Amanda's Story by Brian O'Grady Page B

causing his younger colleague to jump and knock over a bottle of water.
    â€œDamn it, Greenburg, you better sleep with one eye open tonight.”
    â€œRelax, it’s only water. What do you see?” He peered over the smaller man’s shoulder, as if seeing the slide would answer his questions.
    â€œNothing; you have a look.” Jorgenson backed up and let the internist take over.
    â€œDermatology was never my strong suit.” Greenburg pulled up a small stool, and Jorgenson and Bernice shared a look and broke out into broad smiles wondering if the stool would bear Greenburg’s weight. “I can feel you smiling,” he said as he adjusted the focus. “Hmm. Extensive dermal damage. Even the subdermal blood vessels are necrotic. That would explain the fluid.”
    â€œHow about in English, Doctor?” Bernice asked.
    â€œSomething has affected the cells of the skin, not just the epidermis, the outer layer, but the living skin beneath, and its blood vessels. When the dermis is injured it loses some of its grip on the overlying epidermis, which can peel away, allowing fluid to accumulate in the space. Voila! A blister. The problem is that, whatever the process, it should have stopped with her death, but this one didn’t.” He pulled back from the scope and began to stroke his chin.
    â€œSkin cells continue to grow and divide after death,” Bernice said.
    â€œOnly for a very short time,” Greenburg said. “So obviously whatever caused this had already been in the dermal tissue before blood flow stopped. Which means either a toxic or infectious etiology. In fact, I’ll go further—it means either heavy metal intoxication or a viral infection.”
    Without warning, Jorgenson suddenly scrambled backward into a generator. Bernice nearly tripped getting out of his way in the close quarters and Greenburg spun in his chair. “What the hell are you doing?”
    â€œBernice, back away from Eli,” Jorgenson said. She hesitated. “Bernice, now, back away.” She looked at him and then back at Greenburg, completely confused until she saw the small red and clear blisters on the backs of his hands.
    â€œOh shit!” he said, more angry than concerned. “Well, I guess we can cross heavy metal intoxication off our list,” he said, examining the backs of his hands. “You two need to get out of here. Go clear some space for me in the big tent, preferably by a window and the fire.”
    Bernice and Dr. Jorgenson slipped out the back of the tent and literally ran into an uncharacteristically disheveled Lieutenant Garcia. Amanda was only steps behind the officer. “I am so glad I found you,” Garcia addressed the doctor. “We have a situation with some of the soldiers from town. Six of them were found wandering in various states of delirium outside of Tela. Their arms were covered in lesions. I left some of my men with them and they have radioed back that one of the six men has died, and the other five are close to death. I need you or Dr. Greenburg to go and see if it is safe to bring the men back here.” Bernice and David hesitated and then looked at each other.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Amanda asked.
    â€œWhile you were gone we had a woman come into camp. She had been shot, and we couldn’t save her. She had lesions—small blood-filled blisters …” Jorgenson began to answer.
    â€œYes, that’s what these men have,” Garcia interrupted.
    â€œDr. Greenburg has developed the same lesions,” Jorgenson finished.
    â€œOh my God,” Amanda whispered, and Garcia made the sign of the cross.
    â€œWe can’t let those men into this camp until we have a better idea what’s going on. I’m sorry, Lieutenant.” Jorgenson tried to walk passed Garcia, but the larger man stepped in front of him.
    â€œBut they will die. Can’t you just come and see them. It’s not far.”