Lost Immunity by Daniel Kalla (best free ebook reader txt) 📗

“Correct,” Klausner says.

“In other words, antibiotics are all we got.” Angela sums it up. “And you know what they say? If all you got is a hammer, go find yourself a whole shitload of nails.”

Much as she respects and admires her friend, Lisa is beginning to wonder if Angela’s attendance is such a good idea. “The other key element we need to discuss is the communication strategy.” Lisa gestures toward the goateed man at the far end of the table, who has been furiously typing at his laptop. “As our department’s communications lead, Kevin will help coordinate our response.”

Kevin lifts one hand from the keyboard and waves.

“Word has leaked out on social media,” Lisa continues. “We’re fielding calls from all kinds of media outlets. Kevin’s going to release a press statement and health alert later this morning. But as always, we’re walking a razor-thin line between informing and panicking the public.”

“What are you going to say?” Benning asks.

“Obviously, we’re going to instruct anyone who attended the Bible camp in the past few weeks to report to us right away,” Kevin says. “We’ll also let the public know the symptoms they should look out for. And we’re going to alert health-care providers to be vigilant for possible new cases.”

“In a nutshell, we’re going to flood the ERs and clinics with every neurotic who feels a tinge of a headache coming on,” Angela says.

“What would you have us do?” Lisa says, even though she knows Angela isn’t wrong. “We already have five dead.”

“Six,” Tyra says, holding up her phone with a pained expression. “Just got the word from Harborview. Another sixteen-year-old died this morning.”

Lisa’s heart sinks. “Not Kayla?”

Tyra nods.

The unwelcome vision of Kayla’s grandfather interrupts Lisa’s thoughts. She can still see the heartbreak in his eyes. She can’t imagine what it must feel like to lose everyone in the world who matters most to you.

CHAPTER 11

Nathan Hull has never spent much time in the Pacific Northwest—a couple of pharmaceutical conventions in the Seattle area and one corporate retreat in Portland—but every time he visits, he feels oddly at home. It’s the ocean, he realizes. Having grown up in Providence, Rhode Island, he always gravitates toward the coast. And he resolves to bring his boys here soon, maybe even for next summer’s annual father-sons road trip. This summer, they’ve already committed to driving up to Canada to tour through Quebec.

Nathan can’t see the water from where he sits across from Fiona in a red vinyl booth, but he enjoys the view of the tree-lined triangular plaza in the heart of historic Pioneer Square in front of the café. He wonders what era the decorative iron pergola across the street dates to and, ever the history buff, makes a mental note to look it up.

Fiona is still working on her herbal tea, but Nathan has already finished his Americano and is considering a second. Lisa isn’t late. It’s still a few minutes before nine. But they weren’t sure how long the cab ride might take from the hotel, and since Fiona is almost phobic about being late, they gave themselves a generous buffer and arrived fifteen minutes early.

Lisa requested they meet at this café instead of Seattle Public Health’s headquarters, which is four or five blocks up the hill on Fifth Avenue. The cab ride took Nathan and Fiona right past her office building, and he couldn’t help noticing the funky-looking coffee shop directly catercorner to it. Perhaps he’s reading too much into Lisa’s choice of locales, but in his experience, medical officials sometimes approach meetings with executives from “Big Pharma”—the cringe-worthy pejorative they often use—as something shameful to be done in the shadows, like picking up a hooker or buying street drugs.

Nathan is pulled from the demoralizing thoughts when the door opens, and a woman enters in a white blouse and light gray skirt. Spotting them, she nods and approaches them with a closed-mouth smile.

As part of his standard premeeting research, Nathan already viewed Lisa’s online profile on the health department’s website, but the corporate photo doesn’t do her justice. In person, her oval face and high cheekbones accentuate her large almond-brown eyes. He would be at a loss to guess her dominant ethnicity—could be anywhere from Ukrainian to Spanish—definitely a case for a mail-order DNA kit. But it’s hard not to pick up on the poise and self-assuredness she radiates with each step.

After introductions, Nathan heads up to the counter to order coffees while Lisa slides into the booth beside Fiona.

A minute or two later, Nathan lowers a cup of black coffee in front of her and sits down across from them. Lisa places her phone, screen up, beside her cup and says, “Kind of rude, I realize. But in light of the expanding crisis, I have to be connected at all times.”

Nathan grins. “We’re no strangers to being anchored to our phones.”

“Thanks for meeting me here,” Lisa says “Not just in Seattle but at this place. They serve my favorite pour-over coffee in the city. And Lord knows I’ll need a few cups this morning.”

“That’s high praise,” Nathan says. “Isn’t Seattle a mecca for coffee?”

“I guess we did give the world Starbucks.” Her smile is more natural than earlier. “Wonder if it can ever forgive us?”

Fiona, who’s almost as averse to small talk as she is to tardiness, cuts to the chase. “Can you tell us more about the local meningitis outbreak?”

“It’s bad,” Lisa says bluntly. She goes on to summarize the eleven cases and six deaths that were recorded in the first day and a half, along with Public Health’s preliminary efforts to contain the infection. “If we see secondary spread beyond the camp to their contacts, it could go from bad to horrendous in a big hurry.”

“That sounds ominous,” Nathan mutters.

“It is. Which is why I wanted to discuss your new vaccine.”

“Delaware’s vaccine,” he says. “My role is to facilitate new product development, while Fiona’s is to ensure their safety.”

Lisa nods. “Word is that Neissovax