look back on and say “If I knew more about how things progressed, this would be a lot easier to understand.”

Eugene Skyped me this evening and said that one of his crew had taken ill. This news was somewhat less than shocking considering the number of research assistants and other people on board not heavily experienced with ocean travel. However, as he explained the circumstances, I became steadily more concerned.

There is a thermometer on the bridge of the ship to monitor the temperature in the cargo hold. It had been fluctuating somewhat since they sealed the hold, and a malfunction of the refrigeration unit was suspected as the culprit. As the bulk of the machinery is outside the hold, a mechanic was sent aft to inspect it and see if there was any obvious problem. After giving it a thorough check, he radioed the bridge and reported no apparent problems. The captain ordered him to return to his regular duties and began discussing the problem with Eugene.

A couple minutes into the conversation, another troubling indicator light appeared on the console -- this one reporting that the passage between the lower decks and the hold had been breached and then re-sealed. The following part of the story is conjecture because the intruder was later unable to give a full report. What the captain believes happened is that the mechanic, knowing nothing was wrong with the refrigeration unit, decided the problem must be with the thermostat inside the hold itself. He apparently took it upon himself to investigate and ventured into the hold. He opened the first door and sealed it behind him, then moved to the second half of this “airlock” created by progression of bulkheads. He probably peered through the small window in the second door before going in, but was unable to see much in the dimly lit interior. When he opened the door and began to step through, a wall of blue mist tumbled out of the hold like the toys in a hastily jam-packed teenager’s closet, hitting him full in the face. He pulled back quickly, resealed the hatch and began to move back to the other door at the other end of the twenty foot corridor. No more than ten feet into the return trip, he collapsed to the floor.

A short time later, Eugene and the captain discovered him by looking through the little window in the door the mechanic had been moving toward. The captain turned to a telephone on the wall and screamed for the ship’s doctor to join him. Eugene grabbed the captain and spun him away from the phone and told him bluntly that they could not open the door, they did not know what was in the mist that blanketed the bottom six inches of the passage.

“We’re sure as hell not going to fuckin’ leave him in there!” the captain roared back. “For all we know, he had a heart attack that has nothing to do with that stuff and getting in there now is the difference between his wife greeting him at the dock in person or in a pine box!”

“Captain, everybody on board understood that nobody was to enter the hold under any circumstances,” Eugene reasoned, “and if that mist is infectious and we release it, there could be a lot more pine boxes to stack at the dock, assuming anybody is left to operate the crane.”

Eugene says the captain boiled with frustration, but relented on the condition that someone be posted at the door to report if the mechanic moved.

“If he so much as twitches, we’re gonna to get in there and help him, fuck all else.”

Eugene disagreed, but did not push the point as the captain was obviously in no state for debate.

It was about two hours after this event that I spoke with Eugene, encouraged him that he was doing the right thing, and begged him to make sure that door stays shut (this time thinking of Amanda and not wanting her to have to wait an extra three weeks for lengthier quarantine to pass before she could see her husband).

At this point in our conversation, word came over the general speaker that the captain should return to the bulkhead immediately. Eugene disconnected and went to meet the captain and make sure the seal would not be broken. He assured he would call me back first thing in the morning to report what transpired.

Eugene is certainly capable of handling the situation appropriately, I just hope the captain and crew will not prevent him from doing so.

By the way, the boat did get permission to dock in Savannah, and I am getting a temporary transfer to go down and supervise the study of this blue biological substance. It would appear this is going to be more of an extensive operation than I would have originally guessed.

Success!

Brunch with Emily was spectacular! She is an amazing conversationalist, a skill likely cultivated by years as a hostess making small talk with customers. More amazing than her ability to speak interestingly, though, is her level of intelligence. Apparently Emily has a Master’s degree in political history, something she intended to turn into a career in Washington before her father turned ill right about the time of graduation. She came home from American University to Philadelphia to take care of him until he got better. As it turned out, his illness was terminal and she spent two years tending to him at bedside as he faded and eventually passed away. By that time she was far enough removed from her education and the contacts it provided that she did not believe that she had a chance at forging a successful career in politics. Working at a successful restaurant during this time, however, provided her with an amply sufficient income and an introduction to her first husband. He was a career-minded real estate agent and investor and had proved to have to little time to spend on maintaining their relationship after their marriage. They separated amicably after three years and she has not remarried since.

Emily is not interested in another marriage in the short term and though she suffers no problem with libido, she does not seek sexual affection. This may make her about perfect for me since I am not looking for a marriage to replace Cecile and prefer not to have a sexual relationship -- at least in the short term -- that will belittle what I had with her. I’ll not ramble about it farther, but I was very happy with the result of our date.

Eugene proposed the alternate landing location for the ship to the University and they agreed to the necessary additional financial support believing that the discovery of a new life form will likely pay back in money as well as enhanced reputation. He has begun the process of getting docking permission in Savanah, but the captain of the ship has assured him that it should not be any trouble. Based on this, I plan to petition my superiors for the temporary transfer to Atlanta tomorrow. Barring unforeseen difficulties, I should be there to meet him on arrival at the end of the week.

Because this journal is supposed to be about me, I feel I should report I am in the finest spirit I have been since Cecile passed. I know I haven’t been recording things that long, but already I have gone back to read some of my previous entries and reminisce - for lack of a better word - and that in itself has been therapeutic, even in just this short time. I suppose some of my joy also comes from the success of my friend, small successes in my own work and some quality human interaction. But I believe the simple act of recording aspects of one’s life somehow makes them more real, more fulfilling. Whatever the cause, I will continue with this journal indefinitely and enjoy the feeling it gives me.

The Eugene Show

I am beginning to think I should change the name of this blog to “The Dr Eugene Blog.” It may not have the same ring, but surely Eugene has received more coverage here than I have. No matter, he will return soon enough, and then we can get down to some serious catharsis.

Regardless, in todays “Eugene Update”...
I spoke to Eugene this morning. He gave me some more specifics about the transport of the suspected biomass, making sure to tell me that the compartment would be sealed air-tight and temperature controlled before I could even ask about it. He had apparently arranged to retrofit the old cargo hold with seals and a small refrigeration unit so there would be no problem returning with a couple thousand core samples. With a bus sized chunk of ice, they had to reduce to a couple hundred samples, but considering the discovery, they are satisfied nonetheless.

I have asked Eugene if he could divert the return destination of the ship to Savanna, GA instead of Philadelphia. Because the CDC’s base is in Atlanta, the facilities there will be vastly better for testing his new discovery. He agreed with me and said he would try to make that possible. Assuming he is able, I will attempt to arrange a temporary transfer to that facility to be part of that project myself.

I briefly spoke with Amanda as well. She is just glad to have her husband on the return trip. I explained to her that he will likely have to submit to a quarantine of up to two weeks on the ship or in the CDC Atlanta facility. Her main concern is getting him back from his long voyage and back within reach.

While I would love to talk about Eugene until the wee hours of the morning, I have an early date tomorrow to prepare for. Wish me luck!

From CNN.com

"Approximately 12:30 PM (GMT -5), a group of scientists studying the depletion of the arctic glaciers observed a large chunk of ice break off and fall into the ocean. While that event itself was not unusual, what was revealed when the ice fell has become cause for curiosity and concern.

Like a coal vein buried between layers of rock, a cavity filled with an unknown, blue, gel-like substance about ten meters tall, 100 yards wide and an unknown depth peeked out from the ice. Chief Researcher, Dr. Eugene Preskin held a press conference about the discovery from the deck of his chartered research ship. The following are excerpts from that conference.

'The substance began to sublimate the moment the sun hit it. The blue gas that resulted gathered into a bizarre cloud that rode the wind currents east. I say 'bizarre' because though it began moving on the current immediately, it stayed together and traveled as a cloud rather than dissipating as one might expect. The cloud stayed low to the water, clearing it by only inches and rising to a height of about 10 feet.

The part of the vein that remained in the shadow of the overhanging ice did not sublimate as quickly, and we were able to scrape a sample of the bluish gel with a rescue hook. Early tests indicate it to be some sort of biological material, which we have carefully contained until we can return to our labs for more testing.

We intend to use explosive charges to remove a larger fragment from the wall which we will place in cold storage in the hold of our ship for our return voyage.'

That was the situation two hours ago. Since then, the scientific team has removed a piece of ice containing the blue gel roughly the size of a Greyhound bus. They used a crane on the deck of the ship to hoist it from the water and place it in the ship's cargo hold. While some of the substance escaped in a cloud in the process, the majority was salvaged and the ship is now turning on a course home for the United States."

Curious...

Email from Eugene says only "turn on CNN"...no time right now...makes me think I'll have big news tonight.

Good, but brief news

It is late, and it has been a very long day at the office.

We are close to beating the mutant ebola.

Conversation with Emily was delightful and we have a 'date' for Sunday brunch.

Eugene sent a brief email that he was having the time of his life in the arctic.

Details will follow after some rest to replenish my soul. Good night.

Congratulations Phillys and fans

Depression confession

The World Series was rained out on Monday night and they could not make it up last night due to rain. With luck, they will play tonight and end the series so Philadelphia fans can go back to ignoring this team for another quarter century. The problem is not that I hate the Phillys, I’m just oversaturated with news. All I have heard for the past two weeks is baseball and the election, baseball, election, baseball, election... It’s quite tedious. Luckily, both will be over within two weeks, no matter what.

I spoke with Amanda at lunch and she says she has only heard from Eugene once an evening since his ship reached the destination. He’s apparently not bored anymore. I am confident we will both hear from him before the return voyage.

My team is analyzing a nasty bug today at the office. It appears to be a mutated ebola strain from Peru with some new features that make it especially difficult to destroy, but I am confident we will tame it within the week.

That would seem to be all I have to update today. Well, I am planning to dine at the Essex tonight. Not that a journal is a place to record every meal — though I suppose it could be for food critics and the insane, two groups of people cut from the same cloth — however, while there I intend to as the manager, Emily, to join me for a drink in the bar. If the conversation is enjoyable, as I have every reason to expect it will be, I shall try to schedule a date for this weekend. Emily has always been pleasant to me, our conversations enjoyable, and I think I am reaching a point where my grief over Cecile is being outweighed by my need to have a personal relationship with someone.

Three years is a long time to mourn alone. I do not want to stop mourning, I just want to stop being alone. I hope Cecile understands.

Winter approaches

It is getting cold, which is completely normal for this time of year in PA, but people seem to have forgotten that after a decade of mild autumn seasons. Personally, I enjoy the cold, so the seasonal shift is welcome. I just wish we could get past the rainy dismal part and get right on to the snow. Regardless, it is forecast to be mild on Friday, so I suppose I should stop by the store for candy on my way home from the lab this evening.

Speaking of the lab, I suppose I should tell more about my occupation at some point for any voyeurs that might stumble by. Today, however, is not the day that will happen in any detail. To compensate, I have begun to update my profile here hoping that will keep any questioners at bay.

Eugene managed to get me an email through the satellite link this morning, it was simple but effective:

From: epreskin@cmu.edu
Subject: Arrival!
To: dr.bruce.stevenson@gmail.com
Date: Tuesday, October 28, 2008, 6:42 AM

Who knew ice cubes could be so damn beautiful?

If you knew him, you would be picturing him radiating like a saint in an ancient religious icon. ‘Ice cubes’ have been the focus of his research for the last decade, and while the satellite imaging and SOSUS data and all of the other information flooding to his office is more than enough to cover his needs, there’s nothing like field research to reawaken one’s passion for a project. Things are simply so much more real when experienced first-hand. I suppose this will lead to several months or years of dinners at the Preskin home where the topic of glaciers positively cannot be avoided, but I will suffer that to see him so excited about his work again.

I visited Amanda for lunch on Sunday on the condition that she would let me keep the TV on quietly in the background so I could monitor how badly the Steelers would fall to the Giants. Lunch was delightful, the game, less so. Amanda says she’s been getting hourly emails from Eugene and I should not complain for him being out of contact with me. She testifies one can bear only so many emails about gulls and dolphins. Regardless, Amanda had her MacBook on the kitchen table with her email client updating regularly so she would not miss a report.

Enough journal-therapy for now. I must return to my work. This does seem to be easing some tension, however. Maybe it is just the act of recording something for posterity — leaving your mark somewhere, however small — that makes it relieving. Whatever the case, I must try to better dedicate myself to it.

Until then...

Already a delinquent

Great. I finally committed to this journal thing and did it online so that I would be able to access it anytime the mood stuck me and already I have let several days lapse without writing anything. I'm never going to make it to the glee club auditions at this rate.

Regardless, here's what I missed reporting. Saturday I went to Penn's Landing to see off my old colleague and friend [Dr.] Eugene Preskin as his ship sailed for the great icy north on a grant from Carnegie Mellon to study the erosion of the Arctic glaciers. Eugene expects to be about 10 days in transit, have 5 days for his study and another 10 days for the return trip. A month on the ocean seems a bit longer than I want to spend testing my sea legs, but he lives for this kind of adventure. He has asked me to check in on Amanda at least once a week and see if she needs anything. I will be happy to do it. We've been friends for almost three decades now, and it's not exactly torture to have coffee and desert with Amanda. Some good conversation may prove to be helpful with my depression as well.

Sunday I went to my folks' home for lunch and football. As usual, father and I both got pleasantly tipsy and yelled liberally at the television. Also as usual, mother was louder than both of us without the alcohol to excuse her. The Steelers rather decisively handled the Bengals for a 38-10 win. It is hard to believe this is the same team that lost to the Eagles earlier, though it was probably just as well for my sake. Being a Steelers fan so close to Philadelphia does not make me popular. If the season continues to go well, though, I may have to see if I can get tickets for us to the Baltimore game in December since it's so close.

Cecile would have loved that -- hot cocoa and blankets at a chilly December football game. We always went to the games in college, even though the school's team hardly ever won. There's something more intimate about sharing body heat under flannel while your noses redden in the cold than almost anything else I can think of. It's so hard to believe that November will mark three years since she died.

I have to stop now, or this will likely descend into chapters of gibberish rather than just a journal entry.

And so it begins

This may end up being stupid. I have not kept a journal since I was like twelve, but my good friend Lucy Dunham has suggested that it might help me “sunshine up a bit” -- her words, not mine. Personally, I would rather turn this moderate depression into an excuse to buy a midlife crisis sports car but what the stock market has done to my financial portfolio suggests that I should not be making any substantial purchases in the short term, and the price of gas is quickly making anything that gets less than 40 miles to the gallon obsolete. Regardless, my “new age” friend has generally steered me right in the past in matters of the mental, so I shall give this an honest try.

I had considered making this blog private, but then realized I would have to be awfully full of myself to think anybody is really going to care about the drivel I record here, and let us be honest: the complete lack of anything interesting in my life is a huge part of what drove me to this point in the first place.

This whole thing may fail, anyway, in which case I will delete this blog and go back to debating opening the veins of my wrists or stupidly buying the ‘08 Carrera.