The Judas Strain - James Rollins [21]
“If you had read further into the report,” Lindholm said, “you would have discovered these new symptoms arose four days ago. The hospital staff surmised tropical gangrene, secondary to the deep infection in the burns. But it’s actually—”
“Necrotizing fasciitis,” she finished.
Lindholm sniffed tightly and lowered the blanket. “Exactly. That’s what we thought.”
Necrotizing fasciitis, better known as flesh-eating disease, was caused by bacteria, usually beta-hemolytic streptococci.
“What’s the assessment?” she asked. “A secondary infection through his earlier wounds?”
“I had our bacteriologist brought in. A quick gram stain last night revealed a massive proliferation of Propionibacterium.”
She frowned. “That makes no sense. That’s just an ordinary epidermal bacterium. Nonpathogenic. Are you sure it wasn’t just a contaminant?”
“Not in the numbers found in the blisters. The stains were repeated on other tissue samples. The same results. It was during these second studies that an odd necrosis was noted in the surrounding tissue. A pattern of decay sometimes seen locally. It can mimic necrotizing fasciitis.”
“Caused by what?”
“The sting of a stonefish. Very toxic. The fish looks like a rock but bears stiff dorsal spines envenomed by poison glands. One of the nastiest venoms in the world. I brought Dr. Barnhardt in to test the tissue.”
“The toxicologist?”
A nod.
Dr. Barnhardt had been flown here from Amsterdam, an expert in environmental poisons and toxins. Under the auspices of Sigma, Painter had personally requested the man’s addition to the WHO team.
“The results came back this past hour. He found active poison in the patient’s tissues.”
“I don’t understand. So the man was poisoned by a stonefish while wandering in delirium?”
A voice spoke behind her, answering her question. “No.”
She turned. A tall figure filled the doorway, a bear of a man squeezed into a contamination suit too small for his girth. His grizzled and bearded face fit his size, but not the delicacy of his mind. Dr. Henrick Barnhardt pushed into the room.
“I don’t believe the man was ever stung by a stonefish. But he is suffering from the venom.”
“How is that possible?”
Barnhardt ignored her question for the moment and addressed the WHO leader. “It’s what I suspected, Dr. Lindholm. I borrowed Dr. Miller’s Propionibacterium cultures and had them analyzed. There is no doubt now.”
Lindholm visibly blanched.
“What?” Lisa asked.
The toxicologist reached and gently straightened the blanket over the John Doe patient, a tender gesture for such a large man. “The bacteria,” he said, “the Propionibacterium…is producing the equivalent of stonefish venom, pumping it out in quantities enough to dissolve this man’s tissues.”
“That’s impossible.”
Lindholm snorted. “That’s what I said.”
Lisa ignored him. “But Propionibacterium doesn’t produce any toxins. It’s benign.”
“I can’t explain how or why,” Barnhardt said. “Even to begin any further assessment, I would need a scanning microscope at least. But I assure you, Dr. Cummings, this benign bacteria has somehow transformed into one of the nastiest bugs on the planet.”
“How do you mean transformed?”
“I don’t think the patient caught this bug. I think it was a part of his normal bacterial flora. Whatever the man was exposed to out there, it changed the bacterium’s biochemistry, altered its basic genetic structure and made it virulent. Turned it into a flesh-eater.”
Lisa still refused to believe it. Not without more proof. “My partner, Dr. Kokkalis, has a portable forensic lab assembled in our suite. If you could—”
Lisa felt something brush the back of her gloved hand. She almost jumped away, startled. But it was only the old man in the bed, reaching again for her.