lesions of war

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
a woman; a disease; an end.

Submitted: June 12, 2016

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Submitted: June 12, 2016

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This was not the cure they'd been looking for.

 

Dr. Katt couldn’t believe her eyes as she poured over the data, x-rays, and the closed circuit images of her patient. She was certain of the diagnosis: Necrotizing Fasciitis - or flesh eating disease. Though it was a rare condition, she specialized in this field, and had treated many patients who suffered from its relentless attack. Also, she was sure about the antibiotics she used, and how they helped in the past. But this…she’d never seen this before.

 

The patient - an otherwise healthy, middle aged woman - was still unconscious. With some luck, she’d stay this way until her ordeal was over. She lay in her hospital bed free of clothing and covers. This was to allow Dr. Katt the opportunity to observe the progress of both the disease and the cure. With this patient, she was able to watch both at the same time.

 

When the woman arrived at the hospital, earlier that day, the infected area was on her right leg, just below the knee. It had all the tell tale signs of flesh eating disease - the red and blackened sores, the putrified odour, the high fever. After careful examination, Dr. Katt decided that amputation could wait until she was sure about the path the disease was taking. Her reluctance to perform such invasive surgery was supported by the unusual development transpiring before her very eyes. 

 

As the disease made it’s way up to - and past her knee - it left no tell-tale signs of ever having been there - as if the infection never existed. The puss filled, open sores had been replaced by perfectly normal skin. Skin that was as clear as her unaffected leg. Her new skin was pigmented, age appropriate, and with the faintest trace of hair. And just above this rejuvenated miracle of epidermic reconstruction, the Fasciitis festered, as it marched its way onto her hip. 

 

As Dr. Katt wondered as to the finale of this paradox, her protege popped his head in her door. “Chris, do you have a minute?”

 

“Sure, come in, Max. Did you find anything?” Max paced her office in an obvious state of agitation and excitement. He had to take several deep breaths in order not to faint. 

 

“I haven’t been able to find one example of what’s happening here. Not at the Mayo. Not at Mt. Sinai. None of the university research labs have even heard of such a thing.” He stopped pacing and sat down in the chair next to hers. They both looked at the monitor and saw that the infection was nearing the top of her hip, its path cleared of evidence. “Do you know what this means?”

 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Max. We’ve seen things fall apart before.”

 

“I know, I know, But we’ve got to collect the data to present, you know, just in case. Oh, and we need to edit the video. I was thinking that if we speed up the footage, we’ll be able to demonstrate what’s going on. You have all of the medication charts, right?”

 

“Yes, but I’m not sure what they can tell us. It doesn’t explain anything that we’re seeing right now. The infection continues to move up her body, but without any signs of having done so.  How is this happening?” She turned towards her colleague in hopes that some explanation was written on his face. There wasn’t.

They turned their attention back to the monitor to see that the open sores were now on her stomach. It appeared that they were spreading to the middle of her body, just below her navel. The two of them sat and watched the progress of the ever moving Fasciitis as it continued towards her breasts, and leaving perfectly healthy skin in its wake. Within the next four hours, it moved past her chest, onto her neck, finally, reaching her chin. In what seemed like minutes, it surrounded her mouth. At that point, she opened her eyes. 

 

The two doctors gasped simultaneously as they rushed from the office and into her room. Dr. Katt spoke to her and called her name. There was no response beyond the vacant starring of her eyes. Dr. Katt checked her pupils with a small light, but there was no response. Next, she took her temperature. It was normal. Finally, she examined the skin that had been ravaged just a few hours before. It felt warm and soft to the touch, and gave no indication of the trauma it had been through. Finally, she examined to sores around her mouth. The woman’s lips were covered in blister like sores, open and rank with odour. 

 

Just then, Dr. Katt’s beeper sounded. She read the message and turned towards Max.

 

“Dr. Shuster from the Swiss clinic is here. I’m going to show him what’s been going on and then bring him here. He’ll want to do an examination himself. In the meantime, can you take all of her vitals again. Also, change her I.V. drip. For now, we should continue with the same dosages.”

 

With that, Dr. Katt left the patient’s room and headed down the hallway. Max began to change the I.V. drip. As he reached for a new unit of antibiotics, he felt the indescribable pain of the skin on his neck being torn off. He howled in anguish as he spun around to see the woman coming at him with what remained of his neck stuck between her teeth. She bolted at him with amazing speed, sinking her teeth into his face, ripping his right cheek from its bones. He fell to the floor, screaming for help, holding the now empty spot below his eyes. She pinned him to the floor so that he was looking into the depths of her maw. The Fasciitis seemed to have a life of its own. It would be the last thing he’d ever see. 

 

Dr.’s Katt and Shuster made their way back to the patients room and opened the door. To their horror, they saw Max on the floor, his shirt torn to shreds, and his skin missing from his head to his pants. Instinctively, they rushed to his side. Once in the room, the door swung closed, as the woman leaped upon their struggling bodies.

 

Fight the plague and virus. Battle the germ and the pandemic. We will know our defeats and we will know our victories. However, beware the tides as they turn against us, for we will only know loss when we become the disease.


© Copyright 2017 Norman K. All rights reserved.

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