Blockbuster

by Lisa von Biela

  He sighed as he gazed at the turn-of-the-century equipment the airline provided its coach passengers. The five-inch-square hardware-based monitor in the seat-back in front of him looked like something from another world. But it was all he had while stuck on this flight from hell. He slid the cheap headset over his ears, powered on the monitor, and selected a newsfeed to view. Then he decided he didn’t want to be agitated by the news of the day, and changed the channel to MindRelease.

  White noise played in the headset while shapes and colors with no apparent pattern moved across the screen. MindRelease videos supposedly presented relaxing subliminal messages. He hoped that was all. Phil generally distrusted what he couldn’t see and confirm with his own eyes, but today he needed something to help calm him ahead of his meeting with the president. He didn’t want to risk taking a drug that could linger and dull him later.

  He leaned back in the stiff seat, rolled his shoulders to try to loosen them, and then gave over his attention to the sounds in his ears and the images on the screen. After a while, he found he was able to detach himself from his uncomfortable surroundings and relax. A little.

  CHAPTER 7

  Dr. Tomlin took a deep breath to brace himself and stepped out of the doctors’ lounge to face the day. Out in the hall, he encountered Nurse Simpson.

  She peered at him, then scowled. “You look terrible. When did you last sleep?”

  Dr. Tomlin had to think before he could answer—not a good sign. “Oh, I think I caught a catnap yesterday. Lucky to get that.”

  The isolation ward was filled to capacity—and then some. A couple dozen of the more recent arrivals were stacked in the hallway, each beneath an individual IsoStat. At least they still had plenty of those in the supply room. All staff doctors had been called in for indefinite duty, and every one of them was as tired and haggard as he was.

  Now it was time for morning rounds, starting with the most critical cases. And that meant Tami Freeman, the first of the wave to arrive several days ago. She’d been going downhill fast despite their best efforts, and he feared what he would find when he looked in on her.

  He nodded at Nurse Simpson. “Ready to start rounds?”

  “Ready as a person can be, under the circumstances.” She attempted to smile, but her lips only formed a grim line.

  They walked in silence down the harshly lit hall until they reached the main isolation ward. A double-doored vestibule controlled access to the ward to prevent contamination of the rest of the hospital. Dr. Tomlin opened the vestibule’s outer door and they stepped inside. Shelves of disposable sterile garb lined the left and right walls. The inner door to the actual ward opened from the opposite wall. A bin for used items stood next to it.

  As they donned their protective sterile booties, gowns, caps, masks, and gloves, Dr. Tomlin reflected on how much his routine had changed in just the last week. They usually had a few patients in the isolation ward with some contagious disease or another. Now, there were so many, it felt as if the rest of the hospital had faded into oblivion. Were any babies being delivered these days? What about good old-fashioned broken bones, strokes, and heart attacks? It almost felt like there was no other reality except the overflowing isolation ward.

  Dr. Tomlin rested his hand on the door handle. “Ready?”

  Nurse Simpson nodded as she made a final adjustment to her mask.

  They walked past the other patients in their IsoStats and went straight to Tami’s bed. Despite himself, Dr. Tomlin had hoped she would show some sign—any sign—of improvement. His heart sank when he looked at her.

  She displayed evident and severe distress, worse than ever. Her mouth gaped in obvious hypoxia, despite the stream of oxygen being pumped into her IsoStat. The blue of impending death tinged her skin—what there was of it.

  Dr. Tomlin leaned over and looked at her more closely through the clear plastic. Her lesions had progressed to the point where there was no use in trying to dress them individually, or else Tami would have been in one solid dressing from head to toe. Even if it were possible to keep up with the lesions’ spread, it would generate vast quantities of biohazard material to dispose of. There was already a backup of materials for disposal in the burn room in the hospital’s basement. No sense in adding to it without good reason.

  So there she lay, covered in a thin hospital gown seeped through with blood and serum, her limbs nothing more than bloody pulp with the bone showing here and there. The IV that brought her nourishment and replacement fluids had been relocated to a much deeper blood vessel near her clavicle, as the usual arm veins were now exposed and in danger of eroding entirely from the ravages of the bacteria.

  Tami’s pain had become so severe, Dr. Tomlin had placed her in a medically induced coma. He’d never seen anyone in that much pain, and he’d been helpless to alleviate it any other way. No pain med, no matter how strong, had even come close to bringing her the slightest relief.

  Unfortunately, she’d been in too much distress to give them any family member names before being placed in the coma, and she hadn’t carried any useful information in her purse. So they’d been unable to notify anyone of her condition.

  As difficult as it was to watch Tami struggle and falter, Dr. Tomlin knew this was only the beginning of a terrible tsunami. She’d been the first patient, and the ones who followed her were more than likely going to take this very same path unless they found a drug to combat this vicious bacteria—and fast. His shoulders slumped as he considered the implications for those jamming the ward now, and for those who would surely be arriving in the coming days.

  “Doctor, look!” Nurse Simpson pointed to a quickly spreading pool of fresh blood at thigh level on Tami’s gown.

  Jarred out of his dismal reverie, Dr. Tomlin thrust his gloved hands through the double barrier port closest to the bleeding. He pulled up Tami’s gown to reveal the source of the blood, then groaned. The bacteria that had been decimating the tissues of her limbs now had eaten right through the femoral artery. If he didn’t act quickly, Tami would soon bleed out.

  But what could he do? Amputate? Cauterize? All her veins and arteries were in danger of this very thing as the hideous MRSA-II bacteria ate her alive. There wasn’t enough solid tissue there to patch or stitch or cauterize. There just wasn’t.

  So he did the only thing he could do for her. He held Tami’s hand for the few brief moments it took for what was left of her blood to drain from her body. The arterial flow became weaker and weaker as her heart gave up the fight.

  Nurse Simpson and Dr. Tomlin shared a quiet moment with bowed heads, then he said, “Have the body incinerated along with all the biohazard waste. Destroy it all.”

  Dr. Tomlin straightened up and clenched his jaw. Without another word, he stepped over to the next patient to see what, if anything, he could do.

  CHAPTER 8

  President Coleridge pressed a button at the side of his desk. All the flat-panel monitors went black simultaneously. He didn’t want any distractions during this meeting. He had to set the right tone—and he had to get results. Nothing else was an option.

  He mentally reviewed his proposal as he sat back in his chair and waited for his guests to arrive. He’d made his choices with care. Denali Labs was top dog in BigPharma right now. They seemed to have the Midas touch, and might very well be able to deliver something fast.

  Horton Drugs, on the other hand, was more of a long shot. In prior years, they’d been the ones to beat. Their performance since the company’s inception had been solid, stable—predictably good. But, for whatever reason, their ability to innovate seemed to have fallen by the wayside in recent years. Combine that with the on-fire performance of Denali, and Horton had been left behind like yesterday’s news.

  That meant they’d be hungry. They needed a blockbuster now, or they’d likely disappear from the map within another year or so, depending on what financial reserves they still had left from better times.

  He’d deliberated whether he should enlist mor
e participants to ensure success. But the fewer who knew about this plan, the better. Hopefully, his judgment had been sound. The security—even the survival—of the Homeland depended on it.

  A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. “Send them in.” He was anxious to get this plan moving.

  In stepped Dan Tremaine and Phil Horton. He knew them both from their publicity photos, but even if he hadn’t, he could have easily guessed which was which.

  Dan Tremaine stood erect and exhibited a somewhat haughty demeanor. He had an intelligent, almost conniving, look in his eye. Coleridge found his appearance irritating in its lack of deference, yet encouraging at the same time, given the stakes and the nature of his plan.

  Phil Horton, on the other hand, looked intimidated, almost lost. He looked like he wanted to shrink into the wallpaper as he cast furtive glances around the room. He gave the impression of someone incapable of bold, assertive action. Coleridge hoped he had more to bring to the table than it appeared.

  “Sit down, please. Let’s get right to it.” He steepled his fingers and waited as they both settled into their chairs and gave him their attention. “First, I don’t want any of this leaked to the press. You’ll understand why momentarily. You will share the minimum information necessary internally within your companies, but that’s all. I’m sure you’re both well aware of the MRSA-II outbreak, and the gravity of the situation. A cure must be found. That’s why you’re here.”

  Tremaine sat back and crossed his leg over his knee. Horton sat up straight, his eyes wide. His hands fidgeted on the arms of his chair.

  “We don’t have time for the usual market forces to act for BigPharma to find the cure, so I’ve selected you both for a competition. Whichever of your firms develops the cure for MRSA-II first will receive an exclusive, lucrative, government contract for the drug, and would retain the patent rights. I want to purchase the drug in volume and arrange for an optimized, fast-track rollout. Fees for FDA approval would be waived, and the federal government would bear all manufacturing and distribution costs. You can see why I don’t want this all over the news. If the public got wind that the government was this concerned, well, the panic would spiral out of control. Commerce and the markets are already taking huge hits.”

  Horton found his voice. Barely. “Why us, Mr. President?”

  “I need concentrated effort, and I don’t want to multiply the potential for leaks. Horton Drugs has a reputation for good products, but, well, not so much lately. You may be due for an important breakthrough, and the Homeland needs it now.” He nodded toward Tremaine. “And Denali’s been on a roll. I’m hedging my bets.”

  He stood to signal the end of the meeting. “I trust I’ve made myself clear. Good luck to both of you. Let me know as soon as you have something. I’ll be sure you each receive cultures of the MRSA-II bacteria to get started with.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Back in his office the next day, Phil Horton planned his response to the president’s challenge. He anticipated no problem keeping it under wraps. Horton Drugs didn’t have much to crow about these days, and he was happy to stay in the shadows until he was able to turn the company around—or not.

  But could they do it? That was the tougher question. They were head-to-head with only one other competitor. Unfortunately, Denali was one hell of a competitor to be up against. But if they succeeded, this could save the company. He had to give it the best shot possible.

  He would put his two best drug developers on it. Jerry Bennigan had been with Horton Drugs for nearly twenty-five years. He knew the ropes, and he’d been responsible for several major drug breakthroughs over the years. Just not lately. Sylvia Creston was newer, had been with the company maybe three years. She was younger, and trained in more modern techniques. Just back from her honeymoon, she should be rested and ready to tackle something new. Together, they should make a good pair for the project.

  Phil checked the time on the PortiComm on his left wrist. They were due to arrive in his office momentarily. He’d pulled the same trick as had the president, in scheduling a critical meeting and providing no advance information about the subject matter. He figured he’d better warn them about the secrecy of the project before he told them any details. That should keep the risk of leakage down from the get-go.

  Moments later, they arrived at his open door. He motioned to them. “Come in, sit down.”

  They both took their seats, each wearing a worried look. It occurred to Phil that, given even the public information concerning the state of the company’s finances, they might be expecting their pink slips. Jerry had a lot of seniority at stake, and Sylvia had just gotten married. He couldn’t blame them for being nervous, and his secrecy had undoubtedly compounded their anxiety, so he got right to business.

  “I have a new project for both of you. It’s critically important.” The worried looks eased somewhat. “First, I have to impress on you that this is highly confidential and word of it must not go outside the company.”

  They glanced at each other, then both nodded in agreement.

  “Good. Well, I’m sure you’re aware of the severity of the MRSA-II outbreak. I want you to find the cure, and I need you to do it as quickly as possible. The sample culture should arrive today, if it hasn’t already.”

  “Who’s sending the sample? Is someone sponsoring the work?” Jerry leaned forward in his chair, looking eager to get started.

  Phil briefly debated how much to tell them. The president had been adamant about secrecy, and the more he revealed, the greater the chance for a leak—whether accidental or on purpose. It would be truthful enough just to say this was an all-out effort to save the company—and conquer a terrible disease at the same time. He hesitated a moment more while he looked into their eyes. They deserved the truth.

  “This stays among us. The president called Dan Tremaine and me to the White House yesterday.”

  Sylvia sat upright with a startled look on her face, and Jerry muttered, “Wow.”

  Phil continued. “He put us in a direct—and very secret—competition with Denali Labs to come up with the cure. Whoever wins gets a massive government contract for the drug. So massive, that if we get there first, we save Horton Drugs for sure. If they get there first, I figure we’re probably looking at the end of the road. You’re the best I have. Good luck, for all our sakes.”

  “We’ll do our very best,” said Sylvia as she and Jerry stood to leave.

  “Thanks.”

  Once they were gone, Phil went over and closed his office door. Then he sat down at his desk, strangely exhausted from the brief meeting. He knew Horton was in serious trouble, but somehow uttering the words aloud to two of his staff made the dismal fact seem far more real.

  He rested his face in his hands. They just had to find the cure first.

  CHAPTER 10

  Still struggling to grasp what Phil had just told them, Jerry walked down the hall with Sylvia. He stopped and motioned toward an empty meeting room on their right. “Can we talk for a minute? Somehow, I’m not quite ready to head straight for the lab without thinking this through a little first.”

  “Sure. I know what you mean. I’m still blown away myself.”

  As they stepped inside, the room lights automatically came on, revealing unadorned white walls and a glass meeting table that could accommodate six. Jerry shut the door, then sat across the table from Sylvia. They both stared down at the table and, for a moment, neither spoke.

  Jerry blew out a breath and started. “Well, I never thought I’d have an assignment like this. The president. And a secret competition. Unreal.”

  “No kidding. He must be really concerned about the outbreak to do something like this. That can only mean the media must be downplaying the story.”

  “If that’s true, it must be really bad out there. I’d say we have our work cut out for us to tackle something like this. All I know about that pathogen right now is what I’ve gathered from the news reports.” He shrugged. “Feels like we’
re starting a race off our back foot.”

  “Well, it’s incredibly vicious. I know that much. We’ll need to employ the maximum security protocol to make sure it’s kept contained while we work on it. Frankly, it makes me a little nervous to work with it at all, but I suppose someone has to do it.”

  “I’ve studied a lot of pathogens over the years, but nothing quite like this one. We should review the security protocol and make damned sure it’s sufficient before we get started. We can’t risk exposure.”

  “Agreed. I wouldn’t mind taking extra precautions on this one.”

  “Of course, if we fail to find a cure, this could very well be our final project anyway. I think this is the last gasp for Horton Drugs.”

  Sylvia lowered her eyes and spoke in a soft voice. “Yeah. Seems like tough enough odds to start with, but competing against Denali, of all things. They’ve been unbeatable in the marketplace lately.” She sighed.

  Jerry looked away as he spoke. He didn’t want to reveal the true depth of his feelings for Horton Drugs. By his standards, that would be unprofessional. Just as unprofessional as revealing how he felt about Sylvia, now a married woman. “You know, I’ve been here a long time and things have sure changed a lot in that time. I was here back when Horton was the high flyer and there were more barriers to upstarts like Denali just suddenly appearing on the scene. Back when FDA approval had some teeth. Back when we had to run human trials before a drug could be approved.”