Viral Misery (Book 1)

by Watson, Thomas A

  Tossing the bags on the conveyor, Sutton walked through the metal detector only to hear it buzz. “Just let him through!” a voice shouted and Sutton turned and saw Paterson, the Secretary of Homeland, charging down the hall.

  “Sir, we have to scan everyone,” one of the guards said, pulling out a metal detecting wand.

  “The day you wand me, by the next day you’ll be taking orders at a drive-thru window,” Paterson snapped, walking over and grabbing the bags off the conveyor belt. When the guards went to speak, Paterson raised his hand and stopped them. “Keep on, and the only job you will be able to get will be cleaning porta potties at a county fair.”

  Both guards clamped their mouths shut as Paterson handed Sutton his bags. “Come on,” Paterson said, spinning around and walking briskly away. Keeping up with Paterson’s power walk, Sutton almost had to jog.

  Leading him to the conference room, Paterson nodded at agents standing outside the door and they held it open. When Sutton walked in, he found the room was packed and almost every person was on a phone talking. Walking to the end of the table he sighed with relief, seeing Jackson, the Surgeon General was sitting next to him.

  Dropping his bags, Sutton started pulling out bound reports and Paterson grabbed some and tossed them in front of people as he walked to his chair. “Yeah, they understand now,” Jackson said, hanging up his phone. “Your team finish the last numbers?”

  “Yeah,” Sutton groaned, handing a stack of reports to Jackson who took one and passed it down. Grabbing the other tote, Sutton pulled out several folders to set at his spot and then pulled out a laptop.

  “How much longer do you need, Dr. Sutton?” the President shouted out and Sutton looked down at the other end of the table to see the president holding his hand over the bottom of his phone.

  “Just a few more minutes, Mr. President,” Sutton answered, turning his computer on. As he sat down, Jackson plugged in a monitor cable to Sutton’s laptop.

  Arranging his stuff around his laptop, Sutton glanced up to see people ending calls and grabbing notepads. He was shocked to see several already reading the report he had just passed out. “Anytime you’re ready, Dr. Sutton,” the President said, hanging up his phone.

  “Yes sir,” Sutton said, tapping his keyboard. “As many of you are aware, we have confirmed cases in nineteen major cities inside the United States,” Sutton reported.

  “How many confirmed cases?” someone asked.

  “As of nine this morning, we have one hundred and four here in the US,” Sutton answered, looking up for who had spoken.

  “That was from me,” Temple, the Secretary of Treasury said and Sutton turned to him. “That seems like a low number, so we can stop worrying, right?”

  “No, sir,” Sutton huffed. “That’s a terrifying number. We are still testing another three thousand, four hundred some odd samples. We are expecting another two thousand to be delivered today.”

  Everyone turned to look down the table at Sutton. “Let me clarify, we went from one in LA to sixteen the next day,” Sutton said, tapping the keyboard and a map of the US popped up on screens around the room with the nineteen cities marked in red. “The next day, forty-seven and the day after that, two hundred and nine,” Sutton said glumly.

  “We can’t keep a lid on this much longer,” Paterson groaned, looking back down at the report.

  “I’m surprised you have been able to keep it off the major news stations this long,” Sutton admitted.

  “How is a vaccine coming?” the President asked.

  Sutton looked up with a long face. “Very slowly,” he answered. “The virus is lethal to chickens, so we have to breed off chickens that are immune until we get some that can lay eggs that we can then use to develop a vaccine. Chickens have a higher mortality than we do at ninety-five percent, but they don’t always pass that immunity on in their DNA.”

  “Whoa,” a woman shouted out, holding up her hand. “What is the mortality for humans?” she asked, dropping her hand down and started flipping through the report.

  “Ninety percent without medical help,” Sutton informed her and there were many gasps around the table.

  Leaning toward Sutton, “That’s Ginger Stringer, Secretary of Health and Human Services,” Jackson whispered, then turned to the table. “Everyone, let me clarify,” Jackson said. “By ‘medical help’, everyone has to be placed on a ventilator to breathe for the patient. I’ve talked to several doctors who have and are currently caring for the patients, and they are telling me about pulling liters of fluid from the lungs of those infected in hours.”

  “So we are able to treat them?” the President asked.

  Turning to Sutton, Jackson nodded. “Yes, we can treat them, Mr. President, but even with medical care over eighty percent still die. Medical care only improves your chance of survival slightly,” Sutton reported and the president slumped down in his chair.

  “Tell us what you can about this virus but please remember, we aren’t doctors,” the President sighed.

  Tapping his keyboard, everyone saw dark rods on the screens around the room. “This is our killer, but it’s not like any H5N1 we’ve ever seen. This one is designated A/duck/Hong Kong-China/RU-8/22(H5N1). When this is over I can tell you, there will be an H5α classification added,” Sutton said, looking around the table. “I won’t bore you with the details on the structure, but this is unlike any H5N1 anyone even dreamed of.”

  “We’ve traced it to a village 100km northeast of Hong Kong,” Sutton said, looking down at his notes. “We thought a Lei Wei was patient zero, but he wasn’t. There were six others in the village infected before him but it was Mr. Wei’s son, Zhang Wei, who delivered it out of the small village. Zhang is a senior executive for Tong Shipping and there was an annual board meeting of the top thirty executives,” Sutton stopped and tapped his keyboard. Everyone turned to the screens and saw cities around the world light up.

  “These are where the executives came from and that is the outbreak points for each country. We have confirmed on…,” Sutton paused, looking at his notes again. “Yes, Mr. James Taylor, who was mentioned at the last meeting was there, and we’ve tracked down people on his flight. By the time he reached London, Mr. Taylor infected over eighty people. But one day after returning from China, Mr. James Taylor flew to the US, Mexico, Brazil, and Spain in forty-eight hours and then returned back to London.”

  “How is it spread?”

  Watching Sutton glance around the table for the speaker, the President spoke up. “If you haven’t talked to Dr. Sutton before, announce who you are when you ask a question.”

  “Sorry,” a man said. “Winston Vander, Secretary of Commerce.”

  Looking at Vander, “Airborne and droplets, or what most call contact,” Sutton answered.

  “I’ve heard all kinds of contagious periods, can you clarify?” Vander asked.

  “Incubation is thirty to forty-eight hours after contact, but the problem is the host doesn’t show any symptoms for seven to ten days with six days being the mean,” Sutton answered and then sighed. “But in that time, they are spreading it.”

  “What are the symptoms?” Stringer asked.

  “First is an itchy nose and sneezing. That usually shows up two days before onset of a very mild fever, followed by cough days later,” Sutton said, taking a deep breath. “When the coughing starts, the patient’s lungs start filling with fluid. Death usually occurs six to twenty-four hours later.”

  “Oh, fuck,” someone cried out.

  “I said a lot more than that,” Sutton nodded, tapping his computer and the screens filled with equations. “These are all the mathematical models and I’ve explained them, starting on page seventy in the report I passed out.”

  Everyone started tearing open their report booklets as Sutton continued. “We will be in full pandemic levels in less than a month.”

  “Um, can you clarify ‘pandemic levels’?” Paterson asked, looking at the report.

  Thinking for a se
cond, “Millions infected with hundreds of thousands dead,” Sutton told him.

  Paterson dropped the report on the table and then flopped back in his chair. “Dr. Sutton,” the President called out and Sutton looked up the table at him. “Would those interventions you spoke of last time have made any difference?”

  Taking a breath to respond, Sutton felt Jackson kick him under the table. “Mr. President, the virus was already here,” Sutton said carefully as Jackson held his report over to Sutton.

  At the bottom of the page Jackson had written, ‘Be very general and don’t place blame’.

  “Sorry, Mr. President,” Jackson said and then looked at Sutton. “Are these numbers right?” Jackson asked to cover his message.

  “What numbers?” the President asked.

  Looking down at his report, “On page seventy-seven in the report, they have found six cases in ducks in New York City,” Jackson said. “The equation on that page is showing how fast we can expect the virus to spread into the bird population here in the states, but the numbers seem skewed.”

  Everyone started flipping pages as Sutton looked into Jackson’s eyes and saw Jackson barely shake his head and point to the word ‘blame’ he had written. Sutton gave a nod and turned back to the president who was looking at the equation or more correctly, the paragraphs on the next page that explained it. “So, none of the recommendations would have made a difference?” the President asked.

  “No sir, it was already here,” Sutton replied quickly and the president gave a contented sigh. “The best we could’ve hoped for was to buy time, but it would’ve only been days.”

  “How long until we have a vaccine?” the president asked.

  “We are currently working on a culture vaccine until we have a poultry reservoir to use. We expect to have results and start testing batches in six months,” Sutton told him.

  With most still reading, everyone groaned. “Even with the extra money we allotted to the CDC?” Temple cried out.

  “Without that money, it would’ve been a year easy before we could’ve tested batches,” Sutton answered. “Culture vaccines are much harder to develop and can only be produced in small scale.”

  “How much more funding do you need?” the President asked, grabbing a glass of water.

  “It’s not about funding now, Mr. President, it’s about time,” Sutton explained. “It takes time to grow cultures and test them.”

  “Mr. President,” Jackson said, glancing up the table. “I asked Sutton’s team to come up with a few ideas that we can go over to try and halt the spread of the virus.”

  “Oh, by all means,” the President sighed with relief, waving a hand at Sutton for him to continue as he put the glass down.

  “First and foremost is to limit panic,” Sutton started, tapping his screen. “The more people move, the faster this will spread. We are recommending all top government personnel be placed in isolation ASAP. Next, we need to start shutting down all nuclear power plants.”

  “They only provide about twenty percent of the nation’s power,” Paterson pointed out.

  “Right, but if too many get sick, there won’t be anyone to shut them down properly,” Sutton responded as several grabbed pens and started making notes. “Second, when panic hits we need to shut down power to stop people from moving around.”

  “But it’s in the bird population,” the President said.

  “Yes sir, but stopping people from moving around will buy us time to save more lives,” Sutton explained. “There needs to be a way to slow down international travel and travel out of cities that have high infection rates.”

  “I’ll come up with something,” Paterson offered as he wrote.

  “When panic starts, the first thing we need to tell people is to avoid others. Large crowds will spread the virus really fast and I asked one of our docs who is also a psychologist, and he agreed that will stop many from rioting,” Sutton said, then looked down at his notes. “Next, when we reach pandemic levels in a few days, keep the jails locked down, period. Not just prisons, but anyone in jail needs to stay there until we get a vaccine into production.”

  “Why? They are isolated,” Paterson asked, looking up.

  “They are, but the guards aren’t and the other people who work or visit there aren’t. One of our positive samples came from a prison in New York. I can guarantee you, every one of those inmates is infected now,” Sutton explained.

  Turning to the president, “We need to call our troops home,” Paterson said.

  “I would lock down the bases first and have all Navy ships put out and those that are out now, should have no contact with anyone from land,” Sutton told him.

  “I want you to do the press conference in the next few days,” the President said, looking at Sutton.

  “Sir,” Sutton said, holding up a hand. “I may be an assistant director, but I’m a scientist first. My director has said he will be more than happy to give the briefings. His exact words were, ‘Scott, I’ll talk to the press because you may give too much. I can say the words but don’t know what they mean and I can tell them I will get back to them. You may try to explain and give something we don’t want out’.”

  The President chuckled, “That sounds just like Ernie. I agree, we’ll let him give the briefings.”

  “Where is he?” Temple asked.

  “In Atlanta, drafting speeches and doing mock answer and question sessions,” Sutton answered.

  “That’s Ernie,” the President repeated, looking down at Sutton. “Worst case scenario, what can we expect the loss of life to be here in the states?”

  Moving two of the folders beside his laptop, Sutton picked up one that had a bright red cover. He stood up and walked down the table and handed it to the president. “That’s the only copy of our recommendations and projections, sir,” Sutton said as the president took the thick report.

  “I will read it, I assure you, but could you answer the question?” the President asked again.

  “In three to five months, two hundred and fifty million dead in the US,” Sutton answered, staring at the president.

  The president’s mouth fell open in shock, then he snapped it closed and turned around. Looking back at a young female aide standing behind him, “Sarah, tell the joint chiefs I want to meet with them in the situation room in four hours,” the President said and the aide left the room.

  Everyone else was panting after hearing that number. “This virus is that lethal? It’s going to kill three quarters of our population?” Paterson mumbled.

  Walking back to his chair, “Not alone,” Sutton replied and then sat down, looking at the president. “Mr. President, how much do you want me to give out here? I’m under orders from the director, this is for your ears only.”

  Glancing around the room, “Whatever you tell me, they can hear,” the President answered.

  Taking a deep breath, Sutton turned to Paterson. “If it goes all out, we are predicting only seven to twenty million people will be alive by this time next year in the continental United States,” Sutton answered remorsefully and Stringer of HHS slid out of her chair, crashing to the floor as she passed out.

  “You said the virus only kills eighty to ninety percent!” Paterson shouted.

  “It does, but there will be other diseases to pick apart those that are left. People don’t know how to live without the modern world,” Sutton told him as several people went to check on Stringer. “Mr. President, we’ve already locked down the labs and all personnel in Atlanta. I suggest you do the same.”

  “You just tell us what you need,” the President mumbled. Suddenly, he looked up. “What about the rest of the world?”

  “Less than a hundred million,” Sutton answered.

  “How many people here in the US, do the CDC think are infected now?” Jackson asked.

  Tapping his keyboard, Sutton looked up at his screen and everyone numbly looked at the screens around them. They saw a box graph with the days at the bottom, ‘Projected In
fected’ in bold letters at the top. April twenty-fourth, today’s date: 8,764,357 was in the box. The numbers increased the next two days and then exploded on the twenty-sixth to a staggering 96,627,951. “As you can see, every three days, the numbers skyrocket as more new infected are brought in,” Sutton sighed, rubbing his face.

  “Our current projections are that by the end of May, over ninety percent of the population will be exposed,” Sutton said, dropping his hands.

  “So, you can’t use a person’s blood who has recovered to make a vaccine?” Temple asked.

  “No, but as of right now, we haven’t had one survive yet,” Sutton answered. “The Chinese have a few and found two that have been exposed but not infected.”

  “Dr. Sutton, I would like you to stay here and keep me updated daily,” the President ordered, opening the red report book.

  “Um, Mr. President, I’m on one of the vaccine teams, the leading team in fact,” Sutton said and everyone turned to look at him in shock. “It’s safe,” he cried out. “I work with lethal viruses all the time.”

  “You mean, you actually work in the labs?” Temple asked, stunned that a lowly worker was in the room.

  “Yeah, I graduated at the top of my class and spent twenty years working in this field. My team is credited with mapping eleven new viruses and developing treatments for nine other viruses. Just because I sit behind a desk, I wasn’t going to become a useless piece of shit,” Sutton barked, glaring at Temple.

  “Mr. President,” Paterson said in a low voice. “Let’s get Dr. Sutton set up at Mount Weather.”

  Nodding and liking that idea, “Dr. Sutton, gather your team and report back here tomorrow,” the President commanded. “You can continue your work and also keep us updated.”

  “Mr. President, you don’t have level four research centers like we do in Atlanta,” Sutton cried out.

  “Yes, we do,” Paterson said, closing the report.

  “Dr. Sutton, I assure you that you can continue your work, but if you find out you need something, let us know and it will be there in hours,” the President said, then pointed around the room at select people. “Meet in the situation room.”