Tangled Webs

Tangled Webs
(1162 words)

Dr. John Surrat worked feverishly for weeks to create a bacteria that would kill his wife without any hint of wrong doing on his part. In a small petrie dish, he combined saliva from a cat, crushed bug fluids, semen from his dog, pus from several patient wounds, blood from several other patients with hepatitis and other contagious diseases and plain water. He let it develop until an ugly green mold formed on top. He added a little saline and stirred it up. Then he extracted several vials of the stuff into syringes, packed them carefully in cotton batting and plastic wrapping and put them in his brief case.

May 14, 2006

Near midnight, when his wife, June, was asleep (he had kindly give her two sleeping tablets that night), he slowly injected a vial of whatever it was that grew in the petrie dish. He did the same on May 15, and May 16.

He waited. He had grown tired of his wife, tired of her looks, tired of her nagging and tired of being tied to her. With luck, he hoped that he wouldn't be tired too much longer. He was only 42 years old, handsome, and the proceeds of her insurance policy would make him rich. He told himself that he deserved a good life. He had worked very hard to get this far. He was a brilliant man.

May 17, 2006

John injected the last dose of the three syringes to his sleeping wife.

May 21, 2006

June Surrat complained of a head ache at 7 a.m. By noon, she had a temperature of 102 degrees. He waited.

The next morning, he checked on his wife. Her fever was down slightly, but she had developed a rattling in her chest and a wet-sounding cough. She was in and out of sleep most of the afternoon. That evening, she developed another high fever. It was time.

May 22, 2006

John had his wife admitted to the Emergency Room of Hampton Memorial Hospital, a small hospital near their home where he had staffing privileges. The ER doctors were stumped. They couldn't figure out what was wrong with her, but she was in critical condition, and they admitted her to the Intensive Care Unit where she was monitored carefully. She was hydrated, antiobiotics were given, but she continued to deteriorate. A respiratory specialist was consulted with, and everyone prayed.

May 23, 2006

With John by her side, June Suratt died of her illness. Everyone was stunned at her rapid decline. She was only 37 years old and had been in perfect health. John demanded that samples of her blood be sent to the Centers for Disease Control for analysis. He left the hospital to make funeral arrangements for his wife.

May 30, 2006

John Suratt didn't feel too well. He was listening to the local news on NBC. The anchor woman said "Doctors at Hampton Memorial have reported several cases of a viral illness that is fast acting and creating serious illness in a matter of days. The State Health Department has called Atlanta's Center for Disease Control for assistance. The illness seems to start with a fever and cough but develops rapidly into bilateral pneumonia with complications. There is no known cure at this time, and the origins of the virus are unknown." The news was clinical with lots of medical jargon, but it's difficult to describe a virus without causing panic among the people.

John rubbed his forehead where a pounding headache was making it difficult for him to think. What have I done? He tried to get up and get some water, but he felt so weak. He noticed a greenish tinge to his skin, especially his hands. I never touched the syringes with my bare hands, and I never touched her after I gave the injections. How could I have contracted the disease? Breathing the same air? Did I create a deadly air-borne virus? Oh, God.

June 2, 2006

John was found lying in his own vomit by a nurse who went to his office looking for a patient's medical chart. She called for help. John tried to tell her something, but his voice was too low, and she could not make out his words. She tried to keep him calm until help arrived. He was examined by the ER doctors and admitted straight to the ICU, the same bed where his wife had died. As he lay there, he went in and out of consciousness.

Also, as he lay there, large cyst-like growths were forming all over his body. They seemed to follow neural pathways, much like the shingles do, an excruciatingly painful disease which forms blister-like lesions on the skin which sting and burn. These lesions were also very warm to the touch, but they were hard and full of venom. No amount of morphine seemed to keep John out of agony very long.

June 5, 2006

John was not alone. There were thousands of sick children, men and women in the City. The Mayor had declared the City a disaster area, and the Governor was considering quarantining the entire County.

June 9, 2006

John looked inhuman. He was a mass of bulging, putrid-smelling abscesses, all over his body. He felt miserable. Surprisingly, his mind was clearer, and his fever was manageable. Yet, the abscesses continued to form.

When the pain subsided enough for him to talk clearly, John confessed his sins. He told his doctor what he had done and his priest and asked for forgiveness and understanding. He knew he was going to die. He did not want to be responsible for the deaths of millions. Maybe, knowing how he had formed the illness, a cure could be found before it mutated beyond control. His doctor called the police.

June 11, 2006

The grave was open, and June Suratt's casket was lifted and brought to the surface. The coroner had directed his assistants to remove the body and place it on a stretcher for removal to the County morgue where he could do a proper autopsy.

When the coffin was opened, the assistants jumped back in horror. The casket was filled with thousands of bugs crawling around in a green muck of thick, viscous fluid. June Surrat's body had literally exploded, the cysts forming on her dead skin even after she was buried. As the assistants and coroner screamed in horror, the nurses in the ICU at Hamptom Memorial were doing the same. John Suratt's body had just exploded too, huge sores opening on his body, excreting vile-smelling pus as he looked on in horror. He suffered terribly but not long.

June 12, 2006

John Surrat died at 12:13 a.m. A search for a cure for Surrat's Necrosis was underway as thousands of people lay dying. His wife's insurance proceeds were in a check in his mail box, unopened, a shame since he had worked so long and so hard to get so far.