Page 58 of Outbreak Protocol

ERIK

I stare at the data on my tablet, scrolling through Felix's latest bloodwork. His viral load has decreased by 17% in the past eight hours. Significant, but not the dramatic reversal we need to convince General Morrison to halt the "final containment protocols."

"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 overus. 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."