| |
THURSDAY, DAY ELEVEN. Glenn woke at 5:30 and turned on CNN to find out that Canada had shut its borders at midnight. Only Canadian citizens returning would be allowed in, and only after a seventy-two-hour quarantine. Quonset huts were being erected on their side of border crossings to house them. Glenn figured that, being Canadians, they’d be more likely to politely acquiesce to that. The United States was a much more unwieldy beast. Its citizens deeply mistrusted the federal government, often for good reason, and the “Live Free or Die” attitude extended well beyond New Hampshire.
If they ignored what their government was telling them about this flu, die they would.
The rest of the news showed signs of the beginnings of civil unrest. In New York, there had been a riot at a pharmacy over a mask shortage. A coughing, thrashing homeless man was shown in Philadelphia being dragged away by a pair of men in full hazmat gear. They were isolated incidents, but the appearance of them on television was going to create more panic, and panicked people would act out more. An escalation of civil unrest was inevitable.
An interview with the Surgeon General was given forty-five seconds at CNN. The message was calm and promised containment efforts Glenn knew would not work very well. A disease that spread through droplets and mists, a disease that spread for at least two days before the sick person was symptomatic: that was a nearly impossible disease to contain.
But it probably was the right thing for the SG to say anyway. People needed to know after it was all over that everything had been done that could have been done. Some wouldn’t believe that. They’d be angry.
Glenn knew that he was doing everything he could, and he had no doubt that a thousand other people were as well, in many agencies, in hospitals, and in labs. Out there somewhere, the pharmaceutical companies that made vaccines and antivirals were already starting to gear up for increased production. The effort to contain the flu would eventually involve tens of thousands of people, and the ones who put themselves into direct contact with sick people would risk death. You couldn’t ask more of someone than that.
He turned off the television, rolled out of the hotel bed, and headed for the shower. It would be another busy day.
At nine, two hours into Glenn’s workday, Emile called and said, “We’re bringing you back. Right now.”
“Want me to tell Gillens to take over?”
“For two days only. Then we’re recalling the whole team at the end of Friday.”
“There is still a lot we can do here.”
“I know, but there are other places to work too. And I don’t want to strand anyone in New Jersey without a ride back.”
“I understand.” One part of him hated to leave the place. He felt as if he should stay and do more, but some of what needed doing wasn’t the CDC’s job. Much of it was Alverez’s job, and Ellis’s, and all the other healthcare workers in Trenton. Glenn’s job was investigating the outbreak. He’d answered the basic questions here, and it was time to move on.
“Be on the first plane back. There’s one at noon.”
“Okay, I’ll try.”
“There is no ‘try,’ friend. You’re done in New Jersey. There’ll be a ticket waiting for you at the airline counter. See you this afternoon.”
Glenn broke the news to Roy, and to Harper’s replacement, who was at the computer. “You’ll have to close down the operation, get the rented equipment back, all of it. And please make sure the hotel knows how much we appreciate everything they’ve done. Be on that last plane out on Friday.”
“You telling Alverez? Or should I?” Roy said.
“I’ll call him while I’m packing. And Roy, tell the whole team they’ve done good work.” Glenn would send a group email, but as he couldn’t mark it “urgent,” it might be weeks before they saw it. He tapped that into his to-do list as he rode the elevator up to his room.
As he unlocked his door, he called Alverez, who answered but said, “I want to talk, but I’m driving. Call you back in ten?”
“Sounds good.” Glenn peeled off his khakis and donned his dress blues. His suitcase contained much more than when he’d come here, and he had to stuff shorts and socks into his laptop case. He phoned Ellis for a quick goodbye.
When she answered, he could tell from her voice she was sick. “Tell me you’re on antivirals and home in bed.”
“I am, both of those.”
“Do you have someone to take care of you?”
“I have a friend nearby who I asked for a daily welfare check.”
“Ellis,” he said. And he could think of nothing more to say. She knew as well as he that she had only a one in four chance of living through this.
“Good thing we passed up the sex,” she said.
“Funny, I was just thinking it was a shame we did. You probably weren’t shedding virus on Saturday.”
“No use crying over spilled milk. Go out there and get ‘em, Glenn. Run this thing down.”
“I’ll do my best. Take care of yourself.” It was a pitifully inadequate thing to say, he realized as he clicked off the call. What if she’d caught it from Grace White while she’d been interviewing her at his request?
No. He couldn’t think like that. She was doing her job. He was doing his. Some of them would die because of that. They both knew their work was dangerous at such times.
He checked his respirator to make sure it was working. It was not at all comfortable to wear, but no way was he going to get on that plane without it. If other people on the plane had the flu, the respirator would protect him. If he had it but was asymptomatic, they’d also be protected from him by its filters. Nothing in, nothing out. And he’d do his very best not to touch a single thing on the flight bare-handed. Not a handle to an overhead compartment, not the restroom door handle, not the armrests, nothing.
Alverez called back.
“I’m on my way back to Atlanta and wanted to say goodbye,” Glenn said.
“You’re leaving us. You all will be soon, I’m guessing.”
“Yeah, I suspect so. Our investigative job here is done. It’s all up to you now.”
“We’re a poverty-stricken county. I don’t have enough resources.”
“I know. I wish I could divert more to you. But you know as well as I, every county in America will be feeling the squeeze soon enough. Any healthcare worker who arrived on your doorstep to help tomorrow would have to turn around and go home to their town on Monday. And I hope they’re all gearing up already for containment the instant it arrives in their neighborhoods. Maybe we can slow this thing down in a way we weren’t able to for you.”
“I hope so too. Stevens?”
Glenn zipped up his suitcase and sat on the bed. “Yeah?”
“Could we have done anything better? Did we do anything to kill more people?” This was a man with a conscience, and right now a troubled man.
Glenn knew he had no reason to be worried. “No, to both questions. Plenty of outbreaks pass unnoticed for far longer. The reporting system worked. We came quickly when we heard of it. It’s a nasty bug, is all. You know this, but I’ll remind you, that this moment was inevitable. It’s an overpopulated human world. We push back nature, and push it back, and come into contact with more diseases because of that. We are overpopulated as a species and we live nearly on top of one another now. We’re globally connected. There isn’t a better recipe for a pandemic than the one we’ve chosen to make for ourselves.”
“Yeah, I do know all that. I’m just feeling overwhelmed by the numbers. I know the difference between linear and exponential growth, but when it’s in your face, and it’s about human beings sickening and dying? Man.”
“I know. I’ve been at outbreaks of Ebola where there was ninety percent fatality. I’ve felt that same sense of helplessness. It was your bad luck to see this first, but remember, that means if people quit traveling, your county will also be the first to recover. And you’ll have something to teach everyone else in the country.”
“After how many have died?”
Glenn hesitated. “You want the answer to that, really?”
“I do. Give it to me straight.”
“All right, this is based on CFR of .78 times a base of 30% infected on the first wave of a typical epidemic, which is an educated guess based on history and current population trends. That’s 128,000 deaths within two months in your county alone. And then you’ll get a break. And a second wave will come, six or nine months from now, with a lot fewer deaths. Maybe a third wave in a couple years will result in relatively few deaths. After that, herd immunity takes over and there would be normal levels of flu death from this strain.”
“A hundred twenty-eight thousand before the end of summer? Jesus! And what about in New Jersey, population 9 million?”
Glenn should memorize the multiplier, .3 x .78, because it was going to come up a lot in the near future. Twenty-three percent, so he could divide a population number by four and round down to estimate the deaths. “Two million,” he said. “Nationwide, the wave will move at varying speeds, depending on how quickly we shut down air travel. But by the time the first wave sweeps across the country, we may have lost 80 million Americans unless we can find a way to treat it.”
“Pray for us.”
Glenn was not a praying man, but he said, “I will.” He’d certainly wish hard for them, but wishes and prayers would do nothing in the face of the reality of a microbe working to reproduce itself, not giving a shit about what host it used and how it left them when it was done with them. All microbes cared about was keeping the host alive long enough to replicate itself a lot of times. When it left, it was equally as content to leave you alive as dead.
He paid his hotel bill, thanked the clerk and asked him to pass along his thanks to staff and management, and left.
At the airport, he dealt with the harried woman at the airline counter and stood in line at security. The TSA worker, a man in his thirties, pointed to the respirator hanging around his neck and said, “That goes through the metal detector.”
“Right. Sorry, forgot it was there.”
“What is it?” the man said, suspicious.
“A respirator.”
“What’s that?” Ignorant and suspicious—a dangerous combination.
“A breathing filter.”
The man frowned and said, “Step aside, sir.”
“I’m with the CDC. You’ve heard about the flu outbreak?”
“Step aside, sir!” The guy looked like he was about to Taser Glenn.
Glenn sighed and stepped out of line. “May I speak with your supervisor?”
“Don’t move.”
Glenn went for his ID. Though the uniform seemed ID enough to him, it clearly wasn’t registering with this fellow.
“Gun!” the clerk yelled.
