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was introduced, didn’t they see a spike of neurologic diseases among the vaccinated? Memory loss, chronic pain, seizures? Some children lost the ability to walk.”

“Again, all self-reported. Never verified in studies.”

“But they did happen, Dr. Dyer.”

He goes on to cite other studies, most of which Lisa recognizes as being tainted by pseudoscience, bias, or outright fraudulent data.

Five senses, she reminds herself as he speaks. The mindfulness exercise has been her latest coping skill at home as the fights had worsened.

Sight: the ring of condensation along the rim of her water glass. Sound: the silky cadence of the man’s voice. Feel: the lectern against her fingertips. Smell: the faint scent of her own perfume—vanilla and tonka bean—OK, I might have stolen that one right off the label Taste: the residual mint from her toothpaste.

Feeling calmer, Lisa waits for the man to finish. “We could argue all day over the quality and accuracy of the evidence,” she says. “But the truth is that every major academic body has reviewed the data and endorsed the safety and effectiveness of the HPV vaccine. And I respect that kind of science.”

“I’m extremely respectful of science, too. After all, I’m also a doctor. A naturopath.” He pauses. “But academics aren’t always right, are they? Science changes. Mendel’s theory of genetics was dismissed as nonsense by his contemporaries. Copernicus was ridiculed for suggesting the earth revolved around the sun. The examples go on and on.”

Lisa almost smiles. He’s doing what they do so well. Twist real facts and examples to support their unsupportable beliefs. Their religion. She might as well be arguing with a flat-earther or a climate-change denier.

“Listen, Doctor…?”

“Balfour. Max, please.”

“Dr. Balfour, you’ve obviously done your research. But cervical cancer is a devastating disease that kills thousands of young women every year. And it’s one of the few cancers we can actually prevent. Wouldn’t you want to protect your daughter from that?”

“I don’t have a daughter. But I do have a son.” The smile leaves his lips, and his gaze drifts downward. “When Jack was one, I wanted to protect him from everything, Dr. Dyer. But right after we gave him the measles vaccine, he developed autism.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “And, maybe, that’s what I really should have been protecting him from all along.”

Several people in the audience break into spontaneous applause.

Before Lisa can respond, her phone buzzes on the lectern. She can’t help but glance down at the health advisory from her office that pops up on the screen. “Four dead from meningitis. All attended the same local Bible camp.”

CHAPTER 2

The sudden brilliance jerks Kayla from sleep. The violent glare is brighter than a floodlight and bores into her temples as sharply as needles. She flops over and buries her face into the mattress until the blaze subsides.

Kayla was up late texting with Connor, her first boyfriend. She had almost lost her virginity with him the previous week at camp. She was willing to, ready to, even though she understood it was a sin. It would’ve happened, too, if their cabin counselor, Nicola, hadn’t stumbled upon them alone in the woods, tucked inside the same sleeping bag and stripped down to their underwear. Luckily, Nicola was cool about it and didn’t report them to the camp director, who would’ve freaked.

But last night’s texts with Connor had nothing to do with their sexual near miss. No. Apparently, Emma and Joseph had been taken to the hospital. The news flooded social media. It was serious, people were saying. And in Connor’s last text, he mentioned that his head was beginning to throb, too. He hasn’t responded to any of Kayla’s messages since.

Waking more fully, Kayla gingerly rotates her head and realizes the brightness comes only from the morning sunshine that leaks through and around the drapes.

The light sensitivity and the nausea are even worse than the headache. Unless she tries to move her neck. The slightest bend jolts her like a boot to the back of the head.

Kayla trembles violently and wraps the blanket tighter to fight off the sudden cold.

Do I have it? The realization brings a chill that’s unrelated to her rising temperature. Just like Emma and Joseph?

The panic wells along with the nausea.

Meningitis!

A rumor is circulating on social media that Joseph is already dead.

Kayla tastes the bitterness of her own vomit as it erupts up into her throat.

Oh God, am I next?

CHAPTER 3

Despite the clamoring audience at the HPV vaccine forum, as soon as she receives the health alert on her phone Lisa cuts the session short and hurries out to her car. On the way, she confirms with her office that not only have four teenagers died from meningitis, but three others are critically ill and barely hanging on in the intensive care unit.

The city basks under radiant blue skies and a benign sun, but Lisa is oblivious to the near-perfect late-summer day. As she drives southeast toward the hospital, away from the shadows of the Seattle Municipal Tower and other downtown high-rises, her mind is consumed with potential containment and communication strategies. She has no doubt Seattle is facing another public-health crisis. Meningitis outbreaks always are. The victims are inevitably young, especially teenagers, and the collective fear induced is often even more contagious than the pathogen responsible for the infection.

Her Bluetooth phone rings through the car’s speaker, and expecting more news from the office, she answers before checking the name on the screen. She regrets picking up the moment she hears her husband’s voice.

“Hi, Lees.”

“Oh, Dom. Hi. Can I call you back? Just dealing with an emergency.”

“A public-health emergency?” Dominic asks.

Maybe she only imagines condescension in his tone. Perhaps, these days, she just expects judgment even where there is none. Regardless, she can’t suppress the flicker of hurt. But she keeps it from her voice. “For real. I’m almost at the hospital. Can I call you back?”

“I just wondered if you wanted to carpool to our session today,” Dominic says.

Shit! She had forgotten

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