Page 7 of Outbreak Protocol
The words follow me through the rest of my shift.
"You wanted to see me, Dr. Müller?" Hartmann's voice carries the perpetual note of impatience he reserves for clinical staff.
"Yes, thank you for making time in your schedule." I've rehearsed this conversation for days. "I've documented twenty-nine cases of what appears to be the same illness over the past three weeks. The presentation is consistent and concerning."
I slide a folder across his desk. He doesn't open it.
"And you've compiled this... report... on your own time?"
"Yes. The pattern suggests an emerging infectious disease with concerning transmission rates and mortality."
Hartmann sighs. "Dr. Müller, we've been through an unusually severe influenza season which appears to have extended into the summer months. Combined with late spring allergic respiratory infections, what you're seeing is unfortunate but not altogether unexpected."
"Sir, with respect, influenza doesn't typically cause the hemorrhagic manifestations we're observing. Nor the specific pattern of neurological deterioration."
"And you've consulted with infectious disease specialists about your... theory?"
"I've tried. Dr. Vogt believes it's a particularly virulent influenza strain. Dr. Bauer suggested possible bacterial co-infection. Neither has reviewed all the cases collectively."
Hartmann finally opens the folder, flipping pages with obvious disinterest. "You've included a recommendation to contact the ECDC and implement enhanced infection control measures."
"Yes. The clustering and progression rate suggest we're dealing with something that requires broader expertise and resources."
He closes the folder. "Do you understand what happens when hospitals raise false alarms about disease outbreaks, Dr. Müller? Tourism drops. Conferences cancel. The economic impact is substantial. And careers are on the line, if and when the alarm proves to be false."
"And if it's not a false alarm?"
"The Mayor's office has specifically requested that healthcare facilities avoid creating unnecessary public concern during the upcoming international trade conference." His tone sharpens. "Your emergency department is currently running at 127% capacity. Perhaps your energy would be better spent treating patients rather than playing detective."
He stands, signaling the end of our meeting. "Focus on youractual responsibilities, doctor. Leave public health policy to those qualified to make those assessments."
The folder remains on his desk as I leave.
The familiar scent of Anna's apartment—cinnamon and vanilla from whatever she's been baking—greets me as I climb the three flights to her door. The building's old radiators clank and hiss, a comforting soundtrack I've grown to associate with refuge from the hospital's sterile urgency.
"Uncle Felix!" Emma's voice carries through the thin walls before I even knock.
The door swings open to reveal Anna's daughter bouncing on her toes, dark curls escaping from hastily assembled pigtails. Her school uniform is wrinkled and paint-stained, evidence of a day well-lived.
"Mum said you were coming for dinner! I made you something!"
She grabs my hand, tugging me through the narrow hallway lined with Emma's artwork and Anna's collection of medical conference photos. The apartment isn't large—a living room that doubles as Anna's study, a galley kitchen, and two small bedrooms—but it radiates warmth that my sterile flat lacks entirely.
"Let me guess," I say, allowing myself to be dragged toward the kitchen table. "Another masterpiece for my refrigerator?"
"Better!" Emma releases my hand to retrieve a folded piece of construction paper from the counter. "It's a get-well card for Herr Weber. Mum told me he had a heart attack yesterday."
Anna emerges from the kitchen, wooden spoon in hand and flour streaking her scrubs. "She insisted on making it after I mentioned you saved someone's life."
"We both saved him," I correct, accepting Emma's card. The front depicts a stick figure in a white coat—presumably me—standing next to a hospital bed where another stick figure sports an enormous smile. Inside, in Emma's careful second-grade printing:Feel better soon! Uncle Felix is the best doctor!
"This is perfect, Em. Herr Weber will love it."
"Can you give it to him tomorrow? And tell him I hope his heart gets strong again?"
"Absolutely." I fold the card carefully, slipping it into my jacket pocket. "But first, what smells so incredible in here?"
Anna wipes her hands on a dishrag, leaving additional flour streaks on her faded jeans. "Emma chose the menu. Spaghetti with meatballs and garlic bread."
