May 1955

The newspaper headline read: "Berkeley Labs Polio Vaccine Linked to Paralysis in Hundreds, 10 Dead." It lay still at the center of the dinner table as the Chen family gathered around, gazing at the images of the riot outside the Berkeley Laboratory, where anti-vaxxers were yelling and clutching signs.

Alora, with curiosity in her eyes, exclaimed, “What’s going on, Mama?”

Melody chimed in, “Yeah, why are the people so angry?”

Blaire sighed, her face reflecting concern. “Children, this is exactly why I won’t allow you to get the vaccine. It’s obviously unsafe. The government isn’t going to use my kids as guinea pigs for new medicines!”

Alora whispered, “So, none of those people are getting the vaccine?”

Blaire nodded. “No one’s going to do it now. The Johnsons and the Garcia family refused it, and even my boss, Mr. Green, gave an interview on the dangers of untested medicine. I’m pretty sure nobody but the uniformed would be foolish enough to risk it.”

June 1960

Blaire sped down the road, her face etched with worry. In the backseat, Melody winced from the pain in her limbs.

"She seems so weak," Alora said, wiping away a tear. "Could it be...do you think...?"

“No, Alora,” Blaire dismissed. “Melody fell while ice skating the other day. She probably fractured a bone. Don’t make this such a big deal.”

When they reached the parking lot of the hospital, Alora sprinted inside and waved for assistance. A nurse and a doctor quickly loaded Melody onto a stretcher and wheeled her down the hallway.

As the hours passed, Alora's anxiety grew. She flipped through all the waiting room magazines, tapped the chair's plastic armrests incessantly, and bit her nails down to the quick. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the doctor emerged.

“I’m sorry to have to say this,” he began, “but Melody has contracted Polio. Her neck and spine are paralyzed now, and it’s probable that the paralysis could spread to other organs. We’ll have to run tests, but you’re welcome to see her now.”

Tears welled up in Alora’s eyes, and Blaire remained stiff in the waiting room chair.

June 1960

“How could this have happened? She was fine just two days ago,” Alora said, her voice trembling.

Glancing at Melody’s intake form, the doctor responded, “I see that she’s never had the Polio vaccine. Unfortunately, vaccination is the best way to protect against polio.”

On the solemn drive home, Alora meekly spoke, “So the vaccine wasn’t a fake ploy by the government?”

Blaire's voice quivered with each word. “The vaccine doesn’t work, Alora. I read that doctors are claiming it does because the government is paying them on the side. At least Melody will have a life. She’d be dead right now if I had let her get vaccinated.”

August 2020

Alora shuffled to the kitchen in her slippers and slumped onto the couch, feeling for the remote. The television flickered to life, and President Cornet's voice filled the room.

“Good morning, my fellow Americans,” he announced, “Today marks six months since the beginning of the spread of COVID-19. I know it’s been difficult for all of us, but I’m here to assure you that everything is under control. In its entirety, the Coronavirus isn’t an extraordinary issue for our country, and we will get past this. The disease is already starting to mutate into something less fatal-”

Alora groaned. Since the beginning of the pandemic, she had worked day and night alongside her team of researchers to develop a vaccine.

In the laboratory, Alora’s colleagues huddled around her in the meeting room as she, the senior principal research scientist, announced her newest hypothesis about the genetic code of the SARS-CoV-2 virus.

“So what would the next step be once the code is verified? Designing the mRNA for the vaccine?” inquired scientist Kalas from Finland.

Alora nodded toward the screen, “That’s correct. We’ll need to establish the instructions necessary for the cells to create the spike protein that will kill the virus. And considering the 1,000 deaths that have already occurred, we’ll have to act quickly.”

“Agreed. The president is greatly underestimating the situation. We cannot look past this,” noted Pakistani researcher Ali.

Messages in the chat box rolled in with approval.

October 2028

The laboratory was bustling with activity as researchers were deeply engaged in developing an antigen for the new bacterial epidemic, the Meniscus virus.

Alora’s colleague laughed, “Alora, remember when we all had to beg you to return to the lab?”

“Yeah, I still don’t know why I came back. None of my work had ever been appreciated to begin with,” Alora recalled.

“We would be in shambles without you, though.”

“Alright, let's get back to work. There are 20 new reports of deaths in Texas and 63 pending cases in New York.”

Three weeks later, the scientists continued their intense clinical research. Frustration was evident as they discussed the slow progress.

“I’m so tired of this. We aren’t making progress fast enough. And to think that most people aren’t going to get the vaccine anyway,” said one of the researchers.

Sighing, another added, “Only 12% of the population got the COVID vaccine, and by 2023, there’d been 4.8 million deaths. Maybe 4 million people wouldn’t have died if more than that 12% used the vaccine. They just don’t understand.”

“Everyone, come quick!” Alora called out, giddy.

As the technicians crowded around Alora’s station, protestors gathered outside the laboratory.

“Look! I think I’ve got part of the vaccine! The antibiotic seems to be-”

The charred scent of smoke wafted into the lab through the open window. Flames began ripping through the base of the building, sending sparks and embers flying into the air. Fiery crackles erupted as the scientists exchanged wary looks. Alora dropped to her knees, praying, "Melody, I hope to see you soon."