Christy Esmahan - The Laptev Virus

last few weeks in her mind. They had been assigned a nearly impossible task of trying to learn something about a hitherto unknown supersized virus. They had made loads of progress in figuring out its mode of transmission and had come up with a plausible theory about its history in the region. They had also found another infection which seemed to provide a measure of protection against it, and then had been summarily told to stop all work.

It didn’t seem fair. Perhaps Rhonda was trying to make her life difficult so that she would resign? Well, that wasn’t going to happen. She thought back to her work with HIV, and suddenly she remembered Emile’s words about the relative insignificance of Laptev-HFV when compared to the havoc wreaked by AIDS. If it were destroying small villages in some remote third world country, we wouldn’t even be looking at taking on this project. And no one would be asking us to drop AIDS research, when HIV affects so many thousands of people, just to take on this tiny outbreak in the Arctic.

He was right. Their research on AIDS was consequential. She would return to it proudly and inspire her team to do the same. The difference would be that now they had more money at their disposal, they could work for a longer period of time and she could be more directly involved. It wasn’t such a bad thing after all, she thought, and with a lighter heart, she returned to the IDI.

EPILOGUE

Stan Sundback was checking his e-mails, even though it was almost 2:00 am and he really should have been asleep by now. It was a nervous, reflexive habit. Ever since he had authorized the re-opening of the drilling sites in the Arctic, he had been extra attentive, always half-fearing the worst.

It hadn’t helped that Angela had resigned as soon as she found out about the site being re-opened without her approval. That had been another scandal, losing her. She had been strident as she accused him of being “irreverent with the lives of others” by agreeing to open up the drilling areas without further tests. Her words had stung him all the more since they mirrored his own doubts, but, he reminded himself, the job of a CEO was not supposed to be a bed of roses.

Three weeks had passed and everything seemed to be perfectly fine. It was true that they had taken extra precautions and only people who were Laptev HFV resistant had been allowed to work on the drilling sites. Finding Laptev resistant workers had turned out to be quite easy in the end: a simple blood test showed whether anyone had the little “cat critters” as he called them—that infection that came from owning cats and somehow provided immunity to Laptev. He didn’t understand the science, but then again, he didn’t need to. His job, as the shareholders frequently reminded him, was to make sure that the company made money. Ever since Angela had learned from the researchers at the university that there was a way to ensure that the workers would be protected, things had gone smoothly for Riesigoil. With any luck they would have an active well started before the weather turned colder in September.

Stan yawned and placed his cell phone on his bedside table, then went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He was concerned, to be quite honest, because Dennis had told him today that Glassuroil had just closed down its Arctic drilling stations because there had been “incidents” as of late. The intelligence reports had not mentioned what the nature of these “incidents” was, but he was attempting to convince himself that they were due to the thawing conditions in the Arctic. Maybe the melting permafrost had made it difficult to sustain the scaffolding above the well? Certainly the melting permafrost had caused havoc as the unpaved roads were now disappearing at an alarming rate. Stan had seen that this was a problem in many areas inside the Arctic circle, especially places like Alaska where the frozen roads had served for decades.

Surely the incidents at Glassuroil had nothing to do with any viral outbreaks. Nothing at all. That kind of thing could not have been kept secret.

After wiping his face and hands with a towel, Stan returned to his bed and picked up the phone to silence it before turning in for the night. That’s when he saw that there had suddenly been a frantic list of emails. Isolated words, ‘urgent’, ‘six dead,’ ‘compound not responding,’ flashed across the message subject lines.

Holy shit, he thought, and his heart began pounding fiercely in his chest. His fingers were shaking so hard that he fumbled a few times as he scrolled through and read the most recent one. It was from a minute ago, 2:09 am.

We cannot reach anyone at the compound to confirm the report that was received a few minutes ago.

Suddenly his phone rang. He saw that it was the new VP of Health, Safety and Environment, Peter Shoemaker, and immediately took the call.

“Stan, sorry to wake you.”

“I was up.”

“I just got a call from Riesig-Alaska, the control facility that is working with the Laptev Bay barracks in the Arctic. It seems there’s been a shooting. They got word that one of the workers, I guess it was the bear hazer, Max something, who had just returned from one of the drilling sites this evening. Apparently he went crazy and began shooting. They said several people were dead. Someone from the barracks sent hasty messages and then all contact with them was lost.”

“God…” Stan said, closing his eyes. A shooting. Workers dead. It was his worst nightmare. He swallowed twice before he was sure that his voice would not tremble as he spoke. “What do you suggest?”

“Since no one is responding, it could be a hostage situation. I think we need to get a plane to go there immediately and see what’s happening,” said Pete.

Stan let out his breath. “Okay, do it,” he said, hoping against hope that it would not be too late.

Oscillating between fear, guilt and anxiety, Stan was not able to sleep for the rest of that long night. With tattered nerves he rose before dawn, fervently wishing he could turn back the ruthless passage of time and remove all traces of his permission to open the drilling site anew.

He had left his phone on, but no new information had been forthcoming. He shaved, showered and just as he was walking out the door, another call came in, this time from Riesig-Alaska. He stepped back inside his house and took the call.

“Mr. Sundback,” said the voice, “this is Gerald Jemison, from the Alaska Riesigoil outpost. Dr. Shoemaker said we were to call you directly as soon as we had information about the compound at Laptev Bay.”

“Yes, what did you find?”

“Sir… I regret to inform you that at this time there appear to be no survivors.”

Stan reached for the wall as the room tipped slightly. “What else have you got?” he said, his voice hoarse.

“We’re sending the photos of the bodies to our forensics team, and the authorities have been called, of course. It’s too early to speculate, but what we can confirm is that most of the crew was killed in their sleep. They were shot in the neck with bear darts. It looks like a few of the people must have woken up while the systematic killing was going on, and there is evidence of a struggle afterwards… though, like I said, no one seems to have survived. We will keep you informed as soon as we find out more.”

Stan hung up. His mind was reeling and his heart was leaden. He knew the next step that he needed to take and he mentally prepared himself to call Dennis. He tried to pick up the phone but suddenly felt nauseous. He ran to the bathroom and bent over the toilet as his stomach heaved repeatedly.

Regret and remorse took turns washing over him anew in huge, towering, --">