THE NIGHTMARE
SCENARIO
BY
GUNNAR DUVSTIG
Copyright © 2014 Gunnar Duvstig
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1500612839
ISBN 13: 9781500612832
To the brave, highly skilled and
committed men and women
who dedicate their lives
to fight pandemic disease
and
in memoriam
Anna Porshag,
whose story this really is
Recent stories of pandemics in books and movies have been based more on fantasies than medical realism.
That is unfortunate, as reality is more frightening
than all that fiction.
What follows is what we really fear.
This is the nightmare scenario.
CONTENTS
INTROITUS: (Introduction)
28 TH OF JUNE, MIDDAY, PAPUA PROVINCE, EASTERN INDONESIA
PRIMORIS CONTACTUS: (First contact)
JULY 8TH, DINNERTIME, THE REFORM CLUB, 104 PALL MALL, LONDON
JULY 8TH, AROUND 10 PM, 18 KENSINGTON SQUARE, FORMER RESIDENCE OF JOHN STUART MILL
JULY 10TH, 6 AM, STRATEGIC HEALTH AND OPERATIONS CENTRE, WHO HEADQUARTERS, GENEVA
JULY 10TH, 10 PM, JAKARTA AIRPORT, INDONESIA
JULY 14TH, 10 AM, CDC HEADQUARTERS, ATLANTA, GEORGIA
ITA INFIT: (And so it begins)
JULY 28TH, FINALE OF THE SECOND ACT, LA SCALA, MILAN, ITALY
SIMULTANEOUSLY, CDC HEADQUARTERS, ATLANTA, GEORGIA
JULY 29TH, 8 AM, 63 IZMAYLOVSKY PROSPEKT, MOSCOW
JULY 29TH, 9 AM, WHO HEADQUARTERS, GENEVA
JULY 29TH, DAWN, THE MARRIOTT HOTEL, ATLANTA, GEORGIA
JULY 29TH, 9 AM, CDC HEADQUARTERS, ATLANTA, GEORGIA
JULY 29TH, 3 PM, LOBBY, WHO HEADQUARTERS, GENEVA
DIUS PRETERITUS: (Of days past)
SEVEN YEARS EARLIER, OCTOBER 9TH, 9 AM, BAGGAGE CLAIM, BALTIMORE WASHINGTON AIRPORT
TWO HOURS LATER, WHITE HOUSE SITUATION ROOM, WASHINGTON D.C.
EQIUTAT IN PESTILENTIA: (Pestilence rides in)
JULY 30TH, MORNING MEETING, DIRECTOR-GENERAL’S OFFICE, WHO HEADQUARTERS, GENEVA
JULY 30TH, SUNSET, PRIVATE JET INBOUND FOR BABULLAH AIRPORT, TERNATE, MALUKU ISLANDS, EASTERN INDONESIA
JULY 30TH, 7 PM, 63 IZMAYLOVSKY PROSPEKT, MOSCOW
JULY 30TH, 3 PM, SHOC, WHO HEADQUARTERS, GENEVA
JULY 30TH, MIDFLIGHT, SINGAPORE AIRLINES FLIGHT SQ21 FROM NEWARK TO SINGAPORE
JULY 30TH, 5 PM, DIRECTOR-GENERAL’S OFFICE, WHO HEADQUARTERS, GENEVA
AUGUST 1ST, AFTER MIDNIGHT, SHOC, WHO HEADQUARTERS, GENEVA
AUGUST 3RD, JUST BEFORE SUNSET, DISTRICT HOSPITAL, TERNATE, MALUKU ISLANDS, EASTERN INDONESIA
AUGUST 3RD, 3PM, THE MEN’S ROOM, WHO HEADQUARTERS, GENEVA
AUGUST 2ND, 10 AM, THE WHITE HOUSE SITUATION ROOM, WASHINGTON D.C.
NUNC IN MONDO: (Now for the world)
AUGUST 4TH, 7 PM, MAKESHIFT CAMP, MARE, MALUKU ISLANDS, EASTERN INDONESIA
AUGUST 5TH, 8 AM, WHO MANAGEMENT FLOOR CORRIDOR, GENEVA
AUGUST 5TH, 5 PM, SHOC, WHO HEADQUARTERS, GENEVA
AUGUST 6TH, 10 AM, DISTRICT HOSPITAL, TERNATE, MALUKU ISLANDS, EASTERN INDONESIA
AUGUST 6TH, 9 AM, WHO HEADQUARTERS, GENEVA
AUGUST 6TH, 8 PM, MAKESHIFT CAMP, MARE, MALUKU ISLANDS, EASTERN INDONESIA
AUGUST 7TH, 9 AM, DIRECTOR-GENERAL’S OFFICE, WHO HEADQUARTERS, GENEVA
AUGUST 8TH, 8 AM, INFECTIOUS DISEASE WARD, HOSPITAL KUALA LUMPUR, MALAYSIA
AUGUST 8TH, 3 AM, AEOLUS RESIDENCE, LAUSANNE
AUGUST 8TH, 5 PM, GENERAL ASSEMBLY PLENARY HALL, UN HEADQUARTERS, NEW YORK
AUGUST 8TH, 9 PM, OUTSIDE THE OVAL OFFICE, THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON D.C.
INITIUM FINIS: (The beginning of the end)
AUGUST 10TH, 4 PM, WHO REGIONAL OFFICE, MAHATARNA GANDHI MARG, NEW DELHI
AUGUST 10TH, 11 A.M., SHOC, WHO HEADQUARTERS, GENEVA
AUGUST 10TH, 6 P.M., FISHING VILLAGE, THREE MILES DOWNRIVER FROM HKA-U-IN, MAGWE PROVINCE, MYANMAR
AUGUST 10TH LUNCHTIME, SHOC, WHO HEADQUARTERS, GENEVA
AUGUST 11TH, MORNING, AEOLUS’S SUITE, WHO REGIONAL OFFICE, 22, SHAM NATH MARG, NEW DELHI
WHO SITUATION UPDATE REPORT: A/Singapore/4/2015(H1N1) – 2015/08/12
AUGUST 12TH, LATE AFTERNOON, MAIN LAB, DIRECTORATE FOR DISEASE CONTROL, JAKARTA, INDONESIA
WHO SITUATION UPDATE REPORT: A/Singapore/4/2015(H1N1) – 2015/08/13
AUGUST 13TH, SOMETIME DURING THE NIGHT, AEOLUS’S SUITE, WHO REGIONAL OFFICE, SHAM NATH MARG, NEW DELHI
WHO SITUATION UPDATE REPORT: A/Singapore/4/2015(H1N1) – 2015/08/14
AUGUST 16TH, END OF LUNCH, THE VECTOR INSTITUTE, KOLTSOVO, NOVOSIBIRSK OBLAST, RUSSIA
AUGUST 16TH 5 PM, LOCAL BBC OFFICE, JALAN IMAM BONJOL 80, JAKARTA, INDONESIA
MALUM QUOD HOMINES FACUIT: (The evil that men do)
AUGUST 18TH, MIDMORNING, DIRECTOR-GENERAL’S OFFICE, WHO HEADQUARTERS, GENEVA
AUGUST 18TH, 9 AM, THE WHITE HOUSE BASEMENT LEVEL, WASHINGTON D.C.
AUGUST 19TH, 12 AM, 10 MILES NORTH OF CHOUCH’ON VILLAGE, CHAGANG PROVINCE, NORTH KOREA
POSTREMO AGMINE PRAESIDO: (The last line of defense)
AUGUST 20TH, SUNRISE, WESTBOUND, OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN
AUGUST 20TH, END OF DAYSHIFT, QUARANTINE ZONE, WHO REGIONAL OFFICE, SHAM NATH MARG, NEW DELHI
AUGUST 20TH, 1 P.M., GENERAL ASSEMBLY PLENARY HALL, UN HEADQUARTERS, NEW YORK
AUGUST 20TH, MIDNIGHT, OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR, WHO REGIONAL OFFICE, SHAM NATH MARG, NEW DELHI
AUGUST 21ST, 5 P.M., AEOLUS’S TEMPORARY OFFICE, OLD EXECUTIVE OFFICE BUILDING, WASHINGTON D.C.
AUGUST 21ST, 10 A.M., H1N1 WAR ROOM, OLD EXECUTIVE OFFICE BUILDING, WASHINGTON D.C.
AUGUST 21ST, 2 P.M., AEOLUS’S TEMPORARY OFFICE, OLD EXECUTIVE OFFICE BUILDING, WASHINGTON D.C.
AUGUST 21ST, 3 P.M., CORNER OF PENNSYLVANIA AVENUE AND 17TH STREET, WASHINGTON D.C.
AUGUST 21ST, 4 P.M., 1869 BRENTWOOD ROAD, ABINGTON, PHILADELPHIA SUBURB, PENNSYLVANIA
AUGUST 22ND, 5 A.M., PRESIDENTIAL SUITE, FOUR SEASONS, 2800 PENNSYLVANIA AVENUE, WASHINGTON D.C.
AUGUST 22ND, 3 P.M., WIND MOBILE NETWORK OPERATIONS CENTER, ATHENS
AUGUST 22ND, 10 A.M., THE SITUATION ROOM, PRESIDENTIAL BUNKER TWO, UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
UT VETERA VINCULA RUMPERE: (As old bonds break)
AUGUST 22ND, 4 P.M., PATIENT WARD, WHO REGIONAL OFFICE, SHAM NATH MARG, NEW DELHI
AUGUST 23RD, 10 A.M., THE SITUATION ROOM, PRESIDENTIAL BUNKER TWO, UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
AUGUST 23RD, 4 P.M., HIGHWAY 159, SOUTH-WEST-BOUND, NEARING TARLTON, OHIO
AUGUST 23RD, 5 P.M., AEOLUS QUARTERS, PRESIDENTIAL BUNKER TWO, UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
AUGUST 22ND, 4 P.M., PATIENT WARD, WHO REGIONAL OFFICE, SHAM NATH MARG, NEW DELHI
AUGUST 22ND, 3 P.M., VIA APPIA ANTICA, SOUTHEAST BOUND, ROME
AUGUST 24TH, MIDDAY, INTERSTATE 95, SOUTH CAROLINA STATE BORDER, EN ROUTE TO COLUMBIA
AUGUST 24TH, NOON, AEOLUS’S QUARTERS, PRESIDENTIAL BUNKER TWO, UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
AUGUST 24TH, 5 P.M., 107 OAKLEY STREET, KNIGHTSBRIDGE, LONDON
AUGUST 24TH, AFTERNOON, THE SITUATION ROOM, PRESIDENTIAL BUNKER TWO, UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
AUGUST 24TH, 6 P.M., CHURCH OF THE SEVENTH SEAL, BOISE, IDAHO
AUGUST 25TH, LATE MORNING, WILLIAM LANE’S MOUNTAIN CABIN, MONTANA
AUGUST 25TH, MIDNIGHT, CORRIDOR TO LIVING QUARTERS, PRESIDENTIAL BUNKER TWO, UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
AUGUST 26TH, END OF DAILY MORNING SERVICE, MARIENKIRCHE, KARL-LIEBKNECHT-STRAßE, BERLIN
SIMULTANEOUSLY, 7 RUE LACHARRIÈRE, PAR
IS
AUGUST 26TH, 8 A.M., THE SITUATION ROOM, PRESIDENTIAL BUNKER TWO, UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
REQUIEM AETERNAM: (Eternal rest)
AUGUST 27TH, 8 A.M., EN ROUTE TO WILLIAM LANE’S MOUNTAIN CABIN COMPOUND, MONTANA
AUGUST 27TH, SUNSET, CATHOLIC MISSION OF THE SERVANT SISTERS OF ST JOSEPH, PAPUA PROVINCE, INDONESIA
AUGUST 27TH, MIDDAY, INTERSTATE 94, NORTHWEST BOUND FROM MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA
AUGUST 27TH, DINNERTIME, KENSINGTON SQUARE, LONDON
PHOENIX ORTUS: (Phoenix rising)
EPILOGUE
THREE YEARS LATER, MIDDAY, PAPUA PROVINCE, EASTERN INDONESIA
NOTA AUCTORIS: (Author’s note)
UOCABILARIUS: (Glossary)
Organizations
Medical Terminology
INTROITUS
(Introduction)
28TH OF JUNE, MIDDAY, PAPUA PROVINCE, EASTERN INDONESIA
Rosalinda Mendez, or “Sister Rosa” as she was known to her fellow nuns, cherished the sound of crickets humming along with the buzz of her scooter as she rode down the small dirt trail. It made her feel close to nature. It made her feel close to God.
As usual on Wednesdays she was on her way for her visit to one of the remote villages of the Asmat tribe. The small village didn’t have much contact with the rest of the world. Nowadays they had some of the basic conveniences of modern life, like T-shirts and other western clothing items, but they preferred their old ways, and they preferred to be left alone.
They accepted Rosalinda though. They had become accustomed to her visits and the simple goods she brought, like matches or blankets, and most importantly, the way she cared for the sick. She always made a point of ensuring the medicine man received the credit for her cures. Yet it was clear to the villagers that for all the medicine man’s powers, Rosalinda was helping him somehow, and they appreciated her for it.
She had joined the order at a young age, having been brought in as a child from the streets of Manila, finding a kind of peace and tranquility she had never known before in the strict routines of the convent. As she grew older, she heard the calling to spread the blessings of Christianity. She became a missionary.
God led her to Indonesia, or more precisely, the Eastern Papua province. The Papua area had several indigenous tribes, with little or no contact with the Western world, and as such they were untouched by the decadence that followed with it. She arrived in hope that these people would be more open to salvation than the busy inner-city dwellers of the bustling metropolises, sprawling around the world.
Gaining access to the villages had proven difficult. The Asmati were suspicious by nature. She finally found a way in when she read about the Nobel Laureate Carlton Gajdusek’s work on curbing Kuru disease among the South Fore tribes in Papua New Guinea. The way in was through the children. She camped away from the tribe, befriending the children running around outside the village by playing with them and offering them treats. Once she entered the village, surrounded by cheering children like a Pied Piper of Hamelin in reverse, the elders recognized that she was not bringing demons to their homes.
She had, however, quickly given up hope of converting the tribes. They had their own ways and were not open to changing them. Though disappointed at first, she later came to accept it. She was helping them have a better life. Surely, she was still doing God’s work.
As she approached the outskirts of the village, she noticed that something was wrong, very wrong. The village was silent. There were no children playing outside the huts. The children were always playing, running about, giggling and screaming with excitement.
She skipped off her scooter and took off toward the nearest hut. What she found when she entered shocked her cold. On the mud floor laid a family: father, mother and child, completely immobile, as if dead. She bent down and felt for a pulse but found none.
With rising fear and a racing heart, she ran out and into the next hut. A similar scene faced her: mother lying completely still, embracing her young son. This time, she didn’t bother to feel for a pulse. The compact stench of rotting flesh that hit her as she entered the hut was proof enough. The deeper into the village she went, the more powerful the ammonia-like smell. Her eyes watered and she had to cover her nose with her veil to prevent herself from gagging.
She broke into a run, peering into hut after hut. It was the same scene everywhere. Dead. All dead. What curse had struck down on these innocent people?
She forced herself onward, head spinning.
When she reached the center, where the villagers would gather around the fire at night, she suddenly heard a faint sobbing from a hut to her left. She pushed aside the straw door and entered the darkness. Right inside the door was another body, still and rigid.
She located the source of the sound. A young child, no more than three years old, was curled up in a corner, arms clutched around his knees. Next to him was a pile of green mangos, half of them eaten, and a cauldron filled with water. Judging by the amount of mango skins, the mother must have been dead for days, her last act, before strength had left her, having been to gather supplies for her son.
Sister Rosa picked up the boy and held him in her arms, rocking him and gently patting his back in an attempt to calm him. It took three lullabies and many soothing words of reassurance before the young child gradually calmed down.
With the boy in her arms, she continued her walk around the village, moving from hut to hut in search of other survivors. She found three: the elderly medicine man, a young woman and her husband, all crammed into a single hut. They were all running high fevers, cringing in pain, lying in their own vomit. A nurse by training, she immediately started to do what she could, administering what little medicine she had with her, antibiotics and painkillers to lower the fever.
She’d seen terminally ill patients before, but never anything quite like this. The condition of the medicine man reminded her of those elderly patients for whom the seasonal influenza led to death by pneumonia. The young woman though, with those dark discolorations around her neck, she didn’t know what to make of. They were clearly sick, but from what? What in the Lord’s name could wipe out a whole village? It was unheard of.
She found her satellite phone and dialed the monastery.
“Sister Mona,” she said in an unsteady voice, “please, listen carefully. I need to relay a message to the WHO office in Jakarta.”
PRIMORIS
CONTACTUS
(First contact)
JULY 8TH, DINNERTIME, THE REFORM CLUB, 104 PALL MALL, LONDON
Dr. Aeolus Pentecost Hughes could not believe his bad luck. He came to the Reform Club for peace and quiet, and, more importantly, stimulating conversation, something which was nearly always guaranteed at the members’ table. Today, however, he had been seated next to Jean-Pierre, an – in Aeolus’s mind – singularly annoying Frenchman. Jean-Pierre was a reciprocal member from some club in Paris, whom Aeolus had come across once or twice before. He was fiercely nationalistic, Anglophobic even, and obnoxiously so. Still, he was sitting at the members’ table and the club rules were unequivocal on this point – everyone at the members’ table should be invited into the conversation.
“Take shirts for instance,” Jean-Pierre went on, “there is no shirt maker in England that can compare to the quality and panache of what Charvet makes in Paris. Did you know that they offer two hundred shades of white in their stock of cloth?”
Aeolus raised his glass, appreciating the wine’s color under the warm light of the crystal chandeliers. It had a tint of orange you would not generally expect from a Bordeaux.
“Yes, actually I did,” he responded, “but I have never really understood the necessity for it.”
Jean-Pierre lifted his own glass, mimicking Aeolus’s inspection, and continued. “Ah, you Americans have no sense of style. It is just not part of your barbaric nature. Look at you for instance. What is that? Turnbull & Asser?” Jean-Pierre said with a tone of smug superiority.
Aeolus
slowly set down his glass. Steadying his hand, trembling from frustration, required his full concentration. He responded in a tone as matter-of-factly as he could manage, given his exasperation: “Yes, indeed it is. And I think there’s a case to be made for them, considering they have had among their customers most of the European royalty, all the Bond actors and every movie star of significance during the Golden Era. Even you must agree that Fred Astaire looked good in his shirts?”
“Well, I’ll give you that, but then you must concede that French clothing is superior in many other areas. Take Dimitri Gomez bespoke shoes or Hermès ties, for instance.”
“Frankly, I am not ecstatic about Hermès ties. I, along with many heads of state, including most of the American presidents, prefer Marinella. Your own Hermès tie, for instance, is a tad too slim for my taste.”
“You know what they say. Fashion today is toward the tiny,” Jean-Pierre answered with a grin, scooping up a spoonful of pumpkin soup and slurping it down with sound much to loud to be appropriate for the environment.
Aeolus shifted uncomfortably in his chair and thought to himself: “well, in that case, you must have the most fashionable brain in London”, while hearing himself respond, as if from a distance: “But the Hermès pocket squares are without equal. I can’t argue with that. The silk is of unbeatable quality, and the hand-rolled edges are craftsmanship at its finest.” He hoped that this concession would end the debate and, at least for a moment, silence the Frenchman.
“Et, voilà! Finally we agree on something! Let’s celebrate with a glass of digestif – Armagnac; another fantastic product of French heritage.”
As if in answer to Aeolus’s silent prayers, the maître d’ came up behind him and gently tapped his shoulder.
“Dr. Hughes, there’s a telephone call for you, sir.”
Aeolus picked up the starched linen napkin from his lap and dabbed the corners of his mouth. He gave a small sigh of relief. “Well, adieu, Jean-Pierre. Until we meet again…”
He rose as the maître d’ pulled out his chair. Looking down at Jean-Pierre from his imposing height of six-foot-five, grabbed his cane and gave the Frenchman a courteous nod.
The Nightmare Scenario Page 1
