Mount Dragon by Douglas Preston Page B

Zoo—?” Carson began, but Brandon-Smith was already opening the door. Suddenly the drumming was louder, and Carson realized it was not a generator, after all. Muffled screams and hoots filtered through his pressure suit. Turning a corner, Carson saw that one wall of the room’s interior was lined floor to ceiling with cages. Black beady eyes peered out from between wire mesh. The new arrivals in the room caused the noise level to increase dramatically. Many of the prisoners were now pounding on the floors of the cages with their feet and hands.
    â€œChimpanzees?” asked Carson.
    â€œGood for you.”
    A small bluesuited figure at the far end of the row of cages turned toward them.
    â€œCarson, this is Bob Fillson. He takes care of the animals.”
    Fillson nodded curtly. Carson could see a heavy brow, bulbous nose, and wet pendulous lip behind the faceplate. The rest was in shadow. The man turned and went back to work.
    â€œWhy so many?” Carson asked.
    She stopped and looked at him. “They’re the only animal with the same immunological system as a human being. You should know that, Carson.”
    â€œOf course, but why exactly—”
    But Brandon-Smith was peering intently into one of the cages.
    â€œAw, for Chrissakes,” she said.
    Carson came over, keeping a respectful distance from the countless fingers poking through the mesh. A chimpanzee was lying on its side, trembling, oblivious of the commotion surrounding it. There seemed to be something wrong with its facial features. Then Carson realized that the creature’s eyeballs seemed abnormally enlarged. Looking closer, he could see that they were actually bulging from its head, the blood vessels rupturing and hemorrhaging in the sclera. The animal suddenly jerked, opened its hairy jaws, and screamed.
    â€œBob,” Carson could hear Brandon-Smith saying through the intercom, “the last of Burt’s chimps is about to go.”
    With a notable lack of haste, Fillson came shuffling over. He was a very small man, barely five feet, and he moved with a slow deliberation that reminded Carson of a diver under water.
    He turned to Carson, and spoke with a hoarse voice. “You’ll have to go. You too, Rosalind. Can’t open a cage when others are in the room.”
    Carson watched in horror as one of the eyeballs suddenly erupted from its socket, followed by a gush of bloody fluid. The chimp thrashed about silently, teeth snapping, arms flailing.
    â€œWhat the hell?” Carson began, frozen in horror.
    â€œGood- bye ,” Fillson said firmly, as he reached into a cabinet behind him.
    â€œBye, Bob,” said Brandon-Smith. Carson noticed a distinct change of tone in her voice when she spoke to the animal handler.
    The last thing Carson saw as they sealed the door was the chimp, rigid with pain, pawing desperately at its ruined face, as Fillson sprayed something from an aerosol can into the cage.
    Brandon-Smith made her ponderous way down another corridor, not speaking.
    â€œAre you going to tell me what was wrong with that chimpanzee?” Carson said at last.
    â€œI thought it was obvious,” she snapped. “Cerebral edema.”
    â€œCaused by what?”
    The woman turned to look at him. She seemed surprised. “You really don’t know, Carson?”
    â€œNo, I don’t. And from now on, the name is Guy. Or Dr. Carson, if you prefer. I don’t appreciate being called by my last name.”
    There was a silence. “Fine, Guy ,” she replied. “Those chimps are all X-FLU positive. The one you saw is in the tertiary stage of the disease. The virus stimulates massive overproduction of cerebrospinal fluid. In time, the pressure herniates the brain down through the foramen magnum. That’s when the lucky ones die. A few hang on until the eyeballs are forced from their sockets.”
    â€œX-FLU?” Carson asked. He could feel the sweat trickling down his