“Yes?”
“Major Briggs would like to see you in his office. He says it’s urgent.”
Norah rolled her eyes. Everything with Briggs was urgent. Mostly, the dickhead just wanted things done when he wanted them done.
“Thank you. I’ll be right there.”
Norah sighed and turned her computer on, noticing for the first time the thick manila envelope labeled “H7J1.”
The large CDC building loomed like a glass shield protruding out of the Atlanta horizon. It wasn’t tall, but with its mirrored walls and modern horseshoe shape, it suggested a certain presence that always made Chase’s skin tingle. She was surprised to find that even at eight a.m., her office was largely empty. Usually, at least Tom or one of her other cubicle-mates was already there, bleary-eyed, sipping an extra-large coffee and perusing the latest data on the Congo’s Ebola outbreak or the upcoming flu season. It was August, which meant their already busy schedule was about to be obliterated by trying to keep the general populous up to speed on the likelihood of succumbing to the never-predictable influenza. The virus changed just enough every year to keep the CDC on its toes.
“Where is everyone?” Chase spotted Loraine, the medical unit’s secretary, stapling together some packets of paper by the copier machine.
“Didn’t you get Justin’s text this morning? They’re all in the meeting. And you should be too.”
Meeting? What meeting?Chase frantically ran back to her desk and fished her cell phone out of her backpack. No text.Fuck. She’d been meaning to upgrade from her less-than-dependable iPhone 6 for the last couple of months.
“Where are they, Loraine?” Chase zipped her bag back up and tossed her jacket haphazardly over her chair.
“Miller 5 Conference Room.”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Miller 5 was all the way on the other side of the campus. Chase threw her backpack over her shoulder, not bothering with her coat again, and raced out the door.
By the time she made it to the fifth floor of the Miller building, she was winded and holding her left side, which was knotted up into a sharp stitch. She took a couple of deep breaths to try to steady her heart rate, then quietly cracked open the conference room door.
“Dr. Durgin. Thanks for joining us. Have a seat, will you?” Dr. Justin Pitman, known to many as Justin, but very much still Dr.Pitman to Chase, stood broad-shouldered and untouchable at the front of the room filled with Chase’s colleagues. Aside from being a mountain of a man, Dr. Pitman was also one of the smartest, and most arrogant, men Chase had ever known, therefore making him one of the most intimidating. He had yet to seem to take a liking to Chase, and she wondered if a little contained homophobia lurked in there somewhere. Her short hair and men’s suits didn’t always work in her favor when it came to small-town Southern boys with a giant chip on their shoulders. And Chase’s late showing was definitely not going to help her case.
Without a word, Chase sat in the back next to Tom, who was scolding her with his perfected side-eye. She glanced at her watch—only five minutes late. Not all that bad, considering. She made a mental note to go buy a new phone after work.
“As I was saying…” Dr. Pitman made a point to pause and look directly back at Chase. “The latest information we’re getting on H7J1 is a little more, let’s say, concerning than previously thought. Reports right now are showing a mortality rate closer to sixty-five percent, with an R0of 3, maybe more.”
The room erupted into a worried rumble, and Chase’s mouth went dry. Maybe Gupta wasn’t exaggerating. In fact, if what Pitman was saying was true, the facts were worse. Much worse.
One of the virologists who Chase didn’t know well raised her hand from the front of the room but didn’t bother to wait to be called on. “But it’s contained, right?”
“Yes. For now. The last thing we want to do is ignite a panic with the public. We saw how well that went with H1N1 and SARS. But from what we’re seeing, H7J1 has the potential to spread, and quickly.”
“Sixty-five percent mortality rate?” one of the others shouted. “That’s nearly as high as Ebola. What are we doing about this, Justin?”
“The military is deploying troops today to set up a quarantine. No one in, no one out. Right now, if we can keep it to Abita Springs, we’ll be fine.”
“Oh, come on. We all know how effective quarantining a town is,” the same man, who’d since loosened his tie and was dabbing sweat from around his thick neck, snapped back. “Am I the only one here who’s seen the movieOutbreak?”
The room fell silent for a minute, and then a slow, steady geyser of laughter evolved into a cacophony of nervous mumbles.
“All right, enough. Very funny, Michael. And yes, I have seenOutbreak. There will be no blowing up of towns. At least not yet.” Pitman stopped, seemingly trying to read the once-again silent room. “Relax. That was a joke, people. Christ. Lighten up. It’s under control. But we will be sending a small group of personnel to Louisiana to help. Mainly virologists for research. But I will be including a couple of MDs to study symptomology and potentially help investigate a vaccine with the virologists. In the meantime, no talking to the press. Understood? When the time comes, I’ll sit down with MSNBC and FOX.”
Of course you will.
“We can tell our families though, right? I have a brother and sister-in-law in New Orleans. If they need to get out of there, they should know now.” Dr. John Grimm, one of the other infectious-disease physicians, stood up from his seat in the middle of the room. Chase liked John. He was much older, in his early seventies, but still sharp, and he brought with him about four-and-a-half decades of infectious-disease experience. This guy had seen everything from malaria to hanta. Chase was sure he was one of the docs who would be deployed.
“No. You can’t tell your family, John.” Pitman sighed. “You’ve been doing this long enough to know that. Even if you inform just your brother, he’ll tell three neighbors, and they’ll share the news with their landscaper and their yoga instructor, and next thing you know the highways are jammed with idiots trying to flee from the South. Hysteria. Chaos. These are exactly the things we’re trying to avoid. No one says a word. This is my unit—virology and the medical aspect. About 15,000 other CDCemployees will get some version of this memo later today. But you’re the twenty-two I’m responsible for. So please, for the love of God, keep your mouths shut.”
Chase guessed that even time and experience didn’t change some things—like the need to save those you love first.
Pitman turned and left abruptly, the remaining tenants of the conference room briefly looking to each other for answers, and then when it became very clear the meeting was over, they scattered.
Chase was one of the last to leave, still frazzled from some combination of being late and hearing the content of the briefing.
