by Daniel Kalla
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Washington,” Lisa says.
“Thank you,” he says with a small nod.
“Your son was studying engineering at UW, right?”
“Civil engineering,” Isaac says with obvious pride. “He was going to build bridges, tunnels, and roads back home. It’s all he wanted to do since he was little. He would’ve built some fine ones, too.”
“I’m sure he would have, Mr. Washington,” she says. “When did you last hear from him?”
“Day or two before he died. He called home almost every day.”
“Did Darius mention anything about a vaccination?”
“Nah. Nothing like that.” He bites his lower lip. “His mother was worried about the meningitis scare, though. I know she gave him a good talking-to about it.”
“Did Darius have any family here?”
“No.”
“Friends?”
“Lots of those,” Isaac says. “He lived with his best friend, Jayden Rogers.”
“Do you have Jayden’s number?”
Isaac digs into his pocket and brings out a small notebook. As he flips through the pages, looking for the phone number, he pauses to look up and ask, “So is it true? The vaccine killed Darius?”
She considers couching her answer in medical terms such as unexpected complications and hyper-immune reactions, but in the end, she simply nods.
“How can that happen?” There’s no accusation in his tone, only disbelief.
“We… We still don’t know.”
Isaac tears a blank page from the back of the book, copies down a number, and hands it over to her.
Lisa thanks him for his time and, with nothing more to say, hurries out of the oppressive building. As soon as she steps into the hot afternoon sun, she tries the number for Jayden, but his phone goes straight to voice mail. She leaves a message asking him to call her, adding that it’s urgent.
As Lisa drives away from the morgue, the memory of the pain in Isaac’s eyes lingers, compounding her guilt. She’s glad now for the distraction of the radio and is about to change it to her favorite jazz station when a familiar voice sounds over the speakers.
“Frankly, I think it’s a travesty,” Max Balfour says.
“How so, Dr. Balfour?” the host asks.
“Public Health rolled the dice with the children of Seattle. And it came up snake eyes.” Lisa can picture the smug smile on the face of the anti-vax naturopath.
“It’s that simple?”
“Look, I am not doubting the good intentions behind this vaccination campaign,” Max says, his tone simultaneously empathetic and condescending. “But I have seen it time and time again. There is so much money to be made in developing new vaccines. Billions and billions of dollars.”
“What about all the risks they take on?” Lisa rhetorically asks of the radio, thinking of how it costs more than a billion dollars to bring a new vaccine to market, with no guarantees of recouping the investment.
“Big Pharma puts so much pressure on our health agencies,” Max continues. “These corporations spend a fortune manufacturing studies that allegedly ‘prove’ the vaccines are safe. And they probably spend as much money suppressing the unbiased studies that usually show they’re not.”
“Like in this case, Dr. Balfour?” the host asks.
“Exactly. Big Pharma took advantage of the panic caused by this meningitis outbreak to push an unproven vaccine that should never have seen the light of day. Now the public is faced with these devastating vaccine injuries, and a poor family has lost a son for nothing. What’s worse is they’ve vaccinated thousands of other people over the past few days. Who knows how many more will still react? And how permanent the damage will be?”
“Is there anything that can be done to prevent it?”
“Careful surveillance and awareness will help,” Max says. “Obviously, they’ve suspended this program now that the dangers are so clear. But there’s nothing unique about this vaccine or their approach.”
“Can you elaborate?”
“Look what the government is still planning to do with the mandatory HPV vaccine campaign. So many of us in the vaccine hesitancy movement, including doctors like myself, have been arguing for a safer and more rational approach over the willy-nilly distribution of more and more vaccines. They treat our children like pincushions. And at such a cost.”
“Are you referring to all vaccines?”
“Vaccines have historically had their place. But like any manufactured drug, they’re poisons. Most of which are unnecessary.” He pauses. “Maybe now others will finally realize that, too.”
“A complete FUBAR,” Lisa murmurs to herself. “What have we done?”
CHAPTER 46
Yolanda opens the door, and Max bounds inside her one-bedroom condo. He sweeps her into a hug, kisses her, and spins her around and around. Prone to motion sickness, Yolanda feels dizzy, but his affection makes it so worthwhile. She feels loved. Nothing is more important to her.
“What are we celebrating?” Yolanda giggles as she inhales a whiff of her favorite peppery cologne.
“We won!”
For a moment, Yolanda wonders if he entered them into some contest she wasn’t aware of. “What did we win?”
“The battle.” He kisses her again. “Along with a tidal wave of public support. Which is the key to winning the actual war.”
She suddenly realizes that he’s talking about the vaccination campaign and, reluctantly, breaks off the embrace. “This isn’t a war, Max.”
“It is for some of us.”
“Everyone at my office is really upset.”
Max strokes her cheek. “Wasn’t your fault. You were only doing what you all thought was best. I get it.”
Yolanda shifts away from him. She loves Max more than ever, but he’s rejoicing over one of the biggest catastrophes to ever hit her office. “This isn’t so easy for me, Max. I can’t even count how many inoculations I’ve given over the past few days.”
“No one’s doubting your good intentions, beautiful.”
“What if I gave the shot that made one of those poor kids so sick?”
“I’d never blame you.”
“But, Max, this feels kind of… wrong.”
The smile leaves his lips. “What does?”
“To celebrate a bunch of kids getting sick from a vaccine. Especially one that we hoped would stop this awful meningitis.”
Max’s eyes narrow, and his upper lip curls. “A few kids got sick,” he snaps. “Big deal! Do you have any idea how much damage has been done by vaccines over the years?”
“I know how important this is to you.” She moves toward him, but he recoils from her touch.
“You don’t have a fucking clue, Yolanda!”
“Max!”
“You hand out those shots like candy. Without a second thought. You have no idea what it’s like to have to live with the devastating consequences of them, day in and day out.”
She has never seen him this ferocious. Her face feels as if it’s on fire, and she can’t fight back her sudden tears. “Max…”
“Do you know how much time I’ve invested? How much I’ve already lost? How long I’ve had to wait for a moment like this?”
Her words won’t come, and she can only shake her head.
“You’re damn right I’m going to celebrate this! I’m sorry for those kids, but I wouldn’t change a thing.” He holds her gaze with an intensity that frightens her. “You can’t win a war without a few casualties.”
CHAPTER 47
Lisa stares at her screen without digesting the contents of the spreadsheet splashed across it. It’s after ten p.m., and she’s exhausted. But she can’t bring herself to go home and face the prospect of explaining to her husband how her professional life is unraveling in front of her eyes. It’s not that he wouldn’t understand; her weakest moments often bring out the best in Dominic. But the last thing she wants right now is his pity. So, when Nathan texts
to tell her that he’ll be leaving Seattle at the crack of dawn, she responds without thinking that she will come over to say good-bye in person.
The day, which Lisa thought couldn’t get any worse after her visit to the morgue, kept finding inventive ways to do just that. Six new cases of meningitis were reported across the city with three more deaths. She had to run a gauntlet of reporters and cameramen outside of her building. And no sooner had she reached her office than she received a terse call from the governor, demanding to know what went wrong with the vaccination campaign.
Lisa walks into the lobby of Nathan’s hotel, aware of how risky it is to come this late in the evening feeling as vulnerable as she does. With or without alcohol, her judgment is already impaired, which becomes even more apparent to her when she steps into the bathroom to fix her hair and reapply lipstick. But as she rides the elevator to his suite on the thirty-fourth floor, she also realizes that it’s the first time in days she’s looked forward to something. She has no idea how she might respond if Nathan touches her the way he did the night before. But she doubts she would be as quick to leave this time.
The elevator door opens, and a few butterflies wing inside her chest as she walks down the corridor toward his room. She hesitates at the door, her arms as frozen as her feet. Then her hand drifts toward the door, as if it has a mind of its own, and gently knocks.
Moments later, Nathan fills the doorway. He’s unshaven and wears jeans with a black T-shirt—a look Lisa can’t help but find appealing. He steps forward and wraps her in a hug that feels more intimate than it should. But she finds comfort in the firmness of his arms and the warmth of his cheek against hers, so she lingers in the embrace until he finally lets go.
He leads her inside the spacious suite, which boasts a view of the water to match the one from the rooftop bar. Beyond the couches and coffee table, the sliding door to the bedroom is partly open. The bed is made, and a half-packed suitcase rests on it.
Nathan walks over to the makeshift bar on the side table. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“What are you having?” she asks.
He lifts a crystal tumbler—which looks to be almost down to the ice except for a few drops of brownish liquid—and swirls it in his hand. “On a day like today there’s not much choice, is there?”
“Bourbon?”
“Scotch.”
“Can’t do whiskey.” She chuckles. “A misadventure in the eleventh grade that ended in the emergency room has led to a lifelong self-imposed ban.”
“Wine, then?”
“Sure?”
“Bordeaux OK?”
“I guess.” She laughs. “I’ll slum it this once.”
He uncorks a bottle of red and pours her a glass. Then he refills his own tumbler from a bottle that she assumes to be an expensive single malt.
Nathan hands her the nearly full wineglass. “To pipe dreams,” he says, tapping his glass to hers.
“That’s a morbid toast.”
“What do you suggest?”
“To brave gambles,” she says, clinking glasses again.
She sits down on the couch and, despite the other chairs in the room, he lowers himself beside her.
Lisa places her phone on the coffee table and then says, “I need to ask you something.”
He motions with his glass. “Please.”
“Those phase-three studies on Neissovax. Is it possible…?”
“That the study investigators covered up bad skin reactions like the ones we’ve been seeing here?” he asks calmly.
“Yeah.”
“Anything’s possible, but why? Those studies were carried out by reputable and independent scientists who would have zero to gain by manipulating the data. And even if we had the world’s sketchiest investigators in our back pocket, why would we hide something like this if we knew it was only going to come to light as soon as the vaccine went to market? We could’ve cut our losses and quietly pulled the plug in the trial phase. But now? This is an unparalleled disaster for Delaware.”
“I suppose.”
“Tomorrow I’m going to have face the music back in New York. And that music is going to sound a hell of a lot like gunshots from a firing squad.”
She frowns. “How can they blame you?”
“Easy. I’m the one who was supposed to ensure none of this happened.”
“Basically God, then?”
“Basically.” He shrugs. “With more fiscal accountability.”
“That’s not right, Nathan. Especially since I’m the one who drew you into this.” It’s her turn to reach out and clutch his wrist. “I’m sorry.”
“For what? You were trying to do your job. To protect the public.”
“Maybe, but the irony is I ended up exposing the public to even more risk. And you know what’s worse?”
“It gets worse?” He chuckles grimly.
“We struggle every day to convince people of the essential need for vaccination. And we depend on a near-global buy-in to establish herd immunity. There’s already so much skepticism, ignorance, and bias out there. And now I’ve inadvertently played right into the hands of the anti-vaxxers.”
“Lisa…”
“It’s true. Earlier, I heard one on the radio who cited Neissovax as the ultimate cautionary tale for all vaccines. And he was damn persuasive, too.”
“It’s all raw right now. It just seems worse than it is.”
“I’m being realistic, Nathan. Not since Andrew Wakefield published that damn fraudulent, debunked study that linked autism to the MMR vaccine has anyone breathed as much life into the anti-vax cause.”
This time, Nathan reaches for her. “None of this is your fault.”
She stares at him. “I wish you didn’t have to leave tomorrow.”
“It’s not tomorrow yet.”
Then her phone rings on the table, breaking the spell. She recognizes the number on the screen—which ends in four nines—as belonging to Darius’s roommate. She gently pulls her hand free of Nathan’s and grabs the phone. “I’m sorry, I need to get this,” she says as she rises.
She points to the bedroom, and he nods, so she steps inside the room and answers the call. “Dr. Lisa Dyer.”
“Hey, this is Jayden Rogers. You called?”
“Yes.” Lisa hurriedly explains who she is and her role in the outbreak management. “Jayden, were you the one who found Darius?”
“Yeah.” He goes quiet for a moment. “It was brutal.”
Lisa waits for him to elaborate.
“Darius, he was in bed,” Jayden says. “His face was just a mess. The sheets were soaked in this yellow gunk. And his eyes—they were like bulging out of his head.” His voice falters. “I mean he’s black and all, but his skin was like navy color.”
“Can’t imagine how traumatic that must have been.”
“Brutal,” he repeats.
“Did you know that Darius had been given the meningitis vaccine two days before?”
“Of course.”
“How?”
“We went together.”
“To the clinic? You were vaccinated, too?”
“Yup.”
Lisa looks over to Nathan, who eyes her quizzically. “How are you feeling?” she asks.
“Fine,” Jayden says.
“Why didn’t you report what happened on our public-health website?”
“I did.”
“After Darius died?”
“Yeah, like right away.”
She feels as if the ground is shifting beneath her feet. “You sure the report went through?”
“Positive.”
“You got an email confirmation?”
“I did,” he says. “And then I got another email a couple hours later.”
Lisa goes cold. “What did that one say?”
“Not much. Thanked me for the report. Said they looked into it and concluded that what happened to Darius wasn’t related to the vaccine. Something about it being too far delayed and not
a typical allergy.”
Nathan’s face creases with concern. “What is it?” he mouths.
She breaks off the eye contact. The implications of Jayden’s words weigh in on her like a tunnel collapsing overhead. Someone must have hacked the website and deliberately suppressed the report of Darius’s death. How many other reports have been buried, too? And by whom?
Her mind spins, and she shoots Nathan another quick look. Was it you?
CHAPTER 48
“Is it something I did?” Nathan had sent Lisa the text after she made her abrupt departure the previous night, mumbling an excuse about a work emergency. She hasn’t responded to it or the three others he sent overnight—the last one, just after four a.m.
Who else, other than someone inside Delaware, would have such a vested interest in seeing adverse events wiped off the website? Lisa remembers how obsessed Nathan seemed with the site, and how often he asked about it. Was he in on it? Or Fiona? Or all of them at Delaware?
So, yes, Nathan. It might just be something you did.
Lisa checks her watch again. It’s almost 7:30 a.m., and still no call from her web designer. She turns her attention back to her long list of emails and forces herself to craft coherent replies. At times, the letters blur into one, and she can’t stop yawning.
Lisa barely remembers what a good sleep feels like. The previous night’s was the worst one yet. The sight of Dominic, waiting at home for her with an open bottle of red and two glasses, precipitated another torrent of guilt. If Jayden hadn’t called when he did, she probably would have ended up in Nathan’s bed. Instead, she wound up having sex with her husband again. But she couldn’t approach anything close to genuine arousal. Dominic picked up on her perfunctory effort. “I hope sex isn’t becoming just another chore in our relationship,” he griped as he turned off his bedside lamp, leaving Lisa in the dark to stew through a night of worries, doubts, and self-recrimination.
The phone vibrates on her desk. The long string of numbers without any dashes or intelligible area or country codes tells Lisa that it must be Austin, her webmaster, calling as usual on a voice-over-Internet-protocol line.
