“It’s spreading across the east coast, hitting DC the hardest. Patients are exhibiting signs of delirium and jaw soreness. On top of losing some verbal control and inhibition.” My lab partner, Eric, was drawn into the hysteria of what they were saying in the press.

“I can’t believe it took this long to call in the CDC.” Even with a subtle neurological symptom the spreading of a condition through large population almost always meant something viral. I prepped the slides and microscope. “How many specimens do we have?”

“Four, and the boss wants results.” He placed the vials on the counter without gloves. “The subject talked himself to death, if you can believe it. Went into a full syphilitic seizure.”

His descriptions were always so grotesque. “Grab some sterilized tweezers and wash your hands please. What’s the head count so far?”

“20 million, 800 thousand dead. It spreads through the mouth, that’s about all we know. The Organization thinks it has something to do with the physiology of the mouth.”

I counted the seconds while he washed his hands. It was never long enough. “Quite the opposite from what I’ve heard, that it starts in the feet. We need to know what we’re looking for. The environment of the foot and the mouth are completely different.”

“The only thing I can think of are the memory pills doled out by that sham health company. They use some kind of deep-sea mussel protein, ‘foot protein 5.’ If they’d test the ingredients, I’m sure they’d find something.” Eric glanced at my chest again, not thinking I would notice.

I examined the specimens without assistance and recorded my findings. By the afternoon I had discovered enzymes used to break down food; nitrogenous waste was found on the sample, along with evidence of chitin fibrils, commonly found in insect species.

“Are you sure this was taken from tongue tissue?” I asked Eric later. “This appears to be more linked to what you’d find in insects, parasites, and other isopods. A digestive system–“

He brought afternoon tea, “Sarah, I think you’ve watched too many scary movies. Tongues taste, they don’t digest.”

The rest of the day was spent reading reports from WHO, trying to understand the condition. Infected patients were often unable to speak clearly, their tongues enflamed and scaly. After losing control of their speech they would become hostile and claim to say things they didn’t mean. No neurological damage was detected and all other motor functions were normal. Social issues were the first symptoms to be documented, when the patients found that they could not control their inner monologs, expressing their worst fears and deepest animosity. One man had to be escorted from a church when he couldn’t help but point out the number of black individuals who were in attendance. The wife of a politician went off her husband’s political policies and admitted to adultery with her fitness instructor. In New York a professor spoke in front of a large Psychology class, and proclaimed his love for large, busty women.

“Whatever is happening, with the proteins found in the mouth, and abnormal social behavior, it is something completely new.” Eric was looking at me in that way again.

I rubbed my forehead, “I think it’s time to go home for the day. I put what appear to be spores in petri dishes. They’ll observe them tomorrow. I don’t expect them to grow that fast.” Eric nodded and we followed the decontamination procedures.

I arrived early the next day and discovered that the petri dishes contained biofilm, the spores were completely unrecognizable.

“More inquiry requests?” Eric arrived forty minutes late and noticed the papers stacked on his desk.

“I glossed over them. We’ll have more samples later. A few scientists in Wyoming believe they know what it is.”

He read through the papers the rest of the morning while I examined the biofilm under the microscope. The bacteria within the slides were strange and foreign. I recorded my findings and signed the logs while Eric seemed to be getting more and more uncomfortable reading the transcripts and reports. He was giving me a headache with his constant shuffling.

“Talk to me.”

“It just doesn’t make sense.” He rubbed his mouth. “I don’t think we’re looking at tongue samples. This is —I have to make a few phone calls “

He never liked to jump to conclusions, let alone share his deductions with me. He never followed his gut feelings. I was thinking of the word “moron” but the words that came out of my mouth, in an angry, muttering tone, were “rapist.”

I stood up in shock. I felt my mouth for any abnormalities or pain. Had I just said that? Everything that had happened since the arrival of the specimens and the information provided by WHO went through my head. Eric’s unsanitary workmanship drove me into a fury. After prodding my tongue with a depressor, he came back in the lab with a look of concern, his eyes were wide.

I threw my tea cup at him and wanted to tell him that our lab had been compromised. But instead I shouted “You pig! Why are all men rapists!”

I couldn’t focus and panicked, slapping my mouth. He remained silent while I looked into a mirror, examining my mouth for any discoloration. My tongue was sore to the touch. He tried to touch my back in comfort and said, “Sometimes women are asking for it” and stepped back, holding his mouth. His eyes darted around and tried to speak again, “Maybe you should try being with a woman.” He put his hands up as if to prevent a slap and ran from the lab, fumbling for his badge at the door.

What did he know that he wasn’t telling me, or was not able to tell me? I ran to the papers on his desk and skimmed through them, my throat becoming sorer, head pounding. In my disgust I saw the phrases “tongues being replaced,” “parasitic lifeform,” and “flesh eating louse.”

I quickly reacted, after taking in quick breaths, by putting the mirror to my mouth. That was when I noticed that my jaw was numb. I instinctually lifted my tongue and saw a mass of black fluid. Grabbing a scalpel, I placed it to the underside of my tongue, shaking and sweating as I placed an incision. Black fluid seeped out and filled my mouth with pain and dark blood. I had to stop and spit into the sink. A grotesque string of fluid, pus, and other visceral spilled into the drain. I returned to the mirror and probed the mass under my tongue with a depressor. Within seconds there was foreign movement inside. I gagged, trying to hold my tongue against the roof of my mouth. That was when the tiny legs of the louse appeared, unraveling and shuffling, disturbed by my wooden depressor. My eyes rolled into the back of my head; I could feel the legs bristle with excitement.

My heartbeat faded and I passed out. Eric woke me up several minutes later by calling me “bitch” and “useless.” My mouth was numb and my tongue, if it was my tongue, was puffy and sore. When I tried to speak the words that came out were racial slurs. I held my face in dismay, trying to warn Eric of what was happening but judging from his responses of homophobia he was also infected. We gave each other glances of worry and proceeded to write each other notes, desperately trying to express ourselves.

These were the events as they transpired. We are going to try to remove the louse that had eaten away and replaced our tongues. If something happens during the procedure please tell my family I love them because I can’t tell them myself.