“The infection rate is now estimated at twenty million in the US alone. The virus, which authorities are calling X1, is intermittent in nature and causes symptoms similar to seasonal flu. Those infected report feeling under the weather for a few days, then well for a day or two before the symptoms return. Officials at the CDC and NIH have urged individuals to exercise vigilance throughout the flu season, including washing your hands and—”

Elliott changed the channel again.

“Triple-A reports that despite an uptick in flu activity, they expect a record number of travelers to take to the roads this Thanksgiving weekend. Air travel is also projected to set a new high. Retailers are banking on strong Black Friday sales with Wall Street analysts calling for a ten percent growth in sales over last year…”

It was a perfect biological storm. A highly contagious virus—amplifying at the precise moment when movement around the country was at its highest.

Elliott walked back into his office, closed the doors, and dialed a number at the CDC. To his surprise, voicemail picked up.

“Jacob, it’s Elliott. Call me. Thanks.”

He dialed the man’s cell and was relieved when he answered.

“Jacob. Please tell me you’ve sequenced this respiratory virus and compared it with the Mandera samples.”

Elliott sat up at Jacob’s response. “What? … I know it’s Thanksgiving—” He paused to listen. “Listen to me, Jacob, this is going to be the last Thanksgiving if those viruses are the same… No, Jacob. Monday is too late. You’ve gotta go back in, finish it. Call your team… What? Jacob—”

Elliott felt like screaming.

He called the EOC once again, hoping to get a different operator. The response was the same: the head of watch had instructed every operator not to give Elliott any status updates. He was officially locked out—at perhaps the most critical time in the agency’s history.

Day 6

Day 6

300,000,000 Infected
70,000 Dead

Chapter 45

Chapter 45

At first Millen thought it was the wind blowing through the camp, whipping against the empty tents, the flapping and howling only sounding like voices. As his sleepiness faded, he realized the sounds actually were voices—several people, arguing in hushed tones just outside his tent. He rolled over, careful not to make any noise.

The morning sun cast three figures in shadow against the tent’s white fabric, like shadow puppets creeping toward him. They paused, pointed, and continued past him, talking quickly. Millen heard them enter the main tent. Crates being opened, ransacked.

He rose and pulled on his shoes.

The SUV Kito had left him stood at the edge of the camp, nearby. The main tent was on the opposite side of the camp, away from him, and Millen could see the shadows of three figures moving inside. They were turning the place upside down, looking for something.