Thomas just looked at him as if he was one of his students, trying to force a confession of truth from him with guilt alone.
“Look,” Daniel said, nervous as Mathew began sobbing, five men standing protectively over him. “If I can’t get out of here and start telling people how not to get sick, no one will.”
Thomas frowned even as he relaxed, apparently willing to believe him until proven otherwise. “I’m listening,” he said sourly.
“Dr. Cambri is the only one who can prove how it’s being spread,” Daniel said. “She’s the one who designed the tomato, knows the adhesion points and how it’s condensing the toxin to lethal levels. She and I can show how someone intentionally created a bridge between the two. The people responsible are trying to keep it quiet until they can find a way to blame it on me and Dr. Cambri. I can’t let that happen. The longer I sit here, the more people are going to die. I need to try to stop it, but I can’t do it here.”
Daniel winced as Mathew shouted, “Force his mouth open. Pinch his nose. Get me some ketchup!”
“I’m trying to help,” Daniel said, knowing if he couldn’t convince Thomas, no one else would believe him, either. “If I can’t get out of here, they’ll just keep covering it up until every last person susceptible to it is dead. Why do you think they dumped me here? They want me to die.”
Thomas shook his head, clearly not believing him. “I’ve seen people eating tomatoes who didn’t get sick. Entire families,” he said. “We had tomato soup last night. Are you saying everyone here is going to die tomorrow from tomato soup?”
Daniel glanced at Phil, then Thomas, emboldened now that they seemed to be listening. “It’s . . . genetic,” he whispered, trying to stick to the truth and still hold to Trisk’s precious silence. “Some people get sick and recover, as it’s supposed to work. Others it doesn’t affect at all. And it’s only the Angel tomato that can carry it, so if the soup wasn’t made from an Angel tomato, it’s perfectly safe.”
“Which would explain why you’re not sick,” Thomas said, thick arms crossing over his chest in accusation. “Is there an antibiotic?”
“For a virus?” Daniel blurted, then reminded himself that not many people outside the medical profession knew the difference between viruses and bacteria. “No. And it’s not just this year’s crop you have to be aware of. Anything canned or frozen can pick it up once it’s thawed or opened.”
Thomas rubbed a hand slowly across his clean-shaven cheeks. “How can something processed last year have your virus in it?”
“It’s the hairs,” Daniel said. “I can’t be sure because I need lab access, but if the virus is attracted to the hairs on the tomato, anything containing them can condense and pool the toxin. Once there, it multiplies.”
“Sweet Jesus,” someone swore behind him, and he turned to see that a semicircle of men had gathered to listen. “How do you survive that?”
“You don’t eat tomatoes,” Daniel said, relieved they were listening. Not only that, but they believed him. And even more important, they weren’t trying to kill him anymore. “That an old product can become toxic is probably why we’re seeing some people eating something that ends up infecting someone else,” he said to try to obscure the fact that it was only humans who could die from it. “It takes a while for the hairs to attract enough virus, but once they do, it multiplies rapidly. And like I said, it’s only the Angel tomatoes. Any other kind is okay.”
“I gotta tell Margret,” a sallow-faced man said, bumping into people as he turned and tried to force his way clear. “Margret!” he shouted, and Daniel tensed, not wanting the authorities to know that their secret was coming out lest they shut him up. Permanently.
Thomas rose, the big man seeming to have found his strength again. “No one else is going to die here,” he said, and for the first time, it didn’t sound like a prayer but a promise. “Go get the word out about what to avoid. Phil, go after Fred and make sure he and his wife keep this quiet. No tomatoes or tomato products, and don’t tell anyone you aren’t sure about.”
“Sure about what, Thomas?” someone asked, and Thomas chuckled.
“Sure they aren’t the government,” he shot back. “Go.”
They scattered, and Daniel dropped his head into his hands to take a long breath, keeping it shallow because of his hurt ribs. Startled, he realized his nose was bleeding as well, and he wiped it on a cotton handkerchief that Thomas handed him.
“Thank you,” he said, still shaky from the knowledge that it could have gone the other way. “I have to get out of here. I’m not letting the man responsible force me and Dr. Cambri to take the blame.”
“And who is responsible?” Thomas asked, waving his hand to tell Daniel he could keep the handkerchief.
“Dr. Trenton Kalamack,” Daniel said, the hatred and bile in his voice surprising even him.