“I’ll take this one,” said Emma. Her being a trauma surgeon in Charlotte, hers was the career Hannah found most intimidating. “At first I had a little respite. For the first time in recorded history, there was one minute where nobody was wrecking their cars while drunk or distracted. People shot each other a lot more, though, so there’s that. And now trauma has exploded: last night we had a dozen assaults: fists, knives, gunshot wounds, and two people who got attacked with a machete. All the GSWs died.”

Hannah blinked in horror.

“We slowed down in our low-acuity clinic visits,” said Zadie, who also lived in Charlotte. “People weren’t seeing their pediatricians and were getting diagnosed with murmurs, and other patients were missing follow-ups, so it’s led to a few worsening conditions.”

Kira cocked her head. “Have you seen any increase in cardiac defects compared to usual?” The question sent a shiver through Hannah; they were not yet seven months into the pandemic, so very few women who’d been infected in the first trimester had yet given birth. No one really knew, yet, how the virus might affect the unborn.

But Zadie’s answer was reassuring. “Not at all.”

Still, a pinch of consternation settled across Hannah’s brow. She saw it when her own visage on the screen caught her eye, and resisted the urge to run her finger along her forehead to smooth it out. She started to say something to change the subject, but Vani beat her to the punch, saying something about how she was seeing far fewer patients than normal—her patients, in rural Kentucky, were suffering from the economic and psychological impact of the virus, if not the virus itself—but Compton interrupted her. They both apologized and waited for the other to speak.

Compton took the reins. “Kira,” she said in a voice so creaky Hannah almost flinched. “I hate to ask this, but is there any kind of new virus circulating? One causing encephalitis or some other kind of brain impairment?”

Kira’s eyes swung sideways, presumably to lock in on Compton’s image on her screen. Her voice took on a sharp tinge. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve seen a couple of weird cases. Young people, with dementia that comes on rapidly, some with seizures. Increased T2 signal intensity on MRI but no obvious cause.”

“Do they have artiovirus?” asked Hannah timidly.

“PCR negative, although both had antibodies, so they must have had it at some point in the first wave. They aren’t sick now, though.”

“Can you get permission to send me their medical records?” Kira appeared to be writing something. She stopped and looked up. “Have there been any other cases like this at your hospital?”

“I don’t know.” Compton’s face settled into a masklike rigidity, as if she were gritting her teeth. “I just . . . This was just this week. If it had only been one patient, I wouldn’t have even mentioned it, but two patients . . . I don’t know what to think. What are you thinking? Could this be related to artiovirus somehow?”