Reincarnated as Napoleon

Chapter 364 Ground Zero

Two hours had passed since Francis left the palace, and now the aircraft was making its descent toward the capital city of Languedoc. He leaned back in his seat, notes in hand, reviewing the information for what felt like the hundredth time.

"The first case, the one who started it all... what do they call it?" he muttered to himself, then nodded, recalling the term. "Patient zero."

His eyes scanned the documents, searching for any lead on this initial case. But there was nothing—no name, no profile, only numbers and locations of those infected. The details on paper were cold, and clinical: the number of cases, the areas most affected, a brief on the symptoms. Yet the origin, the very start of the outbreak, remained a mystery.

In solving an epidemic or an outbreak, locating the patient zero could prove vital. This individual case is often the key to unraveling how the disease spreads. Despite the wealth of data at his fingertips, that essential piece of the puzzle was missing from the reports. The lack of this critical detail was a glaring hole in the otherwise thorough briefing he'd been given.

As the plane descended, Francis felt the pressure mounting. Without patient zero, predicting the virus's movements was like navigating without a compass. He knew too well that time was not a luxury they had in abundance.

His thoughts were interrupted as the aircraft's wheels touched down. It was a smooth landing, as expected of the royal pilot who had been flying the Imperial Family of the French Empire for the last six years.

As he waited for the airplane to make a full stop, he looked out of the oval window. Francis observed the unusual stillness of the airport. Toulouse, typically bustling as a commercial hub, now lay eerily quiet. Quarantine had taken effect, and the normal sights of airplanes taxiing, baggage carts shuttling luggage, and the constant flow of passengers were absent. The runways were empty, the terminals silent, and the sky above usually streaked with the contrails of countless aircraft, was clear blue, unmarred by the signs of air travel.

The stillness was disconcerting to Francis. It's unlike the French Empire. Francis is too proud of his country, and to see one of their main cities in mainland France paralyzed is heartbreaking. This crisis shouldn't be happening to France. Probably, someone could have plotted this, where an unknown organization that is anti-France could be behind the outbreak. This line of thought, however, was purely speculative; without evidence, it would be irresponsible to entertain such theories too seriously.

After the plane came to a complete stop, Francis collected his briefcase and stepped out into the terminal. The usually vibrant Toulouse airport was a ghost of its former self. There were only medical and security personnel, adding the Imperial Guards that were escorting him present in the terminal.

One of the medical personnel, wearing a full personal protective suit, approached Francis with a document in hand.

"Welcome to Toulouse, Your Imperial Highness. We have been waiting for your arrival. My name is Dr. Émile Durand," the medical personnel introduced himself, offering a slight bow of respect rather than a handshake, given the circumstances. 

"It's a pleasure—" 

Francis paused as Doctor Durand handed something to him. It's a facemask and an eye shield.

"Please, Your Imperial Highness, before we proceed to the command post, it is imperative that you wear these for your own safety and the safety of others," Dr. Durand explained, his voice muffled slightly by his own mask. "The contagion is highly virulent, and we are taking every precaution to prevent its spread."

Francis accepted the protective gear with a nod of understanding. As he adjusted the mask over his face and settled the eye shield into place, Dr. Durand continued.

"We have confirmed the virus to be airborne. So far, there are two thousand people infected with the same symptoms. They are at the hospital of Saint-Roch, which has been converted into our main quarantine zone. We're continuously monitoring the situation and implementing the best practices known to us…"

"Before we get to that, I want to know who the first recorded patient that exhibited the symptoms of this virus…" Francis interrupted.

"Uhm…okay. The first recorded case was a local merchant. He was admitted to the hospital two weeks ago with high fever, dry cough, and fatigue." 

"That could be our patient zero," Francis said, seemingly satisfied after hearing that there was information about the patient zero. But Durant shook his head. 

"I'm afraid that two hours after he was admitted, there was another patient that exhibited the same symptoms. Given that, it's highly unlikely that the local merchant was patient zero. The first recorded case only meant that it was the first one we managed to identify. There could have been others who were asymptomatic or who simply didn't seek medical attention. The real patient zero could still be out there, or they may have been one of the early fatalities that went unrecorded…"

"Wait…there are already fatalities?" Francis gasped softly. There was none on the record.

Doctor Durant nodded somberly. "The fatalities are starting to reveal themselves. It seems that the virus has reached the critical phase. We recorded one hundred deaths, most of them are people of old age or with pre-existing conditions, but it's escalating quickly." 

"So it's that bad huh? The flow of information is lacking, this is a serious matter," Francis clicked his tongue. "Show me the way to the hospital, I need to see the patients, and if possible, I would like you to conduct an autopsy on one of the dead bodies to find more clues about this virus."

Dr. Durand hesitated for a moment before replying, "An autopsy could be risky due to the potential for aerosolization of the virus…"

"Then do it somewhere that is contained, if we are going to be scared of the risk we won't be able to fight this effectively. Safety protocols exist for a reason, use them," Francis insisted firmly, understanding the stakes involved.

Dr. Durand nodded in acknowledgment of Francis' determination. "Understood, Your Imperial Highness. Please, if you would follow us to the vehicle that will take us to the hospital," he gestured to where a small convoy awaited, ready to transport them with full precautions.

Francis followed Dr. Durand and the Imperial Guards to the convoy. They navigated through the deserted streets of Toulouse, just like the airport terminal. It was a ghost town out there. The absence of the usual urban cacophony – no children playing in the parks, no vendors selling their goods, no cars honking – lent an apocalyptic silence to the cityscape.