Free Ebola K: A Terrorism Thriller by Bobby Adair Page A

you first suspect Ebola?”
    Littlefield thought for a moment. “The third
day. Before that, patients had the usual headaches, fever, nausea,
and diarrhea that accompany just about any common outbreak.
However, this outbreak was so widespread and sudden, I initially
suspected typhoid. I drew blood samples and sent them to the lab in
Kampala.”
    “What came back?”
    “Nothing.”
    Putting the pieces of the puzzle together,
Giovanni replied, “You didn’t receive the results?”
    “I’m still waiting.”
    “You may not ever get the results. Rumors of
Ebola and fear of the disease have caused the government to
blockade the roads in most of the eastern districts.”
    “Great.” Dr. Littlefield stepped over to lean
against the side of the porch’s foundation, and put himself under
the shade of the roof that slanted out in front of it. “On the
third day, maybe twenty of the people who’d come in over the
previous days with other symptoms came back with blood-red eyes.
Others followed. The rashes started showing up, and that’s when I
knew.”
    “But all at once? How do you explain it?”
    Dr. Littlefield shook his head. “It didn’t
make any sense. You obviously see that, too. Ebola has a death
chain. Usually you can trace it back one person at a time. Perhaps
a man comes in with symptoms, but you know he got it from his wife,
who was in two weeks ago, who got it from their child, who
contracted the disease a week or two before. And maybe that child
got it from a childhood friend. Ebola is a nightmare—a slow-motion
nightmare that grows through personal contact. It thrives in this
culture because they feel a social need to touch. They even touch
the bare skin of the dead in their funeral rituals.”
    “Not that different than us in the West,” Dr.
Giovanni said.
    “I guess not.” Dr. Littlefield took a moment
to collect his thoughts and get himself back on track. “We didn’t
have a death chain here. That’s the reason I didn’t even suspect
Ebola at first.”
    “Because it exploded across the population
rather than growing in it?” Dr. Giovanni asked.
    “Yes. That’s exactly what happened. It
exploded for no apparent reason. People were getting infected by
the dozens, with no apparent link. Of course, that was at first. By
now, everybody in town who didn’t flee is in some stage of the
disease. The hospital is overflowing.” Dr. Littlefield pointed to a
cluster of three rectangular buildings a short distance across the
mountain slope. “The school buildings are full.”
    “Everybody is infected?”
    “I don’t know that for sure.” Dr. Littlefield
pointed down the road in both directions. “Two days ago I walked
through town and tried to get people to come out of their houses
and talk to me.”
    “And?”
    “Most wouldn’t come out. The ones who did
kept their distance, which was smart. A few admitted that at least
someone inside was sick. In some houses, everyone is sick.
Everyone. But they were afraid to come to the hospital.”
    “Do you blame them?” Dr. Giovanni asked.
    “No. There’s little we can do for them. Most
of our protective equipment was stolen early on.”
    “That’s what happened to it?”
    Dr. Littlefield nodded sadly. “What you see
is what we have.”
    Dr. Giovanni started to raise his hand to
shake, but quickly put it back down. “I’m sorry. I owe you an
apology.”
    “You do,” Littlefield agreed. Giovanni had
been unnecessarily harsh.
    “I admire your dedication and bravery.”
    Dr. Littlefield glanced at the hospital doors
over his shoulder. “I’m just trying to help.”
    “Are you symptomatic yet?”
    “I have a headache and a fever,” Dr.
Littlefield admitted.
    “I’m sorry.”
    Littlefield shook his head. “It was
inevitable.” And for so many caregivers in Africa that was indeed
the case. He walked around Dr. Giovanni, climbed the six stairs up
to the hospital’s porch, and went to his favorite spot to lean and
look at the small farming