Page 13 of Outbreak Protocol

CHAPTER EIGHT

ERIK

I adjust my headset as the secure video conference loads, faces materializing on my monitor: Health Minister Weber's political smile, General Morrison's granite expression, Dr. Helena Karlsson from ECDC headquarters, and representatives from WHO, CDC Atlanta, and health ministries across Europe.

The weight of their collective attention settles on my shoulders.

"Dr. Lindqvist," Dr. Karlsson begins, "please provide your updated assessment."

"The pathogen demonstrates sustained human-to-human transmission with an effective reproduction number between 5.

4-6.2. This number has been continuously revised as the infection has spread, it's outpacing all of our previous modelling.

We've confirmed cases in five countries, with community transmission established in Hamburg, Bremen, and Copenhagen.

" I click through Yuki's latest projections.

"Mathematical modelling suggests 150,000 to 300,000 cases within the next two weeks if current transmission patterns continue. "

Minister Weber's face tightens. "Dr. Lindqvist, these projections seem unnecessarily alarmist. Hamburg's economy—"

"Minister Weber," General Morrison interrupts, his American accent a blade cutting through the political static. His eyes, devoid of emotion, are fixed on Erik. "Your economic models are irrelevant under battlefield conditions. Dr. Lindqvist, let’s talk strategy. What's the case fatality rate?"

"The current fatality rate has increased to seventy-one percent among confirmed cases," Erik answers.

"Seventy-one percent," Morrison repeats, not as a question, but as a tactical assessment. "So, for every ten soldiers I put on the ground, I can expect to lose seven if they get infected. Correct?"

The military framing silences the room. "Yes, General," Erik says carefully.

"And your projections of 150,000 cases in two weeks—those assume your current containment measures hold?"

“They assume current transmission patterns continue,” Erik clarifies.

Morrison nods slowly. "A fire spreads until it hits a firebreak or runs out of fuel. Right now, this virus has a continent of fuel. Dr. Karlsson, you spoke of medical response. I see a continental security threat that requires a military-grade firebreak. We’re not talking about treating patients; we're talking about containing a hostile entity. Forget hospital capacity—what’s the status of Hamburg’s critical infrastructure?

Power grid, water supply, communications?

How long until they fail and the city ceases to be a functional asset? "

The question hangs in the air, chillingly pragmatic.

Morrison isn't focused on the sick; he's focused on the system's collapse.

The silence that follows carries the weight of statistical reality.

These aren't numbers I'm manipulating for dramatic effect—they represent the most lethal infectious disease outbreak in modern European history.

Dr. Amara Okafor from WHO leans forward. "Dr. Lindqvist, what containment measures do you recommend?"

"Immediate quarantine zones around identified clusters, contact tracing with digital surveillance support, closure of non-essential businesses in affected areas, and travel restrictions between infected and uninfected regions."

Mayor Schneider's voice crackles through poor connection quality from Hamburg. "These measures would devastate our local economy during peak tourist season. The G20 trade summit is next week—"

"Mayor Schneider," I say, allowing steel to enter my voice, "mathematical models indicate that without aggressive intervention, Hamburg's hospital system will collapse within ten days. Economic considerations become irrelevant when critical infrastructure fails."

General Morrison nods approvingly. "NATO biological defense protocols are now active. Colonel Santos and I will arrive in Hamburg tomorrow to establish joint operations command."

"General," Dr. Karlsson interjects, "medical response requires civilian authority—"

"Medical response requires resources, coordination, and enforcement capabilities that civilian authorities cannot provide," Morrison replies. "We're not taking over, Dr. Karlsson. We're providing support infrastructure."

The distinction feels meaningless when military personnel start making decisions about medical priorities. I've worked with NATO before during the anthrax investigation in Poland—their efficiency comes with institutional rigidity that doesn't adapt well to evolving scientific understanding .

After the conference ends, I sit back in my chair, processing the political undercurrents I've just witnessed.

Weber and Schneider still view this outbreak through the lens of economic impact and political careers.

Morrison sees it as a security threat requiring military solutions.

Only Dr. Karlsson and the international health officials seem to grasp that we're dealing with a novel pathogen that might not respond to conventional containment strategies.

My phone buzzes with a text from Felix: Anna's condition stable but critical. Emma asking when she can see her mummy. How did the briefing go?

I type back: Military taking over logistics. Politicians resisting quarantine. Will be back at hospital in an hour.

The response comes immediately: I'll have coffee ready. We need to talk about Yuki's latest models.

Felix's messages have become the anchor points of my days—brief moments of human connection amid the cascade of epidemiological data and policy decisions.

Over the past week, our working relationship has evolved into something deeper, though we haven't explicitly acknowledged the shift.

We share meals during brief breaks, fall asleep together while reviewing case files, unconsciously coordinate our schedules to maximize time working together.

Our colleagues have noticed. Sarah often raises an eyebrow at our constant proximity, and Yuki’s subtle smile when she delivers reports to both of us simultaneously suggests she's observed our synchronized work patterns.

We practically share a brain at this point, anticipating each other's needs for data or coffee.

Even Anna, during her brief lucid moments, asked Felix if "the handsome epidemiologist" was taking good care of him.

I should feel uncomfortable about this professional boundary erosion, but instead find myself protective of whatever Felix and I are building together.

His clinical experience grounds my statistical abstractions, while my epidemiological analysis gives context to his individual patient observations.

We've become more effective as a team than either of us was separately.

The Hamburg University Medical Centre’s main entrance now features military checkpoints and portable biohazard stations that weren't here this morning.

Colonel Santos, a woman in her early forties with the bearing of someone accustomed to command, directs soldiers setting up equipment while consulting with hospital administrators.

I find Felix in the ECDC temporary command centre we've established in the hospital's east wing, staring at a wall-mounted display showing Hamburg's infection clusters in real-time. Emma sits at a smaller table nearby, carefully colouring what appears to be a get-well card for Anna.

I come to stand beside him, our shoulders brushing as we study the frightening bloom of red across the city. The exhaustion is a physical weight, pulling at my bones. Without thinking, I lean my head against his shoulder for just a second, a moment of shared, silent despair.

I realize what I've done and straighten immediately, hoping he didn't notice.

But he did. He doesn't say anything, just shifts his weight slightly, turning toward me so our arms are pressed together from shoulder to elbow.

It's not a hug. It's simpler. It's solidarity.

A quiet message:I'm here. We're in this together.

We stand like that for a long moment, drawing strength from the simple point of contact before Emma sees me and breaks the spell.

"Erik!" Emma brightens when she sees me. "Look, I drew mama a picture of her favourite flowers."

"Those are beautiful, Emma. She will love them."

"How's she doing?" I ask quietly, nodding toward Emma.

"Better than expected. She's resilient, but she misses Anna terribly. Asked me again this morning if her mummy is going to die."

"What did you tell her?"

"That Anna is very sick, but we're doing everything possible to help her get better. Children need honesty without overwhelming detail."

Felix's ability to balance truth with age-appropriate comfort impresses me. I've never been around children enough to develop these instincts, but watching Felix navigate Emma's needs has revealed aspects of emotional intelligence I lack.

"Emma," Felix says, "would you like to show Erik your card? I need to discuss some work things with him."

Emma approaches with her drawing—purple and yellow flowers surrounding stick figures labeled "Anna" and "Emma" and "Felix" and, surprisingly, "Erik."

"You included me in your drawing?"

"Felix says you're helping make Mummy better, so you're part of our family now."

The casual way Emma has absorbed me into her conception of family creates an unexpected warmth in my chest. I've spent years maintaining professional distance precisely to avoid these kinds of emotional entanglements, but Emma's matter-of-fact inclusion suggests that distance was more artificial than protective.

"That's very kind of you, Emma. I'm honoured to be in your drawing."

Felix watches this interaction with an expression I can't quite identify—something between affection and amazement, as if he's seeing me discover something about myself.

After Emma returns to her colouring, Felix opens Yuki's latest epidemiological models on his laptop.