Outbreak

This thing is like no bacteria I've ever seen.

Cameron Fox, a twenty-year epidemiologist with the CDC, had just arrived at the mobile lab that abutted the quarantine zone. Another doctor had pointed Fox to a microscope with a gram-stained slide under the lens. Despite decades as a board-certified specialist in infectious diseases, Fox was taken aback by what he saw. The sample was gram-indeterminate, which itself wasn't too out of the ordinary. But the structure of the thing! Its rod shape was vaguely reminiscent of Tropheryma whipplei, but there didn't seem to be any chromosome. Only an abundance of plasmids. What that could mean was anyone's guess, but it probably wasn't good and it definitely meant this was something completely new. Fox fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone and called the director:

"Erin, we've got a problem."

She agreed to send some backup in the form of Lake, the new, irritatingly smug bacteriologist and Bricker, the no-nonsense pathologist with whom Fox had at least a passable working relationship. They'd arrive sometime the next day, from Philly and Sacramento respectively.

Nine hours later, Fox was finally able to take a break from the chaos of the mobile lab. As the muggy, warm, New Orleans air settled over him, he thought about what he had been able to learn so far. First, the bacteria was able to replicate at a prodigious rate. Second, the first known victims were already in multi-system failure, and it had only been 54 hours since the initial indications of a problem.

Whomever at Tulane Medical Center had called in the CDC deserved credit for a quick catch. Only seventeen people appeared to have been infected, though there were over a hundred currently under quarantine, just in case. The way this thing was multiplying, any delay in the quarantine would almost certainly have meant many more infections. Unfortunately, that was small comfort to those seventeen people.

On his way to his hotel, Fox stopped at a corner store for cigarettes and some snacks. Yeah, he knew the cigarettes weren't any good for him and he didn't much care. Despite having devoted most of his life to the health and service of others, he didn't have much regard for his own wellness. Divorced, estranged from his children, friendless and constantly moving around the country, he had little but his work to give much of a damn about. So the cigarettes might kill him, but he wasn't overly worried about his end. It would come when it came.

Y'know, a place should really have to be certified some kind of even remotely classy to be able to use the name "Chateau" anything, thought the doctor as he approached the hotel his secretary had booked for him.

I mean, I'm not expecting the Ritz, but this place makes a HoJo's look luxurious.

Fox checked in and trudged up the stairs to his third-floor room.

I may finally have to fire Danny this time.

Flopping down onto the creaky double mattress and trying not to think too hard about how old and worn the bedding appeared to be, Fox quickly fell asleep.

He awoke only a few short hours later to the crushing realization that this dump didn't even have air conditioners and that he was drenched in sweat.

Why the hell do people live in places like this? he wondered acidly as he leveraged his body out of the bed. Stepping out onto the balcony—Is that what makes it a chateau?—Fox lit a cigarette and tried to pretend the air was cool and refreshing. It wasn't, and mind over matter only gets you so far.

Recognizing the futility of trying to get any more sleep, Fox stepped back inside, took a quick, cold shower and headed back to the lab. By now, though one wing of Tulane was still closed off, CDC operations had been moved from the mobile lab to a bona fide lab in the basement of nearby University Medical Center.

After checking on the patients' progress—two had died in the night, but the rest appeared to be reasonably stable—Fox took the elevator down to the lab his team had been assigned. Lake, the bacteriologist, was already working.

Great. Figures he'd show up first.

"Hey Tom."

Lake glanced up from his work just long enough to identify the speaker, and then busied himself with some pipettes.

"'Sup, Cam," he mumbled.

God, I hate this guy.

Without further interaction, Fox got to work at his own bench and had totally lost track of time when Bricker showed up.

"So, we've got a live one, eh boys?" she deadpanned.

"Yeah, Alva, it's a doozy. Two goners already, with 15 more who'll be CTD if we don't figure something out," said Fox.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Bricker," Lake intoned obsequiously. For whatever reason, Lake had decided it was in his best interest to ingratiate himself to Bricker, so his attitude toward her always at least feigned respect. Hence the use of her title.

I hate him so much.

The three set to with grim determination, each taking advantage of their respective expertise to tackle the problem. After a couple of hours, they really didn't have much to show for it. At least the lab did have AC.

Fox wanted to suggest a brief interlude so he could get in a smoke.

"Alright, how about—"

Just then, a UMC intern burst into the lab.

"They're all sick!" he cried.

"What?" asked Fox. "Slow down, kid. Who's sick?"

"Everyone in quarantine at Tulane," he forced out past gulps of air. "It must've spread from the infected to the rest of the people in quarantine somehow."

"Or," said Bricker grimly, "more likely they were already infected and the incubation period is longer than we assumed. Which means there could be any number of carriers on the loose."

Shit.