A Pandemic Survivors Omnibus

The Case of the Forever Cure-1

The Case of the Forever Cure

BY C. C. BROWER AND J. R. Kruze

- - - -

WHY I WAS BROUGHT IN to solve a mystery of people getting and staying healthy was a bit curious on its own.

They were all terminally ill. And in quarantine. Yet one nurse and her student "angels of death" had been able to reverse this deadly disease that modern "medicine” had created through their own negligence.

Most of the big city hospitals had these outbreaks, and had sent their worst cases out to live their lives in suburban hospices - often unknown to those locals. And if their quarantine security failed, an incurable plague could spread and decimate the human population by at least half - to start with.

Whoever had hired me wanted to know what those healed people were going to do - for anyone could see a huge litigation potential from being cured in those circumstances. But not if they died. For dead people can't talk - or sue.

In order to stay anonymous, my financiers had to stay off my radar and out of my hair.

Or the head nurse would help me find out how they created this mess that she was solving without their help...

IIT'S HARD DETECTIVE work when you could only interview through thick glass while wearing a hazmat suit.

It's worse when you're trying to find out why someone is healing the terminally ill and being very successful at it.

Because since this one nurse took over, people had quit dying.

But the hospital wouldn't let them out of quarantine. Until my investigation was complete.

No pressure.

The problem was how I was getting paid. All in cash, Random serial numbers, unmarked and used bills. Occasionally someone included a note, printed out by a laser printer on common paper stock. No fingerprints on anything. Completely anonymous.

And all I wanted was they stay off my back if they wanted to keep it that way.

Because this coin had two faces. Let me do my job finding what you asked me to, or I'd find out the flip side as well.

That was the message I sent the last time I got a note from them with advice on it. And no more notes since.

I told them three weeks. Period. I'd solve it or give them their money back. Minus expenses.

No notes since. And I had under a week left, with no leads. Yes, I was getting a bit nervous.

But I didn't have to deal with perfectly healthy people who weren't even allowed to talk to their family. Or me.

It all depended on this one head nurse named Cathy.

IIIT WASN'T ANY REAL surprise to me that these patients started getting better.

But my methods were unorthodox, and had been kept a secret for nearly half a century at this point. I was called in as a last resort by some very insistent, and very connected family of one of the patients.

And now he's fine, but neither I or him or anyone else can talk to anyone outside.

Well, I've got this detective fellow named Johnson who somehow wangled a way into my over-booked schedule. 30 minutes a day. Uninterrupted. And that's a miracle all on its own.

Typically, we are understaffed. And all volunteer. None of us were expected to ever return from the quarantine. But all their doctors and nurses had gotten ill as well, so they'd asked - no, begged for people to basically suicide in order to help these people live out their last days with some sort of dignity.

They got half the number they wanted, which was twice what they actually expected.

But they were city folks. Pretty cold and pessimistic. Hard to get a smile out of them.

And that was our secret weapon - infectious smiles. Works every time. Because you have to heal from the inside out, not just pile on more drugs and pills.

The main trouble was with the quarantine security equipment. The technicians to fix it were also sick. If that equipment failed before we got this outbreak under control, it would roll through all the population of this suburb and those beyond it like no plague before it. And the infected would spread it further, all within a few hours of contacting it. All innocent carriers.

What was worst, it left babies alone. The ones that needed help the most. That was why we were here, originally. To solve why the babies weren't getting sick - and feed them and change them and cuddle them meanwhile.

But when the last of the nurses collapsed, we had to break into the worst areas and sacrifice ourselves. Because the walls were all glass, and we could see the entire ward from the maternity section. Damned if we were just going to stand there and watch them all die...

IIIIN BETWEEN OUR TALKS, I had access to all their electronic reports, and all the medical files on the patients. Mainly because I was authorized by the CDC to snoop anywhere I needed to. This meant their families and their family's lawyers were all purposely kept out of the loop. Privacy be damned if you knew you had a plague that could cripple civilization starting with everyone around you.

Of course, they made me sign huge stacks of non-disclosure agreements and bonds that would keep me in hock for the rest of my life, if not in prison.

The money was good, so I took it. All untraceable cash, but I told you that already. And I already made plans to disappear after this, since more than likely they'd make me disappear permanent-like, otherwise.

All those electronic reports didn't give me much besides headaches. I was going over them for the fourth time. It wasn't adding up.

Sure, you had the babies that didn't get sick. But only when these student nurses and their barely graduated head nurse broke quarantine to take over was when the patients started getting better.

All I knew is that whatever they were doing wasn't in these reports.

They were keeping something from me. But so were the people who hired me.

My daily half-hour was coming up. Just enough time to get into that damned hazmat suit again and go through decontamination just to get into the interview cubicle.

Maybe this time, I'd get something I could use. Like my gramma used to say, "Hope springs eternal."

Whatever.

IV"HEY CATHY, HOW'S IT going?"

"Fine, Detective Johnson, how's the real world?"

"Call me Reg, OK?"

"OK, Reg-OK - how's the real world" She smiled at her own joke. Something that lightened her tired face.

I had to smile at that, which just made hers wider. "At least you've got some time for humor, even if sleep is tight."

"Sleep is always tight for nurses, but we make do."

"Well, over to questions, then. I've been over and over your reports and I just don't get it. How come you and your students don't get sick from what your patients have?"

"We've been over this ground before, Reg. It's our proprietary training and our faith in that training."

"But you don't seem to be doing anything different, other than you ignore safety protocols and do what seems to be normal nursing actions."

"And we didn't have time or the necessary suits available when we had to break quarantine to save the life of that nurse. After that, it's of little consequence. We are still alive and that again goes back to our faith."

That line of questioning was getting me nowhere, as usual. Science didn't account for faith more than a placebo effect. "Your student nurses and you all come from very small towns, and it looks like you were all adopted."

Her eyebrow raised. "That's of no concern to you. Our methods could be taught to anyone. It might be that our students have more personal moral values than those found in larger metropolitan areas. Or maybe it goes to the love of our families, which again goes back to that 'faith' point you find so disturbing."

I hadn't realized my face gave away so much. "I don't mean to question your faith..."

"Don't you? Are you quite certain? You've almost done nothing but. And if it weren't for those children, we wouldn't be here and we shouldn't be having these questions. And if whoever is paying you had an ounce of courage, they'd come right out and see this scene for themselves." Her frown deepened as she leaned toward the glass.

"I'm sorry to offend you and I don't..."

"Don't give me that 'sorry to offend' crap! Just like those insane 'Tolerance Edicts.' All they've done has been to harass a lot of innocent people who just want to live the life they were given. A small minority few don't have more rights than anyone else..."

"Cathy, Cathy, please. I'm sorry, OK? Sorry. You look much prettier when you aren't upset, and I'm sure your job goes easier as well. How 'Cagga and the Secessionists treat people should be none of our concern. How your nurses are actually curing your patients is all I want to find out."

She calmed at this, a little bit. "I'm sorry, too, Reg. I'd prefer to be smiling more. These long hours have us all a bit on edge."

"Is that singing something you do as part of your training?"

"Oh, well that singing is between us nurses. It's not part of nurse training, but are just some hymns from my local church that seem to help everyone keep their spirits up."

"I see from the video's that some of the patients are singing along now. Most of them were unconscious when you went in there."

She had to smile at this. "Yes, we're finding that they have some healthy lungs in there. Probably good exercise for their Cardiod-pulmonary. Mr. Smith has an amazing baritone, and Clara - she insists we call her that - has a contralto good enough to sing a church solo." She looked away. "I don't know if you can hear it from there, but they just hit that chorus on 'Little Brown Church in the Wild-wood'." Cathy was nodding her head. "Singing helps everyone."

At that point, the buzzer went off. I had minutes to get into decontamination before the interview area would be showered from overhead nozzles. It happened once before. Made talking impossible.

Cathy stood with graceful ease. "See you tomorrow." She smiled and gave me a half-wave.

From that angle, I could see my own reflection and how impersonal and bureaucratic I looked.

I rose to leave, and she was already gone, her own door closing automatically behind her.

V"HEY CATHY, DID HE ASK anything different today?" A blond student asked.

"No, Sue, just more of the same."

"Mr. Smith wants to get out of bed today, insisting I let him or bring you to him so he can talk you into it."

I just smiled at her. "I'm sure he'd love to 'talk' with me. With his hands where they shouldn't go. Ever notice that I hold both of his hands when I'm near him?"

"More like I noticed that I need to start doing that myself. He's very personal with his touches. Must be feeling a lot better."

I shook my head, still smiling. "Give him a broom and have him start using his hands to clean up the store room. Just make sure those meds are locked up first. If he's still frisky after that, he can pull some hot water and start mopping. Just not around the other patients where we have to walk. Use some ammonia in it, and he'll be doing us all a favor with the smells in this place."

Sue nodded and moved off.

I picked up the charts and found we had seemed to turn the corner for all of them. I remembered how my teacher, Rochelle, cautioned against optimism that we would be able to save all our patients all the time. "Only faith works miracles..." was her phrase for it. The rest of it was "...and trust in God to fix what humans screw up." A bit sardonic for her, but it got the point across for us, especially now.

That reminded me to check the babies again. That's what really kept us going around here. Some of them would be trying to walk if they were kept here much longer. Already most were into higher-walled beds they couldn't climb over - yet.