Page 6 of Outbreak Protocol
I close my laptop, leave too many euros on the table, and hurry back to the hospital.
"Her son says she was fine three days ago," Anna whispers as we stand outside the ICU. Through the glass, I watch the respiratory therapist adjust ventilator settings. "Started with what seemed like a bad flu, then rapid deterioration this morning."
Frau Meier makes twenty-eight.
"Did you note the bleeding?" I ask.
"Yes. Nosebleed that wouldn't stop, then petechiae appeared on her chest and arms."
"Just like the others." I rub my eyes. "Did ID consult see her?"
"Briefly. Said it's likely an aggressive influenza strain with secondary complications."
"That's what they always say." I can't keep the frustration from my voice.
"Her son is in the waiting room. Asked specifically for you—said his mother mentioned you were kind to her in triage."
I find Martin Meier hunched in a plastic chair, staring at nothing. When I sit beside him, he looks up with red-rimmed eyes.
"Will my mother die?"
The direct question catches me off-guard. I could offer platitudes, but that's not what he needs.
"We're doing everything possible, but her condition is very serious." I pause. "Has anyone else in your family been ill? Or at your mother's workplace?"
"She volunteers at the community garden three times a week. Said a few of the other gardeners had been sick recently." He wipes his eyes. "I just thought they had a weird summer cold or flu. I should have brought her in sooner."
"This isn't your fault. This illness... it progresses quickly and unpredictably."
"But you've seen it before." It's not a question.
I hesitate, weighing professional caution against the truth. "I've observed similar presentations in other patients recently, yes."
"Is it contagious? Should I be worried about my kids?"
Another question I can't properly answer. "We're still determining the transmission pattern. Wash your hands frequently, monitor for symptoms, and come in immediately if you develop a high fever."
His shoulders slump. "That's what the other doctor said too. No one seems to know what's happening."
I place my hand on his shoulder. "I promise you, some of us are trying to figure it out."
The next morning, I examine Friedrich Heinz, a 51-year-old veterinarian who came in overnight with fever, severe headache, and early signs of the rash I've come to dread.
"I thought it was just exhaustion," he says, wincing as I check his lymph nodes. "Been working double shifts at the clinic. Lots of sick animals lately."
My hand pauses. "What kind of animals?"
"Bit of everything. Three dogs with mysterious bleeding. A couple of cats with neurological symptoms. Even treated a parrot with similar issues." He coughs, a wet, rattling sound. "Probably just coincidence."
Just like Herr Becker's parrot. I make detailed notes.
"Any idea what was causing the animal illnesses?"
He shakes his head, then grimaces at the movement. "Tests were inconclusive. I was planning to send samples to the university lab, but then I got sick myself."
I order the now-familiar battery of tests, adding special requests for the infectious disease team. As I'm finishing the admission orders, Klaus grabs my wrist with surprising strength.
"Doctor, I've been a vet for twenty-five years. When multiple species show similar pathologies simultaneously, it's never good news." His eyes are fever-bright but lucid. "Whatever this is, it jumps boundaries."
