Page 29 of Outbreak Protocol

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ERIK

"Dr. Lindqvist?" Dr. Nguyen approaches, her face tight with exhaustion. "His latest CT scan."

The images show Felix's lungs clearing slightly, the characteristic ground-glass opacities beginning to resolve around the periphery. I zoom in, searching for more evidence of improvement.

"The hemorrhaging has stopped completely," Dr. Nguyen adds. "And he's initiating some respiratory effort on his own."

"Excellent. When can we attempt to reduce sedation?"

"I'd like to wait another four hours. His inflammatory markers are still elevated, though trending downward."

I nod, calculating timelines against the deadline hanging over us. Twenty-four hours. Just twenty-four hours until Morrison enacts his "surgical elimination" plan.

"Keep me updated on any change, however minor." I hand back the tablet. "And Dr. Nguyen? Thank you for your exceptional care."

She offers a tired smile. "He's fighting hard."

Through the observation window, I watch Felix's chest rise and fall with the ventilator. The machines surrounding him display their cautious green numbers, each increment of improvement a tiny victory against overwhelming odds.

Emma sits beside his bed, permitted inside now that we've confirmed the treatment is neutralizing the virus.

She reads aloud from a book Sarah brought her, occasionally glancing up as if expecting Felix to respond.

The careful way she avoids touching his IV lines or monitoring equipment speaks to how quickly she's had to grow up these past weeks.

My phone vibrates. Dr. Helena Karlsson.

"Erik," she says when I answer, her voice tight. "I've just come from an emergency session with the European Parliament's Health Security Committee."

"And?"

"They're deferring to NATO on this. The committee chair cited 'extraordinary circumstances' and 'military necessity.'"

I press my fingers against the bridge of my nose. "Even with our preliminary treatment results?"

"I presented everything we have. The consensus was that one patient showing improvement doesn't constitute proof the outbreak can be contained."

"We've begun treating ten more patients this morning," I counter. "Early indicators are positive across the board."

"I told them that." Frustration edges her voice. "Erik, they're terrified. This virus has a seventy-one percent mortality rate and is spreading exponentially. Brussels, Paris, Berlin—they're all seeing cases now. The politicians are looking at worst-case scenarios. "

"So they'd rather obliterate Hamburg than give us forty-eight more hours?"

"Essentially, yes." She pauses. "What about mass production of the treatment?"

"Sarah and Yuki have streamlined the synthesis process, but we're still at least seventy-two hours from large-scale production."

"Too long for the politicians." Another pause. "How's your doctor?"

I glance through the window at Felix. "Improving. Slowly."

"I'm glad." Her voice softens momentarily before returning to its professional tone. "I've scheduled another emergency session for eighteen hours from now. Get me more data by then—anything showing broader efficacy."

"I will."

After hanging up, I message Aleksandr to continue coordinating treatment administration to our test group, then check my watch. Time for another attempt to penetrate the military's chain of command.

Colonel Santos stands at the nurses' station, reviewing security protocols with her team. When she sees me approaching, she straightens, her expression already guarded.

"Dr. Lindqvist, I was about to find you. General Morrison is requesting an update."

"I'll provide one directly." I gesture toward the conference room. "May we speak privately first?"

Inside, Santos closes the door and turns to me with the resigned expression of someone who already knows what's coming.

"Colonel, our treatment is working. Felix—Dr. Müller—has shown consistent improvement over twenty-four hours. His viral load has decreased significantly, and we've begun treatment on ten additional patients with promising early results."

"I've seen the reports," she acknowledges. "But General Morrison requires evidence of containment, not just treatment. "

"The treatment directly impacts containment. As patients recover, transmission decreases. We've already observed reduced viral shedding in treated patients."

Santos leans against the table. "Dr. Lindqvist, I understand your position. But you need to understand mine. The clock is ticking, and Morrison believes the risks of waiting outweigh the potential benefits of your treatment."

"He's wrong."

"Perhaps. But he's the one with the authority to make that call."

I clench my jaw, forcing myself to maintain composure. "I need to speak with him directly."

"He's at NATO headquarters in Brussels."

"Then arrange a video call."

Santos studies me, then nods. "I'll try. But I'm warning you, he's made up his mind."

"Then I'll have to change it."

While Santos makes arrangements, I return to the lab where Sarah and Yuki are analyzing data from our test group.

"Any complications with the new patients?" I ask.

Sarah shakes her head. "Minor immune responses to the treatment in two patients, but nothing concerning. All ten are showing decreased viral loads at varying rates."

"How long until we have statistically significant results?"

"Another twelve hours, minimum," Yuki says, not looking up from his computer. "But the trend line is clear." He swivels his monitor toward me, showing a graph of viral load measurements across all eleven treated patients, including Felix. The downward trajectory is unmistakable.

"Send this to Dr. Karlsson immediately," I instruct. "And prepare a simplified version for General Morrison. I'm speaking with him within the hour."

While waiting for Santos to arrange the call, I check on Felix again. His oxygen requirements have decreased slightly, and Dr. Nguyen is preparing to attempt reducing his sedation .

"Erik," Emma says when she sees me. "Felix's hand moved. All by itself."

"That's excellent news," I tell her, genuinely encouraged. Voluntary movement suggests his neurological function is intact despite the virus's known affinity for neural tissue. "That means the medicine is helping his brain too."

"When will he wake up?"

"Soon, I hope. The doctors are going to try letting him wake up a little bit today."

Emma nods solemnly. "I'll be really quiet so he can concentrate on getting better."

I squeeze her shoulder gently. "You're being very brave."

"Felix says being brave just means doing what you have to do even when you're scared."

The wisdom in her words—Felix's words—hits me with unexpected force. "He's right about that."

Santos appears at the door. "Dr. Lindqvist, the call is ready."

In the conference room, General Morrison's face fills the large screen. He looks exactly as I expected—late fifties, crew cut, the impassive expression of someone accustomed to making life-or-death decisions.

"Dr. Lindqvist," he acknowledges. "Colonel Santos tells me you have updates on your treatment protocol."

I launch into my presentation, methodically outlining our progress: Felix's improving condition, the preliminary results from the ten additional patients, the decreased viral shedding, the projected timeline for mass production.

Morrison listens without interruption, his expression unchanging. When I finish, he leans forward slightly.

"Doctor, I appreciate your team's impressive work. But you're asking me to risk millions of lives based on eleven patients showing modest improvement over a single day."

"With respect, General, I'm asking you to give science time to work. The pattern of improvement is clear and consistent across all treated patients. "

"And how many can you treat before my deadline?"

"Perhaps fifty. But once we've confirmed the protocol works—"

"Fifty out of how many infected?"

I hesitate. "Current estimates suggest approximately two million in Hamburg alone."

"And spreading by tens of thousands every hour." Morrison shakes his head. "Doctor, I've reviewed the projections. Without immediate containment, we're looking at a pandemic that could kill billions. I can't risk that outcome."

"And I can't accept the needless deaths of hundreds of thousands of civilians when we have a viable treatment."

"'Viable' is optimistic at this stage," he counters. "And 'needless' is a matter of perspective. My responsibility is to protect the greatest number of lives possible."

"By taking lives."

"If necessary, yes." His expression hardens. "The containment measures will proceed as scheduled unless you can demonstrate widespread containment of the virus within the next twenty-four hours."

"That's impossible, and you know it."

"Then we have nothing further to discuss," Morrison says, his voice flat.

"Wait," I say, my voice tight with desperation. "General, please. What you are contemplating is the murder of millions."

Morrison leans forward, and for the first time, a flicker of something—weariness, perhaps, or grim resolve—crosses his features.

"No, Doctor. Whatyouare contemplating is sentimental foolishness that will lead to the murder ofbillions.

You see eleven recovering patients; I see a 99.

999% failure rate to contain the outbreak within your city.

You see individuals; I see a biological weapon that has breached its silo and is arming itself in every major population centre on the continent. "

He gestures to someone off-screen. A new map appears behind him, showing global air travel routes originating from Europe.

"This isn't just about Hamburg anymore. It's about Tokyo. New York. S?o Paulo. You're asking me to gamble the fate of the human species on the hope that your magic parrot juice works on a large scale. That is not a gamble I am authorized—or willing—to make."