Back in the early 1990s, Nathaniel Landau was a young virologist just starting his career in HIV research. But he and his colleagues were already on the verge of a landmark breakthrough. Several labs around the world were hot on his team's tail.
"We were sleeping in the lab, just to keep the work going day and night because there were many labs all racing against each other," Landau says. "Of course, we wanted to be the first to do it. We were totally stressed out. "
Other scientists had identified groups of people who appeared to be completely resistant to HIV. "People who knew they had been exposed to HIV multiple times, mainly through unprotected sex, yet they clearly were not infected," Landau explains.
And so the race was on to figure out why: "Are these people just lucky or did they really have a mutation in their genes that was protecting them from infection?'" he says.
Now 25 years later, scientists all over the world are trying to answer the same question but about a different virus: SARS-CoV-2.
By this point in the pandemic, most Americans have had at least one bout of COVID. For children under age 18, more than 80% of them have been infected, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention estimates.
But just as with HIV, some people have been exposed multiple times but never had symptoms and never tested positive.
"We've heard countless anecdotes about nurses and health-care workers being exposed without any protection and remaining negative over and over again," says pediatrician Jean-Laurent Casanova, who studies the genetics of viral resistance at Rockefeller University. "Or people share a household with someone who's been coughing for a couple of weeks, and one person stays negative."
So why haven't these people caught COVID?
After two years of hunting, a team at the University of California, San Francisco has come pretty close to answering the question.
"These findings are like hot off the presses," says immunogeneticist Jill Hollenbach, who led this research. "We haven't published them yet. It's all stuff that's been happening this summer."
Hollenbach and her team have found a genetic mutation that doesn't prevent the virus from infecting cells — that's what Landau was searching for in his HIV research — but still does something remarkable: It prevents a person from having COVID symptoms.
Turns out, stopping an infection altogether is an extremely tough nut for our bodies to crack.
What does it take to be a true superdodger?
Over the course of human history, scientists have identified only two instances of true virus superdodgers. That is, where a specific mutation in their genes makes people completely resistant to a virus. So that it slides off their cells, "like water sliding off a glass window," as Casanova puts it.
In 2003, a team in London showed how some people never get a stomach bug, called norovirus, which causes vomiting and diarrhea. The researchers found that one mutation in their genes prevents them from making a molecule the virus needs to infect the cell.
(In 1995, researchers in France figured out why some people appeared to never be infected with a species of malaria known as Plasmodium vivax. However, over the past decade, further studies have clarified that these superdodgers actually do become infected with the parasite; they simply don't show symptoms.)
The best-known superdodgers in human history
By far, the most famous virus superdodgers are people protected against HIV — the ones Landau and his colleagues were studying back in the early 1990s.
In 1996, his team was getting really close to solving that puzzle. One morning they found a huge clue. The night before, they had set up an experiment to test which molecules HIV needed to infect a human cell. The experiment garnered spectacular results.
It showed that HIV didn't enter cells the way scientists had believed. Instead it needed a little bit of extra help. Specifically, HIV needs a specific molecule, called CCR5, on the surface of the cell to "open the door" and let the virus enter, Landau says. Without CCR5, the virus only sticks to the cell's surface but can't enter. "It's kind of like the virus is knocking at the door, but nobody's opening the door. The door is locked," he says.
"That was what we call a eureka moment," Landau says. "That was the moment where we could say, 'We found something that had never been seen before.'"
Landau and his colleagues rushed to the computer and wrote up the findings as quickly as possible. Then he literally ran to the FedEx store to submit the paper to the journal Nature, knowing that other teams were likely to have the same finding soon.
