The Nightmare Scenario

by Gunnar Duvstig

  She administered the anti-viral drugs she knew would be ineffective, to give Roger the feeling that he was being cared for and treated. She served him tepid tea with a spoon. It was the only thing he could keep down, and only in minute quantities. He didn’t really need it, as hydration and energy were administered intravenously. It was for comfort, not out of necessity.

  “Twinkie, don’t leave” said Roger.

  “Don’t worry, honey, I’m not going anywhere.”

  AUGUST 23RD, 10 A.M., THE SITUATION ROOM, PRESIDENTIAL BUNKER TWO, UNDISCLOSED LOCATION

  Aeolus entered just after Hank, who had gotten over his bout of lethargy and was once again projecting militaristic determination. His open support of Aeolus in the confrontation with Fort Detrick was a peace offering Aeolus quickly accepted. There was still tension between them, but they were now on the same team and had broadly the same views of how to move forward.

  They’d decided to brief the president together, iron out whatever differences they had beforehand and stand united in their recommendations. They agreed that they needed to shorten the debate in the room to increase the speed of decision-making, as well as increase president’s confidence in making the tough decisions.

  This was their first joint briefing. As Aeolus organized his papers on the conference table, the pulsing headache that had plagued him since his arrival in the bunker came back with force. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Two deep breaths later, the headache had subsided.

  He cleared his throat and began.

  “Mr. President, we now have five confirmed cases in Philadelphia and three in Baltimore. We have no proper back-trace and hence no containment of the infection within the cities. It saddens me to say so, but if we look at the experiences in the rest of the world, I would consider these cities lost.

  “Furthermore, Fort Bragg is now up to twelve hospitalized. Given the lack of cases in the surrounding areas, we believe the outbreak is confined to the base. The base is properly quarantined and nothing is going to be coming out of there.

  “As we thought, the infection got out of Philadelphia, and I would suggest that this is the source of the two new cases we have, which are in Dover and Reading, as well as the various suspected cases in the small towns surrounding Philadelphia.

  “This is all to be expected, given where we stood yesterday. The good news is we have nothing west of Pennsylvania or east of the Colorado River, which Hank assures me is completely locked down.

  Aeolus realized something was wrong when he saw the frown on the president’s face and Hank’s expression of confused concern.

  He cleared his throat again. “That is, the Hudson River, I meant to say, the Hudson River.” He shook off the embarrassment and continued.

  “As for Europe, as an example of a landmass that has moved to city-wise quarantines we have lost Paris, London and Rome, but all major cities in Iberia, Germany apart from Berlin, Scandinavia and Russia are holding. As for southeastern Europe, we’re not certain at this point.”

  That concluded the medical part of the briefing, which was Aeolus’s responsibility, and the topic now turned to the status of the quarantine efforts, which was Hank’s area.

  “Mr. President. The NORTHCOM force being the only one available to us before the authorization of Congress, we chose to deploy half of it along the Hudson River and northwards along that longitude. We still have hope that the virus had yet to cross it. As Dr. Hughes said, we have no cases yet to the east of it, and I can assure you that no one will be crossing through that line now. It’s completely locked down. New York is, hopefully, saved, as is the whole of New England.”

  “New York is saved?” the president exclaimed, “But you have sacrificed New Jersey. That’s almost nine million people!”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. President. These are tough decisions but we are all in agreement that this is the choice that was expected to maximize the number of lives saved. It might sound harsh, but what matters in a situation like this is not who is right, but who is left.”

  “As for the rest of the country,” continued Hank, “all air traffic has ceased and interstate highways are closed. Most major cities have instituted quarantines to the best of their abilities. So far, it’s enforced by local police, FBI and whatever parts of the National Guards they’ve been able to scramble up. Major inbound roads are shut down, but the enclosures are by no means airtight at this stage.

  “Lastly we have reports of voluntary quarantines in many small towns throughout the Midwest, enforced by citizen guards. Given the media coverage we’re getting, this is to be expected.”

  “That should be good, right?” asked the president.

  “I’m not sure about that, Mr. President,” said Aeolus. “A militia with shotguns, manning country roads, shooting at anything that moves, doesn’t sound like a dream situation to me. What we need are proper quarantines enforced by professionals with non-lethal violence, not a bunch of trigger-happy guys in a pick-up truck.”

  AUGUST 23RD, 4 P.M., HIGHWAY 159, SOUTH-WEST-BOUND, NEARING TARLTON, OHIO

  The Hagedorns had been on the road for forty-eight hours. They kept themselves updated with the radio, the occasional TV broadcast at roadside diners and speaking with fellow ‘runners’, as they and people like them had become known.

  They knew that the larger cities were under quarantine and many smaller towns were closing too. Mike figured that the best way to reach safety would be to get to a city that was not quarantined, but also not yet infected. The problem was that there was no way to know which ones were. What looked like a safe haven could be a death trap, waiting to close.

  He decided their best course of action was to stay in smaller towns and gradually head west. Then they would try to sneak through the quarantine into some bigger city that was still clean a week after the initiation of the lockdown.

  The problem was that gas stations, as well as motels and diners, were shutting down at a rapid pace. They hadn’t eaten the entire day and their stock of water was running low, forcing them to ration it. The kids were scared and thirsty, and Mike was getting increasingly stressed.

  As they approached Tarlton, a small town of three hundred, they saw a roadblock built of tires and two men standing post on opposite sides of the blockade. Mike slowed the car to a crawl, acknowledging them, but continued driving toward the barricade.

  Mike heard the man on the right shouting something, but couldn’t make out the words over the sound of the motor. He drove closer.

  Suddenly the left man fired a rifle into the air. Mike stopped the car and stepped out.

  “This town is under quarantine. We don’t have any infection yet and we don’t want none. No one’s allowed in. If you come any closer we’ll open fire.”

  Mike shouted back. “We’re not infected. We got out of Philadelphia before the infection hit. We have tests to prove it. We picked them up at a clinic in Lancaster.”

  “I don’t know about them tests and for sure I don’t trust them. We’re taking no chances. You have to turn around.”

  “We’re running out of supplies. You have to help us. We have kids with us and we don’t have enough water for them. We need water. That’s all. Then we can move on.”

  “Sorry to hear that, man, but we can’t help you.”

  Mike waved his kids out of the car in hopes of arousing sympathy from the two men.

  “Look, I’m sure you’re God-fearing and righteous folk. Look at my kids. They could die if we don’t get water.” It was a slight exaggeration, but what else was he supposed to do?

  “I don’t care for about me, but I have to protect my kids. You can understand that.”

  The two men muttered to each other. A minute passed by, then one of them shouted back.

  “Okay, Mister, we’ll get you water. This is how it’s gonna work. You back up a hundred yards. Then Jimmy here’ll bring a couple bottles of water and a can of fuel to the midpoint between us. After Jimmy’s back on our side, you’ll wal
k up, take the water, and then spread the fuel covering every place you’ve set your foot after leaving the car. With good margin! Then get back into the car and set the gasoline on fire. I’m no doctor but I’m pretty sure that fire kills the bug. If you don’t do as we say, we’ll open fire. Jimmy is a pretty good shot, and if he’s forced to fire, he won’t give a damn about you or your kids.”

  “Thank you. We owe you. We’ll pray for you and praise God for your generosity.”

  The words weren’t exactly his own, but from what from what he had seen on TV it was what people like this would want to hear.

  AUGUST 23RD, 5 P.M., AEOLUS QUARTERS, PRESIDENTIAL BUNKER TWO, UNDISCLOSED LOCATION

  Hank had arranged special quarters for Aeolus. They were larger than was warranted for a non-military adviser. The room served as both bedroom and study, with a simple bed and a desk, both made of grayish metal. A naked bulb hung from the ceiling and a small desk lamp provided practical, but harsh, lighting.

  Hank had also arranged for items he must have thought Aeolus would appreciate. There was a large photo of Ronald Reagan. Aeolus figured Hank must have mistaken the picture of Margaret Thatcher in his Geneva office for support of her political allegiances, rather than her integrity as a person. There was also a bookshelf with a dozen or so books. Either Hank had a very poor taste in books or the available stock in the bunker was severely limited. The only book Aeolus had the slightest interest in rereading was Michael Crichton’s The Andromeda Strain, crammed in between paperback bricks by Tom Clancy and Stephen King.

  Sitting at his desk, Aeolus once again pinched his nose in an attempt to alleviate his recurring headache. He didn’t know what caused it, whether it was due to that ever-present unbearable mold-like smell of moist concrete, or something else entirely, but he had to make the pain cease somehow. There was no time for distractions. His nose massage did nothing to help. He could still feel the vein in his right temple pulsating in syncronization with his heart, each beat forcing a momentary contraction of his facial muscles, and clenching of his teeth.

  He chose to focus on the moment that often played in his dreams, which, when forced to the foreground of his consciousness, gave him that exemplary determination for which he was known.

  The image materialized. Too short to see her face, he was still comforted by her hand gently patting his head. Her voice repeating in a whisper that everything was going to be all right, and that he needed to be a good boy.

  Gradually, the headache subsided to bearable levels.

  Aeolus returned to his reading. In front of him were two manila folders. One was Ed’s summary of Jan Lukschandl’s work on mutations in the second polymerase. The other was a facsimile of research into the impact of the higher concentration of positively charged amino acids in the first hemagglutinin sequence. Walt had received it from an unknown sender.

  Lukschandl’s research did indeed explain why the virus grew so much faster than usual. The fifty percent increase in replication rate was why people fell ill, and died, so quickly.

  The other piece, which Aeolus could only assume was from Boris in Koltsovo, showed that the increased presence of arginine quadrupled the number of ways the virus could attach to the host cells. That was why it was so much more contagious than the regular flu. Four times more, in fact.

  Together they made for an extremely lethal cocktail.

  Aeolus shivered. In the fight against Team Humanity, the virus was superior. They weren’t ready for this.

  If only they had known these things earlier; if only Lukschandl had his crackpot idea a decade ago; if only Yelena had stumbled over the impact of arginine concentration when she was in America. If only… then they might have understood these effects and even had some form of remedy waiting for the virus.

  But they hadn’t.

  And such was the nature of research. It was a slow, gradual process, the success of which was contingent on a fair portion of luck. Louis Pasteur had been right that “chance favors the prepared mind,” and a sharp intellect was a necessary, but by no means sufficient, condition for success.

  They had simply not been looking at the right things.

  For the first time, Aeolus experienced that loss of motivation that follows from certain defeat approaching. What was the winning move? Was there even one?

  They had never been ready for this.

  AUGUST 22ND, 4 P.M., PATIENT WARD, WHO REGIONAL OFFICE, SHAM NATH MARG, NEW DELHI

  Roger’s breath was now so shallow, every attempt at exhaling accompanied by splutters of blood, that Rebecca knew he did not have long; an hour, maybe two.

  He could no longer speak, but Rebecca still repeated her statements of reassurance and comfort, telling him how he would be fine and would soon start to feel better.

  The panic in Roger’s eyes had grown over the last few hours. It was the panic of a drowning man not getting enough oxygen. It was as if he was pleading for her to touch him, to give him comfort in his moment of death.

  Finally, she yielded to her emotions. The same moment she made it she knew the right decision. She removed the latex glove and laid a hand on his forehead. It was not a critical breach. She could probably prevent the infection by scrubbing with alcohol, but it was a breach of protocol that meant she could not return back inside to the isolated area.

  As her skin touched his, a sense of calm came to Roger’s eyes. He inhaled one last time and stopped breathing. It wasn’t the illness. It was him. He was killing himself by willing himself to stop the painful breathing and die on his own terms, to die in peace while still under her touch.

  His heart stopped within a minute and a moment later his facial muscles relaxed completely; all wrinkles gone from his now cherub-like face. Rebecca’s hand lingered on his forehead.

  She had no idea how long she stood there, her mind void of thoughts, but her catatonic state was broken by her own voice, coming to her as though from a distance. It repeated the same words, first inaudible, and then with growing strength. “This is not why I became a doctor.”

  After several repetitions, she broke free of her lethargy. “Screw it!”

  She went to the phone and demanded to be connected to Walt.

  “Walt, this is Rebecca. I have to get a hold of Aeolus. Can you put me through?”

  “You know he’s in an undisclosed location. We can’t reach him directly, but I can forward a page through the CDC. They should be able to get him, but it might be a while.”

  “Please do it, Walt. And tell him it’s urgent.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “Tell him I’m resigning.”

  “Is this some sort of joke? You possess the rarest of commodities; his trust. He needs you. You’re in charge of one-third of the world for Christ’s sake!”

  “I know all that, Walt. Just find him!”

  Rebecca waited by Roger’s bedside, patting his forehead. She thought she could feel his body start to cool ever so slightly.

  After about an hour, the phone rang.

  “Rebecca, Aeolus here. What is this nonsense Walt is telling me?”

  “It’s true, Aeolus. I’m sorry, I really am, but I have to resign. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the opportunities you’ve given me and how I cherish the trust you’ve put in me, but I’m emotionally compromised. I can’t do the job anymore and I must step down.”

  “What do you mean, ‘emotionally compromised’? I’d rather have you working at a fraction of your capacity than appoint any of the halfwits from your staff down there.”

  “Aeolus, it’s Roger. He became infected. He got it in Burma. He just passed.” She felt awkward speaking to Aeolus about it. He was not the kind of man you discussed emotions with. “Aeolus, I loved him. I made him a promise. I made a promise to a dying man. It’s a promise I intend to keep. I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “Look,” continued Rebecca. “I didn’t become a doctor to deny people treatment, to sacrifice some for the benefit of others.”

 
; “You’ve saved lives, Rebecca. These are tough calls, but it’s our job as epidemiologists.”

  “Saved lives? What lives? In spite of all our sacrifices, she’s still spreading, killing people wherever she goes. We’ll wake up four weeks from now and see it was all in vain. We’ll have sacrificed our ethics, rejected our duties as doctors to accomplish absolutely nothing! Screw epidemiology! I can’t be a calculating, odds-weighing, unfeeling machine any longer. I’m going to be a doctor, a real doctor. I am going to treat patients.”

  After a brief pause Aeolus came back. His voice was cold, void of all emotion.

  “You do as you wish. Who do you want to put in your place?”

  “I would propose Dr. Aslam. He’s competent, has good instincts, and acts with and conveys conviction. He’s the best guy we have. There’s just one problem.”

  “Aslam? He’s a Pakistani?”

  “Yes.”

  Rebecca had been around Aeolus long enough to know he fervently hated prejudice in all its forms. “Ignorance by nature or nurture is bad enough,” he’d once told her, “But ignorance through a conscious choice is the worst insult a man can hurl at his most precious gift – his intellect.

  “Tell whoever objects that, if they have a problem with this decision, I’ll send a squadron of Gurkhas down there, and they can try explaining their problems to people who are not of pure ethnic origin to them. Surely, they will then get to know the meaning of the word defenestration. Knowledge I highly doubt they possess today.

  “Goodbye, Rebecca. It’s a great loss for the team, but only your own conscience can judge you. It’s not for me to do so. Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to where there are no doctors. I’m going to where this whole thing started, to Papua.”

  “I wish you the best of luck,” Aeolus said and disconnected the line.

  Rebecca got Dr. Aslam on the phone.