Three Months Into The Pandemic, Here’s How Likely The Coronavirus Is To Infect People

The Lincoln Memorial is sparsely visited during the novel coronavirus outbreak.





Three months into this pandemic, scientists are coming to understand the novel coronavirus. They know, for example, that as horrible as this virus is, it is not the worst, most apocalyptic virus imaginable. Covid-19, the disease caused by the virus, is not as contagious as measles, and although it is very dangerous, it is not as likely to kill an infected person as, say, Ebola.

But there is one critically important, calamitous feature of SARS-CoV-2: the novelty. When it jumped from an animal host into the human population sometime late last year, no one had immunity to it. That is one reason the new coronavirus is not comparable to a harsh strain of the flu going around.

The first cluster of mysterious, pneumonia-like respiratory illnesses was reported in Wuhan, China, at the end of December, and in the days that followed, it spread explosively. With astonishing speed, this submicroscopic pathogen has contaminated the planet, infecting more than 600,000 as of Saturday and killing at least 28,000, grinding global commerce to a near standstill and rattling the nerves of everyone brave enough to be following the news.

“This is a new virus that has landed in the human community. We are a brand-new, naive population. We’re kind of sitting ducks, right?” said Ilhem Messaoudi, a virologist at the University of California at Irvine.

Most viral contagions in circulation face obstacles in the form of people with at least partial immunity. But this coronavirus is a bulldozer. It can flatten everyone in its path.

When the virus infects people, they don’t get sick right away. Researchers believe the incubation period before symptoms is roughly five days on average. In studying the pattern of illness, epidemiologists have made the dismaying discovery that people start shedding the virus — potentially making others sick — in advance of symptoms. Thus, the virus has a gift for stealth transmission. It seeds itself in communities far and wide, where vulnerable human beings represent endless fertile terrain.

At the genetic level, the new virus is not terribly different from the SARS virus that emerged in China in 2002 — which is why the new one has the derivative name SARS-CoV-2. SARS killed nearly 1 in 10 patients. But people with SARS infections did not shed the virus until they were already quite sick, and victims were typically hospitalized. SARS was snuffed out after causing about 8,000 infections and 774 deaths worldwide.

That successful fight may have led to some complacency; researchers say funding for SARS research dried up in recent years.

“We thought we cured it. We thought the virus disappeared. Well, the virus didn’t disappear, did it?” said Michael Buchmeier, a UC Irvine virologist who has studied coronaviruses for three decades.


Because this is such a contagious virus, a large percentage of the world’s population, potentially billions of people, could become infected within the next couple of years. Frantic efforts to develop a safe and effective vaccine are likely to take a year or more.

President Trump and others have repeatedly downplayed the threat of covid-19 by comparing its lethality to seasonal influenza, which claims tens of thousands of lives in the United States every year. But covid-19 may be many times as lethal for an infected person as seasonal flu.

Messaoudi noted that the health system is set up to deal with the seasonal flu, but not with a new, pandemic disease.

“We have a vaccine for the flu. And antivirals. It’s seasonal, we prepare for it, we try to get vaccination coverage; this is already what our system is dealing with,” she said. “This is the wrong time to deal with another surge of a respiratory disease that causes a lot of morbidity and potentially mortality.”

The bulldozer nature of coronavirus means widespread severe illnesses and deaths from covid-19 can happen with terrifying speed. This happened in northern Italy, where hospitals become overwhelmed and many patients couldn’t get standard lifesaving treatment.

The pandemic appears to be largely driven by direct, human-to-human transmission. That is why public health officials have told people to engage in social distancing, a simple but effective way to drive down virus’s reproductive number — known as R0, pronounced “R naught.” That is the average number of new infections generated by each infected person.

The R0 is not an intrinsic feature of the virus. It can be lowered through containment, mitigation and ultimately “herd immunity,” as people who have recovered become less susceptible to infections or serious illnesses. For the epidemic to begin to end, the reproduction rate has to drop below 1.

In the early days in China, before the government imposed extreme travel restrictions in Wuhan and nearby areas, and before everyone realized exactly how bad the epidemic might be, the R0 was 2.38, according to a study published in the journal Science. That is a highly contagious disease.

But on Jan. 23, China imposed extreme travel restrictions and soon put hundreds of millions of people into some form of lockdown as authorities aggressively limited social contact. The R0 plummeted below 1, and the epidemic has been throttled in China, at least for now.

The virus does have an innate infectivity, based on how it binds to receptors in cells in the respiratory tract and then takes over the machinery of those cells to make copies of itself. But its ability to spread depends also on the vulnerability of the human population, including the density of the community.

“If you have a seriously infectious virus and you’re sitting by yourself in a room, the R naught is zero. You can’t give it to anybody,” says Jeffery Taubenberger, a virologist with the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases.

Without a vaccine or a drug to stop infections, the best hope is to break the chain of transmission one infection at a time. There is no way to combat the virus through aerial spraying, dousing the public drinking water with a potion or simply hoping that it will magically go away.

“Social distancing is building speed bumps so that we can slow the spread of the virus. We have to respect the speed bumps,” Messaoudi said.

Melissa Nolan, an epidemiologist at the University of South Carolina, said the efficacy of social distancing “is the million-dollar question right now.”

She compared the current public measures to what happened during the 1918 influenza pandemic that killed an estimated 675,000 people in the United States, and in which some cities were more careful than others about enforcing social distancing.

“The USA is currently in a natural experiment of sorts, which each state implementing their own version of social distancing,” she said. “We will be able to compare the efficacy of these various public health policies, but not until more time has passed.”

The social distancing effort requires individual participation on behalf of a collective need. But it is self-interested first and foremost: No one wants to catch this virus. It can be deadly, and even if not, many victims are miserable for days or even weeks on end.

Not only must people limit their direct contact, they need to limit the amount that their paths overlap, because the virus can linger on surfaces.

The virus degrades outside a host because of exposure to moisture and sunlight, or from drying out. But a study published in the New England Journal of Medicine showed that in pristine laboratory conditions, some SARS-CoV-2 particles can remain potentially viable on metal or plastic for up to three days.

It is unclear to what degree contact with contaminated surfaces is playing a role in the contagion. This is obviously something everyone would like to know when they handle the pump at a gas station or go to a grocery store. Absent hard data, limiting contact with shared surfaces, such as door handles or checkout machines, and frequent hand-washing is highly advisable.

Even though we do not have a vaccine, and no one had immunity to this novel pathogen, people have some innate, mechanical defenses against viruses just like they do against pollen and dust, Taubenberger noted. Cells in the respiratory tract have tiny hairlike projections, called cilia, that move mucus toward the throat in a manner that helps clear invasive particles. This is not our body’s first viral rodeo.

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III. The Aftermath
The cost of reaching that point, with as few deaths as possible, will be enormous. As my colleague Annie Lowrey wrote, the economy is experiencing a shock “more sudden and severe than anyone alive has ever experienced.” About one in five people in the United States have lost working hours or jobs. Hotels are empty. Airlines are grounding flights. Restaurants and other small businesses are closing. Inequalities will widen: People with low incomes will be hardest-hit by social-distancing measures, and most likely to have the chronic health conditions that increase their risk of severe infections. Diseases have destabilized cities and societies many times over, “but it hasn’t happened in this country in a very long time, or to quite the extent that we’re seeing now,” says Elena Conis, a historian of medicine at UC Berkeley. “We’re far more urban and metropolitan. We have more people traveling great distances and living far from family and work.”

After infections begin ebbing, a secondary pandemic of mental-health problems will follow. At a moment of profound dread and uncertainty, people are being cut off from soothing human contact. Hugs, handshakes, and other social rituals are now tinged with danger. People with anxiety or obsessive-compulsive disorder are struggling. Elderly people, who are already excluded from much of public life, are being asked to distance themselves even further, deepening their loneliness. Asian people are suffering racist insults, fueled by a president who insists on labeling the new coronavirus the “Chinese virus.” Incidents of domestic violence and child abuse are likely to spike as people are forced to stay in unsafe homes. Children, whose bodies are mostly spared by the virus, may endure mental trauma that stays with them into adulthood.

After the pandemic, people who recover from COVID-19 might be shunned and stigmatized, as were survivors of Ebola, SARS, and HIV. Health-care workers will take time to heal: One to two years after SARS hit Toronto, people who dealt with the outbreak were still less productive and more likely to be experiencing burnout and post-traumatic stress. People who went through long bouts of quarantine will carry the scars of their experience. “My colleagues in Wuhan note that some people there now refuse to leave their homes and have developed agoraphobia,” says Steven Taylor of the University of British Columbia, who wrote The Psychology of Pandemics.

But “there is also the potential for a much better world after we get through this trauma,” says Richard Danzig of the Center for a New American Security. Already, communities are finding new ways of coming together, even as they must stay apart. Attitudes to health may also change for the better. The rise of HIV and AIDS “completely changed sexual behavior among young people who were coming into sexual maturity at the height of the epidemic,” Conis says. “The use of condoms became normalized. Testing for STDs became mainstream.” Similarly, washing your hands for 20 seconds, a habit that has historically been hard to enshrine even in hospitals, “may be one of those behaviors that we become so accustomed to in the course of this outbreak that we don’t think about them,” Conis adds.

Pandemics can also catalyze social change. People, businesses, and institutions have been remarkably quick to adopt or call for practices that they might once have dragged their heels on, including working from home, conference-calling to accommodate people with disabilities, proper sick leave, and flexible child-care arrangements. “This is the first time in my lifetime that I’ve heard someone say, ‘Oh, if you’re sick, stay home,’” says Adia Benton, an anthropologist at Northwestern University. Perhaps the nation will learn that preparedness isn’t just about masks, vaccines, and tests, but also about fair labor policies and a stable and equal health-care system. Perhaps it will appreciate that health-care workers and public-health specialists compose America’s social immune system, and that this system has been suppressed.

Aspects of America’s identity may need rethinking after COVID-19. Many of the country’s values have seemed to work against it during the pandemic. Its individualism, exceptionalism, and tendency to equate doing whatever you want with an act of resistance meant that when it came time to save lives and stay indoors, some people flocked to bars and clubs. Having internalized years of anti-terrorism messaging following 9/11, Americans resolved to not live in fear. But SARS-CoV-2 has no interest in their terror, only their cells.

Years of isolationist rhetoric had consequences too. Citizens who saw China as a distant, different place, where bats are edible and authoritarianism is acceptable, failed to consider that they would be next or that they wouldn’t be ready. (China’s response to this crisis had its own problems, but that’s for another time.) “People believed the rhetoric that containment would work,” says Wendy Parmet, who studies law and public health at Northeastern University. “We keep them out, and we’ll be okay. When you have a body politic that buys into these ideas of isolationism and ethnonationalism, you’re especially vulnerable when a pandemic hits.”


Veterans of past epidemics have long warned that American society is trapped in a cycle of panic and neglect. After every crisis—anthrax, SARS, flu, Ebola—attention is paid and investments are made. But after short periods of peacetime, memories fade and budgets dwindle. This trend transcends red and blue administrations. When a new normal sets in, the abnormal once again becomes unimaginable. But there is reason to think that COVID-19 might be a disaster that leads to more radical and lasting change.

The other major epidemics of recent decades either barely affected the U.S. (SARS, MERS, Ebola), were milder than expected (H1N1 flu in 2009), or were mostly limited to specific groups of people (Zika, HIV). The COVID-19 pandemic, by contrast, is affecting everyone directly, changing the nature of their everyday life. That distinguishes it not only from other diseases, but also from the other systemic challenges of our time. When an administration prevaricates on climate change, the effects won’t be felt for years, and even then will be hard to parse. It’s different when a president says that everyone can get a test, and one day later, everyone cannot. Pandemics are democratizing experiences. People whose privilege and power would normally shield them from a crisis are facing quarantines, testing positive, and losing loved ones. Senators are falling sick. The consequences of defunding public-health agencies, losing expertise, and stretching hospitals are no longer manifesting as angry opinion pieces, but as faltering lungs.

After 9/11, the world focused on counterterrorism. After COVID-19, attention may shift to public health. Expect to see a spike in funding for virology and vaccinology, a surge in students applying to public-health programs, and more domestic production of medical supplies. Expect pandemics to top the agenda at the United Nations General Assembly. Anthony Fauci is now a household name. “Regular people who think easily about what a policewoman or firefighter does finally get what an epidemiologist does,” says Monica Schoch-Spana, a medical anthropologist at the Johns Hopkins Center for Health Security.

Such changes, in themselves, might protect the world from the next inevitable disease. “The countries that had lived through SARS had a public consciousness about this that allowed them to leap into action,” said Ron Klain, the former Ebola czar. “The most commonly uttered sentence in America at the moment is, ‘I’ve never seen something like this before.’ That wasn’t a sentence anyone in Hong Kong uttered.” For the U.S., and for the world, it’s abundantly, viscerally clear what a pandemic can do.

The lessons that America draws from this experience are hard to predict, especially at a time when online algorithms and partisan broadcasters only serve news that aligns with their audience’s preconceptions. Such dynamics will be pivotal in the coming months, says Ilan Goldenberg, a foreign-policy expert at the Center for a New American Security. “The transitions after World War II or 9/11 were not about a bunch of new ideas,” he says. “The ideas are out there, but the debates will be more acute over the next few months because of the fluidity of the moment and willingness of the American public to accept big, massive changes.”

One could easily conceive of a world in which most of the nation believes that America defeated COVID-19. Despite his many lapses, Trump’s approval rating has surged. Imagine that he succeeds in diverting blame for the crisis to China, casting it as the villain and America as the resilient hero. During the second term of his presidency, the U.S. turns further inward and pulls out of NATO and other international alliances, builds actual and figurative walls, and disinvests in other nations. As Gen C grows up, foreign plagues replace communists and terrorists as the new generational threat.

One could also envisage a future in which America learns a different lesson. A communal spirit, ironically born through social distancing, causes people to turn outward, to neighbors both foreign and domestic. The election of November 2020 becomes a repudiation of “America first” politics. The nation pivots, as it did after World War II, from isolationism to international cooperation. Buoyed by steady investments and an influx of the brightest minds, the health-care workforce surges. Gen C kids write school essays about growing up to be epidemiologists. Public health becomes the centerpiece of foreign policy. The U.S. leads a new global partnership focused on solving challenges like pandemics and climate change.

In 2030, SARS-CoV-3 emerges from nowhere, and is brought to heel within a month.

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