Lost Immunity by Daniel Kalla (free reads TXT) 📕

Lisa and Tyra head up the wooden steps and into the main office. The woman standing behind the registration counter appears as if she might have just checked in a ghost. Her gaunt face is drawn tighter than the bun on the back of her head.

Lisa introduces Tyra and herself to the woman, who responds with a blank nod. “I’m Maisy Campbell. The camp’s director.”

“Thanks for taking time to meet us, Maisy,” Tyra says, sliding her and Lisa’s business cards across the counter.

“I still can’t believe it,” Maisy says without touching them. “I’m in shock. We’ve never seen anything like this before.”

It would be beyond bizarre if you had, Lisa thinks. But all she says is, “These outbreaks are incredibly sporadic, Ms. Campbell. Totally unpredictable.”

“I just can’t believe those children are gone.” Maisy motions to the fireplace. “They were right here. Joseph, Emma, Grace, and Connor. Only two days ago. Laughing and singing with the rest of us. Connor played the guitar.” Her voice cracks. “And Emma was so funny. She’d keep the kids in stitches with her impersonations.”

“A meningitis outbreak will do that,” Tyra says. “Which is why we wanted to follow up on the call you got from our office about reaching out to every single camper and staff member as soon as we can.”

Maisy’s eyes go wide. “Will there be others?”

“That’s what we’re aiming to avoid,” Tyra says. “But we need to reach them right away. Start them on antibiotics. All of them. Do you have the contact information we asked for?”

“Yes, of course,” Maisy says as she taps the top of the computer screen.

“And have you gotten in touch with anyone so far?” Lisa asks.

“We canceled next week’s camp. And we sent a mass email this morning about the illness. I can’t even keep up with all the replies…”

“How many people were at the camp this past week?”

“Hundred and seven campers, twelve counselors, four support staff, and me,” Maisy replies without having to consider it.

A hundred twenty-four people exposed to this deadly pathogen? Christ! Lisa motions to the computer. “We’ll need the whole list.”

“I can email it to you.” Maisy types away at the keyboard, before she stops and looks up at them. “There aren’t any… you know… confidentiality issues with me sharing this?”

“You’re totally protected.” Tyra smiles. “Under the public-health statutes, we’re legally entitled to access this information.”

Maisy accepts the explanation with a nod and then copies their email addresses from the business cards. Lisa feels her phone vibrate in her pocket and assumes it must be a notification of the email Maisy just sent. Moments later, the phone buzzes again repeatedly, signaling an incoming phone call, but she ignores it. “Do you happen to know if any of the campers returned from Iceland recently?” she asks.

“Iceland?”

Lisa didn’t think Maisy’s eyes could go any wider, but they do. “We believe the source of the bacteria traces back there. And we wanted to know if any of the campers or staff might’ve visited this summer.”

Maisy shakes her head. “I never heard anyone mention it. For most of the kids, our camp is as far away from home as they’ll get in the summertime. If one of them had gone all the way to Iceland, you can bet he or she would have been bragging about it.”

Lisa nods, feeling a bit deflated. “Do you mind giving us a quick tour of the facilities?”

Maisy hurries around from the other side of the counter. She guides them through the main lodge. With small windows, wood siding, and yellowing linoleum floors, it appeared to have been built in the fifties or sixties with minimal upgrades done to it since, except for maybe a paint job. A large cross is mounted above the fireplace, and posters of religious themes or members of Christian rock bands are scattered along the walls. They walk past the rows of long pine tables in the dining hall and through a set of doors into the kitchen. Boasting old appliances and cabinets, it’s as dated as the rest of the building but smells clean and looks spotless.

Maisy leads them out the back door of the kitchen and along a dirt path that is canopied by trees. The scent of hemlock and fir meld with the cedar. Lisa picks up on the song of a robin overhead, and she feels her shoulders relax. The serene setting reminds her of her own childhood. Her early exposure to nature is one of the few things she’s still grateful to her father for. Even though she chooses to live in the heart of the city, she’s never happier than when she escapes it.

They stop outside the first building they reach, a basic gray square cabin with shingles that are cracked and balding. Maisy points to the door. “We have eight separate dorms on-site for the children.”

“Are they separated by gender?” Tyra asks.

“Of course. By age, too. And at least one counselor sleeps in every cabin.”

Lisa frowns. “So not all of the infected came from the same cabin?”

“Two cabins,” Maisy says. “The Peter and the Matthew cabins. Where the oldest children are housed.”

“How old?”

“Fifteen and sixteen.”

Lisa thinks for a moment. “Are any of the kids dating?”

“This is a Christian camp. That’s not encouraged.”

“They’re also teenagers,” Tyra points out.

“I’m not a gossip or anything.” Maisy lowers her voice conspiratorially. “But I heard the other kids teasing Emma and Joseph. And I had my suspicions about Kayla and Connor.”

Lisa is slightly relieved to hear that two pairs of the known victims were connected in such a way, since the exchange of saliva through kissing is one of the more common routes to spread meningococcus. But it doesn’t explain where the bug came from or how it spread among the other kids.

They tour the two cabins that housed the oldest of the campers, and two others for the younger kids. But nothing stands out in the tidy open dorms that, aside from the rows of bunk beds, are relatively austere.

Lisa’s phone buzzes for a