“Did you think she would be so hopeful? Mary, that is.”
George is silent for a few moments and then shakes his head. “It’s not the first time I’ve dealt with a response like that. I’d hoped she would be a bit more practical and engaged but it’s shock. People, even those high up in government, will pin their hopes on the ‘magical task force’ as if scientists can whip up a solution out of thin air. But she just doesn’t have a clue about how difficult this all is.”
I manage a thin smile. “They never do.”
George tips his head in acknowledgment. “When us scientists and virologists and doctors and the people who really know this stuff explain that actually it’s far worse than they had even dared to fear, they freeze.”
“You’re a very tolerant man.”
He barks out a laugh. “I’m not, but I used to be a shrink so I’m used to unreasonable behavior. Compared to what I’ve seen, Mary’s little outburst was nothing.”
“I’ll stay as long as you need me,” I offer, on impulse, but I mean it. This is the place where we’re possibly going to save the world. They need all the hands, and brains, they can get.
“Thank you, Elizabeth,” George says, and I get the bill and jump in a taxi. I’ve been booked into a horrible hotel on Euston Road. It’s called a Premier Inn. Based on the photos online, there’s a lot of purple in their interior decoration and I’m going to leave it at that because it’s too depressing for words.
I start work tomorrow in one of the labs at the Hospital for Infectious Disease. George has assigned me to the team trying to identify exactly which part of the virus allows it to impact men but not women, even though women are hosts. That’s the key thing that’s allowing it to spread so fast. When half of the population is walking around, symptomless, carrying and spreading the virus, you’re in trouble. And we are.
I e-mail my boss at the CDC and tell him I won’t be coming back in three weeks’ time. I don’t care what his response will be; some things are more important. I include in my e-mail a long description of today’s meeting. I’m trying to convey how unbelievably bad this is going to get and as I’m typing, I catch my breath.
My dad. My dad is in Jackson. It’s not close to Europe, sure, but this virus is going to make its way to the US soon if it hasn’t already. There have already been a few reports of the occasional case and surely it’ll mushroom in the next few days.
Indecision immediately strikes. I should go home. No, I should stay here. I need to see my dad. I need to be here to help. He’s my family. This is more important.
I send my dad a long e-mail setting out basic infection risk protocols. He’s not to use public transportation or cabs. He’s not to eat at restaurants or order takeout food. He’s to stay in the house as much as he can and not meet up with anyone else. Just stay inside with Mom, I instruct. My dad has always responded better to shows of strength than what he sees as feminine pleading.
My boss replies. I already know what the e-mail is going to say before I open it but it’s still a blow.
From: Garry Anderson （[email protected]） to Elizabeth Cooper （[email protected]） 9:36 p.m. on December 10, 2025
Hi Liz,
Glad you arrived safe. I hear what you’re saying but there’s no way we can spare anyone right now. Let’s see how things progress in London and then, if more resources are required in a month, we can consider sending three CDCers over to provide some assistance.
The focus here is more on helping the administration to shut down travel and identify cases quickly. The president’s keen to minimize movement across the Atlantic and we think that’s the right path.
Stay safe,
Garry
It’s not me who’s in danger here, Garry! Part of me is pathetically grateful for the offer of help but it’s not enough. It’s a dismissal, really. At least they don’t seem to think I’m exaggerating the problem. They’re just going after one small part of the solution. It’s too simplistic. Pandemics can’t be kept out. It doesn’t work like that, not anymore.