a novice infectious disease specialist. Dr. Pruda, though no more than five years her senior, was the only one with the clout to sound that governmental alarm.
He straightened, his expression condescending. “What is rule number one of outbreak management?”
“Avoid full-scale panic.”
“Fear spreads faster than fevers.” His charcoal eyes turned hard and drilled into her over his mask. “Communicable diseases arenever entirely absent from the community. There will always be sporadic cases and minor outbreaks like what we have now. We’ve not nearly enough information yet to jump to conclusions.” Dr. Pruda tapped the back of her computer screen. “I shouldn’t have to explain to someone with your brilliant reputation the importance of managing this situation to avoid a fluke transmission becoming a large-scale panic that leads to an epidemic when the public tries to flee the area. Isolation, quarantine, and making sure the press doesn’t catch wind of this will be our first lines of defense.” He’d spoken precisely—every word sifted through a filter, stripped of any contaminants before released into the atmosphere.
“Wait a minute. That’s it? Keeping this out of the news is the best you’ve got?” Lisbeth pushed away from the computer, unwilling to have the urgency of this situation dismissed because of politics. “You might as well toss us into the third century with nothing more than a homemade vaporizer and a few eucalyptus leaves.”
“Excuse me?”
“Improving herd immunity by upping the numbers who’ve received viable vaccinations is our only line of defense. Trust me. I’ve tried every stopgap control you’ve suggested, and it didn’t work.”
Suspicion hung in the disinfected silence, a knotted noose awaiting her neck. “Dr. Hastings, exactly when did you try this methodology?”
How had she let something so stupid slip? Lisbeth clenched her jaw, fuming that she’d lost control, and lost it to this pompous weasel. “I meant, I’ve read several historical attempts at isolation and quarantine. You’re right. Those protocols reduced the transmission rates, but they didn’t stop them.”
“But you have no practical experience managing even a small outbreak?”
Sharing the details of how badly she’d handled being thrown into the terrifying experience of a third-century plague would donothing for her credibility. Lisbeth swallowed and gave a slight shake of her head.
“Well, Doctor, I do. And what I’m saying is this.” He took back his report. “We will work to achieve complete containment within forty-eight hours by sticking to our current protocol. Observe the quarantine, and treat our isolated patients as best we can.” He raised himself to his full six-foot-one height. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lisbeth slumped into the desk chair and buried her face in her hands. Her mind traveled back eighteen hundred years to an exquisite villa by the Mediterranean Sea. The stench of fear and desperation filled the marbled halls. Twigs draped with strips of fabric, eucalyptus leaves floating in boiling water, and homemade hydration solutions had saved a few. But she’d been forced to leave long before she knew the true effectiveness of her efforts. She’d left the frightened people of Carthage to fend off an invading virus with nothing but their prayers. Was she overthinking things now out of guilt over the past? Was she making an outbreak into an epidemic in her mind because she’d been unable to forgive herself for deserting the people she’d grown to love?
“Dr. Hastings?” The tap to Lisbeth’s shoulder startled her upright.
“What is it, Nelda?”
“Your father just tried to get past the command center.”
“Oh, no.”
“I hustled him outside and told him to wait there until you could come to him.”
“Thanks.” After shedding her contaminated clothes, Lisbeth scrubbed her hands and arms with the vigilance of a surgeon headed into the
He straightened, his expression condescending. “What is rule number one of outbreak management?”
“Avoid full-scale panic.”
“Fear spreads faster than fevers.” His charcoal eyes turned hard and drilled into her over his mask. “Communicable diseases arenever entirely absent from the community. There will always be sporadic cases and minor outbreaks like what we have now. We’ve not nearly enough information yet to jump to conclusions.” Dr. Pruda tapped the back of her computer screen. “I shouldn’t have to explain to someone with your brilliant reputation the importance of managing this situation to avoid a fluke transmission becoming a large-scale panic that leads to an epidemic when the public tries to flee the area. Isolation, quarantine, and making sure the press doesn’t catch wind of this will be our first lines of defense.” He’d spoken precisely—every word sifted through a filter, stripped of any contaminants before released into the atmosphere.
“Wait a minute. That’s it? Keeping this out of the news is the best you’ve got?” Lisbeth pushed away from the computer, unwilling to have the urgency of this situation dismissed because of politics. “You might as well toss us into the third century with nothing more than a homemade vaporizer and a few eucalyptus leaves.”
“Excuse me?”
“Improving herd immunity by upping the numbers who’ve received viable vaccinations is our only line of defense. Trust me. I’ve tried every stopgap control you’ve suggested, and it didn’t work.”
Suspicion hung in the disinfected silence, a knotted noose awaiting her neck. “Dr. Hastings, exactly when did you try this methodology?”
How had she let something so stupid slip? Lisbeth clenched her jaw, fuming that she’d lost control, and lost it to this pompous weasel. “I meant, I’ve read several historical attempts at isolation and quarantine. You’re right. Those protocols reduced the transmission rates, but they didn’t stop them.”
“But you have no practical experience managing even a small outbreak?”
Sharing the details of how badly she’d handled being thrown into the terrifying experience of a third-century plague would donothing for her credibility. Lisbeth swallowed and gave a slight shake of her head.
“Well, Doctor, I do. And what I’m saying is this.” He took back his report. “We will work to achieve complete containment within forty-eight hours by sticking to our current protocol. Observe the quarantine, and treat our isolated patients as best we can.” He raised himself to his full six-foot-one height. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lisbeth slumped into the desk chair and buried her face in her hands. Her mind traveled back eighteen hundred years to an exquisite villa by the Mediterranean Sea. The stench of fear and desperation filled the marbled halls. Twigs draped with strips of fabric, eucalyptus leaves floating in boiling water, and homemade hydration solutions had saved a few. But she’d been forced to leave long before she knew the true effectiveness of her efforts. She’d left the frightened people of Carthage to fend off an invading virus with nothing but their prayers. Was she overthinking things now out of guilt over the past? Was she making an outbreak into an epidemic in her mind because she’d been unable to forgive herself for deserting the people she’d grown to love?
“Dr. Hastings?” The tap to Lisbeth’s shoulder startled her upright.
“What is it, Nelda?”
“Your father just tried to get past the command center.”
“Oh, no.”
“I hustled him outside and told him to wait there until you could come to him.”
“Thanks.” After shedding her contaminated clothes, Lisbeth scrubbed her hands and arms with the vigilance of a surgeon headed into the
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