Rare & Exclusive Journal Entries Found of Ebola Experiences
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Kitum Cave, Kenya
Spring of 1988
Gene Johnson
My team had begun setting up camp for our expedition into Kitum Cave, the site of interest, in the Mount Elgon Lodge, which served as a springboard into our experiments. In preparation, the various animals that we had collected had been moved to the higher altitudes, way up the winding dirt road to Mount Elgon. By the cave entrance, which the team now considered to be full of the hot agents, we set up a series of blue tarps in the effort of creating a transition zone, a place to prepare oneself between the two areas. These included the Gray Area (Level 4), which was used for chemical showers and decons upon leaving the cave, the Staging Area (Level 3), which involved putting on and removing of biohazard suits, and the Necropsy Area (Level 4), which had to do with the dissection of cave specimen. When the team reached the tarp areas, we got equipped in the orange colored Racal suits, which happened to be lighter than Chemturion, more portable, and with a batter-powered air supply, ideal conditions for an experiment on the go. We placed the healthy monkeys and guinea pigs (yes, both figuratively and literally) inside the cave, in areas where the virus was predicted to be located, like under the colonies of bats and near the heaping mounds of possibly contaminated fecal matter. We then surrounded all of the cages with electrical wire to prevent unwanted visitors to the animals. To collect several species of insects, we applied sticky paper in the cracks of the cave wall, hung lanterns throughout the cave, and even set up tanks of CO2 on the ground to mimic animal exhalation. By doing so, we were marginally successful and managed to capture between 30,000 and 70,000 bugs from the inner workings of Kitum Cave. Some Kenyan Naturalists helped us trap some rodents, birds, hyraxes, and bats to dissect them under the necropsy tarp and make sure these animals weren't the carriers. However, we didn't have the permits to capture big cats to test them, so we'll just have to assume they're clear. We also discovered something of the Elgon masai, who had supposedly lived in these caves and experienced an outbreak similar to Ebola or Marburg, but we didn't end up finding any traces of these viruses in their blood samples. Even after several weeks of investigating the input, there was nothing to take away. The monkeys and guinea pigs in the caves had remained completely healthy, displaying no outward or inner signs of the virus. The worst part for me was the euthanasia of all of the animals we had taken with us in experimentation because we really had no use for them. I couldn't bring myself to do the horrible deed, so the rest of the team handled it in their Racal suits with a dose of lethal serum. Even the small insects showed no sign of a Marburg-related infection, so it seemed that my experiment was useless. We had no further developments than we had in the US, which was a huge disappointment for me, like staring straight into the face of failure.
Ebola-infected Monkey Dissection
9/26/1983, 1300 hours
Nancy Jaax
Today is the day. My husband had just freaked out a little while ago over the fact that I'll soon be in direct contact to a lethal virus, the most deadly strain, in fact. The Mayinga strain of the Zaire Ebola has the highest fatality rate out of all, but I'm not afraid. After all, I'm well-informed in this field from all of my veterinary practice, and I'm perfectly capable of handling the virus with extreme caution. What's the worst that could happen? These are the thoughts I wish I was having as I step out of my clothes, because in reality, I am terrified to think of all the things that could go wrong. Maybe my husband was right, maybe I should have just stuck to what I'm comfortable with. Nonetheless, here I am, standing idly in my scrubs, socks, gloves, and face mask. My partner for this experiment, Tony Johnson, helps me tape down this first layer before adding the space suit on top, to ensure that nothing leaks through in case of a breach. He analyzes me to make sure I won't have a breakdown inside the hot zone, because this has definitely happened to people. Though I assure him that I will remain utterly calm, I'm not even sure of this myself. I secure the band-aid on my palm, from where I had cut myself the day before. My wound is a magnet for a virus seeking a new host, but I'm consoled by the latex gloves covering my hand and now the industrial-looking space suit over it all. Clearing my mind, I open the door from the gray decontamination area and take my first step into the Level 4 hot zone sector. After attaching her air hose and observing the room, I move to the monkey room with Johnson. One bank of cages reveals a group of monkey screeching loudly at the new commotion, but the other bank opposite the first sits still and quiet. The reserved-looking monkeys stare distantly through their glazed-over eyes, most of them unmoving. These were the monkeys infected with the Mayinga strain of Ebola by none other than Gene Johnson, a civil scientist who created a drug that he hoped would resolve the monkey's symptoms. He was mistaken. Johnson and I approached the Ebola-stricken monkeys, who showed no reaction to this, and noticed the characteristic Ebola symptoms noticeable in humans, as well: glazed, red eyes, and bloody noses. Their expressionless stares proved that there had been some significant brain damage, and some of the monkeys had even begun to bleed out. Now, we begin to look for the least active monkey; if the monkey wakes up and bites with enough force, it is most certainly lethal. We identify one male, slouched and corpse-like at the back of the cage, and I pinch his toe and watch his eye movement to make sure it's safe. After declaring it safe, I open the cage and Johnson helps me carry the monkey out and into the biohazard hatbox, which we then lug to the necropsy area. From there we put on a third layer of gloves and place the subject on the sterilized dissection table. Using blunt tools, I cut open the monkey, to prevent any nicks to my gloves, or worse, my bare skin. The inside of the monkey is completely liquified, resulting from intense hemorrhage, the liver is extremely inflamed, and the intestines are seeping with Ebola blood. I slow down, trying to focus on accuracy, attention to detail, and most importantly, safety, while I clamp various arteries and develop a prognosis. Every few procedures, I make sure to break away and disinfect my gloves. Johnson and I constantly check each other for a possible breach, and when I'm tapping open the monkey's skull, Johnson lifts his finger to my hand. A hole. My throat suddenly forms a lump, and I stare in horror at the breach in my space suit. I quickly strip off the outer latex glove, and the blood seeps through to the main suit glove. I rinse my hand and disinfect it thoroughly with Envirochem. I check my suit again, and I notice a leak in the space suit glove, too, and I shout to Johnson to indicate that I'm leaving the Level 4 room. My heart begins to race as I stand under the chemical shower, then kicking off my suit and realizing that the Ebola blood is on my last glove layer, a band-aid the only thing between a deadly hot agent and my open wound. I rip off the last glove, and thankfully, there isn't any blood on my palm. I run my latex glove under the tap, and it doesn't leak. I may not have discovered everything I needed to about the Ebola monkey, but at least I'm safe.
Light Microscope Lab
11/17/1989
Tom Geisbert
I had recently heard about an incident with a bunch of sick monkeys, and I recently became quite interested in the phenomenon. I am going to see if whatever infected these monkeys is at all related to the simian-fever virus. Since it's my last day before the Thanksgiving holidays, I want to get a good peek at the flask before I take my leave to Fort Bronco. So, I slip on my scrubs and a simple paper face mask to enter the Level 3 lab area. I have a lot of experience with the dangerous agents of Level 3, so I expect nothing different today than everything I've already seen. As I enter, Joan Rhoderick motions for me to come over, as it seems she has already delved into studying the Reston monkey cells. She tells me that there is something very peculiar about this sample. We use the simple light microscope that's in the lab, used to study a specimen not under full detail, just to decide whether or not to continue further with the more precise electron microscope. I peer through the lens of the eyepiece and notice that something is indeed very wrong with this sample of cells. Usually, in my work, I note that the cells are closer and tend to stick to the walls of the flask, but these cells are abnormally swollen and are set quite far apart from one another. A cell's tendency, I've realized, is to grow onto something, such as a solid surface or a fellow cell, but these cells are drifting apart from each other, seeming almost dead. Even stranger is the fact that some dark substance looks as though it has been sprinkle on all of the cells. The fluid in the container is milky and thick-looking, littered with the bodies of dead, exploded cells. All of the flasks displayed similar characteristics, and this makes one thing very clear. Some agent is making the cells very sick. Concerned now, I call my boss, Peter Jahrling, and both of us reenter the lab, dressed in surgeon-esque srubs. Though I tell him that this doesn't appear to me like a case of simian-fever, he remains unconcerned, assuring me that this is the work of a common bacterium in the soil, called pseudomonas, that often annoyingly bursts cells in a flask. He says it should smell similarly to grape juice, and so I take a whiff, hoping to be reassured by the fruity smell. No odor. Still unknowing of what the pathogen may be, I spin the sample in a centrifuge, which rapidly spins it and separates the flask into several layers. I remove the portion with the glob of dead cells, looking like a drop of mashed potatoes, to preserve separately. The mystery still lingers in my mind, but the matter can always be resolved when I come back.
Electron Microscope Lab
11/27/1989, 0700 hours
Tom Geisbert
I return to the lab where I had left the flask of cells for 10 days, prior to my drive during the Thanksgiving holidays. The tube has been ripening, and I am eager to get back to studying the cells to see what exactly has been causing the mass destruction of these cells. At this point, it had not yet occurred to me how naive I had been during the Level 3 lab, wearing only surgical-type scrubs and a thin paper mask. It hadn't occurred to me then that I was working not with the simian-fever virus, but with a hot agent much more dangerous and exotic. Now, today, I inspected the vial of ripened cells, approximately the size of a crumb of food. I delicately remove my pocket-sized diamond knife, the sharpest cutting tool in existence, that would cut through flesh like butter. Because of this, I avoid touching my finger to the knife to prevent the ruin of both the $4,000 knife and my finger. This is an extremely precise tool that can cut clean through a virus with perfect exactness. I place this knife into the cutting machine, which functions to thinly slice the cells in order to more closely observe them. The thin slices drop onto a speck of water and float gently on the surface, each slice containing over 10,000 precious cells. I use a wispy human eyelash on the end of a small stick to handle something as delicate as cells. Then, with a minuscule copper grid, I scoop up one of the undamaged sample slices to take to the electron microscope, the extremely powerful and precise version of the light microscope which I happen to specialize in. It is a tall, bulky structure that stands higher than a grown man, such as myself, that holds the specimen still with a long rod that clamps into place, refusing to budge. I switch off the lights in the room to get a closer look at the clump of cells, my face faintly illuminated by the light of my beautiful machine. As my view cruises across the vast and impressively detailed cellscape, I feel my breath hitch. Focusing on one cell, I notice that some of the cells aren't simply dead. In fact, they've been burst open by the foreign agent. The scariest part is that there are worms filling the empty cell cavities. Worm-like virus shapes that are engulfing the cells themselves. Suddenly, I feel nausea creeping up on me. This looks like Marburg. Is this really happening? My thoughts swirl as I relive it, whiffing the contaminated flask with Jahrling. We may as well have inhaled the Marburg virus. I try to calm myself, supressing the urge to run from the room, screaming, "Marburg, Marburg! I've been infected with Marburg!" Instead, I take slow and deliberate pictures to capture the horror that I've experienced. It's okay, it's okay. It is definitely not Marburg, I keep telling myself, but it sure did look a lot like the Marburg virus. My inability to remember how I had handled the virus 10 days ago failed to console him, like whether or not h had washed his hands, touched his mouth, or rubbed his eyes. I take the pictures to Jahrling's office once they develop, and I explain to him my speculation that the agent is a filovirus, a dangerous Level 4 virus like Marburg. It can't be Marburg, I say again, probably not, anyway.