Lost Immunity by Daniel Kalla (free reads TXT) 📕

homeschooling, “gentle forestry,” beekeeping, natural building, varied crafts, and live arts. In retrospect, Lisa suspects that free love and open marriages could have been part of the post-hippie lifestyle there, too, but she never confirmed the hunch.

As a young child, Lisa loved the vibrant environment. The thriving grounds were filled with families and other kids to play with. She remembers music constantly playing, with live performances almost every evening. But petty squabbles—many of which her father instigated—and natural attrition eventually set in. By the time Lisa and Amber were teenagers, most of the other families had departed and there was only a skeleton crew left to manage the farm. It felt like a dying community, and Lisa couldn’t wait to escape it and her father’s domineering presence.

“Hello?” Her mother’s voice pulls Lisa from the memories.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Lisa!” says Elizabeth Dyer, whom most people know as Beth. “How are you?”

“I’m good. Fine. Very busy at work right now.”

“I can only imagine.”

For a moment, Lisa considers telling her mom about the meningitis outbreak. But she realizes it will mean little to her and probably only lead to an argument. Her mother has never been as vehemently opposed to Western medicine as her father is, but she would never defy his opinion, either. Beth doesn’t so much share her husband’s views as she absorbs them for her own. Lisa has come to see her mother as more of a disciple than a wife. As a teenager, Lisa vowed to never let a man dominate her in the same way, but sometimes she wonders if she hasn’t ended up with a partner who’s just as obstinate as her father.

“How’s Dom?” Beth asks, as if reading her daughter’s mind.

“He’s all right,” Lisa says. “You know how it is, Mom. There are ups and downs in every marriage.”

“I suppose,” Beth says, sounding unconvinced. “But you two are hanging in there? Working things out, I hope.”

“We’ll be fine,” Lisa says, opting to bend the truth. “How are things on the farm?”

“Busy. We’re still selling corn, literally by the bushel.”

Lisa clears her throat. “And Dad?”

“Your father goes nonstop. Almost seventy, and he hasn’t slowed one iota.” She hesitates. “He would love to hear from you sometime, darling.”

“OK. I’ll call him soon,” Lisa lies again. “I’ve only got time to catch up with you today.”

“You’re not calling with… news, are you?”

“What news?” Lisa asks, fully aware that her mother is hoping for word of a positive pregnancy test.

“Any kind, darling. After all, you don’t call very often.”

“Maybe I inherited that trait from you, Mom?”

“Amber and Allen brought Olivia over last weekend,” Beth says, ignoring the barb. “That little one is growing up so quickly. She talks about you nonstop. It’s kind of adorable.”

“Liv’s so headstrong,” Lisa says, happy for the change in subject. “Were Amber or I like that at her age?”

“Both of you, in a way,” Beth says. “Mainly you, though. You always needed a concrete explanation for everything. The sun, the moon, the seasons. So scientific. So skeptical of anything spiritual or faith-based. I’m not surprised you ended up as a doctor.”

There’s no judgment in her mother’s tone, but no praise, either. Lisa doesn’t understand why she still seeks her mom’s approval, but she does. “This is the right life for me, Mom.”

“I’m sure it is. Just as this farm is the right life for us.”

“And Dad really is doing OK? He’s still taking his medication?”

“Yes, darling. Every day. I promise.”

“OK,” Lisa says. “Well, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“Likewise. It would be even nicer to see your gorgeous face…”

“I’m only a couple hours’ drive away, Mom.”

“As are we, darling.”

Lisa looks up to see Tyra standing expectantly at her door.

“I love you, Mom,” Lisa says as she hangs up with the glum realization that there’s considerably more than a hundred miles of highway keeping her and her parents apart.

Lisa and Tyra ride the elevator down to the conference room on the main floor in silence. Lisa wishes Angela was with them. Her friend would know how to handle the press. But she hasn’t had any updates from Angela, who hasn’t replied to the text or voice mail she sent this morning.

The room is as noisy and full as Lisa expected. Each of the forty or so chairs is occupied. A few reporters are forced to stand alongside the cameramen and photographers in the aisles. Along with a whiff of body odor, Lisa picks up on an unsettled vibe. She senses the room could turn on her quickly.

The noise only dims when she steps up to the lectern. She introduces Tyra and herself and then reads verbatim the brief press release, which officially announces the launch of the vaccination campaign. Looking up from her notes, she says, “The first vaccine clinics will open tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. We will publish the list of other sites and schedules on our web page and other social media sites. To reiterate, we are offering the vaccine to anyone between the ages of ten and twenty-five. We’ll take a few questions now.”

Arms shoot up across the room while some reporters just shout their questions. Ignoring them, Lisa holds up a hand and waits for the room to quiet. Finally, she points to a young woman in the first row whose arm is extended as straight as a flagpole. “Yes?”

“Is it true there have only been four new cases in the past two days?” the reporter asks.

“In the past thirty-six hours, yes.”

“Isn’t that a very good sign? That the outbreak is slowing down?”

“We are always pleased when the rate of infection falls,” Lisa says, measuring her words carefully. “Unfortunately, two of those new cases actually represent spread of this infection into the community. In other words, beyond the camp where all the other victims came from. Moreover, we know from the Icelandic outbreak that there are carriers of this disease who show no symptoms but can still spread it to others.”

“Does that guarantee it will continue to spread?” the stocky man beside the