Dwayne Johnson was wiping off the last glass window when his
grandfather, Dr. Larimer Johnson, in tow with visitors, walked up to the
showcase. Larimer was an old and stout man.
An esteemed virologist of over 55 years, he had led the small field for
the last 25. Though the cane he used
helped hide the limp in his right leg and may have slowed him down physically,
mentally he was still just as young as when he was first introduced to
viruses. He was 11 and had just been
diagnosed with polio. He spent months in
the hospital fighting the disease, learning and understanding the virus, and
ultimately beat it losing only some of the mobility in his right leg. He also left with a deep knowledge of the
virus, which continued to grow as he went through rehabilitation. When he
graduated with his PH.D in Ancient Viruses at 23, he was the youngest graduate
from Cambridge. He had been leading the
field ever since, and his final testament was his virus museum founded in the
heart of Seattle, Washington. The museum
was to showcase not just his life’s work, but a tribute to the great viruses
that had come and gone throughout history, sometimes leaving very little left
in their wake.
“And this specimen here is the museum’s most prized
collection. It’s a recent discovery and brought to the museum through some of
our… how should I say… back channel connections,” Larimer said with a grin as
his small, nubbin-like teeth shined beneath his well-trimmed, white mustache.
The group chuckled as they looked at each other slyly, though they had no idea
what he was talking about.
Dwayne stood back as he heard Larimer recount the history of
Siberian nomads and their demise at the hands of disease. He had heard the story before and knew it so
well he could tell it himself if he wanted.
Being the grandson of the esteemed virologist Larimer Johnson, Dwayne
had grown up with stories of ancient viruses or plagues that could wipe out entire
civilizations. But none had obsessed his grandfather, Larimer, more than the legendary
Siberian Bowel River virus. Only rumors and small traces of its existence
floated around virologist circles, but it was mostly believed to be a
far-fetched theory thrown out by up-and-coming virologists trying to make a
name for themselves.
But Larimer had dedicated his life to its discovery, compiling
research, notes, and whatever else he could find into his beloved “Diarrhea
Diary,” one of his most prized possessions. And three years ago when fanatical
“Stinko Blown-Pants” blew more than his pants to smithereens while trying to
start up a faulty generator at an excavation site (or so it was rumored), Larimer
believed Stinko was onto more than just caveman pottery and went out personally
to investigate. The trip seemed to invigorate Larimer, infusing a sense of youth
and excitement into his life that was all too apparent to Dwayne. Larimer had
even let Dwayne in on his discovery, trusting Dwayne as confidant, which had
always been a role Dwayne wanted to fill.
Dwayne had grown up idolizing Larimer and tried to imitate
him in his youth, although it never seemed to impress others. There were the
show-and-tell’s at school that never woo’d the class like he thought it would,
though it is particularly hard to show children a viral specimen when it can’t
be seen with the naked eye. Intangible,
his teachers told him. But that never
slowed his interest. In college he had
followed in his grandfather’s footsteps and pursued virology but found the
coursework uninteresting, and he had decided to work for his grandfather at the
museum by the time he finally dropped out of college.
Being close to Larimer meant Dwayne was willing to help on a
no-questions-asked basis, and he had even played an important role in smuggling
a poop sample from Jhina to the United States.
The specimen had been found at Stinko’s dig site, badly damaged and
baked to a crisp. Larimer believed it contained
inert samples of the Siberian Bowel River virus. Coupled with the data salvaged from Stinko’s
ThinkPad found at the dig site, the sample and data would ultimately prove just
informative enough to digitally sequence the virus and create a replica model. While Larimer had immediately recognized the
importance of the find, he also knew the challenge immediately before him: the
poop had to be smuggled overseas into America. For this role, he chose Dwayne,
who had been eager to help his grandfather in a more meaningful way than what
he considered to be menial tasks at the museum.
While Larimer had deeply impressed upon Dwayne the danger of
his trip to Russia to procure the sample (and had even given Dwayne a pink
bottle of mace from the local Hot Topic in case “sh** gets real!”), Dwayne was secretly excited about being in
potentially dangerous situations, especially to smuggle contraband. Larimer
gave Dwayne detailed instructions on the trip, down to the restaurants he
should eat at and the time he should be back at the hotel each night. Dwayne
was traveling to Moscow where he’d meet Griva, who had carried the virus from
labs near Jhina where it had been synthesized. Griva was the granddaughter of
an esteemed Russian virologist who had helped finish the dig and sequence the
virus from the sample (Authors note: it appears old virologists don’t mind putting
their grandchildren in grave danger while transporting civilization-killing diseases).
In Moscow, Dwayne met Griva in the lobby of his hotel. One
side of her head was shaved while the other side had long purple hair, and she
was wearing all black leather. “Couldn’t they send someone a little less
conspicuous? Just looking at her, I’d think she was carrying all kinds of
diseases,” thought Dwayne to himself. Griva must have read Dwayne’s mind by the
expression on his face and returned the insult, this time out loud.
“Americans send scared boy to carry such important sample? Good
thing shorts have cargo pocket. You can keep virus there to keep panty hose
company,” Griva grumbled in a deep, thick Russian accent. She terrified Dwayne. He imagined she had strangled a pimp or two
to acquire the virus even though he was fully aware that her grandfather had
just handed it to her.
“No… I keep my mace in that pocket,” Dwayne replied,
immediately regretting he revealed that detail. ‘Thanks a lot, Grandpa,’ Dwayne thought. Griva
laughed, but not a fun, endearing laugh.
It was a demeaning, “I think you’re pathetic,” laugh. “Look, just give
me the sample,” said Dwayne, fidgeting with discomfort.
“I have question. Do you believe in Apocalypse?” Griva asked
Dwayne, rolling what appeared to be a booger in her fingers. The question
intrigued Dwayne, and if not for the booger in her fingers, Dwayne was curious
to see where Griva was going with this line of questioning.
“You mean like in the Bible?”
Flicking the booger against a wall, Griva continued. “Yes.
Like Bible. This… ‘sample’ is four horsemen. It is destruction of mankind. Not
that I care. But be ready.” Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a lipstick
cartridge. “Sample is hidden in here,” she said handing it to Dwayne. Then with
a sly grin, Griva remarked, “should go well with mace in pocket. Just remember
not to use on lips. Could ruin rest of day.” Turning around, Griva walked off,
leaving Dwayne with an inert virus sample that had at one point killed off
entire an civilization hidden in a lipstick cartridge and a strong desire never
to wear cargo shorts or ever carry mace again. While Dwayne had a first-world
physique and mid-sized frame, centered around fast food and frozen taquitos, he
found he was no match against this small Russian woman as she debased him so.
****
Traveling back home, Dwayne flew in through Washington,
where the specimen was found in his luggage tucked inside the front flap of his
bag, and he quickly found himself being searched by airport security.
“Uhh, Sir?” said the TSA agent, holding the lipstick
cartridge in his hands and staring at what appeared to be a small nugget of
feces inside.
“Yes?” replied Dwayne, staring straight-faced at the agent
and not letting onto the potential gravity of the situation.
“What is this?”
Dwayne had anticipated this question would come but had not
yet settled on a response. First was to tell somewhat the truth – it was a
feces sample being brought to be put on display at a local museum. He’d just
leave out the part about the inert virus inside that would make your bowels
flow like a river and your toilet runneth o’er. The other story was being a
burgeoning drag queen sensation in Russia and this was the remains of his
lipstick. Nothing illegal about that. Right? Maybe there was… Dwayne wasn’t
sure, so he went with Story A.
“Ah, that. That is a sample
from an archaeological site. Its feces
actually, caveman poop. It was recently
recovered from a dig in Siberia” Dwayne chuckled. “It is scheduled to be used
in an upcoming feces display.”
“Feces display? People pay to look at this crap?” the TSA
agent said with a cynical smirk. TSA agents dream of using these types of puns while
patting down old people whose bionic hips set off metal detectors or shouting repeatedly
at passengers to take their shoes and belts of BEFORE getting in line.
“I guess so. Look, I’m just the messenger.”
The TSA agent studied it up close. Sniffed it, didn’t get much of a scent, and
closed the lid confused. “Sit right
there and I am going to get my supervisor”.
“No, wait! It’s just… my lipstick. I’m a drag queen in
Russia,” Dwayne hurriedly replied to the TSA agent. His face turned red and he looked
down at his shoes, visibly embarrassed. The TSA agent studied him closely,
eying him from head to toe. Several
travelers standing nearby all stopped walking and turned surprised to look at
Dwayne. One young mother put her hand over her son’s face, nearly gouging out
his eyes with her fingers, trying to shield him from Dwayne. He tried shaking
his head free and yelled, “what, Mom?! I want to see!!” The mother turned the
boy around and walked away quickly. Dwayne overheard the mother as she leaned
close to her son’s ear. “Do you remember what I told you about gaylords?” she asked
as they rounded the corner.
Quickly Dwayne had found himself the center of much unwanted
attention and was shaking nervously. “Nothing illegal about this… its just… my
lipstick. Can I go now?”
The TSA agent looked at him coolly, “Prove it.”
“Prove it?”
“Yeah, prove it. If
that’s your lipstick, then put it on.”
Dwayne had been caught and immediately started to sweat
profusely. He thought about his
grandfather, and how disappointed he would be, as well as any crimes he would
be charged with. Larimer had counted on
him. He had to get the sample back. And he wasn’t prepared for jail. The anxiety set in and was developing into
sheer panic before he had a moment of clarity.
The viruses in the sample were dead, he thought. The Russians had had a hard-enough time
trying to sequence a digital sample in the lab because the viruses were damaged
and dead. Inert, he kept hearing. He knew what to do.
While staring at the TSA agent, Dwayne removed the lipstick
lid, twisted the bottom to expose the charred turd and slowly raised it to his
lips. He knew he had to get this piece
of s**t to his grandfather. The sample got
closer to his lips while he held eye contact with the TSA agent, until he could
feel its light and spongy touch. “Russian Kiss of Death,” he thought to himself
as he smeared the sample on his lips.
Just then, someone came
up behind Dwayne. “We’ve got a 15-0-1!” shouted another TSA agent, interrupting
the interrogation. The TSA quickly turned his glance beyond Dwayne and moved him
aside as he rushed towards his colleague.
Without hesitating, Dwayne put the lipstick cartridge in his pocket,
grabbed his bag, and with his mouth perched with duck lips to ensure he didn’t
touch the poop with any other part of his body, he calmly walked through the
security check point. Automatic doors opened for him, and another unsuspecting
TSA agent stood on the other side. Dwayne nervously smiled at the agent and
kept walking, fighting an instinctual urge to run. He made it to the bathroom,
wiped off the sample, and scrubbed his mouth and face with soap multiple
times. But it wasn’t enough. He then put his lips under the automatic hand
sanitizing dispenser and took direct shots of hand-san to his lips and the rest
of his face. He stood up and looked in
the mirror, ashamed of what he looked like with globs of sanitizer all over his
face, but nonetheless confident he had eliminated any further contact with the
specimen. It was a close call, but Dwayne
was safe.
Dwayne walked through the airport as fast as he could to the
car his grandfather had sent waiting for him in the pickup zone. Dwayne got in
the car and said, “Drive!” He’d always wanted to give a one-word command like he
was a secret agent on an important mission. The car drove off, carrying Dwayne
and the sample home. He’d made it.
****
Back at the museum, Larimer continued the story of the virus.
“Early hypothesis was that the dinosaurs
had been wiped out by a large comet, but we now have developing theories that
that is likely not the case” Dr. Larimer said, tapping the showcase glass
lightly with the back of his hand as he studied the enlarged physical
replicated model of the virus. “We now
believe that the dinosaurs actually caught what would have been an early form
of the modern cold. A bad virus,
essentially, which humans also caught and likely died from, though some of our
ancestors were able to combat it. Our
forefathers fought it off and eventually evolved with it over time. In that way, you could say we are stronger
than the dinosaurs.” Said Larimer.
Dwayne knew the story. He was
stronger than dinosaurs, he thought to himself as he nodded his head. “This specimen though” his grandfather said,
pointing at the enlarged replica of the virus in the showcase Dwayne had been
cleaning, “this one is different. It was
found in Jhina, but sequencing has shown us that this has not been a widespread
virus. Our ancestors, in effect,
have never been tested with this virus, and it is the only one of its type that
we have found.”
“Uhm, Doctor?. How do you know that the virus has not been
exposed to certain populations in the world?”, said a tall, gangly woman in the
back with a Belgian accent.
“Good question, Amber, and to be clear, we are not
entirely positive that it hasn’t. What
we do know is we have run its RNA through the Human Genome database and have
not found a single human that appears to have had an ancestor who has combatted
this virus before. There is no known
immunity towards it. But that doesn’t mean certain populations haven’t
combatted it. In fact, it’s very likely that they have. The site where it was found happened to be
near a large archaeological site that has had multiple civilizations gather
over millennia, and it’s very likely that one of them encountered it at some
point. But we have never found a record
of it, and that fact is particularly concerning. What if the virus was able to attach, spread,
and kill 100% of the host it encountered?
What then? Well, it would have
limited its spread and could explain why we have no record of this virus
prior to its recent discovery.”
“Hold on, Doctor. What you are saying is that this virus spread
and killed 100% of its host...”
Larimer interjected “100% of the hosts it was exposed to,
but it was likely exposed to a limited population. And, to be fair, there is also the
possibility that it has never been exposed to anyone before.”
“Yeah, ok. So, then
you would basically have a weapon of mass destruction on your hands?” said
Amber. “If this were to get loose, then you could kill every man, woman, and
child on the planet?”
The Doctor sternly looked at Amber, defending his work with
a glare, but it quickly faded to a faint smile as he turned to look at the rest
of the group – all of which were staring wide eyed and intently at him. “Amber is concerned you are all are staring
at a weapon of mass destruction, is that correct?” Larimer said, smiling
quizzically at Amber. “Then, why do you
think I am not concerned? Hmm?
Anyone?” A deep silence filled the
room. What had once been filled with
small talk and chatter now stood still. “Amber is correct in her assessment: it
would be irresponsible to loosely store a live virus, with unknown consequences
on the human species, in a simple museum.
Which is not what I am doing, because, as you will remember, all
of our specimens are dead! They are
simple fossils and recreations of what was once living but is no more dangerous
to you than a fossil of a T-Rex is to the visitors at the Natural History
Museum. And to that end, you are all
safe. I am so sure of this, I’ve even got a sample of the virus here in this
crystal on the end of my cane!” He
stared back at all of his visitors who were still in shock or concern over this
realization. They quickly looked at him
and then down at the shiny brown nugget on the end of his cane upon which he
rested his hand. A doo-doo coated handle. Larimer could tell his visitors were still
concerned and decided to liven then up.
“Boo!” he said, with a loud and rancorous tone, startling the
visitors. And with that, he smiled
brightly and led the group down the hallway.
