There was a wild media frenzy with reports of the first case.
It started with a sniffle arising from a flu. Next, a rush of blood from the nose and ears. And then the inevitable – death.
Within weeks, the top brass of the World Health Organisation (WHO) attempted to play it cool. But with the proliferation of the pandemic, they resorted to the fifth realm of the estate, escalating protocols to stem the tide of the emerging global pandemic.
Their effort triggered a global panic. Many people thronged the hospital at the slightest hint of a flu.
Europe experienced the first cases and soon, Asia caught the flu. Starting with China. Then – Africa.
A global lockdown was implemented.
Airports closed shop.
Social distancing laws were enacted leaving people basking in the melancholic confines of their homes.
Quarantine centres were established in prominent cities.
But the spread continued, unabated.
Save for the relevant health personnel, other citizens were cooped up. Indoors.
****
For Dr. Abimbola Akinde, the world was changing fast. Especially with the emergence of a virus that was gradually rewriting the script on how humanity could navigate their way in the face of a pandemic-stricken world
As she soared through the deserted streets of the city, a sense of melancholy hung in the air. Her thoughts spun. It felt like a dervish.
Towering billboards flickered with footages of WHO briefings and stats on mortalities arising from the virus. No one made mention about advancing a cure for the virus. It was all data. Briefings. Endless talk and no action.
As she pulled up before the sprawling hospital complex, a subtle hint of apprehension hung on her shoulders. Every day, health workers like herself were at risk. A potential contact with death.
She slipped on a facemask before walking gingerly through the sun drenched driveway and onto the crowded ward of the hospital.
Patients lay in pain. IV tubings visible by their bedside. The sound of electrocardiograms pulsed rhythmically like a metronome. It was a grisly sight. Chills rippled down her spine
A voice over the radio embedded in one of the wards she was superintending, chimed. “The Nova 238 virus is on the increase with 400 new infections, 50 deaths and no recoveries. The WHO along with the CDC are making frantic efforts to end the pandemic….”
The stats were frightening. It spiked her heartbeat uncontrollably.
The hospital sound system crackled, cutting off the news transmission instantly. A female voice emitted almost immediately. “All doctors, nurses and laboratory personnel are required to be present at Hall C for an emergency briefing. I repeat Hall C for an emergency briefing. Nurses are advised to remain at the wards.”
Abimbola nodded at the nurse seated at the far end of the expansive ward. A gesture suggesting she was on her way out of the ward.
She scuttled through the winding, sterile corridor. Other medical personnel funneled through the corridor to the hall.
She took her position at rear of the hall and observed attendees to the briefing, all donning facemasks, eerily.
At one end, running the entire length of the wall was a platform. Atop its surface, a gray-haired man stood. Diminutive and bespectacled, the man let his eyes sweep across the hall that was so silent you could hear a pin drop.
Abimbola sensed something about the man’s demeanor. It was something striking. Almost like an aura over him. Everyone was focused on him like a bee stuck to a rose flower.
He cleared his throat before speaking. His voice gravelly. “I am Dr Efe Omage. A virologist with the World Health Organisation. I was in Geneva months ago when the virus struck and didn’t pay any attention to it till when I visited my family here and was restricted. I have been in consultations with your Chief Medical Director and I shared some useful hints about my findings concerning this virus.
“Years ago, I had published a paper on the biological properties of virus and just like every other paper published by an African, the world never took notice.
“But right now, I think I could advance my ideas using this Nova 238 as a case study.
“Virologists like detectives tend to profile or map viruses. And for one, the Nova 238 which sounds like the name of a spaceship…”
A roar of laughter resonated in the hall.
“…appears to be evolving just like every other organism. But why this is different is because of the rapid rate at which this phenomenon is going.”
The lights in the hall were suddenly muted.
A holographic interface sprang to life behind him, flooding the hall with an Iridescent glow.
A translucent RNA image materialized.
He gingerly stepped aside, enabling his audience catch a glimpse of the holographic model.
“I have friends. Virologists as well who have profiled or rather mapped this genome and surprisingly we realise that it is responsive, adaptive to every therapy or treatment. Even with the introduction of drugs, it seems to be inactive for a while but suddenly it seems to re-emerge. Resilient and better adapted to fight any treatment whatsoever. Hence the difficulty in finding a cure.”
Murmurs erupted across the vaulted hall.
A gaunt man stood up. His voice, flat. “Thanks Dr. Omage. I am Doctor Adeshina Danre. We know viruses are very funny organisms to deal with. But the question should be how fast this virus is mutating. We should be looking at how to slow down it’s rapid rate of evolution and double up on our therapeutic efforts.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Dr Efe replied curtly. “Obviously, what we suspect is the presence of a sequence within the virus which enables this to occur.”
His fingers darted over the interface, highlighting an area between a constriction of the RNA strand. It pulsed with a crimson glow.
“While mapping the virus, we found the part of this RNA that possesses such a tendency. It is called the Sigma coil. We couldn’t find it in the samples collected from the first patients in Europe but now its in virtually every strand. Think of it as the virus’ seat of consciousness. Something like its brain. It’s like a feedback funnel that recalls anything thrown at it and with that, it’s adaptability component is triggered.”
Another murmur buzzed through the hall. This time longer than the first. Lines of apprehension creasing the foreheads of the health workers.
A surgeon spotting thick bifocals was on his feet. Clad in green scrubs. “I am Dr. Maurice Ibe. For us to really deal with this virus, we need to think the way it does. Survival is its primary instinct and if we must defeat it, we must block every opportunity of survival at its disposal.”
Dr Omage pursed his lips thoughtfully. His fingers stroking his stubbled jaw.
Abimbola listened raptly. An idea sizzled in her head like a muted bulb that was just switched on.
A virus that was acted like the human species was bound to have a weakness. A soft spot. An Achilles heel.
Abimbola was on her feet. “I think the solution to the virus should have a bilateral effect. One that adapts like a predator and defends like a soldier. We could carry out an appraisal of the RNA strand, seek enzyme pathways in order to obtain its weak spots and possibly trace biochemical maps. All in a bid to ascertain its weakness. It may take some time but with the right team, ascertaining its soft spot could just be a way of defeating Nova 238.”
Dr Omage adjusted his glasses. A smile tugging at the sides of his lips. “If I get you correctly ma’am, we really do not need a cure to defeat the virus. We just need something it is unable to learn from.”
Abimbola was beaming. “Exactly, sir. We need something asymmetric. Something that could confuse the virus and possibly misdirect it.”
An applause erupted. And it rent the once still air like a salvo.
****
Her shift was over.
As she headed back to her car, a voice called out: “Hello ma’am.”
She turned around to find Dr Omage racing after her.
She smiled broadly. “Your findings were indeed insightful.”
He nodded, adjusting his glasses. “Indeed. And your response was even more interesting.”
She arched her eyebrows. “You made us put our thinking caps on.”
“If you say so.” He said, jamming his hands in the hip pocket of his trousers. “I was on the phone with the Director General of the CDC in Geneva and he thinks our idea is pragmatic. So, I would like you to come work with my team. What do you say?”
She paused. It’s been a lifelong dream to be part of a groundbreaking research. The type that could define new and uncharted frontiers in the sciences. And the dream of having one’s name forever printed in gold.
And what else? The Nobel Prize?
After a seemingly lengthy margin, she replied with an even broader smile. “I accept.”
Ozoya Irene Christopher is a trained architect and creative writer in Benin City, Edo State, Nigeria. He have several online publications. His preferred genres are science fiction and thrillers.
