The End of Men(65)

It’s going to be a bit less satisfying being right when my former enemies are almost all dead. But still, some satisfaction will no doubt shine through.

I’m trying not to pace around the office but the waiting is too much. I could call Margot but she’s teaching a class and besides, there’s nothing she can say or do. The tests have been done; it either works or it doesn’t. I can’t be down there as they run the final checks and validate everything. I hover and then people get nervous and they make mistakes and the hope is too intense. This isn’t our first rodeo. We thought we had it last time, three months ago. We really did. But the few dead chimps were there, heavy and cold and that was that. My team is exhausted. Margot keeps reminding me not to push them too far because they’re tired, but she doesn’t see their determination every day like I do. I have no idea how the other labs are coping around the world but I’d be amazed if they had the stamina of my lot. Of fourteen virology postgraduate students and postdoctoral scientists in this lab in November 2025, there were thirteen women and one man. Poor Jeremy, RIP. All the other top-ranking, virology-focused labs in the world capable of creating a vaccine for the virus had far more men than we did. God only knows how they’ve been dealing with those people dying. We’re way ahead. We’ve retained our knowledge and our morale. There are personal motivations for all of us to create a vaccine—saving husbands, sons, the world, our careers. But we’re not fighting for our own lives and that makes a big difference. No one can do their best work in what is essentially a war. The male scientists around the world who are frantically battling to understand the virus, attack it, control it and beat it have too much skin in the game. Had. Most of them are dead now. They were and are desperate and the best scientific discoveries rarely arise from desperation. Logical, calm, dogged persistence is far more likely to win the race.

There’s a pounding sound. It’s footsteps, fast heavy footsteps making my heart leap. No one runs with bad news. Unless it’s a double bluff and Wendy, my loyal, competent deputy, is trying to break it to me as quickly as possible. Rip off the Band-Aid. This is why I can’t be there when they get the results. I’m losing my mind in this office.

I can tell it’s worked as soon Wendy bursts into my office in a whirlwind of tears and snot and out-of-breath flapping. “It’s worked, it’s worked. Lisa! One hundred percent survival, blood tests all clean.”

I walk backward slowly. It’s worked. I have invented a vaccine to cure the Plague. I’m going to save the world. I have saved the world.

Wendy hovers, clearly hoping for an emotional reunion. It’s not going to happen, Wendy. Now the hard work starts. Margot and I have talked about this endlessly since she told me to get my head out of the sand in the middle of the night all those months ago. The plan is clear. Someday soon I will read articles in which this vaccine will be referred to as a miracle. It isn’t a miracle. It’s the result of hard work, dedication and ingenuity. Miracles are easy; working is hard.

“Call the Public Health Department.”

I pace my office for a few minutes, the excitement so extreme I can’t contain myself. I don’t call Margot. Telling her what I’ve managed to do will be one of the greatest moments of my life and I want to savor it, uninterrupted.

Wendy rushes back in and thrusts her phone at me. Now is not the time for the Canadian Public Health Agency to put me on hold; they’ll have been praying I would call.

“Lisa,” the voice on the other end of the line says.

“Dr. Michael’s fine,” I reply. I’ve never spoken to this woman before; we’re not on first-name terms.

“Apologies, Dr. Michael. What can I do for you?”

My voice is bubbling with happiness. “You should sound more excited to hear from me. This is the phone call that’s going to change your life.”

There’s a stunned pause. I can just imagine this woman thinking no, no, surely not.

“Yes, I am in fact a God. I have a vaccine. One hundred percent success rate. Blood tests have come back clean. We’ve bypassed the missing chromosomes. I have cured the Plague.”

“Dr. Michael, I, don’t—”

“You don’t know what to say? Yes, I thought that might be the case. Before you get too excited, there’s going to be a difficult conversation between you, me and the Canadian government.”

The woman sounds flustered. I can imagine her wearing a blazer at her nice desk in her nice office in her nice comfy job.

“What are you talking about?” she asks.

“I’m going to sell Canada the vaccine.”

“Very funny, Dr. Michael.”

“I’m not kidding. If you want it, you’ll have to pay for it.”

“Lisa, Dr. Michael. You can’t sell the government a vaccine. It’s . . . you . . . you’re a doctor.”

“Yeah, a PhD doctor, not a doctor doctor. There’s a reason I didn’t go to medical school. Actually, there’s quite a few. Before you ask if I’m crazy, I’m not. I’ve known exactly what I was going to do for months. Set up a meeting and don’t even think about stealing the vaccine from my lab.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” she replies hotly. She definitely would.

“Of course you would,” I say with a laugh. “Speak soon.”