The roar of the helicopter’s rotors battered their ears.
Fifteen minutes had passed since they had left Kinshasa Airport.
Beyond the window, the Congolese jungle stretched out like a deep green carpet.
Taeho turned to Gihwan beside him.
“Gihwan, are you all right?”
“I-I’m fine, Director.”
Gihwan answered with a pale face that looked anything but fine. From the occasional dry heave, it seemed he was airsick.
Taeho lightly patted Gihwan’s shoulder.
“We’ll be there soon. Hold on just a little longer.”
“Yes.”
Gihwan nodded.
In the rear seats of the helicopter sat the WHO local response team.
The team leader, Pierre Dumont, was a French epidemiologist—a thin man in his mid-fifties wearing glasses. He had been staring out the window the entire flight.
“Dr. Dumont.”
When Taeho called him, Pierre slowly turned his head.
There was so little life in his eyes that Taeho understood exactly what people meant by “eyes like a rotten fish.”
“Yes?”
“The situation on-site may be different from the report. Once we arrive, let’s immediately begin by isolating the patients and tracing their movements.”
“Do you think we can?”
Pierre’s voice trembled.
“Twenty-six people are already dead. Can we stop this?”
Taeho did not answer. Until he had accurately identified the infectious disease, he could not be certain. But he could not show his anxiety here and now.
“We can. You have plenty of experience, don’t you? You stopped a new infectious disease in New York as well.”
“New York had hospitals. This place… this is just the middle of the jungle.”
Pierre pointed out the window.
The pilot’s voice came through the intercom.
“We’ll be arriving shortly. Prepare for landing.”
The helicopter began to lose altitude.
Taeho looked out the window. A small village began to appear between the trees. Mud houses were clustered irregularly together, with an open space in the center that looked like a market.
Gihwan asked,
“Something feels strange. Why does this feel so off?”
“The village is too quiet. I don’t see a single person.”
When Taeho answered, Gihwan finally agreed.
“You’re right. There really isn’t anyone. There’s no smoke from the chimneys either… Huh? Look over there.”
Everyone looked in the direction Gihwan was pointing.
On one side of the market, something covered in white cloth was laid out in a row.
Corpses?
Twenty-six in all.
It felt as though they had arrived at the entrance to hell.
Taeho’s mouth went dry.
The helicopter slowly descended. It was an open field on the outskirts of the village, a landing zone the UN peacekeepers had temporarily prepared. Two soldiers wearing blue helmets waved their hands to guide them in.
When the helicopter landed, the rotors slowly came to a stop.
The moment Taeho opened the door and stepped out, muggy heat struck him in the face. It felt easily over 35 degrees Celsius. The humidity was above 90 percent. It was the kind of weather where simply standing still and breathing made sweat break out.
“Dr. Kang!”
A UN soldier approached. The young soldier in a blue helmet had a Nigerian flag patch on his shoulder. The name tag on his chest read O. OKEKE.
He spoke in a clear English accent.
“I’m Lieutenant Okeke. We’ve been waiting for the WHO team.”
“What’s the situation?”
“The worst. Three people died just last night. Six are currently in critical condition in the isolation tent.”
Taeho nodded and looked back.
Gihwan was already unloading the Pelican case containing their equipment.
The four WHO team members were also slowly unloading their baggage with reluctant expressions.
But Team Leader Pierre did not get out of the helicopter.
“Dr. Dumont?”
Taeho called him. Pierre remained seated, gripping his helmet tightly. His hands were trembling.
“Dr. Dumont, you need to get off.”
“I… I…”
Pierre’s voice caught in his throat.
“I can’t do this.”
“What?”
“This—this is uncontrollable. You saw the report, didn’t you? The fatality rate is abnormally high. This is completely different from any virus known so far!”
Pierre’s voice grew louder and louder. Fear was making him rough.
“I have a family. A wife and daughter in Paris. I-I can’t die here!”
“Doctor, calm down.”
Just as Taeho tried to approach him, Pierre shouted at the pilot.
“Take off again! We’re returning to the airport!”
“Sir?”
The pilot looked bewildered.
“Right now!”
Pierre screamed, his voice almost a shriek.
A young nurse among the WHO team refused to get out of the helicopter and shouted,
“I can’t go either!”
She spoke through sobs.
“My sister died in Liberia during the Ebola outbreak in 2014. I’m too scared!”
Then the other team members began to collapse like dominoes.
Two of the team members started loading the bags they had been carrying back into the helicopter.
“This is a suicide mission!”
“Our equipment isn’t enough!”
“The WHO is sending us to our deaths!”
It was chaos.
Taeho approached the helicopter to stop Team Leader Pierre. But Pierre was already pressing the pilot.
“This is an order! By the authority of the WHO local team leader, I’m ordering an immediate withdrawal!”
The pilot looked at Taeho.
“Dr. Kang?”
His expression asked, What should I do?
Even the pilot looked as though he wanted to leave this ominous place as quickly as possible.
Taeho clenched his teeth.
He could not physically subdue Pierre here. There was no time, and above all, he could not forcibly drag along someone who was terrified.
Trying to persuade him would only waste time and energy.
“Go.”
Taeho spoke in a low voice.
“What?”
“I said, go. But I will be reporting this to WHO headquarters.”
Team Leader Pierre’s face turned pale. But he said nothing more. He merely turned his head away with a stiff expression.
The rotors began spinning again.
Three of the four WHO team members climbed back into the helicopter.
Only one remained—a middle-aged French male nurse.
He stared at the helicopter with a dazed expression.
“Damn it…”
He muttered.
As the helicopter lifted off, dust flew in every direction.
Taeho watched it go.
He was angry, but he also understood.
Fear was a human instinct. Fleeing in the face of death was not a sin.
But that did not mean he could abandon the patients left here.
“Director.”
Gihwan stood beside him. His face was still pale, but his gaze did not waver.
“So now it’s just the three of us?”
“Looks like it.”
Taeho and Gihwan looked at the remaining nurse. The man pulled out a cigarette and put it between his lips.
“Jean-Paul Leblanc. Former Doctors Without Borders. I’ve got about seven years of experience responding to Ebola.”
“This might have been your last chance to get out of here, but you stayed. That’s remarkable courage.”
“Ha. Courage?”
He inhaled deeply from his cigarette.
“If I’m going to die anyway, I’d rather die meaningfully.”
Taeho answered calmly.
“We won’t die. None of us.”
Jean-Paul raised an eyebrow in interest and took a satisfied drag from his cigarette.
Lieutenant Okeke led them past the access control line toward the isolation tent. On the outskirts of the village stood a large tent made of white waterproof canvas.
At the entrance, signs marked Clean–Buffer–Contaminated zones, and vinyl mats continued along the floor in one direction.
It was a temporary facility hastily set up by the UN peacekeepers. Inside, twenty cots were lined up in rows. Half were empty, and Okeke explained,
“A few patients with mild symptoms have been moved to the tent by the health post.”
Taeho and Gihwan checked their PAPR units, full hoods, double gloves, and waterproof aprons.
In front of the tent, Taeho stopped for a moment.
A foul odor drifted out from within.
A thick, metallic smell of disinfectant, sweat, blood, and vomit all mixed together. A portable negative-pressure blower was humming, but it could not completely mask it.
Behind him, Gihwan swallowed and whispered,
“…Director. We’re ready.”
“Let’s go in.”
Taeho pressed once more along the edges of his gloves and hood to check them, then passed through the buffer zone and stepped into the contaminated zone.
Taeho asked,
“Lieutenant Okeke, when did the first patient show symptoms?”
“Three days ago. A market vendor suddenly collapsed.”
“And now twenty-six people are dead?”
“Yes. Including the patients who died last night, twenty-six in total. At first, we moved the bodies to the church, but later we couldn’t do that anymore.”
Taeho sank into thought.
They said the outbreak had begun three days ago, but mild symptoms must have started appearing before then.
They would have to conduct a proper epidemiological investigation to determine the exact incubation period.
Taeho slowly walked between the cots.
Inside was, in effect, hell.
The first man he saw appeared to be in his thirties. Purpura had spread across his entire body, and his skin had turned black. His breathing was rough and irregular.
The woman in her twenties on the next cot had tears of blood flowing from her eyes, while her gums continued to bleed. She seemed barely conscious.
On the next cot lay a gaunt child.
The child, who looked about ten years old, was curled into a small ball. His entire body was convulsing, and blood mixed with foam flowed from his mouth.
Several conscious patients flinched when they saw Taeho and Gihwan in their yellow protective suits.
One man shouted something in French.
Jean-Paul translated.
“He says the devil has come.”
“Tell him the devil is the virus, not us.”
Taeho approached the first patient. A man in his thirties, he appeared to be in the worst condition.
“Prepare to draw blood.”
Beside him, Gihwan opened the Pelican case and took out a portable PCR analyzer and a field sequencer. They could conduct simple analysis at a BSL-3 level.
When Taeho touched the patient’s skin with his gloved hand, he could already feel that his body temperature was over 40 degrees.
A searing heat transmitted even through the glove.
But the patient’s fingertips were cold and clammy.
A sign that shock was beginning.
At that moment, Taeho’s vision wavered.
BioVision activated.
Before his eyes, the patient’s bodily structure began to appear transparently. Bones, muscles, blood vessels, and organs were revealed layer by layer.
“…”
Taeho held his breath.
His brain was melting.
Literally—the cerebral cortex had necrotized and turned black. Signals from part of the frontal lobe had already cut off, as though it had lost function.
The liver was even worse.
More than 80 percent of the hepatocytes had been destroyed. As though exposed to a virulent poison, the tissue was liquefying.
The lungs were filled with blood. The alveoli had ruptured, and internal bleeding was continuing.
“Director? Are you all right?”
Gihwan’s voice reached him.
Taeho raised his head. Cold sweat trickled inside his protective suit.
“Gihwan.”
“Yes.”
“Ebola primarily destroys the vascular endothelium, but this is causing the brain, liver, and lungs to necrotize simultaneously. It’s attacking every organ at once. And its speed is at least three times faster than Ebola.”
“What is this?”
Gihwan asked.
Taeho did not answer.
But in his mind, the answer had already formed.