Lost Immunity by Daniel Kalla (free reads TXT) 📕

moment. When she speaks, her voice is as fragile as crystal. “I see.”

“This latest victim, Darius Washington… he got his vaccination at the same clinic as Mia Meyer did. Our very first one. Which means two of the eight hundred inoculated there reacted this way. And we could still see more from it.”

“I’ve checked that batch repeatedly,” Fiona insists. “There were zero imperfections.”

“What about the individual vials? Have you tested those for contaminants?”

There’s another pause. “The spent vials?”

“Yes, there should be enough liquid left inside to test them.”

“Even if that were true, the first clinic was five days ago. Those used vials are long gone.”

“Gone where?”

“We collect them and ship them back to Littleton for sterilization and recycling.”

“How about the clinic where Mateo got vaccinated? That was only three days ago.”

“I’ll double-check, but I’m sure the same is true.”

“OK,” Lisa says, feeling increasingly despondent. “Thanks.”

“Lisa…”

“Yes?”

“You’re sure this person died from a reaction to Neissovax?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Fiona says, her voice cracking. “There were so many scenarios I envisioned. Terrible ones, too. But this? I never expected anything like this.”

“Why would you?” Lisa asks, as much of herself as Fiona. “But it’s happened. And now we have to limit further damage.”

After she hangs up, Lisa’s mind keeps turning back to Darius. How could no one in his life have associated his death with the vaccine?

She rises and heads back to the conference room but finds it empty. She heads over to Tyra’s office, where the program director sits typing at her computer.

Tyra looks up at her. “There wasn’t much left to discuss after you left…” she begins, but stops. “What’s wrong, Lisa?”

“There’s been a third reaction. A death this time.” Lisa goes on to update her about Darius.

Tyra’s shoulders slump. “Now what?”

“For starters, we cancel all the vaccination clinics. Immediately and indefinitely.”

“They’ve won. The anti-vaxxers.”

“No one wins here.”

Tyra nods blankly.

“I need to speak to Darius’s family. Urgently. Can you help me track down his next of kin?”

“Will do.”

“We have two people who reacted out of a single clinic. Statistically speaking, it just doesn’t fit, Tyra. Not if Delaware’s trial data is to be believed.”

“None of this makes sense, Lisa.”

“I already asked Fiona about the individual vials, but they’ve been recycled. What about the syringes themselves? What happens to those?”

Tyra straightens, and her jaw sets with determination. “We round them up in sharps containers. Eventually we pool those into giant bins before they’re sent out for biomed waste disposal.”

“How often do those go out?”

“I’m guessing weekly, but I can let you know.”

“So they might not be gone?”

“I’ll look into it.”

As Lisa wanders away from Tyra’s office, her thoughts drift to her niece. She feels a chill at the memory of Olivia’s trusting smile after she buried the needle into her shoulder. She lifts her phone and tries her sister again, but it rings through to voice mail. “Hey, how’s the little one feeling?” she says on the recording, trying not to sound as worried as she feels. “Call me, Amber, please.”

CHAPTER 44

The cargo doors to the warehouse are wide open. Three workers transfer a pallet from the back of the truck onto the waiting forklift. Despite the industrial nature of the scene, to Nathan, the whole experience feels more like a funeral. The ambience is the perfect fit for his current mood.

As hard as the unanticipated skin reactions and cessation of the vaccine campaign have hit Nathan, Fiona appears to be taking all the developments even worse. With bloodshot eyes and taut lips, she has never looked more exhausted or dejected to him.

“Twenty-five thousand extra doses that no one will ever see,” he remarks as he watches them unload the extra supplies that were shipped urgently only the day before from the plant in Littleton.

“What do we do with them?”

“Nothing. Store them with the others, for now.”

“For destruction?”

“Possibly.”

“How could this have happened?”

“Terrible luck? Or karma? Maybe it’s some kind of cosmic lesson for tempting fate as much as we did.”

Fiona motions to the stacks of boxes on the warehouse floor. “We used the exact same product here as in the trials. Same dose, same equipment, even the same packaging. Nothing was different.”

“We used more of it this time, Fee.”

“That could statistically explain one, maybe two, never-before-seen reactions. But three? And two from the very same clinic? If that’s random, then it’s cataclysmically bad luck. Like being struck by lightning in a light rain. Twice.”

Nathan stares at her. “What are you suggesting, Fee?”

“Just that none of this makes sense.”

“I agree. But that doesn’t help us. And it certainly won’t help Delaware’s bottom line.”

“Who cares about that right now?”

I still do. But he’s too ashamed to admit it. They lapse into silence as Nathan watches the workers pile more pallets on the floor that he realizes will likely end up back at the warehouse where they started from or in some massive incinerator.

“What’s next?” she asks.

“I’m going to go back to New York. Might as well face the board sooner than later.”

“And me?”

“I was hoping you’d stay here. Supervise our supplies until we’ve decided on the next steps.”

She nods to the nearest security guard. “You want to assign me a door and give me a gun, too?”

“You’re not the only one hurting here, Fee.”

Her eyes lower, and her cheeks color.

Nathan softens his tone. “We’re all just on edge.”

She nods minimally.

Nathan’s phone vibrates, and he pulls it out of his pocket. When he sees Peter Moore’s name on the screen, he answers on speakerphone.

“Is it true?” Peter barks. “About the third one? A fucking John Doe?”

“He’s not a John Doe, Peter,” Nathan says. “He just never made it to the hospital. The coroner was the one who made the connection.”

“No one reported him before that?”

“Not according to Public Health.”

“Jesus Christ!” Peter growls. “This was supposed to be a fucking one-off. As in, no more goddamn reports!”

Nathan takes him off speaker and brings the phone to his ear. “Did you hear what I said, Peter? The coroner reported him.