by Hank Parker
But as he looked closely at the faces in the restless crowd, he didn’t see eager anticipation. He saw worry and fear. He figured that by now nearly everyone in town would have read the article in the Inquirer about the quarantine and animal euthanization plan and that they’d seen or heard about a company of National Guard soldiers that had assembled in the area.
Kennedy heard noise near the stage and watched as four men and a woman mounted the steps and took seats in folding chairs facing the crowd. He saw Emily Rausch and Frank Hoffman, and a man Kennedy recognized as the mayor of Middle Valley, midthirties and the owner of a small insurance company that primarily served the dairy and horse farms of Chester County. Kennedy knew that the man had been elected to the part-time post only six months earlier and that it wasn’t usually a busy job.
Another person onstage was a man who was wearing an incongruous dark suit and had Washington written all over him. He held a small sheaf of papers in his hand and Kennedy guessed that they contained notes for a speech. Mistake, thought Kennedy. This crowd wouldn’t appreciate someone reciting something to them from a script.
Then there was the fourth man, who wore the combat fatigues and black boots of the army. The boots gleamed with a mirrorlike sheen, and Kennedy could see two stars in each of the collars of the officer’s starched blouse that signified the rank of major general. National Guard, thought Kennedy. With that rank, he had to be the state commander.
The din of the crowd died down. The mayor stepped up to a microphone mounted in the middle of the stage, tapped it a couple of times, cleared his throat, and spoke.
“Thank you all for interrupting your day and coming out this afternoon,” he said. “As some of you know, we have a bit of an emergency in the town. We have a few visitors with us who will fill you in on what we’re dealing with and answer any questions you might have. Without further ado, let me introduce our first guest, Dr. Frank Hoffman, director of the National Laboratory for Foreign Animal Diseases. Dr. Hoffman?”
“Thank you, Mayor,” said Hoffman, stepping up to the mic. Kennedy watched him closely for signs of nervousness, but Hoffman looked poised. “I’ll try to keep this brief. I know there will be a lot of questions and we’ll do our best to answer them. The National Laboratory for Foreign Animal Diseases—the Barn for short—is a state-of-the-art facility operated by the U.S. Department of Agriculture to protect farm animals from exotic diseases. We do have a situation on our hands. Four days ago we became aware of a new viral disease that’s affecting animals in the Middle Valley area. Our scientists are trying to learn everything they can about it. The main threat is to animals, but there’s a possibility that the disease could be passed to humans. So we’re proceeding with an abundance of caution. We’ve made the decision to cull all animals within a five-mile radius of Middle Valley.”
Kennedy heard a murmur run through the crowd. He knew why Hoffman had used the word cull—it was technically accurate—but it smacked of bureaucratic understatement and probably set his listeners on edge.
“Animals will be sacrificed as humanely as possible,” said Hoffman, raising his voice. “And out of the sight of town residents. After they’re put down, they’ll be safely disposed of.”
“Including our pets and farm animals?” shouted a woman from just in front of the stage. “Is this absolutely necessary?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Hoffman said. “Unfortunately, domestic animals could be carrying the disease and that presents a risk to public health. It’s too risky to spare them. We have no alternative. Owners will be fairly compensated.”
More suit-speak, thought Kennedy. These people didn’t want “fair” compensation. They wanted Hoffman to be straight with them. As Kennedy watched, the crowd began to get unruly. A burly man had pushed himself forward and was now yelling at the podium. He was wearing oil-stained jeans, muddy work boots, a gray T-shirt with a “Made in Pennsylvania” logo across the front, and a green John Deere ball cap.
“Pardon my French, but this is pure BS!” the man said. “You can’t just come in here and kill our animals!”
Hoffman held up his palm and tried to quiet the crowd. He raised his voice above the growing din. “We have no choice, folks. We don’t want this disease to spread to the people in this community.”
The chorus of voices grew louder. “I thought you said there was only a possibility of risk to humans!” shouted a blonde woman.
“That’s true, ma’am. But, as I said, we’re proceeding with an abundance of caution.”
The “Made in Pennsylvania” man had now worked his way to the very front of the crowd, just below the stage. “Abundance of caution!” he said loudly. “That’s what you guys said when you made it mandatory for people to get the bird flu shots a couple of years ago. And what happened? No outbreak, but a bunch of kids sick from the vaccine. And tell me this. What are the troops doing here? And why are they fencing in the town?”
From the gasp in the crowd it was obvious to Kennedy that this was the first time that many of the townspeople had heard about the fence perimeter.
“We can’t allow the free movement of animals into and out of the area,” said Hoffman. “We have to contain the disease here.”
“What about the people?” someone shouted. “I suppose you’re going to imprison us too!”
“Unfortunately, because human beings could be carrying the virus, we don’t want to take a chance on their spreading it outside the area,” said Hoffman.
Kennedy could see that Hoffman was trying to appear cool and imperturbable, but he also saw him fold his arms and begin shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“So the entire town is being quarantined?” shouted “Made in Pennsylvania.” “What are you going to do if we try to leave? Shoot us?”
This was getting out of hand. Kennedy moved quickly to the edge of the stage and got Dr. Rausch’s attention. He spoke in a low voice, hoping that he wasn’t overheard. “Emily, we’ve got to tell them the truth.”
“We can’t tell them everything,” she said. “It would start a panic.”
“You’re already starting a panic,” said Kennedy. “People can handle the truth. What they don’t like is uncertainty. They can tell when they’re being lied to.”
“We’re not lying to them. Everything Hoffman has said is true.”
Another loud question interrupted them. “Who authorized this?”
Now Kennedy saw Hoffman turn and speak quietly to the dark-suited man seated on the stage, who then glanced at the notes in his hand, stood, and moved to the microphone. He spoke in a slow, measured voice.
The man introduced himself to the crowd as a deputy undersecretary of the Department of Homeland Security. “This comes down from the White House itself, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I want to emphasize that there’s no cause for alarm at this point and I want to assure you that DHS is in full control of the situation. We’re still in the early stages of learning about this new animal virus. But, as Director Hoffman said, our first, overwhelming priority is to protect people. So far the virus exists only in a small area around this town. If there’s even the slightest chance that the virus could spread to humans, we have a responsibility to prevent that. To fail to do so would be criminally negligent.”
Kennedy was surprised at the statement by the DHS official that his department was “in full control.” Did they suspect a terrorism link? That’s what the language implied. Now he heard a new voice, from a young man standing alone, off to the side of the crowd. Kennedy took in his appearance: slim, about six feet tall, with brown hair. Jeans and a striped, short-sleeved, button-down shirt with collar buttons unfastened. Wire-rim glasses. He carried a small notebook in his left hand and held a ballpoint pen in his right hand.
“Tony Parnell of the Philadelphia Inquirer,” the man said. “Just a couple of questions.”
The DHS official turned to Hoffman and spo
ke in a stage whisper that was audible to Kennedy. “I thought we said no press.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Hoffman, clearly flustered. “I didn’t know he’d slipped in. I think it’ll be okay. He had the byline on the Inquirer article this morning and he followed the press release pretty closely.”
“A question for you, General,” said Parnell. “How many troops do you have out there and where are they now?”
“Happy to answer that, sir,” said the army officer. “For those who don’t know me, I’m the commander of the Pennsylvania National Guard. We have three hundred sixty soldiers in place. They’re deployed around the perimeter of the containment zone.”
“Do they have orders to shoot if someone tries to break out of the zone?” asked Parnell.
The general paused before answering and the crowd began to grow noisier. “Only as a last resort,” he said hurriedly. “If every other deterrent fails. We know that the good people of Middle Valley understand the importance of maintaining this quarantine until we’re sure that the disease is under control.”
Kennedy strained to hear through the rising murmur in the crowd. Parnell was pressing on, his voice raised.
“One more question,” he said. “I’ve heard that a local family has been isolated in Pennsylvania Hospital for the better part of a week and that the husband has died. Can you tell us straight up, is their illness related to the quarantine here?”
Dr. Rausch started to rise, but Hoffman, sitting next to her, placed a hand on her arm and stood up himself.
“As I said before, we’re operating with an abundance of caution,” said Hoffman. “We don’t anticipate a significant risk to the population. But we can’t afford to take a chance. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have to get back to work. Thank you all for your time and understanding.”
Kennedy shook his head. Botched it, he thought. Sure enough shouts erupted from the audience and several people started to move toward the stage. Kennedy saw the National Guard commander bend his head and say something to his left lapel. Seconds later, from behind a deuce-and-a-half truck that was parked at the edge of the field, a half-dozen soldiers wearing camouflage fatigues emerged. The soldiers, expressionless, lined up between the crowd and the speakers. Kennedy saw that they were packing nine-millimeter Beretta pistols, secured in holsters strapped to their waists.
Kennedy watched Hoffman, Rausch, the general, and the Homeland Security official head to the side of the stage, descend the wooden steps, and stride to a waiting black SUV with U.S. government plates and tinted windows, leaving only the mayor to deal with the angry crowd.
CHAPTER TWELVE
AUGUST 25
PHILADELPHIA
Mariah stared down into her drink, a little surprised at her surroundings. She was sitting at a nice restaurant in downtown Philly and across the table was none other than Curt Kennedy. He’d asked her to dinner, to celebrate her “liberation” from quarantine, he’d said, and she’d agreed and was now wishing she hadn’t. They’d been there for fifteen minutes, had run out of pleasantries after ten, and now Mariah couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She studied Curt’s face, trying to read his expression, hoping her raised wineglass would shield her scrutiny. He was wearing a dark green polo shirt without a logo. She’d agonized about what to wear because she didn’t want to dress for a date if this wasn’t one, but she didn’t want to insult him by dressing too casually in case it was one. She’d finally settled on a black skirt, cut just above the knees, and a lacy white blouse with a scoop neck that nicely set off her glossy dark hair, which she’d allowed to fall naturally to her bare shoulders.
Curt leaned forward into the light, smiled slightly, and returned her gaze. He seemed unbothered by the now lengthy silence lingering between them.
Is this actually happening? wondered Mariah. Was she really having a drink with this guy, a professional colleague she hardly knew, a man who struck her as macho and definitely distant? But when Curt had asked her to meet him after several days in quarantine with no one to talk to, bland institutional food, certainly no booze, constant worry that every sniffle, every tiny headache, was the first sign of the end of her life, Mariah would have consented to a date with a serial killer.
No, that wasn’t fair. She’d been glad Curt had asked her out. He’d been so professional and kind after her accident in the lab. So talk to him, Mariah. What are you waiting for?
“So,” she said at last, grasping for any topic she could. “I heard the town meeting was pretty rough.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Curt said. “You’re a diver?” he asked.
Mariah frowned, thrown off by the abrupt change in subject and confused by his question. He nodded at her wrist, and she realized he’d recognized her watch—a Casio, supposedly water-resistant to one hundred meters. “Not yet,” she said. “It’s been a dream for a while. Just haven’t had the time to learn how.”
“I could teach you,” said Curt. He made a short, sweeping gesture. “After all this is over. The epidemic, that is.”
What is this guy’s deal? Mariah thought. From what she’d been able to learn, Curt Kennedy was a loner, and a bit of a cipher. No attachments. No personal life that she’d ever heard of. Barely any history whatsoever. And now she’d known him for a week and he’d asked her out and was offering to take her diving? Is he messing with me? she wondered, then immediately scolded herself for being so suspicious.
“I heard you were former military,” said Mariah, brushing off the diving invitation in a way she hoped he wouldn’t notice. “Navy, right?”
“Army at first,” said Curt. “Three years in special ops. Then I joined the navy when they offered to put me through medical school. Did some active duty as a navy doctor. I’m still in the reserves.”
“So you’re a physician too?” said Mariah, not bothering to hide the surprise in her voice.
“Not really,” he said. “Not anymore. Haven’t practiced medicine for twenty years.”
Their food arrived then, and another silence fell between them.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Curt said finally, between bites of his burger. “By the way, you did a terrific job on that necropsy.”
“Thanks,” said Mariah. “But then I go stick myself the next time in the MCL.” Now, why did I go and say that? she immediately asked herself. It sounded so lame—and self-deprecating.
Curt merely shrugged. “I was the clumsy one,” he said. “Hey, let’s see if we can get through one course without shoptalk, okay?”
Mariah smiled and nodded in assent. The epidemic, the quarantine, the slaughter of pets, livestock, and wildlife. It was too depressing. If Curt was game for talking about something other than work, she’d do her best to go along with it. And so for the rest of the meal they talked only about themselves and the small portions of their lives that weren’t dominated by work. Curt confessed that he was an amateur woodworker, that he made dollhouses—dollhouses!—in his free time, but he wouldn’t elaborate, despite Mariah’s shocked questions, except to say that his first one had been for his sister. Mariah talked about the book she was reading, One Hundred Years of Solitude, and gave Curt the basics of the plot and the bio of Gabriel García Márquez. They both talked lovingly about their dogs, Mariah’s West Highland terrier, Dancer, and Curt’s black Lab named Rambo, at whose name Mariah rolled her eyes exaggeratedly and laughed. They ordered another round of drinks, and it was during her second glass of wine that she told Curt about her childhood love of horses and about her restless Subaru and those ads—those damn ads!—that had made her buy it, Curt, laughing, knowing the exact ones she was talking about. And later, as Curt was paying the bill, without looking up from scrawling his signature on the slip, he made a passing reference to Mariah’s tattoo, which sent a zing of mortification and something else down Mariah’s spine. The tattoo—to honor Dancer—was a small terrier, discreet, just above her l
eft bra cup. He must have seen it at some point when she leaned forward. She smiled and said something that she hoped would come off as unflustered. He’d mentioned that he also had a tattoo and said, in a slightly teasing voice, that maybe he’d show it to her someday.
They walked together to Mariah’s car. She fished her keys from her purse. Curt stood near her, close enough that she could feel his warmth. As she unlocked her car door she noticed her hands were trembling. She opened the door, turned to thank Curt, and found his face inches away from hers. She stood still for a few awkward seconds and then reached up and gave him a quick hug, brushing his cheek with hers. “Good night, Curt. I had a really nice time.”
“Me too. Let’s do it again sometime.”
Mariah slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. She rolled down the window, smiled at Curt, and wished him good night again.
* * *
As Mariah drove back to her apartment, a twelve-year-old girl in the small community of Gradyville, twenty-five miles west of Philadelphia, pressed her nose against her living room’s picture window and peered into the darkness.
“Dad, what’s that noise?” she asked. “It sounded like a wolf.” What she really thought it sounded like was a werewolf, but she refrained from mentioning this to her father. He was an English professor at UPenn and staunchly disapproved of her reading those urban fantasy books, said they were trash, and why couldn’t she read stuff that was good for her, like Jane Eyre. Right. She’d started it, just to get him off her case. Totally boring.
There it was again. A howling.
The girl’s father laid down an academic journal, rose from his armchair, and walked to the window. Too dark to see anything. Another howl, higher-pitched than before and closer. Had to be a coyote. Normally that wouldn’t surprise him. Their house was at the edge of the 2,600-acre Ridley State Park, the closest thing to wilderness that you could get in the greater Philadelphia area. There were coyotes in the park, or at least there had been. Before the outbreak and the animal slaughter.
