Jon Read

Three people just died of hantavirus on a Dutch cruise ship. The strain kills nearly 40% of the people it infects. And yet no virologist on earth is panicking about a pandemic, because the reason it stays small is one of the strangest rules in disease science. The rule is simple. The deadlier a virus is, the harder it is to spread. If a virus kills you in days, you can't ride a bus, board a plane, or even leave the hospital. You're in a bed or a body bag. Either way, the virus killed its only ride. Hantavirus has been around for at least 70 years, but fewer than 1,000 Americans have ever caught it. The CDC says it kills 38% of those who do. The cruise ship strain, called Andes, kills closer to 40%. If hantavirus spread like COVID, it would kill billions. But it can't. Most hantaviruses spread only one way. You breathe in tiny dust particles from rat or mouse pee, droppings, or spit. No mice in your house, no virus. The cruise ship is the rare exception, because the Andes strain can spread between people, but it usually needs close contact like spouses sharing a bed. A Johns Hopkins virologist called Andes spread "unbelievably rare." Compare it to the viruses that scared the world. Ebola kills 60 to 90% of people, but only through bodily fluids and only late in the illness, so each patient passes it to fewer than 2 others. SARS killed 10% before being wiped out in 8 months. MERS killed 35% but never spread far beyond the Middle East. None of them became pandemics, because the spread was always too slow. Then COVID showed up. It killed about 1 in every 100 people who caught it. That is almost nothing compared to hantavirus. But COVID was mild enough that you could work for a week without knowing. You would ride the bus, hug your kid, eat lunch with a coworker, and infect four other people. It killed 7 million. Flu works the same way. Mild fever, sore throat, but you still drag yourself to school or the office. The virus walks right into the next host. Hantavirus is the opposite. Within 4 to 10 days, your lungs fill with fluid. There's no medicine that fights it and no vaccine to prevent it. The only treatment is a machine that breathes for you, and even that just cuts the death rate from 50% to 20%. Every outbreak, from 3,200 UN soldiers in the Korean War, to the 1993 Four Corners cases, to Gene Hackman's wife Betsy Arakawa last year, traces back to mice. The viruses that worry scientists are the boring ones. The ones that give you a sniffle for a week and let you walk around the city while you're contagious. Hantavirus, brutal as it is, never had the spread to do real damage.

Roundabouts are the closest thing to a cure-all. -Better traffic flow -Lower injury and fatality rates -Lower maintenance costs -More aesthetic than traditional intersections We need more of them.