The Cannibal Virus

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The glass doors swung open with a bang and two Polynesian men dressed in white shirts and neat gray shorts pushed a gurney into the clinic. Cheap tin badges on their lapels identified the duo as members of the medical response team; otherwise they might have been mistaken for a pair of nervous caddies.

The clinic's small but neat lobby sat empty; no aging starlets searched for a barbiturate fix, and the nightly wave of wealthy old men in need of Viagra had come and gone back around midnight. Light from a plasma-screen TV playing an American morning show broadcasting from thousands of miles and many hours away flickered on empty chairs.

A hot gust of wind followed the paramedics in and caused the glossy paper of the desk nurse's People magazine to flutter. She looked up from the pages and gave the two men an angry glance, but her eyes changed from narrow and annoyed to wide and afraid when she noted the motionless body atop the stretcher.

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