The Things That Keep Us Here Read Online Free PDF Page A

line flattened out.
    “Now we’ve got two populations that can’t pass the virus on. We call this ‘community immunity.’ As a result, the virus now produces fewer and fewer human infections and may eventually have to move to wildlife. That specific virus is out of the picture, at least temporarily.”
    The line dwindled to a series of dots.
    “But wait. All of a sudden, it alters the form of its protein receptors so that our vaccines are no longer effective.”
    Now the line rose up in a second gentle slope.
    “Once again we have to build up a new sort of immunity. Which we eventually do.”
    A second flattening out. The line resembled a series of rounded steps climbing across the board.
    “This is antigenic drift.” He wrote the term in capital letters and underscored it. “This is what the World Health Organization is working hard to monitor and control. Anyone have any idea how?”
    A flurry of raised hands. He pointed to a fair-haired boy in the back.
    “By tracking the virus in poultry. And killing it when they find it.”
    “Exactly. Now, antigenic drift is no small thing. But antigenic shift is Freddy Krueger, Dracula, and Hannibal Lecter rolled into one.”
    Now every head was up. They should be. He wasn’t exaggerating.
    “Antigenic shift occurs when two viruses, one avian and one human, mix together within a single host.” He sketched two blobs with antennae. “The pig is ideally suited for this role, because it’s susceptible to both avian and human influenza viruses. So let’s say these two viruses meet and mingle within a pig. Out pops a new virus, one that carries avian code but has human protein receptors. Now we have humans getting infected with an avian virus.” An alien-looking thing with protruding nodules. “What’s the significance of this?” He scanned the class and nodded to a boy in a front seat.
    “Um, we don’t have any immunity against it?”
    “Worse than that. We don’t have any community immunity against it, and we have no quick way of attaining it. By the time science catches up, this little guy will have ripped through the entire human population”—another series of circles—“and utterly devastated it.” Peter slashed his pen through every circle.
    A hushed silence, then someone said, “That’s what’s happening with H5N1.”
    “That’s what we’re worried can happen with H5,” Peter corrected. “That’s why WHO has issued alerts, why our health departments are stockpiling latex gloves, and why I’m freezing my butt off beside Sparrow Lake at five in the morning.”
    A ripple of laughter.
    Someone called out, “Do you think we’re going to have a pandemic?”
    Peter regarded the young faces turned toward him. He thought of all those mute bobbing birds, felled by the same sharp blow. “What does the science tell us?”
    Silence. They were thinking about this.
    “Put yourself in the virus’s place. If you had a good thing going, hooking up with everybody in town, would you move on?” Nervous laughter.
    “Of course you wouldn’t. You’d hang around as long as possible.”
    “So that means yes?”
    “That means …” Peter reached over and shut off the projector. He faced the room. Every head was lifted, every pen stilled. “It’s inevitable. Maybe not in my lifetime. Maybe not in yours or even your children’s lifetimes. But sometime.”
    He didn’t say the last part. That the world’s population was greater than ever. That when the pandemic did arrive, it was going to result in the most devastating loss of life mankind had ever seen, many times worse than what had happened almost a century before. That science was helpless to stop it.
    These were kids, after all. No need to terrify them.

 
“Doctors refuse to give the condition of the six people admitted to a Barcelona hospital this evening, but sources reveal they are two men and four women, all in their twenties and thirties, and all suffering from what seems to be avian influenza.