Later, she lined up a summer office job at a resort in the Poconos, where she wouldn’t know anyone. As the semester waned, her letters grew more frequent. During a visit back to the city between exams and starting her job, they ran into each other a few times at bars where their high school friends got together. In the absence of her college circle, Clare was once again appreciating the things about him that had attracted her to him in the first place. Or perhaps he was just an available emotional anchor to windward to keep her off the lee shore of a lonely summer.
Whatever the reason, soon she was getting into the city whenever she could and urging him to take a bus to visit her as well. And her letters became wonderful again.
Rereading them now, he recalled one night early in June during his first trip to visit her. They were lying on their backs in a field, gazing up at the moon, and she was telling him how glad she was they were seeing each other again. But he was thinking he was being a fool; he’d been here before and knew how that had ended. He came within a breath of saying that reconnecting was a mistake—that she shouldn’t take offense—but he had decided he didn’t want to get back together again.
But he didn’t, just as later on he never mailed the letter telling her not to communicate. Instead, he’d been weak, or indecisive, or hadn’t wanted to hurt her feelings. Maybe he just didn’t want to be alone again, no matter what it cost him down the line.
But the letters that summer were wonderful; letters that made his heart ache now to read after so many years of solitude. How could anyone have ever thought so much of him, seen such wonderful things? And then, suddenly, not?
When the dates between the letters began to lengthen again after her return to college, he knew enough to quit. He spent the rest of the flight staring out the window.
By the time he got off the plane, the BNN announcer on the TV screen in the gate area was reporting that confirmed or suspected cases of plague had been reported in almost every state except Hawaii and Alaska. And the first fatality had already occurred.
* * *
16
How Sick is that Doggie in the Window?
Frank, Marla, and Tim settled down in Marla’s apartment to watch an hour-long newscast on the epidemic that was overwhelming all other news. As the broadcast began, they saw a map of the United States over the news anchor’s shoulder, scattershot with red dots indicating the locations of the outbreaks. It gave the impression that the nation itself was covered with inflamed buboes.
Good evening, and welcome to this special broadcast on the unprecedented outbreak of bubonic plague that is gripping the United States and Europe. I’m sorry to report that the number of confirmed and suspected cases in the U.S. now stands at six hundred and forty-nine. Tragically, eighty-five individuals, most of them children, have succumbed to this terrible disease.
The camera panned out to reveal three guests sitting opposite the news anchor at his desk.
With us tonight are Dr. Clarence Trombley, assistant director for Domestic Incidents at the Center for Disease Control; Dennis Fairhaven, communications director for the Department of Homeland Security; and our regular terrorism commentator, retired Army Colonel Archie Brascom. Thank you all for joining us tonight.
Clearly, the country is badly shaken, and I know our viewers want to hear everything you can tell us about this latest terrible, terrible event. Dr. Trombley, let’s begin with you. What does the CDC know about where this epidemic came from?
Tom, I’m afraid we have no idea who’s responsible—yet—but as of just a few minutes before this broadcast, I am able to confirm that we do now know how it was spread.
Really? That’s breaking news. Before you tell us how, can you share with us the clue that solved the mystery for you?
Actually, there was nothing subtle or difficult about it; it just took a little longer for us to identify a particular subgroup of victims. Once that cohort was identified, the mode of transmission became obvious.
How so?
There’s one thing every area where an outbreak has been reported has in common: there’s a mall or other popular shopping area with a pet store near the center of infection—one of those that has puppies in the window and allows patrons to play with a dog they might want to purchase.
Dogs were getting sick at the same time that people were, but unlike humans, the effects of plague on dogs are mild. And it’s not at all unusual for something infectious to run through a pet store, so the canine outbreaks didn’t make the news. It wasn’t until we noticed that most of the first adults to contract the disease worked at pet stores that we learned about the dogs being sick. The pet store employees were the second subgroup of victims I just mentioned. Then everything fell into place.
So, Dr. Trombley, how were the dogs infected? And how could so many people become infected as well?
The answer to your second question is through fleabites.
Fleabites?
Yes. That’s been the traditional means of animal-to-human transmission since the disease first appeared in Europe during the Dark Ages. Fleas provide an efficient vector for transmission of disease, especially when an illness isn’t fatal to them, which is the case with plague. Throughout most of history, the mammalian vector was rats, which live in farms and towns everywhere and probably carried the plague to Europe to begin with when they came ashore from ships. In the current case, whoever is behind these outbreaks settled on dogs as a highly effective stand-in for rats, which thankfully aren’t as common around people as they used to be.
But how would the dogs have become infested with infected fleas?
We don’t know the precise details yet, but it’s easy to imagine many ways someone could introduce fleas to dogs in stores with no risk to themselves. You can imagine packages containing some sort of hollow chew toys, each filled with infected fleas, being sent by air from the source of the bacterium to agents across the U.S. Each toy would have a hole in it with a cap that would be easily dislodged as soon as a dog began playing with it. The packages would seem totally innocuous to customs inspectors.
Then what?
Then the terrorists could just drop a chew toy filled with infected fleas into a window display area with four or five dogs, and the result would be inevitable. Pet stores usually rotate dogs through the window display, so dozens of dogs would become infected before the pet store owner realized it had a flea problem that needed addressing. Every time a child picked up a dog, there would be a very good chance that one or more fleas would jump onto her.
What a horrible image. So there you have it—and you’re hearing it first right here on BNN. Please stay with us while we take a short commercial break.
“That’s hideous!” Marla exclaimed. “What type of monster would even think of such a thing?”
“I guess the same kind of monster that would fly passenger jets into the World Trade Center or drown thousands of people in tunnels,” Tim replied.
“Yes, of course, but still. I just can’t believe this. What kind of attack will they launch next?”
“How can you know when you never could have imagined this one? Anyway, the news is back. Let’s hear what else they’ve figured out.”
Dr. Trombley, where would someone get plague bacteria to begin with?
Unfortunately, plague is still endemic in a number of places around the world, especially in Africa. For example, there’s been an annual outbreak in Madagascar for several years now. It’s even commonly found in some prairie dog towns in the American Southwest.
Really? Mr. Fairhaven, let me turn to you now. Does the Department of Homeland Security have any idea yet who is behind this appalling act of terrorism?
No, we don’t, at least with any degree of certainty. As Dr. Trombley noted, the bacterium itself can be harvested from many sources. It’s possible that we may be able to identify that source b
y matching the DNA of the bacteria in the current outbreak to existing records at the appropriate point source, but all that will tell us is where it came from, not who harvested the fleas. Or who sent them into this country.
But you must at least have a short list of enemies with the motive and ability to do something like this?
Of course, although it’s worth recalling that it doesn’t appear that the anthrax attacks after 9/11 were launched by anyone that was on the equivalent list drawn up back then.
But surely, this must be the act of a large and sophisticated terrorist group? And coming so soon after the New York attack, wouldn’t the Caliphate be at the top of the suspect list?
Yes, of course. But even then, we need to be careful not to jump to conclusions. It could be another enemy, like North Korea, anxious to distract us while they plan some other mischief. Or it could be a different terrorist group entirely, possibly one competing with the Caliphate.
As to the size and sophistication of the organization, we believe as few as ten people could have contaminated all of the pet stores, based on the timing of the first reported infections. It would only take someone fifteen minutes to park a car, walk to the pet store, drop whatever it was that held the infected fleas into a play area or cage, and walk back to their car. The rest would just be driving time. One person could have infected all of the New England states in less than two days.
That said, due to the sophistication of the attack, we do expect the answer will be that the perpetrators are from a nation state or a very well-organized terrorist group.
Indeed. Setting aside the who for the moment, let’s talk about the why—why would anyone want to start a plague epidemic?
Whoever is behind this almost certainly chose plague as much for the fear factor as for the ease with which it could be transmitted via fleas and infected dogs. Everyone has heard horrible stories since childhood about the black plague, so it’s the most dreaded disease a terrorist could pick. And the fact that they hit every one of the lower forty-eight states, and every country in Europe, would certainly seem to indicate that their primary goal was to make sure that no one, anywhere, can feel safe.
Before Fairhaven could continue, the anchor held one hand up and pressed the other against his ear.
My apologies, Mr. Fairhaven, but I’ve just been told that a spokesman for the Caliphate is about to make a statement. Let’s cut right now to a feed from our crack news team on location.
The scene changed to a now-familiar setting. The large and euphoric crowd in the dusty square roared with approval when Foobar’s spokesman claimed credit for the latest attack. And once again, he promised that there would be far worse to come.
* * *
Frank was meeting with Hermann Koontz when he felt the phone in his pocket vibrate. Half a minute later, it vibrated again, and an email alert opened in the corner of his laptop screen. The subject line said Call me—Urgent. He interrupted Koontz in mid-sentence.
“Excuse me, Hermann, I’ve got to make a call. Something’s up at home.” He ducked out of Koontz’s office and pressed the speed dial button on his phone. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, thank goodness, you’re free. I tried to call you and was sent straight to voicemail.”
“So I’m here—tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s Grandma. I just got a call from the home. An ambulance just took her to the hospital. They think it’s the plague.”
“The plague! How in heaven’s name could she have gotten infected?”
“It must have been Lilly. She went to the groomer just when the first cases were being reported. She must have picked up the fleas from another dog.”
“Oh my God. I never expected this.” He tried to think what to do. “I’d better go to her right away.”
“I want to go, too.”
“Where are you?”
“On campus.”
“Okay. I’ll meet you at your place, and we’ll leave from there.”
“All right. I’ll be waiting.”
He rapped on Hermann’s open door. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be in touch.”
“Is everything okay?”
“No. I’ll fill you in later.”
He caught a cab on the street, and fifteen minutes later, he was at Marla’s apartment, where he found her waiting at the curb with a small suitcase.
“I threw some things together for both of us in case we decide to stay someplace overnight. I told Tim I thought just you and I should go to the hospital and that we might stay the night. Where are you parked?”
Huh! He’d dashed out of the office without even thinking to tell Tim what was going on.
“Around the corner.”
He took the suitcase from her and led her to the beat-up, secondhand car he rarely used.
“Do you know which hospital they took her to?”
“Yes; I guess they’ve designated specific hospitals for all the plague cases to go to. Here—I’ve already mapped it.” She handed him her phone.
“Did they say what her condition was?”
“Pretty bad. They think she may have been sick for several days.”
“Several days! How could that happen?”
“You know Grandma. She probably didn’t want people fussing over her. When she didn’t show up for an activity she’d signed up for, they called to see if she was okay, and when she didn’t answer, they let themselves in to her apartment and found her in bed. They said she wasn’t too coherent.”
My God, he thought. How long had it been since he’d called her?
* * *
“My name is Frank Adversego. We’re here to see my mother, Doreen Adversego. Can you tell us what room she’s in?” Frank shifted uneasily from one foot to the other as he waited for the person behind the desk to tap the name into her computer.
She found the entry and frowned. “I’m sorry, Mr. Adversego. She’s in isolation. I’m afraid you won’t be able to visit with her until they’ve determined which type of the disease she has.”
“Which type?”
“Yes. There are three different kinds. The rarest of the three is contagious, and until they’ve completed a sputum test, she’ll be under quarantine.”
“Do you have any idea how long that will take?”
“I don’t. But we’ve set up an area on the fourth floor for the families of plague patients. Someone up there will be able to give you more information than I can. Take one of the elevators over there, and then just follow the blue stripe on the wall until you reach a lounge.”
“Thank you very much.”
Marla took his hand as they navigated the bustle of the lobby toward the elevators. When they reached the lounge, they saw that only a few chairs were empty. Some people were reading magazines or watching the TV on the wall, while others were simply staring vacantly ahead, their faces drawn and anxious. A hospital staffer sat behind a window in one wall.
“Hi, we’re the family of Doreen Adversego. Can you tell me what her condition is?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t, but I’ll see if someone can come out and tell you how’s she’s doing.”
“Do you know how long that might be?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t. But I’m sure someone will see you just as soon as they can.”
“Come on, Dad. Let’s take a seat.”
He followed her to the last pair of side-by-side chairs available, facing the TV, where someone was talking about the epidemic. It was still getting worse.
It seemed like forever before someone in scrubs entered the room and called their names. They stood and met her in the middle of the room.
“Hi. I’m Doctor Franzen. Let’s go in here.” They followed her into one of the small rooms that lined one side of the lounge.
“H
ow is she doing?”
“We started her on intravenous antibiotics as soon as she was admitted. She’s running a very high fever—over one hundred and four degrees—but it hasn’t risen since she was admitted. I’m hoping it will start going down by tomorrow.”
“Downstairs they said something about a sputum test. Are the results back yet?”
“Yes, and we’ve also gotten back her blood work. The good news is that she doesn’t have pneumonic plague—that’s the deadliest and fastest-acting type. From what I read on the chart, she’s been symptomatic for several days. If she’d had that type of the disease, we probably would have lost her by now. And she doesn’t have septicemic plague. That’s good, too, because that can lead to gangrene and the loss of fingers and toes. But she’s had the last kind—bubonic—for longer than we like before she started receiving treatment, and that’s bad. We should have a better idea tomorrow how she’s going to do.”
“Does that mean we can see her?”
“Yes, they’ve moved her out of the isolation unit, but you won’t able to talk to her. I stopped by her room before I came out here, and she’s sleeping, which is exactly what I want her to be doing as much as she can.”
“That’s fine. I understand. Can we go back there now?”
“Sure. I’ll show you where her room is.”
They followed the doctor onto the ward.
“She’s down that hall in room four-eighteen.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“Of course. I’m afraid I can’t say don’t worry, but I can tell you we’ve got a fine group of doctors and nurses here, and we’ll do everything we can to make your mother as comfortable as possible and to get her through this.”
They walked down the hall, glimpsing the families of patients through the open doors, standing or sitting by beds. From some rooms, they could hear the sound of television programs and conversations, but from others, there was only deathly silence. Through one doorway, they heard a feeble voice moaning in a way that made the hairs on the back of Frank’s neck rise.
The Doodlebug War Page 16
