Five days later, everyone quarantined in the Safeway store was sick. Within ten days, they were dead, all of them, though it would be some time before officials confirmed this fact. People, presumably medical or CDC personnel, were filmed by news crews entering and exiting the building encased in hazmat suits.
Desperate families pressed the perimeter line relentlessly, some of them even camping out in tents. They mobbed any vehicle that crossed the yellow line, demanding information about their loved ones, but none of the officials involved were talking. Six days after the quarantine started, police had to use riot gear and tear gas to repel a group that tried to walk through the line.
And all the while, the whole world watched. News crews from all over the United States and a growing number of foreign countries formed a third perimeter around the police line and the families, vans bristling with lights, power cords snaking everywhere. Round the clock, they broadcast very little news and a great deal of fear back to their home viewers. Officials might not be talking, but the media had found numerous experts on communicable disease willing to speculate.
A biological weapon, some of them posited. Highly contagious and deadly, they all agreed, as evidenced by the official response. None of them could come up with a reason – other than the direst of scenarios – the families would not be allowed any kind of contact with their loved ones. Reporters alternated their interviews between sober, grim-faced PhDs, doctors and former CDC employees, and terrified husbands, wives, parents and children of the victims.
Finally, eleven days after the start of the quarantine, the official announcements began.
Bubonic Plague. One of the paramedics had seen the disease before, and suspecting the highly contagious pneumonic form, had immediately set the quarantine in motion. The plague was not unheard of in the western United States – several cases were reported each year, with fatalities occurring only if the victims did not receive antibiotic treatment in time – but as it turned out, this was Bubonic Plague with a caveat.
The first victim, a soldier recently returned from active duty in Pakistan, was unaware she was carrying a sleeping superbug: bacteria enhanced by a mutation of the NDM-1 gene. Known to only a few virologists in the world, the mutation had only recently been identified; antibiotics that could combat NDM-2 weren’t even in the pipeline. Like its predecessor, NDM-2 was both prolific and promiscuous, transferring itself easily among many types of bacteria via microbial mating.
World-wide, NDM-2 had already infiltrated dozens of bacterial species, gifting even easily-treated infections with its special talent: antibiotic resistance. Even the most powerful drugs of last resort were useless against it. A day spent shooting prairie dogs with friends, a flea bite she’d been all but unaware of, and NDM-2 had been introduced to the Black Death by Private First Class Emma Turner.
It was untreatable.
There was no vaccine.
It was 99-100% fatal.
Furthermore, the desperate attempt at containment had failed; officials on Fort Carson had confirmed twelve additional cases, and three fatalities. Memorial Hospital had isolated nine cases, Penrose Hospital seven more.
Symptoms were scrolled along the bottom of every cable and satellite TV station, and droned endlessly on the radio: fever, weakness, swollen lymph nodes, nausea and headache were among the earliest signs, followed by rapidly developing pneumonia. The time from exposure to death varied; some succumbed in three days, others fought on longer. Thus far, no one had lived more than ten days.
While the people in the Safeway store had sickened and died, the CDC and FEMA had been quietly mobilizing the National Guard. When the official announcements began, the Colorado Springs Airport had already been closed, and every major route out of the city had been blocked by troops. On the advice of the world’s top virologists and molecular geneticists, Colorado Springs was transformed into a modern-day Eyam, though the quarantine was not voluntary.
The plan sounded simple: Residents were instructed to stay home. Skeleton crews of employees were being organized at Colorado Springs Utilities, hospitals, police and fire stations, protected by the Universal Precautions used in the medical field. If residents needed food or medical supplies, there was an emergency contact number they could call. If they tried to leave the city, they would be turned back. No exceptions.
Over and over, local and national TV stations ran an address to the city of Colorado Springs by the Mayor, her face worn into lines of worry and fatigue, her eyes shadowed by the terrible decisions she had been forced to make. She spoke earnestly, persuasively, bluntly.
“We are ground zero. If this disease escapes our city, it will result in a pandemic of Biblical proportions. The facts you have been given are not exaggerated. I know what many of you are thinking; every year, we’re warned about this or that superbug, about the swine flu or H1N1, but this isn’t hype. For years, experts have been saying that it’s just a matter of time. Well, that time has come.
“All of us are scared, and many of us are desperate to leave, perhaps to join family somewhere far away and safe. Believe me – there’s nothing I wouldn’t give to be sitting at my parents’ kitchen table in Walnut, Iowa, with all of my family safe and sound, right about now.”
The mayor leaned forward and paused, her face intense. “But I need you to know this: If we carry this disease out of Colorado Springs, nowhere will be safe. Nowhere. Which brings me to my most difficult point…”
The mayor paused again, swallowing repeatedly. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady, but the grief in her eyes was magnified by tears. “If you or your loved ones get sick, do not go to the hospital. Do not go to your doctor. There is no medicine for this disease, no treatment. We cannot help you.” Her voice broke, and again, she fought for control. “For the sake of our community, for the sake of humanity, we must do everything possible to keep this plague contained. My prayers, and the prayers of the world, are with us all.”
In the years that would follow, historians would note the heroic attempt at containment by the people of Colorado Springs. With few exceptions, people followed the official dictates to the letter. And for almost a week, the city was preternaturally quiet. All local TV and radio stations had been shut down; the residents of Colorado Springs received news of themselves from sources on the outside.
Reports varied wildly on the progress of the disease, since officials remained largely uninvolved, but hospitals received a steady trickle of people too terrified to stare down the Black Death alone. Two weeks after Emma Turner died, the death count had risen to several hundred, with no way of knowing how many people had died at home, but hope soared that the disease had been contained.
Then, an explosion. Cities all over the state of Colorado reported outbreaks. It was never determined whether infected residents had managed to evade the blockades, or whether the disease had traveled the way people do, casually and routinely from place to place. Before a more extensive quarantine could be discussed, states across the nation began to report in, and the news worsened by the hour: By the end of day 19, the pandemic was official. The first foreign nation to report an outbreak was Great Britain, followed closely by Australia and China, and after that, there was no stopping it.
The President of the United States gave his last address to the nation on the 28th day of the plague. He had developed a fever that morning, he said candidly, and before his illness progressed, he had a few things to say. Though he had not been a popular president, and his administration had accomplished little of note, he would be remembered by the surviving generations for the words he gave his people as he faced his own death on international television.
“Some of you will survive,” he began, without salutation or preamble. “Some of you are immune, and a very lucky few will survive the plague. Less than 1% of the population, they’re telling me, but enough of you will make it through this to continue the human race. When you go on, when life resumes, it will be tempting to assign some blame for the millions who have already died, and the billions who will likely die in the days ahead.”
The president paused, and shook his head wearily. “Don’t waste too much time on that. We already know we did this to ourselves. Overuse of antibiotics created the superbug. Our immune systems are shot and the majority of us are overweight and half-sick already, thanks in part to food processed to last longer than we will. Drugs for every symptom you can think of, not enough exercise, too many conveniences and corners cut. We set ourselves up, and now we’re falling. I know this, and you know it, too.”
Another pause. Then, the president squared his shoulders, all trace of illness or fatigue dropping away. “Analyze it enough to understand it, and move on. Do you understand me? Learn what you need to from our mistakes, then go on and be better. Be stronger, smarter, more honest, more brave. When the ugly scramble to survive ends, pick up the pieces, forgive yourselves for anything you needed to do, and rebuild humanity using the very best that is in each of you. Let that be your monument to those of us that don’t survive. Make your very lives a monument.”