Chapter 11: The Animals Are Sick

That night, Ken reported to his father the fate of the engine assembled by Art.

“It did seem too good to be true,” said Professor Maddox. He stretched wearily in the large chair by the feeble heat of the fireplace. “It bears out our observation of the affinity of the dust for metals.”

“How is that?”

“It attaches itself almost like a horde of microscopic magnets. It literally burrows into the surface of the metal.”

“You don’t mean that!”

“I do. Its presence breaks down the surface tension, as we had supposed. The substance actually then works its way into the interstices of the molecules. As the colloid increases in quantity, its molecules loosen the bond between the molecules of the metal, giving them increased freedom of motion.

“This can be aggravated by frictional contacts, and finally we have the molecular interchange that binds the two pieces into one.”

“The only metal that would be clean would be that which had been hermetically sealed since before the appearance of the comet,” said Ken. “Look--wouldn’t this affinity of the dust for metal provide a means of purifying the atmosphere? If we could run the air through large filters of metal wool, the dust would be removed!”

“Yes, I’m very sure we could do it that way. It would merely require that we run the atmosphere of the whole Earth through such a filter. Do you have any idea how that could be done?”

“It would work in the laboratory, but would be wholly impractical on a worldwide scale,” Ken admitted. “How will we ever rid the atmosphere of the dust! A colloid will float forever in the air, even after the comet is gone.”

“Exactly,” Professor Maddox said, “and, as far as we are concerned, the whole atmosphere of the Earth is permanently poisoned. Our problem is to process it in some manner to remove that poison.

“During the past few days we have come to the conclusion that there are only two alternatives: One is to process the whole atmosphere by passing it through some device, such as the filter you have suggested. The second is to put some substance into the air which will counteract and destroy the dust, precipitate it out of the atmosphere.”

“Since the first method is impractical what can be used in carrying out the second?”

“We’ve set ourselves the goal of discovering that. We’re hoping to synthesize the necessary chemical compound to accomplish it.”

“It would have to be a colloid, too, capable of suspension in the atmosphere,” said Ken.

“Correct.”

“If we do find such a substance we still have the problem of decontaminating existing metals. We couldn’t build a moving piece of machinery out of any metal now in existence without first cleaning the dust out of its surface.”

“That’s part of the problem, too,” said his father.

Ken resumed his duties in the laboratory the following morning. Dr. Adams had warned him not to walk up College Hill, so he had borrowed the horse Dave Whitaker still had on loan from his uncle. He felt self-conscious about being the only one enjoying such luxury, but he promised himself he would go back to walking as soon as Dr. Adams gave permission.

On the third day, the horse slipped and fell as it picked its way carefully down the hill. Ken was thrown clear, into the deep snow, but the horse lay where it had fallen, as if unable to move. Ken feared the animal had broken a leg. He felt cautiously but could find no evidence of injury.

Gently, he tugged at the reins and urged the horse to its feet. The animal finally rose, but it stood uncertainly and trembled when it tried to walk again.

Ken walked rather than rode the rest of the way home. He took the horse to the improvised stable beside the science shack. There he got out the ration of hay and water, and put a small amount of oats in the trough. The animal ignored the food and drink.

After dinner, Ken went out again to check. The horse was lying down in the stall and the food remained untouched.

Ken returned to the house and said to his father, “Dave’s horse slipped today, and I’m afraid something serious is wrong with him. He doesn’t seem to have any broken bones, but he won’t eat or get up. I think I should go for the vet.”

His father agreed. “We can’t afford to risk a single horse, considering how precious they are now. You stay in the house and I’ll go to Dr. Smithers’ place myself.”

Ken protested. He hated to see his father go out again on such a cold night.

Dr. Smithers grumbled when Professor Maddox reached his house and explained what he wanted. As one of the town’s two veterinarians, he had been heavily overworked since the disaster struck. The slightest sign of injury or illness in an animal caused the Mayor’s livestock committee to call for help.

“Probably nothing but a strained ligament,” Smithers said. “You could have taken care of it by wrapping it yourself.”

“We think you ought to come.”

When the veterinarian finally reached the side of the animal, he inspected him carefully by the light of a gasoline lantern. The horse was lying on his side in a bed of hay; he was breathing heavily and his eyes were bright and glassy.

Dr. Smithers sucked his breath in sharply and bent closer. Finally, he got to his feet and stared out over the expanse of snow. “It couldn’t be,” he muttered. “We just don’t deserve that. We don’t deserve it at all.”

“What is it?” Ken asked anxiously. “Is it something very serious?”

“I don’t know for sure. It looks like--it could be anthrax. I’m just afraid that it is.”

Dr. Smithers’ eyes met and held Professor Maddox’s. Ken did not understand. “I’ve heard that name, but I don’t know what it is.”

“One of the most deadly diseases of warm-blooded animals. Spreads like wildfire when it gets a start. It can infect human beings, too. How could it happen here? There hasn’t been a case of anthrax in the valley for years!”

“I remember Dave Whitaker saying his uncle got two new horses from a farmer near Britton just a week before the comet,” said Ken. “Maybe it could have come from there.”

“Perhaps,” said Smithers.

“What can we do?” asked Professor Maddox. “Can’t we start a program of vaccination to keep it from spreading?”

“How much anthrax vaccine do you suppose there is in the whole town? Before we decide anything I want to get Hart and make some tests. If he agrees with me we’ve got to get hold of the Mayor and the Council and decide on a course of action tonight.”

Hart was the other veterinarian, a younger man, inclined to look askance at Dr. Smithers’ older techniques.

“I’d just as soon take your word,” said Professor Maddox. “If you think we ought to take action, let’s do it.”

“I want Hart here first,” said Smithers. “He’s a know-it-all, but he’s got a good head and good training in spite of it. Someday he’ll be a good man, and you’ll need one after I’m gone.”

“I’ll go,” said Ken. “You’ve already been out, Dad. It’s only 4 or 5 blocks, and I feel fine.”

“Well, if you feel strong enough,” said his father hesitantly. Fatigue was obvious in his face.

Dr. Hart was asleep when Ken pounded on his door. He persisted until the veterinarian came, sleepily and rebelliously. Ken told his story quickly.

Hart grunted in a surly voice. “Anthrax! That fool Smithers probably wouldn’t know a case of anthrax if it stared him in the face. Tell him to give your horse a shot of terramycin, and I’ll come around in the morning. If I went out on every scare, I’d never get any sleep.”