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THE FDA, WITH THE UNANIMOUS vote of Congress and the President’s Executive Order and the stamp of approval of the Federal Court of Appeals, waived the approval procedure for the Japanese antiviral Favipiravir. Every drug company in the nation that could be retooled to manufacture it changed over. Within four months of the arrest of Griff Miller, anyone who had the flu could have an effective treatment. With modifications to the treatment, a year out, the fatality rate dropped to only 7%, and close to 2% in healthy adults.
It would have been an unthinkable disaster a year before, a pandemic flu with that high of a fatality rate. But when it dropped to single digits, it seemed like a miracle and a reprieve. There were whoops and paper was tossed into the air in the Incident Command Center at the CDC.
This did nothing to help all those who had died, or the people who still mourned them. The Washington family in New Jersey had been entirely wiped out, including Jasmin’s mother who had been in jail, as Glenn had learned when he had tried to track her down to send a note of condolence. The Washingtons were history, along with thousands of other families. The East Coast metropolitan areas had taken the biggest hit, but Chicago and Memphis and Dallas were hit hard too. It was as easy to find a parking place near to Wacker Drive or Times Square as it had been in the 1950s. A lot of businesses had closed, either from the death of the owners, or because there weren’t enough people to shop there to keep them in the black.
Jarri had a network of more operatives working in different countries to spread the flu. Working together, the CIA, Interpol, MI6, and other agencies had hunted down five. They were still looking for more.
Most governments had gone deep into debt, between subsidizing treatments, covering bank failures, paying for drugs and vaccines, and floating increased small business loans. And the cheats and scam artists were out in force, taking advantage of all the opportunities the situation provided. Despite Glenn’s wish, human nature hadn’t changed.
And the New Flu, like the contents of Pandora’s box, was out there now, moving through nature, infecting birds of many species. Ornithologists were certain they’d lose some to extinction. The wood thrush, the Kentucky warbler, the eastern kingbird and the bobolink, already driven to the brink by pesticides, would probably not make it through the H5N1 infection. By the time humans had herd immunity, those songbirds would all have gone the way of the dodo.
Maybe next time, when an engineered viral disease was introduced by a terrorist, humans would be on that extinction list too. Or maybe this flu would jump to a wild animal like squirrels, mutate, and emerge as a brand new deadly threat for people.
As for Glenn, he soon had a bigger investment than ever in making sure humanity survived its worst inclinations. One year, almost to the day, from when Nydia had walked up to him in that hallway at HHS in Washington, DC, she was pregnant.
She told him the news in his office in Atlanta. She was on loan for now to the FBI office in Atlanta, still working on securing a permanent transfer. She sat on the edge of his desk and gave him the news in her direct way. “I’m pregnant. I know we didn’t plan it this soon.”
“We didn’t prevent it,” he said, “and I couldn’t be happier.” He scooted his chair over and reached out to pull her into his lap, and he kissed her with great enthusiasm. When he came up for breath again, he said, “I know other men have said this, probably millions of times in history, but I’m the happiest man in the world right now.”
“And I’m the happiest woman.”
“Only because we haven’t told my mother yet. Then you’ll get knocked off that throne right quick.”
She laughed. Then her smile faded. “I know it’s a strange thought to have,” she said, “but I have this sense that I’m helping to repopulate the country. Isn’t that funny?”
“I guess we are,” he said. “But that’s not why I’m happy.”
“I know that. And it’s not why I want him, or her. But I do feel vaguely patriotic about it, which is a bizarre way to feel about a baby.”
“Then we should name him something like Abraham Lincoln Watt-Stevens.”
“We will not saddle a child with Abraham.”
“J. Edgar?”
She laughed. “Not to be a bigot or anything, but I’d rather not set him up for being a cross-dressing racist paranoiac. Maybe Marie, after Madame Curie?”
“Strange name for a boy.”
“I have no idea what sex. Do you want to know?”
The door swung open before he could start to think of his answer, and Harper was there, a stack of printouts in her arms. “Oops,” she said, “sorry!”
Nydia stood and straightened her clothes.
“No,” Glenn said, “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t be fooling around in the office like a couple of kids under the bleachers.” He waved Harper over.
“I have the new numbers that you asked for.”
“Still holding steady?”
“Everything is tracking along the projected trend line. New infections, fatalities, all of it, right on target. And there’s a report in there toward the bottom about hospital staffing that I thought you’d want to see, so I printed it for you.” She put an inch-tall stack of printouts on the corner of his desk.
Glenn was hit again with gratitude that this gifted young scientist had survived the flu. It could have easily gone another direction. He felt like hugging her, but of course he shouldn’t and wouldn’t. He beamed at her instead. “You’re the best.”
“We’re all the best,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Isn’t it you who always says they don’t hire fools at the CDC?”
“I probably have said that,” Glenn said. “Thanks, Harper. Lunch time for me.”
“See you at the meeting later on,” Harper said, and she left.
“Staff meetings. It’s strange how normal everything seems again,” Glenn said to Nydia. “It’s like everything has changed, but nothing has changed. I’ll probably get called out on another new disease investigation before the month is out.”
“Just try not to make it like that last one,” Nydia said, turning toward the door.
A cloud seemed to block the bright sunshine that he’d felt beaming down on this life this last ten minutes. “No. We don’t want that.”
Her back had been turned as she moved toward the door, so she hadn’t caught his frown. “Lunch?” she said, stopping at the door to turn and smile at him.
He looked at this beautiful and bright woman that the flu had led to him. Dark clouds, with silver linings. The universe had a way of balancing things out. He knew he’d been lucky to have lost no one dear to his heart. Not this time, at least. He forced the worry back down. There was nothing he could do to protect those he loved right now. Except feed them good food, maybe. “Lunch,” he said. “And then marriage and babies and rocking chairs next to each other when we’re old.”
“That all sounds lovely, but lunch first, if you don’t mind. I’m starved.” She reached her hand out for his, and he felt the sun shining again.
The End
