Elizabeth

The hardest thing about making a vaccine is the final test: trying it out on a human host. And when it’s a deadly virus, that test subject is going to risk his or her life.

I take off my glasses and lower my head into my hands, massaging my temples, staring down at the petri dish with the healthy human cells in it—cells that have successfully fought off the secondary strain of Scorch Flu. I’m looking at saving lives right here.

We did it.

While Nani has not physically worked on the vaccine due to her pregnancy, each day we conferred on a plan of action and I executed our plan—so this is her accomplishment too.

For months we’ve labored, and she’s now in actual labor, working to bring forth her and Luca’s child. I’m excited for them, and hopeful it won’t be as grueling a physical ordeal as delivering twins was for Avital—and I’m grateful that, with Avital back on her feet and Melody available to help, I’m not needed.

Being present at the birth of Dolf and Avital’s twins thrilled and terrified me. It’s a challenge I’m one step closer to now.

And this moment, here and now in my quiet lab, is the fruition of all I’ve worked on for months.

I should be more excited.

Not only did the cells win their battle with the broken strain of flu I exposed them to, the live pig trial also went well. A secondary and cruder test, a mix of Jolene’s and a pig’s infected blood, was injected into a test animal. Pigs don’t die from Scorch Flu like humans, but they do get a minor respiratory infection. The control pigs did—and the vaccinated pig didn’t.

Yes, I’m ready for that final step: testing on a human host. It is time for the final push.

The level of clinical trials that would traditionally be done is impossible here at the Haven, and every day without a vaccine costs more lives. Nani and I knew this problem would arise, but who or how can we ask someone to take this risk? We shelved the topic to deal with once we had a viable specimen.

And we have one, today.

There is no way for me to know if the neutralized virus we’ve managed to reverse engineer from Jolene’s body actually works except by testing the vaccine. I have done all of the due diligence that Nani and I set up and every indication is that we’ve got an effective intervention. I wish I could watch the antibodies do their job in a test situation, but viruses and their activity are too small to be seen under anything but an electron microscope the size of a building—leaving good old-fashioned human experimentation.

I adjust my personal protection equipment, pulling the mask down off of my face as I rub my tired eyes with ungloved hands. I’ve been down here all night.

Working in the lab gives me something to do rather than worry about how Nani’s labor is going. JT would keep me company, but I sneaked out of the bedroom, unwilling to wake him. He works so hard, too.

I’m glad Dad is here, and safe, but the loss of Mom still makes my heart ache every time I think of it. I can’t help but wonder if I made the right choice, leaving the bunker in Washington to find JT. Would I have been allowed to work on the secondary vaccine in the lab there? Would we have found it faster, with every resource and multiple scientists working on it?

No doubt we would have.

Would my mother still be alive if I had stayed? How many lives could I have saved by sacrificing my own happiness?

There’s no way to know. I did what I did, I chose what I chose, and now it has come to fruition.

This moment should be more uplifting, more triumphant and celebratory, but I just feel sad and tired and wish the burden of finding a volunteer willing to risk their life and exposure to the deadly secondary strain could fall to someone else. I could ask JT to help me, but I’m afraid he’d volunteer.

I put my glasses back on, don some fresh PPE gloves, and pick up a refrigerated egg from a chicken we named Henrietta Lacks after the woman who gave her cells to cancer research. Since I injected Henrietta with the vaccine, her eggs carry the broken virus, and are the foundation of making the actual vaccine for use.

I crack the egg, separating it before centrifuging the white and pour the purified viral load into a beaker. After mixing it with reagent and processing some more, I centrifuge again, and draw it up into a syringe for injecting.

There is no shortcut for this process.

Each egg has to be produced by a live infected chicken and each dose, hand extracted and processed. Even if we had a huge lab, it would still be a matter of chickens, eggs, and extraction, not to mention keeping the doses cold and sterile once created.

This slow process is why my father and other leaders in the government hoarded the first vaccine. What a heavy weight to carry. It’s hard enough trying to decide who I should test this vaccine on…and they had to decide who to save, without any real idea how the pandemic would play out, how many doses would be needed.

Anger flickers in my belly, because hoarding was the wrong decision. That vaccine should have been distributed to the hospitals, given to health care workers. Not that it would have done any good in the long run…but it would have saved some.

That’s the past. I set the loaded syringe down on the counter in front of me. This is the future.

Should I just inject myself and get it over with? I’m confident of the vaccine…

A knock on my lab door announces the arrival of my father. I try to smile as I look up to greet him. “Hey, Dad.”

He’s still limping, but getting around a lot better. I’m not used to seeing how old he looks, how shrunken. He approaches and rubs my shoulders. I drop my head forward and sigh at how good it feels. I’m so lucky to have him in my life, when so many have lost everyone. Mrs. Sproat’s lined face crosses through my mind. Melody tells me she’s doing a lot better now that she’s connected with our supports.

“What are you working on?”

“The vaccine, of course. I finally have a viable specimen.”

“That’s wonderful news.” Dad swivels me around on my stool, touching my cheek. “Why aren’t you more excited?”

“The last step is the most difficult, with this or any other vaccine. But particularly with this one, since we don’t have any other clinical trials we can do, and time is of the essence. Time literally saves lives.” I put away the materials on the counter for something to do. “I’ve done everything I can to ensure that this vaccine is effective. We now have to test it in a human subject.”

“I see.” Dad lowers himself onto a stool next to me.

“I’m really confident in it. So confident I’m thinking of injecting myself.”

Dad’s eyes widen. “No, honey. We need you too much. The world needs you, not just for this project but for all the things you will do for science in the future.” He looks around my lab, his eyes sharp, taking it all in. “It should be me.” His voice warms and strengthens as he turns back to me. “Please. Let me do this. Let me give something back. Make up for my mistakes in some small way.”

My eyes sting with tears. I can’t lose him again. “No, Dad.” My throat closes and I have to swallow the lump in my throat before I can continue. “I don’t want to lose you. In some ways, I feel like I just found you.” He grimaces, his eyes dropping to his lap. “What is it? Your foot? Is it hurting?”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s just that…” He takes a deep breath and meets my gaze, a new resolve shining in his bright blue eyes. “My whole life I tried to protect you, care for you.”

“I can see that now.” Everything that separated us has fallen away and I see my father clearly: flawed, but beautiful. Courageous, hard-working, proud, and overprotective. But able to grow and change.

His hand covers mine, and he strokes the back of it. “Such beautiful, perfect hands. Your mother’s hands. I miss her so much.” He swallows, emotion tightening his voice. “She understood me. Knew everything about me.” His voice drops to almost a whisper. “There is something I need to tell you.”

My heart stutters in my chest. Is it something about his political career? Did he participate in the pandemic?

He strokes the back of my hand with his thumb. “I’m gay.”

My father’s bright blue eyes lift to meet mine, and there’s worry and stress in them.

He’s afraid I’ll reject him.

My mouth drops open in shock and relief. A grimace crosses his face, but he doesn’t break eye contact. “I’m sorry I lied to you for so long. To everyone.”

Like the snowflakes settling in a shaken snow globe, the memories of my childhood shift into a new pattern accommodating his words.

The separate bedrooms. I never questioned it because my parents clearly had love and affection. They hugged each other and held hands. One time I asked about the bedrooms and Mom just shrugged and said they slept better apart and had a habit from all of Dad’s campaign traveling.

I can’t imagine living in a marriage without the passion that ignites me every time I’m with JT.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“Dad.” I find my voice, and there’s a hint of laughter behind it—relief that he’s not a mass murderer is making me giddy. “It’s okay. I mean, I’m okay with you being gay.”

His eyes brim with tears and it makes my heart ache for him. He’s had to hide for so long.

“I loved your mother deeply.”

“I know you did, Dad.” My own voice is thick with emotions now as the truth of their marriage settles in around me.

“She was my best friend, and lived with me under the scrutiny and secrecy of my position, and she did it all so that we could serve the nation. Together.”

Objections rise up, old assumptions about my father: that he lived for his career and personal glory, not service to others. But those thoughts are a habit, a pattern of perception that I used to distance myself and break free of his overprotective grip. And Dad may have been in the closet, but at least he didn’t try to advance discriminatory legislation—he always spoke out for rights of all.

“Did you have…lovers? Another relationship?”

Dad shakes his head, tears glistening in his eyelashes. “I was always faithful to your mother.” He’s never known love like I have. His eyes find mine and they are lit with that internal strength I recognize so well. “Let me make up for my mistakes in hoarding the vaccine, not coming out earlier to warn people about how deadly this thing was…please, let me be the test subject. It would make me so happy to help, no matter the outcome.”

He’s sincere.

How can I deny him this chance to do something good? Because of my own selfishness?

“Are you sure, Dad?”

He rolls his sleeve up exposing a thin arm corded with muscle. Dad bunches his hand to make a fist. “Shoot me up, Lizzie, and let me go down in history.” He winks, and I can’t help smiling. I uncap the syringe and slip the needle into his flesh, releasing the broken virus into my father. Please, please let this work.