He mentally reviewed the list of antibiotics in his mind again, realizing the team had already tried everything. There were no other options.

Head down, he trod back to the nursing station. He pulled a consultant’s note sheet off the shelf. He patted his pockets but came up empty in his search for a pen. At the back of the station, he scrounged around the desk until he found a discarded ballpoint pen. He sat down. When he brought the pen to paper, he noticed a red-and-white logo on the pen that read “SeptoMed.” For a moment, flickers of recognition danced around his head without quite connecting. Then the idea hit him: Maybe there was one other dim hope.

Ignoring the no-cell-phone rule, he grabbed his phone out of his pocket, dialed directory assistance for toll free numbers, and remained on the line while his call went through. An automated answering machine picked up. He pressed the “0” button several times until a live voice came on the line. “SeptoMed Pharmaceuticals. This is Amber. How may I direct your call?”

“I would like to speak to Dr. Ellen Horton.”

19 - Seattle, Washington

19

Seattle, Washington

“Every new emerging pathogen crisis needs a catchy acronym. It’s the Eleventh Commandment,” Dr. Warmack had said to Dr. Lopez on their way home from Harborcenter. And overnight a new name and acronym had popped into CDC vernacular. By morning, people were calling the new bug ‘Multi-resistant group-A streptococcus’ and shortening it to MRGAS, which they pronounced as “mer-gas.”

Lopez hardly slept a wink. E-mails and calls from Atlanta had continued nonstop, while an impromptu approach for limiting the spread was being hammered out by the CDC. Though MRGAS had not yet surfaced into public awareness, the buzz had already hit the infectious-diseases community. And though MRGAS was brand-new to the planet, the concept of a superbug resistant to all antibiotics had, like a prophesized apocalypse, been feared and expected for years by those on the inside. The day had arrived, and they even had a term for it: “the post-antibiotic era.”

Lopez was running on pure adrenaline. And once the shock and fear had subsided, her stomach fluttered. Like a surgeon facing the riskiest and potentially most rewarding operation of her life, she felt simultaneously scared and energized by the prospect of her role in the efforts to contain the MRGAS outbreak.

After a quick shower and cup of instant coffee, she scrawled a note for the dog sitter, gave Rosa a quick hug, and then headed for the door. Reaching for the doorknob, her smartphone rang for the fifth time that morning. She pulled it off her belt and answered.

“Dr. Lopez?” the man asked in a smooth French accent.

“Yup. Who’s this?” she said, realizing her phone etiquette had begun to slip.

“Terribly rude of me, I apologize,” he said warmly. “I am Jean Nantal, calling from Geneva. I am the—”