Page 56 of Outbreak Protocol
Silence stretches between us.
"How sure are you?" she finally asks.
"In vitro results are promising. We're about to try it on our first human subject."
"Felix," she says softly.
"Yes."
Another long pause. "I'll make calls, buy you more time. But Erik... you need to prepare yourself for—"
"Don't," I cut her off. "Just make the calls."
When I return to the lab, the treatment is ready—a clear liquid in an IV bag that represents our best hope. Dr. Nguyen, the ICU specialist overseeing Felix's care, reviews our data and protocols.
"You understand this is experimental at best, there's a very high risk of this exacerbating the symptoms," she says, glancing between me and the treatment.
"I understand the risks," I say. "So would Felix."
She nods once. "I'll administer it myself."
Emma wakes as the medical team prepares to enter Felix's isolation room. She stands beside me at the window, her small hand finding mine.
"What are they doing?" she asks.
"They're giving Felix medicine that might help him get better," I explain, watching as Dr. Nguyen and two nurses don full protective gear. "Medicine we made from the parrot."
"Like in my science book," Emma says. "Antibodies."
I look down at her, surprised. "Yes, exactly like that."
"Felix read it to me a few days ago," she says simply.
Of course he did. Even amid a global crisis, he'd take time to read science books to a child. Something twists in my chest, sharp and painful.
We watch as the team enters Felix's room through the airlock. Dr. Nguyen checks his vitals while a nurse prepares the IV line. The second nurse adjusts his ventilator settings, responding to some change on the monitors.
"What's happening?" Emma asks, pressing closer to the glass.
"They're making sure everything is ready," I explain, though I can see from the nurse's movements that Felix's oxygen levels must have dropped again.
Dr. Nguyen hangs the IV bag and connects it to Felix's line. The clear liquid begins its journey into his bloodstream. Within moments, it will either help his body fight back against the virus—or do nothing at all.
There's a third possibility, one I refuse to voice: that thetreatment could trigger an immune response so severe it overwhelms his already stressed system. The risk exists with any experimental treatment, but we had no time to run proper safety trials. No time for anything but this desperate gamble.
The medical team exits the isolation room, leaving Felix alone with the machines and our treatment flowing into his veins. Dr. Nguyen approaches us on our side of the glass.
"Now we wait," she says. "The first six hours are critical. If he responds, we should see improvements in his inflammatory markers and oxygen levels."
"And if he doesn't?" Emma asks, her voice small but steady.
Dr. Nguyen glances at me before answering. "Then we try something else."
It's a kind lie, one I don't contradict in Emma's presence. We have no "something else." This treatment represents our best and possibly only chance.
"Thank you," I tell Dr. Nguyen. She nods and moves to the monitoring station.
Emma and I remain at the window. The parrot's antibodies continue their slow drip into Felix's system. Each drop carries a fraction of hope.