Progress was being made.
Still, not much was understood regarding the cure.
“Look at this,” Frank said.
On the screen, he brought up a giant virus that looked nearly identical to Omniviridae, at least in outward appearances. According to Frank, this new one was slightly larger and had twenty-two percent more genes. Otherwise, it was just as spiky as its malicious cousin. The new girus had been discovered encysted in the crystals that Benjie’s group had brought out of the jungle.
Frank had been the first to revive it, which apparently wasn’t all that unusual. Several years ago, a girus had been discovered in the Siberian permafrost. It had been frozen for thirty thousand years, yet once thawed, it came back to life.
Due to the historical context attesting to the powder’s curative powers, Frank and Lisa had run a clinical trial among the worst afflicted at the hospital, those near to death. Miraculously, in less than a day, all the patients treated with the encysted virus had begun to revive. Since then, thousands had been treated, including Charlotte.
Afterward, the virus had been dubbed Tyende kubicum, named after the tribesman who had helped Benjie’s group acquire the crystalline powder. If it wasn’t for Tyende’s century-long vigil, preserving such knowledge against a future threat, none of this would’ve been possible.
“Up until now,” Frank said, “I had been focused on Tyende’s DNA. Which continues to be a mystery. Not a single gene in that bugger is recognizable. I suspect it will take us decades before we can fully understand it—if we ever do.”
“Then what did you learn?” Lisa asked. “What was your breakthrough?”
Frank pointed to the spikes crowning the virus. “At first, I thought these were identical to Omniviridae’s spikes—those peptide strings that act like prions and knock out a person’s higher cerebral functions.”
“They’re not?” Charlotte asked.
“Ah, but they are.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“They’re identical in composition—but not in shape! Tyende’s spikes are actually mirror images of those sprouting from Omniviridae. They’re cis and trans isomers of each other.” He turned to the group. “That’s why Tyende is so good at waking patients, treating their diminished neurological capacity. Its spikes bind to the Omniviridae’s pathologic ones, like a key fitting a lock, neutralizing them until the body can flush them out.”
“Fascinating,” Benjie said.
“I still need to do more studies.” Frank turned to Charlotte. He reached to her hand, still on his shoulder, and squeezed her fingers. “But recovering my laptop, with all the data from De Coster’s research still on it, has proven to be a goldmine. The world wouldn’t be as far along this recovery curve without it.”
She smiled, feeling a blush of warmth. They had been spending countless hours together. He had remained at her bedside throughout her recovery.
Charlotte freed her hand and sought to change the subject. She turned to Benjie. “Um, what about your own studies? Into the mutations, the aberrations? I understand that incidences and encounters are still being reported.”
He nodded, his expression serious. “They seem to be slowly abating. Ndaye and his eco-guards have collected a slew of specimens. So far, most appear to be mules, unable to reproduce, presenting as a single generational abnormality. But I doubt all of them are so compromised. Like those jackals we encountered who were guarding their pups. They had clearly bred successfully. But only time will tell for sure.”
Lisa turned to the biologist. “What about the pilot program to crop dust the Tyende virus across the Congo? Could that help stem the tide, smother those last bastions of Omniviridae still smoldering in the jungle?”
Benjie shrugged. “We can’t even begin to fathom what the Tyende virus is capable of. Like Dr. Whitaker said, it’s a genetic puzzle box. Though I suspect the mother tree employed some form of epigenetic manipulation, to alter the virus’s genetic expression as needed, turning it into a cure all.”
“Like a viral version of a Swiss Army knife,” Lisa said.
Benjie smiled, looking far more boyish again. “That sounds about right.”
Frank checked his watch, clearly ready to wind things up. “Okay, I’ll have to leave such mysteries to you all for a time. I have a flight to catch. But I’ll be back in a couple of days.”
Charlotte winced. “He knows you did everything you could. You know that, too, right?”
“We’ll see.”
The group dispersed, going their separate ways. Lisa accompanied Charlotte across the lawns and bright morning sunshine to reach the hospital. The entire second floor was dedicated to patients with the disease. They climbed up to the ward and prepared for another long day.
As Charlotte dressed in her PPE, she spotted Faraji past the glass partition. He was seated at a bedside, speaking animatedly, using his hands as much as his mouth. With so many patients from remote villages, many only spoke their native tongue. Add in doctors from around the world, and the hospital found itself in desperate need of a universal translator—and the young shaman-in-training certainly seemed to fit that bill. From talking with Faraji, it was clear he intended to carry on and preserve Woko Bosh’s tribal lore, while absorbing and incorporating all he could about Western medicine.
Lisa pointed at the ward. “Looks like there are even more empty beds than yesterday.”
Charlotte nodded. “Still, I’ll be relieved when we can close this place down for good.”
“We’ll get there. Until then, don’t forget to savor your victories.” Lisa motioned down the hall. “No matter how small they are.”
Charlotte turned to see Disanka coming toward her. The woman had returned for her recheck—and not just her.
Charlotte hurried over, her arms out. “Let me see him.”
With a huge smile, Disanka passed the baby to her.
Charlotte cradled his little form, his tiny legs battering her.
Disanka drew closer, placing a palm atop his tiny head. “Name him Woko.”
Warmth swept through Charlotte at this revelation. “That’s perfect . . . just perfect.”
She pictured the shaman who had given his life to save them, who came such a long way with the Kuba Box. But more so, while Woko’s treatment with the yellow powder might not have healed the child, it had bought the boy enough additional time to survive until a cure could be found.
If not for Woko, the child would not be alive.
Charlotte lifted the boy higher. As he stared down at her, he wiggled and burbled and blew snot bubbles. She smiled back.
Yes, this small victory is enough for anyone.
1:22 P.M.
Washington, D.C.
Gray sat in the waiting room. Nurses bustled behind the tall white desk. Behind them, black lettering graced the sleek wood paneling. It read MEDSTAR GEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL. The specialized unit was dedicated to bone marrow and stem cell transplantation.
Kowalski was roomed down the hall, finishing his treatment, with his fiancée, Maria, in attendance. He had completed his two rounds of chemotherapy, which had knocked out his bone marrow. Today, they were restocking those depleted shafts with new stem cells. The apheresis team—the nurses and doctors who had collected those cells—had been going in and out of his private room.
“When is Seichan due back?” Painter asked from the seat next to him, drawing Gray’s attention.
Gray straightened and cleared his throat. “Two days.”
She had extended her visit in Hong Kong with little Jack by two weeks. The boy’s grandmother had demanded more time with him, and she was not a woman to be refused. Still, Gray had never been separated from Seichan and his son for this long. His knee bobbed up and down, as if his very body were marking the time until their return.
“Is she still angry?” Painter asked.
“Pretty much.”