Dr. Eckhardt sat up straight and arched his lower back trying to work out the knots. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eye before replacing them. How many hours had it been? Not that it mattered. He had not been home in a month. With no windows in the long, narrow tile covered room, time was measured from case file to case file.

The florescent light above him flickered, went black for a moment, and then came to life.

Dr. Eckhardt exhaled, then turned his attention to the file before him. At least the power had not gone out. Again. He flipped through the pages, initialing them as he went, then closed the file and placed it on the stack in his out box.

The swinging doors behind him opened and he swiveled around on his stool.

“Good afternoon,” Dr. Eckhardt, the man in a lab coat and surgical cap said.

“Dr. Bannerman,” Eckhardt replied.

Dr. Bannerman wove through the maze of surgical tables and wheeled gurneys until he stood beside his co-worker. “Breakfast I see,” he said with distaste.

Eckhardt looked to his left and saw the half empty paper cup of coffee and the balled up Nutrition bar wrapper. “likely dinner as well,” he replied.

“Well its not as if we have much time for eating,” Bannerman said turning back to the room and its contents.”

“That’s true,” Eckhardt replied standing and stretching his back again. He was nearly a head taller than his companion. “though they aren’t leaving very fast. I haven’t seen Williams for two days now.”

Bannerman nodded and reached into his pocket pulling out a pair of latex gloves.

“Dr. Peterson has not been in for nearly a week,” Bannerman said with a hint of consternation. “Dr. Johnson did not show yesterday either,”

Eckhardt shook his head and pulled the last pair of gloves from a dented, cardboard box on his desk.. He frowned. Without another word, he joined Bannerman at a gurney near the center of the room. The doctor was already sifting through the stained metal tray of surgical instruments.

“The autoclave’s been down since Tuesday,” Eckhardt said in response to the querying look on Bannerman’s face.

With a purse of his lips, Bannerman dropped one of the surgical knives and pulled up his surgical mask. “Its worse than the dark ages,” he muttered.

Eckhardt drew back the sheet on the gurney revealing a nude male strapped firmly to the sides of the table with wrist and ankle restraints. It did not make a sound but bloodshot eyes tracked both the men’s movements.

Bannerman reached up and pulled on a microphone hanging down several feet from the ceiling.

The thin black cord played out until it was about level with his forehead. He flicked a switch and then began speaking. “Today is April 20th , 1991. Case number is 030166. Subject is a white male. Six feet two inches tall and approximately one hundred and ninety pounds.”

Eckhardt’s mind wandered as Bannerman continued his initial case entries. He scanned the room. One of every two florescent lights was out in the ceiling. The once white tiles on the wall were now stained a tobacco yellow hue and the floor… he didn’t even want to think about the floor. It all reminded him of a rundown auto garage.

For six months they had worked day and night amassing data, reviewing charts and performing necropsies. He could taste decay with every bite of food he ate and his eyes were perpetually red rimmed from lack of sleep and exposure to the various chemicals they worked with.

“Stage four, wouldn’t you say,” Bannerman said bending over the body and flashing a pen light in its eyes.

Eckhardt looked down. The skin was a grayish-white, the eyes sunken and bloodshot. The pupils showed little reaction to the pen light and tracked it very slowly as if the subject where on a sedative. He reached down and touched the forearm closest to him. It was clammy and cold to the touch.. The head moved slowly as the body tried to see what was touching it. He also noted the deep wound in the neck. Various scrapes on the knees, shins, hands and arms were present as well, likely the result of greatly reduced motor coordination.

“Yes,” he said, blinking rapidly to get his eyes to refocus. “Stage four.”

“External examination is completed,” Bannerman said before clicking off the microphone.

“Do you think we’ll find a cure,” Eckhardt said as Bannerman moved around to the head of the gurney.

“I should hope so,” Bannerman replied matter of factly. “otherwise this has all been a colossal waste of time.”

Eckhardt walked to the head of the gurney and knelt down, helping Bannerman untangle one of the worn leather belt straps secured to the underside of the table. It was about the width of a person’s forehead. They stood up and Bannerman grabbed both lengths of leather, threading one through the other and pulling it tight before securing it in place. This illicited a grunt from the body on the table..

“Its been nearly a year since the first outbreaks,” Eckhardt continued.

Bannerman looked at the body, watched it try to move its head and fail. Satisfied, he walked back around to his position at the side of the gurney. “We’ll need the drill and a 3/4 inch bit,” he said.

Eckhardt nodded and walked back to a long stainless steel table bolted to the tile wall. On it were a number of tools too large to be placed on the small trays. He selected a drill and thumbed through a box next to it for the correct size bit.

“Science moves at its own slow, measured pace,” Bannerman said as he returned to the table.

Taking the drill and bit from Eckhardt, he began assembling them. “There are still vast areas of Central America and places in Africa and Asia we have not fully explored or catalogued. And the oceans? We know more about the moon than what lives at the bottom of the Atlantic. It should be no surprise that we failed to see this coming.”

Eckhardt nodded as Bannerman twisted a knob on the bottom of the drill and it whirred to life briefly before he shut it off again. He just hoped that once the “slow, measured pace” of science found a cure there were still some people left to benefit from it. Necrosis agitatus ran a very predictable course. It was always fatal. Worse, the afflicted always seemed to take a few others with them.

“A 3/4 inch hole will now be entered into the cranium and a tissue sample from the brain extracted for further study,” Bannerman said into the microphone. “Are we ready Dr. Eckhardt?”

Eckhardt nodded and moved to the side as Bannerman walked to the head of the body removing a pair of electric clippers from the table as he did so. He pressed the clippers to the body’s scalp and flicked them on. The blades cleared a patch of skin on the top of it’s head. He handed the clippers to Eckhardt who absently placed them in his pocket. Without hesitation, Bannerman turned the drill on and placed it firmly against the now bare patch of scalp..

Anesthetics were no longer used in these procedures. They, like other medicines, food and water were heavily rationed. Victims of Necrosis agitatus were considered dead. No discernible pulse and no, measurable, higher brain function.

The body twisted slightly in its bonds. The ruined lips were pulled back over chipped and broken teeth in a silent cry. Fortunately, this one’s tongue was gone, Eckhardt thought as Bannerman eased the drill bit back out.

It was worse when they screamed.