· web view01.07.2017 · chapter 1 – june 16, 2020. hatred. it filled her brain and drowned...
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CHAPTER 1 – JUNE 16, 2020
Hatred. It filled her brain and drowned out everything else. Hatred refused
her the respite of sleep or the comfort that comes from close friends … a
lover even.
Her family; hate. Her job; hate. Her neighbors; hate. And, above all, hate
for the Cooper administration led by a racist, misogynistic, egomaniacal
rapist.
The only relief from the hate, the only thing that took her mind away
from her blinding hate, was revenge. Hence, stirred liberally within the
caldron of her brain was a plan. More than a plan, actually, it was a complex
series of activities for implementing her revenge and she was nearing the
end of those activities; her plan coming together with the help of others
who shared her hatreds.
She sat in her cramped, one-room studio situated on one of the worst
streets in Anacostia. The street was in an area on the East bank of the
Potomac River, an area unaffected by the gentrification that breathed new
life into other parts of DC Metro. Outside, she saw the rusted-out truck that
was there when she first stumbled upon this place nearly five years ago.
Surrounding the car was an accumulation of urban detritus blown down the
street during countless storms, only to find its progress impeded by the
nicks and crannies of metal that once represented a Ford F-150 pickup.
Inside the rusted bed, weeds grew in soil formed as organic matter
captured within the box decayed to form a dark, nutrient-rich substrate.
About a year ago, someone parked a bike with only one wheel against the
front bumper, where it lay undisturbed to this day.
But, she didn’t see any of this, nor did she notice the kids flowing down
the street from the bus stop a few houses to the right of her building. Today,
their normal whooping and hollering had new purpose as the school years
was over. Ahead of them were months filled with nothing more taxing than
playing outside.
Instead of observing her surroundings, she looked out the window, not
seeing anything as she mentally counted down the time until her petri
dishes relinquished the harvest she needed to move her plan forward. Later
today, when she was certain her movements were invisible to anyone
passing by, she would move the threadbare rug aside, pry up the three
loose floorboards, and drop down to a hidden crawlspace where her real
work awaited. Until then, she painted images in her mind; images of tears,
pain, and, ultimately, death.
To deal with the hours looming ahead, she spent her time drawing
images of the destruction she hoped would befall her enemies soon. Dark
images in charcoal on paper, smudged extensively to create a blurred
canvas full of dead. Or, she watched her small television, alternating
between Fox with its right wing lies and MSNBC, which told the same lies
and half-truths reinterpreted from the left. She hated them all for their lies,
disingenuous concerns that extended only as far as their ratings, and the
people duped into believing the lies and vitriol they spread. She wished she
could surrender to sleep, but it wasn’t worth the inevitable dreams that
accompanied anything more than a short nap.
As a child, the dreams scared her … made her cry out for help. But,
what responded to those uncontrolled cries was worse than the dreams
themselves because it brought a man with strong arms who wasn’t satisfied
with holding her, quieting her fears. He added to her fear by touching her,
forcing her to take him into her body until she bled. That’s where the hate
was born.
Later experiences fanned the initial flames of hate. The officer in the Air
Force who couldn’t keep his hands off her. He wasn’t satisfied with touching
her either, he buried himself deep in whatever orifice satisfied his whim,
then dared her to report his crime. Hate. Or the boss who constantly
ignored her protestations against the company’s behavior and relegated her
to menial tasks where her ability to blow the whistle on them was limited.
Instead he gave plumb assignments to sycophants who refused to stand up
to his unethical and, many times, illegal practices. What he and his minions
did resulted in hundreds of deaths on the part of unsuspecting patients who
turned to the products they made in hopes of a cure for their broken bodies.
Hate.
And, now you had an entire country led by some of the worst abusers in
history. People who rivaled the tyrants of old; concerned only with raping
the entire world for their own psychic and financial rewards. And their
leader … the man who choreographed the dance that would destroy the
planet, was the worst. He was the same officer who raped her with abandon
in a former life when she still cared about justice and decency. It was his
administration, with its kleptocracy on a scale unseen in a millennium, that
drove her hate over the edge. She could no longer argue against revenge
that she knew would end up harming innocents. There were no innocents
anymore.
A noise drew her attention to the window and she felt her muscles
tighten in preparation for a fight. Instead, she saw children playing in the
street; noticing them for the first time. She regretted the grief and pain she
would bring on their heads, but, better a quick death than a lingering one
as they watched themselves and those they loved dragged down by the
rudderless ship that was the coming reality.
A sound from her computer notified her of an incoming message. Wiping
the charcoal from her hands on her dingy blue jeans, she clicked the
keyboard to bring life to the screen.
Ah, a message from The Angel of Death. He probably wants an update
on our crop, she thought as she opened the message delivered through a
series of servers that bounced across multiple countries to disguise its
origin and destination.
Security was a paramount concern, hence precautions that bounced her
signal across a series of anonymous IP addresses. But, security didn’t stop
there. Her device was housed in a Faraday cage to keep out unwanted
electromagnetic impulses from lightening that might damage the device as
well as electronic efforts to intrude on the data within the computer. A
degaussing ring hidden beneath a painting near the door ensured that no
one who removed the device got any data—the ring irretrievably erased the
hard drive if the computer got within a few meters of it. The same was true
for law enforcement. If they removed her computer, there would be nothing
on it to implicate her or her partners in any illegal activity. A final security
measure involved a very intricate encryption of her own construction and a
series of booby traps that would erase the data if the wrong keystrokes
were entered..
But, people were a bigger danger than electronics and her experience
with people left her wary. Hence the reason she jumped every time she
heard a sound outside. Adding partners to this operation also involved an
element of risk that brought back memories of betrayal, pain, and anger
that made her uncomfortable. She preferred to work alone. But, for an
operation this size, she needed more people and, importantly, she needed
more money. Her partners brought both.
The danger inherent in partners was muted by their arrangement.
Neither knew the other; each using a code name for communications. And,
it wasn’t like they met for drinks after work, in fact, they’d never met in
person. They first connected in a chat room over their shared hatred for
President Cooper. After many months of shared vitriol, they felt a
connection and The Angel of Death suggested they move into a private chat
on the dark web involving a long series of anonymous servers. Even after
they were hidden from prying eyes, it took months before she felt
comfortable enough with the other members that she was willing to broach
her plan.
Everything is moving forward nicely. Can we rely on delivery in 2
weeks? She read from the screen.
I should be ready, she typed. Our friends are growing nice and plump. I
have the first batch awaiting transport in a powdered form. More are
growing as we speak. Within 2 weeks we should have the required amount
ready to be reconstituted with the nutrient bath I recommended.
That is good. We have arranged for the materials needed and a facility
that meets your requirements. Our people will pick up your product at the
arranged time, as agreed. Just like last time, leave the material double
bagged inside the last stall at the National Gallery ladies room on the first
floor. How long will they need to be in the nutrient bath before we can
move on to phase 2 of the plan?
The keys clicked softly as she confirmed details necessary to
reconstitute her brood safely. Everything would be ready for the 4th of July—
and a bang that no one in the crowd would expect.
Everything was going splendidly and she smiled for the first time in
years as she signed off.
CHAPTER 2 – JUNE 22, 2020
Angelica’s heels clicked rhythmically on the polished linoleum in Building
23 at NIH—National Institutes of Health. She couldn’t believe she’d been
working here three years already, the time seemed to have flown by. In
other ways, it seemed a lifetime since she left Mexico and her family, she
thought as she stroked her growing belly.
She’d never admit it to Juan, but she felt alive here in a way she hadn’t
at her clinic in Mexico. She missed the clinic and her patients, of course,
but here she felt like she made a bigger impact. Instead of helping people
one patient at a time, her work at NIH allowed her to help millions by
identifying new pathogens or determining the specific strain of pathogen
that made people sick around the world. Her work supported the
development of new drugs and helped physicians determined the best
treatment for patients infected with malaria, ebola, bird flu, and a host of
new infections that arose with increased frequency. At NIH, she felt a sense
of accomplishment that was bigger than herself.
Of course, she couldn’t stay away from practicing medicine all together.
She still spent many Saturdays treating patients at an inner city clinic run
by a group of Catholic nuns. As Juan predicted in his arguments for coming
here, there were poor people who needed affordable medical care
everywhere. It was enough.
In fact, it was more than enough. She had Juan and their relationship
flowered over time from love to adoration to a feeling that they were parts
of the same person; that their lives before they met were incomplete. This
baby, due in less than four months, would add a new dimension of joy to
their lives.
And, Ricardo, who’d decided to Americanize his name and now went by
Richard … Rick, for short. He was such a delightful child and had been ever
since he joined them 2 ½ years ago. He never complained, despite his
continuing struggles in school. He was almost 13 when he arrived, but was
placed in the 6th grade because he was so far behind other kids his age with
his rudimentary English and huge holes in the limited education he received
in Mexico. At least his diminutive stature kept him from towering over
classmates that were several years his junior. He was turning 15 in a few
weeks and they were taking a last road trip to Mexico before the baby was
born. She couldn’t wait to see her family and friends again.
Rick missed his mother, she was certain, but he was able to talk to her
sometimes when she was clean. At first, it seemed like she’d be one of the
lucky ones … the ones who got clean and stayed that way. She spent months
in the rehab center Juan arranged for her, afterwards, she went to work at
one of the Maquiladora plants and things seemed to be going well. She got
a decent apartment, even a mobile phone that allowed Rick to talk to her a
lot more. Then, about a year ago, she started using again and … No one had
heard from her for four months now. Juan’s FBI friends put out feelers and
Angelica’s family scoured the area looking for her, but so far no one seemed
to know anything about her. If they could find her, she hoped that Rick and
his mother could spend some time together during their visit.
Enough of that, she thought. There was work to do and she needed to
focus on her upcoming meeting, although she couldn’t figure out why the
FBI was here? Today, she’d come in early to meet with her group before the
FBI team arrived. They’d discussed trials for the new malaria vaccine that
were going on in Africa. Preliminary results seemed good, especially in light
of the partial failure of limited trials in three African countries a couple of
years ago. Unexpected side effects forced the WHO—World Health
Organization—to stop the earlier trial. After years of development, animal
trials, and limited human trials, the flawed serum was being replaced with a
new one that was only now deemed ready for testing again.
Luckily, the earlier trial wasn’t a complete failure. Infants immunized
then were showing markedly reduced incidence of malaria compared with
unimmunized children and results from that trial helped speed development
of the new vaccine, that was both more powerful, and had fewer side
effects, based on preliminary data.
She was in a great mood, except for some nagging discomfort over not
knowing the reason for the FBI’s visit. Juan, who worked in the FBI Drug
Interdiction Office, knew nothing that would explain such an unusual
meeting. He did know both John Boyd and Jacob Mainz, who were coming in
to meet members of the infectious disease team and had great respect for
them. Juan gave her a little background on Jacob and John, highlighting the
rescue of Jacob’s wife who had been held by the Gulf Cartel; an experience
she knew way too much about.
She entered the large conference room they usually used for
departmental meetings and small, internal conferences. The FBI team was
already there and had their presentation ready. In addition to Angelica, Drs
Thompson, Rau, and Chang were there representing the senior researchers
at NIH.
“I’m sorry. Am I late?” she said, glancing at her watch. “I was going over
preliminary results from the malaria vaccine trials with my team. I hope I
didn’t keep you waiting long,”
“You’re just on time. We were early,” said Dr. Thompson, who lead her
unit. He was older and what little hair remained on his head was silver. Tall
and thin, he’d worked for NIH since receiving his PhD in epidemiology in
1974 from Harvard. He was brilliant, but he lacked people skills and often
came across as gruff or irritated.
“I hope the results are promising,” said Dr. Chang. She headed toward
the coffee urn and soundlessly motioned to ask if Angelica wanted one too.
Angelica nodded and Dr. Chang returned to the table with two cups.
Angelica and Dr. Susan Chang were good friends in a world made up almost
entirely of men, at least at the administrative levels of the agency. Susan
was a tiny Asian woman who came to the NIH after working with the WHO
for many years.
With introductions accomplished, Jacob approached the computer and
the FBI got down to business.
The computer came to life, displaying images on the large screen that
hung from the dropped ceiling.
“I’m not sure what I’m seeing,” said Dr. Thompson.
“These are message intercepts uncovered in a chat room on the dark
web,” said Jacob. “As part of our job, the Cyber Counter Terrorism Unit
monitors conversations in a number of sites not addressable using standard
protocols—a place commonly called the dark web—using an algorithm to
find potential danger. We constantly tweak the algorithm so that, as the bad
guys come up with new ways to create harm, we find them. After Saddam
Hussain used chemical weapons on his own people in 2017, we added more
words related to chemical and biological weapons to our algorithm. We
discovered these in a routine sweep and thought they might mean
something, but we wanted insights from the experts. Ever since Reagan
shut down all US efforts to develop biological weapons in 1972, you are
those experts.”
“We appreciate the confidence you have in us, but we’re not familiar
with this technology. Can you give us some guidance?” said Dr. Thompson.
“Sure,” said Jacob. “I understand this stuff can be a little intimidating to
those who aren’t familiar with the acronyms. Notice, here … and here,” he
said pointing to the word Yersinia pestis, Y. pestis, for short. “We know this
is a very dangerous bacteria responsible for both Bubonic and Pneumonic
plague and we have some general idea of its morbidity and mortality from
our friends over at the CDC. We’d like to know more about the bacteria …
where you can get it … how it behaves in the environment. Stuff like that.”
“Yes, you’re right,” said Dr. Rau, who was their resident expert on
plague. ‘Y. pestis is a very bad bacteria, causing both Pneumonic and
Bubonic Plagues. It is sometimes called the Black Death and it killed nearly
1/3 of Europe’s population in the mid-1330’s. What makes this pathogen so
dangerous is that it is ridiculously easy to grow and can prove virulent for
hours after exposure to the environment, unlike many pathogens that die
quickly without a warm host. They’re easily aerosolized and patients
exposed don’t show symptoms for two to seven days. This allows infected
individuals to spread the bacteria every time they cough or sneeze. The
spread follows a typical pattern as it moves from individual to individual,
but Y. pestis crosses the species barrier and can infect many mammals, not
just primates, which is rare.”
“Has there ever been a major outbreak of Pneumonic Plague?” ask John
Boyd.
“It’s rare,” explained Angelica. “Bubonic plague is more common and
Pneumonic plague is commonly a result of untreated Bubonic plague …”
“The last known outbreak was mid-2014, when a very small number of
people contracted the disease after exposure to a pet, a dog, I believe, who
died of the disease,” said Dr. Thompson.
“Yes,” added Angelica, “but we’ve not seen anything on the order of the
outbreaks in the middle ages.”
“Do people still die from Y. pestis?” asked Boyd.
“Yes,” replied Dr. Chang. “Although, as Angelica, er Dr. Martinez,
pointed out. Plague is more of a middle ages disease than something we
worry about today. It’s very easily treated with certain antibiotics, like those
used to combat Anthrax, although regular penicillin has no effect on disease
progression. That’s why we don’t see massive outbreaks. Infected
individuals don’t wander around for days or weeks spreading the disease.
With modern diagnosis and treatments, we can quickly isolate infected
individuals and treat them. Most patients make a full recovery after a
course or two of treatment. The problem occurs when Y. pestis is
misdiagnosed, as was the case with the outbreak in 2014, and the wrong
treatment prescribed.”
“Moreover, human-to-human transmission is only one part of the
scenario leading to ‘The Black Death’,” said Dr. Rau who encountered a
mini-epidemic of plague during his residency in Malawi back in the 1950s.
“The real problem underpinning ‘The Black Death’ was rats who carried the
disease. Fleas carried on the rats were infected with Y. pestis and, as the
rats moved around, the fleas carried the bacteria with them. Because
Europe suffered severe rat infestations during that period in history, there
were plenty of fleas to infect humans with their bites. Rats boarded ships,
carrying Y. pestis with them as the ships visited foreign ports. A recipe for
disaster.”
“And that’s another factor that reduces cases of the plague in modern
cities,” said Angelica. “Most modern cities have effective methods such as
regular garbage collection, that reduce the number of rats living in close
proximity to humans.”
“What would happen if someone mimicked the rats—caused some type
of wide dispersion of the bacteria. Say, for instance, they detonated a bomb
… a dirty bomb filled with Y. pestis?” asked Boyd. “Would the heat from the
blast kill the bacteria?”
“It depends on the amount of heat generated by the explosive,” said Dr.
Rau. “One of the nasty problems with this pathogen is that it’s very stable at
temperatures over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. That explains why our immune
systems aren’t effective at wiping out the bacteria. One of our best defenses
is a fever, which raises body temperature and kills many pathogens. Also,
because Y. pestis is rare, we don’t have natural antibodies to the bacteria
and the body can’t generate them fast enough to stop the bacteria before it
kills the infected individual. Without treatment. Thus, the human body has a
difficult time killing the bacteria with its normal arsenal of fever and
antibodies. Casualties might be very high unless stopped quickly with
appropriate treatment. Especially in our modern world where aircraft are a
much more efficient tool for spreading disease.”
“Is there some way we can we protect people from someone dispersing
Y. pestis? A vaccine or something?”
“Dr. Martinez, this is your area,” said Dr. Thompson.
“Well, unfortunately, there’s little we can do proactively to protect
people. There’s no vaccine against Y. pestis, although we’re working to
develop one along with several groups in Europe and Asia. Because
outbreaks are so rare and treatment is normally very effective, few
governments have the desire for spending the time and money it takes to
develop such a vaccine. The money allocated is very small.
After infection, we have a whole arsenal of treatments. Antibiotics work
in most cases, if the right antibiotic is given and the person is treated early
in the process, before the disease damages the lungs or other organs.
Coughing, pneumonia, and other respiratory symptoms are common in
those infected, as are infections of the lymph nodes in the Bubonic form of
the plague. If an outbreak occurs in a major metropolitan center, human
contact through normal daily activities can spread the disease with
alarming efficiency. Every cough or sneeze spreads the disease and infects
hard surfaces that can harbor bacteria capable of infection for several
hours. If patients don’t seek treatment within a very short window, the
plague has a mortality rate of over 93%. And, a massive outbreak might
overload the capacity of our healthcare system to treat critically ill patients,
including the very real potential of running through the available stockpile
of drugs that are effective against Y. pestis.
I’m sure your research predicted massive casualties from a major
outbreak as most individuals infected die after a short, but very unpleasant
illness.”
Boyd looked over at Jacob, who still stood near the projector. These
doctors had just confirmed their worst fears.
CHAPTER 3 – LYNCHBURG, VA 2000
The days were getting longer, which, for most people brought joy and hope.
Spring was in full bloom, with the promise of summer making a brief
appearance over the last few days when the prevailing winds were from the
south. Students anticipated summers without waking up at 6am, teachers
breathed a sigh of relief that grades were almost ready to turn in, and
workers enjoyed the freedom offered by sidewalk cafes instead of cramped
offices, where they consumed their lunches during the harsh winters.
But, for Jody, the rapidly approaching end of school brought fear for,
when the semester ended at Old Dominion State, her half-brother, Daryl,
would return to torment her until it was time to return to campus in the fall.
While the school year was far from pleasant, summer was a horror film.
And, the worst part was, no one cared.
Fifth grade was coming to an end. She’d done well, earning mostly As in
everything, and her backpack held ribbons, certificates, and small trophies
she received at today’s recognition assembly. But, unlike many of the others
who received awards today, she was trudging home rather than enjoying a
more tangible reward, like a trip to the local ice cream store or a more
elaborate gift from parents thrilled with the accomplishments of their
offspring. Her parents didn’t attend today’s assembly … didn’t snap photo
after photo on their iPhones … didn’t envelop her in their arms when she
returned from collecting her many accolades. She was used to it, but the
hollowness in her stomach attested to her loneliness.
Instead of heading straight home, she went to a place in the woods near
her home—her place. She found this small glen a couple of years ago when
she was seeking refuge from her family. It was near the banks of a small
creek and she enjoyed the sound of water, the call of birds hunting in the
shallow water, and the lush foliage nourished by the nutrient-rich water
cascading from higher elevations as snow melted along the Appalachian
Mountains. Her little creek, swollen by a heavier than normal winter snow
season, moved quickly over rocks as the water wound its way to the James
River. Her spot, bounded on three sides by dense growth and virgin timber,
offered the perfect spot for someone who wanted privacy and a place to
escape. A tree, hollowed out by some long forgotten catastrophic event,
such as a bacteria or fungus, was her hiding spot. She wrapped her trinkets
in an old grocery bag she found blowing in the wind and tucked the package
deep into the hollow. Already, several similar packages rested comfortably
in the tree’s embrace.
After she was sure the trophies were well-hidden, she sat with her back
up against “her” tree, trying to work out a strategy to survive another
summer. It was dark and safe hidden deep in the forest and she wished she
could stay here forever. But, it would be worse if she didn’t return home
before the street lights came on, so after some time, during which she
couldn’t think of a single plan, she shouldered her backpack and retraced
her steps.
“Where have you been? It’s almost supper. Go wash up and set the
table,” said her mother when she entered the cluttered kitchen through the
back door. Through the haze of numerous cigarettes smoked in the enclosed
space, she could see her mother moving unsteadily toward the oven and
knew she’d probably been drinking since she finished her first cup of coffee
around noon, which was when her mother normally woke up.
After seeing all the well-groomed moms and dads at today’s assembly,
her mother looked even shabbier than usual. Her hair, which she knew had
been a vibrant red in some distant past because she’d seen photos of
happier times, was now a color that defied description—something between
a mousy brown and orange—and escaped the ponytail to hang down in
greasy tendrils. Her mother’s dress, which Jody thought she’d seen her
wear for the last four days, gave off an offensive odor combining cigarette
smoke with bourbon and stale sweat. And her eyes had the unfocused look
they often did, indicating she’d started drinking hours ago. Her face, after
years of abuse, was filled with deep crevasses and lines, giving her the
crinkled look of an old piece of yellow crepe paper that had been
haphazardly stuffed into a drawer.
Jody trudged up to her room and dumped her backpack beside the
scarred desk, then down the hall toward the bathroom she’d soon share
with Daryl. Just the thought of having him home, of what he would do to
her, made her stomach flop and her face sweat. She splashed some water
on her face and wished it were as easy to rid herself of Daryl.
Back in the kitchen, she ignored the TV blaring some show, although she
caught a glimpse of the talk show host interviewing a well-dressed woman
about depression as she passed the device. She took down three
mismatched plates, one with a crack beneath its glaze, and rummaged in a
drawer for forks among the jumble of cutlery thrown among old
matchbooks, a spool of thread, and a few paperclips. There weren’t any
clean cups, so she washed her favorite, a giveaway from some fast food joint
with its faded image of Piglet.
Her shoes stuck to the linoleum as she moved to the dining room, which
was really more of an alcove adjacent to the kitchen, and set three places as
far apart as the table allowed. Her family didn’t enjoy leisurely meals and,
instead, ate efficiently then left the table after exchanging as few words as
possible to spend the rest of their evening in their own pursuits.
“And, make some Kool-Aid,” she heard over the sound of the TV.
Her dad walked in just as she dumped a heaping cup of sugar into the
pitcher already bright blue from the powder.
“Not blueberry again,” he said without acknowledgement.
She knew he would be unhappy with whatever flavor chosen, so she just
shrugged and continued stirring the brightly colored liquid. Meanwhile, he
tossed his keys on the hall table and returned to fill a glass with ice and the
freshly-made Kool-aide before heading for the dining room. Once there, he
tipped the vodka bottle, adding the equivalent of three shots to the glass. If
today were typical, he’d down several of these before passing out in front of
the TV that normally showed some banal crime drama or idiotic comedy
program. In the morning, he was often still slouched in the recliner with an
empty glass and a full ashtray on the table beside him. The next day, she
tried to make her lunch startled him awake and he’d weave into the kitchen
and pour some day-old coffee into a coffee cup. His face would carry the
imprint of chenille and his breath would fill the tiny kitchen with a smell
that reminded her of the alley in back of The Pig, a local bar favored by her
parents and their friends.
“Bring my dinner when it’s ready,” he grunted and headed toward the
living room.
Not bothering to look up from her scrutiny of a hangnail on her left-hand
ring finger, Jody headed back upstairs without answering him. Downstairs
she heard the sounds of her parents arguing over control of the TV remote.
The volume of their argument increased until she heard the familiar sound
of flesh against flesh, then a shrill scream and the sound of her mother
stomping up the stairs. Jody rose to close her door as quietly as possible
because violence in this house had a habit of flowing downstream and she’d
learned to be invisible when someone felt the need to slap someone around.
She opened her backpack, pouring the pile of papers—mostly exams and
other assignments bearing large, red As, some with little smiley faces—into
the center of her bedspread where they looked like the junk they were.
Gathering them up, she dumped the lot into her already overflowing trash
can then tamped them down with her foot to keep stray sheets from
escaping.
When she was sure it was safe to leave the relative safety of her room,
she went into the kitchen and filled a plate with the disgusting brown goop
her mother had boiling on the stove and took it to her father. Then she
turned off the burner, made herself a peanut butter sandwich, forgoing jelly
after noting that there was mold on the rim of the grape jelly jar, and
headed back upstairs.
She sat at her desk and pulled the crust off her sandwich before taking a
bite. It wasn’t very good without jelly, but she didn’t relish the idea of
eating whatever it was in the pot. Her mother wasn’t a good cook when
sober, but, when drunk, she put anything that struck her fancy into her
pots. Once, when her mother was on a real bender, Jody found an old scarf
shredded along with the chicken and some sorry vegetables in a bubbling
pot.
She finished her sandwich and ate a small, scarred apple she’d saved
from her lunch for dessert.
CHAPTER 4 – WASHINGTON, DC 2020
“Senator, it’s time to leave for your meeting,” her assistant said as he
handed her the file containing briefing papers and reports she’d need for
the meeting of the Senate Committee on Health, Education, Labor, and
Pensions.
“Thank you, Robert,” she said as she powered down her iMac and
grabbed the black jacket she’s draped over the back of her office chair.
“Any word on where we stand on the new healthcare bill? Does the chair
think we have the votes to override the President’s veto?”
“It doesn’t look good. I checked with his admin a half hour ago and he
said his boss was still calling in chips to get the votes he needs, but he
thinks they’re still short.”
Senator Hill shook her head and gazed out the window at the crowd of
folks waiting to tour the massive rotunda, with its busts of those who
founded this republic and made it the great place it was today. Some of
them would die without the protection for pre-existing conditions provided
in the bill, but President Cooper didn’t seem to care. His party voted to
repeal legislation that, among other things, allowed those with pre-existing
conditions to buy reasonably priced health insurance as part of the
Affordable Care Act passed by the administration of his predecessor. Anger
against this change swept Democrats into office, where they held a small
majority in both houses. After gaining control of the House and Senate,
Democrats fought hard for this bill, but Cooper’s veto looked like it would
keep it from becoming law.
Her shoulders slumped as she remembered the brave individuals who
shared their stories during committee hearings; bringing pictures of loved
ones who died for want of treatment. She felt like she’d failed them.
“Alright. Thanks. I guess we’re going back to the drawing board to find
something that will plug the holes in the dyke that is the American
healthcare system.”
Inside the committee room, most chairs were already occupied with
other members so she stopped to chat with a few of them before moving to
take her seat. Today, they were getting a briefing from the CDC and NIH on
the spread of Zika, which had raised its ugly head recently in Alabama and
Kentucky. Once confined mainly to South America and only brought to his
county by visitors to countries where infected mosquitos carried the virus,
this year’s epidemic seemed to have taken a deadly turn, with person-to-
person transmission. The committee was considering special appropriations
for the agencies to investigate treatments, possible vaccines, and
procedures to stop the spread of the disease.
“Dr. Thompson, thank you for making the trip to Washington to share
your expertise with our committee,” said Senator Gomez, a moderate
Republican from Arizona. “I know of the recent outbreak of Zika in several
southern states. What can you tell us about this.”
“Thank, Senator Gomez. After several years without incident in the US,
we have 16 confirmed cases of Zika—5 in Kentucky and 11 in Alabama.
Luckily all had mild cases of the disease and none were pregnant, so we
don’t have to worry about microcephaly, which is very serious. After a week
or so of fever, muscle pain, conjunctivitis, and other minor illnesses, all the
patients recovered completely.”
“So, you agree there’s little cause for concern with such a minor
outbreak,” said Senator Houston, a right-wing Republican from West
Virginia. “It seems premature to appropriate funds for a case of the
sniffles.”
“With respect, sir, I don’t agree. The disease is serious in pregnant
women, whose children are born with serious birth defects that can be fatal.
A more serious concern is the spread of the disease from person-to-person.
Outside of a few cases where the virus spread through intercourse and a
handful of laboratory infections by those working closely with the virus,
we’ve never seen transmission by humans. After extensive work, our
epidemiologists tracked this outbreak to a single individual who likely
contracted this disease after traveling to Brazil. It’s likely she was infected
by a mosquito, but subsequent spread of the disease is almost certainly
through human contact as everyone infected can be traced to contact with
her. My guess is that the virus mutated during the winter when mosquitos
are less active and has returned in a more virulent variant. We need to learn
more about it, develop vaccines and better diagnostic tools so we can stop
its spread.
Another problem is that the disease is relatively benign so infected
patients often don’t seek medical care, especially those without health
insurance.” At this remark, several committee members shared looks heavy
with meaning. “Thus, the outbreak could easily be more severe than just
those 16 patients,” said Dr. Anand, from the CDC.
“Moreover,” added Dr. Thompson, “it’s likely patients can spread the
virus before they are aware that they are infected. That means the disease
could easily reach epidemic proportions without an immediate plan for
arresting transmission.”
Senator Hill was concerned as she witnessed the discussion evolve along
party lines, with Democrats and moderate Republicans seeming to favor
some type of appropriation bill, while senators from the right took a laissez-
faire approach that favored a wait-and-see attitude, despite warnings from
both the CDC and NIH against such an approach. They warned that the
disease could quickly exceed the capacity of local districts to treat patients,
leading to an epidemic. They also estimated 10% of pregnant women might
deliver babies infected with the virus and many would be born with
microcephaly.
The meeting lasted more than two hours and, at the end, nothing was
decided regarding introduction of an appropriation’s bill to the full Senate.
Afterwards, she caught up with Dr. Thompson in the hallway.
“Dr. Thompson, thank you again for sharing your expertise with us
today. I’m sorry we couldn’t put forward legislation to fund more research
and testing on a vaccine. But, I wanted to ask you another question … about
our preparedness to handle an epidemic not just of Zika, but any virus
within the US. Are we adequately prepared for something like that?”
“That’s a long answer. The short answer is, no. After several rounds of
funding cuts, our ability to respond to an epidemic is severely limited.”
“Thank you for your candor.”