Lost Immunity Daniel Kalla (reading women TXT) 📖

Lisa glances over to one of the security guards. “Apparently.”

“This is Delaware’s biggest product release in almost five years, Lisa. We have so much riding on it.” Nathan taps his chest with two fingers. “We have to protect it with our lives.”

“Your lives aren’t the ones at stake. But I get it.”

Nathan bends down and flips open one of the boxes near his feet. He cracks open the Styrofoam packaging, extracts a yellow-topped vial, and holds it out to Lisa. “A lot of fuss over something as simple as this, huh?”

Lisa takes the almost weightless plastic vial between a thumb and index finger and rotates it from side to side, inspecting the clear fluid as it rolls inside. “It’s the standard half-a-ml dose, right?”

Fiona nods. “Already reconstituted. But it does need to be shaken well before use. And always administer in the deltoid muscle. Preferably the left arm, for consistency.”

Lisa resists the urge to remind the other woman that she’s not a novice when it comes to vaccinations. “And it has to be refrigerated?”

“Always. Between four and eight degrees Celsius.” Fiona reaches out for the vial, and Lisa passes it back to her.

“When do you want to start?” Nathan asks.

“We had been targeting early next week,” Lisa says. “But since you’ve already brought the supply, we could start as soon as tomorrow. We just need to finalize the locations of the vaccination clinics.”

Fiona closes the box and looks up at Lisa. “We’ll need to know how many sites you plan to run simultaneously.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because we’ll need to have enough team members at each of them.”

Lisa crosses her arms. “There’s no way anyone aside from my nurses will be administering the vaccine.”

“They can give the shots,” Fiona says. “But there’s no way anyone outside of my team will be transporting or handling the vials.”

“We’re all on the same team,” Nathan says. “Think of us as your lackeys, Lisa. Your Amazon Prime for the new vaccine.”

“Why not? Amazon basically owns Seattle, anyway.” Lisa breaks off eye contact with Fiona. She doesn’t resent her stance. In fact, she admires it. Fiona exudes competence. And Lisa appreciates what it means to be passionate about your job.

“So how do you plan to publicize the vaccination campaign?” Nathan asks.

“We’re going to make an announcement later today.”

He frowns. “A press conference?”

“A social media launch combined with a press release. No doubt the mainstream media will have plenty of questions. Might as well tackle them head-on.”

He shakes his head. “Delaware won’t be making any public comments on this trial.”

“Launch,” Fiona corrects.

Nathan and Fiona share a quick look, and Lisa wonders if there’s a reprimand in his eyes, but she can’t tell.

“Whatever you want to call it, we’re not willing to be drawn into the media side of this,” he says.

“Understood,” Lisa says.

“Did your office sign off on the patient-consent forms?”

Lisa nods. The forms contain the standard legalese absolving Delaware Pharmaceuticals of any liability from complications of the vaccination. Lisa knows as well as Nathan that they wouldn’t stand up in court, but it’s a typical deterrent used in all drug trials. “We will get consent from all patients or, in the case of minors, their guardians, before giving the vaccine,” she says.

“Good.”

“And have you had a chance to review our app for reporting vaccine-related complications?”

“We have,” Fiona answers for him. “It looks similar to the existing national VAERS site for reporting adverse events.”

“It’s meant to,” Lisa says. “We plan to put our link on Seattle Public Health’s home page and plaster it everywhere else we can think of. If there are any early signals of complications, we’ll pick up on them right away.”

Nathan sighs. “No matter how this campaign goes, you’re going to pick up on a whole lot of noise, you do realize?”

“Always the way with vaccines,” Lisa says sympathetically. “Hopefully, it’s all just precautionary.”

“It’s not too late to reconsider, Lisa.”

“To reconsider what?”

“All of this.”

“I don’t get it. The early trials have been so promising. Why can’t you look at this as a huge opportunity for Neissovax?”

His shoulders sag. “There haven’t been as many new cases of meningitis in the past few days, have there?”

“Another seventeen-year-old died last night,” Lisa says. “You know how it is with meningococcus. It waxes and wanes. It doesn’t behave anything like the flu.”

“But what if this outbreak is naturally resolving? What if it’s about to disappear just like it did in Iceland?”

“It’s way too early to contemplate that.”

“But if it is, and you subject the whole city to an immunization campaign with an experimental vaccine…”

Lisa doesn’t blame him for his reticence. The same concern has already crossed her mind. As her gaze drifts to one of the rigid security guards and comes to rest on the holster on his belt, she feels the sudden weight of responsibility pressing heavily on her shoulders. The buck does stop with her. As does the potential liability of exposing an entire city to an unproven vaccine.

A phone rings, and Nathan reaches into his pocket and pulls his out. Lisa sees the name Peter on the flashing screen.

“Excuse me,” he says. “I have to get this. I’ll just be a minute.”

“Can’t be easy, huh?” Fiona says to Lisa, once Nathan has stepped out of earshot.

“What can’t?”

Fiona’s gaze softens. “Being responsible for controlling an outbreak like this.”

“It’s not like I’m doing it alone. I’ve got a terrific team,” Lisa says, downplaying the accuracy of the observation.

“I suppose, but I can still empathize. My role is all about managing risk and exposure.”

“Yeah, but you seem so… certain to me. Like you never doubt.”

“And you do?” Fiona raises an eyebrow. “You strike me as supremely confident. Fully in charge. How you persuaded Peter Moore, of all people, to change his mind about releasing Neissovax is nothing short of a miracle. He’s a stubborn as they come.”

“I’ve had a lifetime of experience with pigheaded men, but to be honest, I’m not the one who convinced him.” Lisa feels herself relaxing, enjoying the moment of candor. “Besides, the deeper I