SWITZERLAND
—————
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.
For several years, the world has been in Phase Three of alertness with regard to avian influenza. Phase Three means that there have been few human cases of avian influenza. In September, clusters appeared in several Asian countries and we moved into Phase Four, a situation in which the virus can be more easily transmitted among humans.
Today, in response to reports of large, multiple outbreaks in Europe and Africa, we announce an entry into Phase Five of alertness. We caution the public not to panic. Phase Five just means increased protective measures in the affected countries, appropriate to the situation. These measures are:
People with confirmed or suspected cases will be quarantined.
All schools and universities will be closed until further notice.
All indoor concerts and public events will be canceled. This includes gatherings for religious purposes. International and domestic travel will be curtailed.
Please be reassured that a pandemic is by no means inevitable. If we work together, we can contain and halt the spread of the influenza virus.
SEVEN
P ETER STOOD IN THE DOORWAY OF HIS LAB, CELL PHONE pressed to his ear. Ann still wasn’t answering her phone.
People rushed past in the corridor carrying folders, books, boxes. They nodded at one another, barely stopping. He wondered how many of them would be alive next month, next year. The air was filled with abbreviated conversations.
“Did you get …?”
“They’re in there….”
Behind him, Shazia was wiping surfaces and turning off equipment. She’d managed to get through the neuraminidase testing. She’d greeted him with the news—the teal influenza had been H5N1. He’d greeted her with his own announcement. She’d been sequestered all afternoon behind the hood and hadn’t heard. Somehow the bird and human variations had simultaneously picked up speed. Both viruses were busy tearing through their respective host populations.
Peter tried the home number, but the answering machine picked up. He hung up without leaving a message. He’d call again shortly. Ann would have heard the news. She’d be out getting the girls. “You put everything in the freezer?”
Shazia shut the cabinet. “Yes.” Her navy wool coat was folded over the back of a chair. Her briefcase leaned against the rungs. Black-bound manuals sat stacked on the desk. She saw him looking. “I hope it’s okay that I borrow those.”
“It’s a good idea.” He eyed them, crossed to the shelf, and pulled down several more. “You’ll need these, too.”
In his office, he began fitting books into one box, papers into another. He’d take his laptop, of course. And his tape recorder.
“You get the rough draft I sent you?”
He looked up and saw Lewis leaning in. His curly blond hair was more vertical than usual, giving him an alarmed look. “I’ll work on it at home and email it back to you.”
“Fair enough. We can submit it online.”
A voice boomed from down the hall. “Let’s go, people.”
Lewis swore softly and pushed himself away from the door-jamb. “See you, Peter.”
Now a series of knocks, getting louder. “Locking up in five minutes.”
Peter slid his laptop into the case and zipped it up. Where was the folder with Liederman’s notes in it? “You too, Dr. Brooks.”
Peter looked over. Hank filled the doorway, a tank of a man. “Sure,” Pete said. “Just give me a minute. I need to find something.”
“No can do. I was supposed to have secured the building fifteen minutes ago.”
“All right, all right.” He shuffled through the papers on his desk. Here were the minutes from last week’s preparedness meeting. How ironic. Here was an invitation to the division holiday party. His secretary was always despairing of the condition of his office, always warning him that she was going to sneak in one day and clear everything out. Now Peter wished she’d gotten to the mess before she’d gone
—————
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.
For several years, the world has been in Phase Three of alertness with regard to avian influenza. Phase Three means that there have been few human cases of avian influenza. In September, clusters appeared in several Asian countries and we moved into Phase Four, a situation in which the virus can be more easily transmitted among humans.
Today, in response to reports of large, multiple outbreaks in Europe and Africa, we announce an entry into Phase Five of alertness. We caution the public not to panic. Phase Five just means increased protective measures in the affected countries, appropriate to the situation. These measures are:
People with confirmed or suspected cases will be quarantined.
All schools and universities will be closed until further notice.
All indoor concerts and public events will be canceled. This includes gatherings for religious purposes. International and domestic travel will be curtailed.
Please be reassured that a pandemic is by no means inevitable. If we work together, we can contain and halt the spread of the influenza virus.
SEVEN
P ETER STOOD IN THE DOORWAY OF HIS LAB, CELL PHONE pressed to his ear. Ann still wasn’t answering her phone.
People rushed past in the corridor carrying folders, books, boxes. They nodded at one another, barely stopping. He wondered how many of them would be alive next month, next year. The air was filled with abbreviated conversations.
“Did you get …?”
“They’re in there….”
Behind him, Shazia was wiping surfaces and turning off equipment. She’d managed to get through the neuraminidase testing. She’d greeted him with the news—the teal influenza had been H5N1. He’d greeted her with his own announcement. She’d been sequestered all afternoon behind the hood and hadn’t heard. Somehow the bird and human variations had simultaneously picked up speed. Both viruses were busy tearing through their respective host populations.
Peter tried the home number, but the answering machine picked up. He hung up without leaving a message. He’d call again shortly. Ann would have heard the news. She’d be out getting the girls. “You put everything in the freezer?”
Shazia shut the cabinet. “Yes.” Her navy wool coat was folded over the back of a chair. Her briefcase leaned against the rungs. Black-bound manuals sat stacked on the desk. She saw him looking. “I hope it’s okay that I borrow those.”
“It’s a good idea.” He eyed them, crossed to the shelf, and pulled down several more. “You’ll need these, too.”
In his office, he began fitting books into one box, papers into another. He’d take his laptop, of course. And his tape recorder.
“You get the rough draft I sent you?”
He looked up and saw Lewis leaning in. His curly blond hair was more vertical than usual, giving him an alarmed look. “I’ll work on it at home and email it back to you.”
“Fair enough. We can submit it online.”
A voice boomed from down the hall. “Let’s go, people.”
Lewis swore softly and pushed himself away from the door-jamb. “See you, Peter.”
Now a series of knocks, getting louder. “Locking up in five minutes.”
Peter slid his laptop into the case and zipped it up. Where was the folder with Liederman’s notes in it? “You too, Dr. Brooks.”
Peter looked over. Hank filled the doorway, a tank of a man. “Sure,” Pete said. “Just give me a minute. I need to find something.”
“No can do. I was supposed to have secured the building fifteen minutes ago.”
“All right, all right.” He shuffled through the papers on his desk. Here were the minutes from last week’s preparedness meeting. How ironic. Here was an invitation to the division holiday party. His secretary was always despairing of the condition of his office, always warning him that she was going to sneak in one day and clear everything out. Now Peter wished she’d gotten to the mess before she’d gone
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