Harbor on the Hill

By Philip Revene

The rodent-borne virus spread quickly through the country, bringing hemorrhagic death to thousands. In the ensuing panic, a second pathogen is mysteriously released; killing millions, crippling governments, and toppling the global economy like a house of cards.

Unprepared and defenseless, an eclectic mix of working class families, college students, and young professionals is forced to suffer the abrupt transition from inner-city community to fortified enclave as the Richmond district of Oregon Hill struggles to endure the first year of a dystopian nightmare. As seen through the eyes of three people – a veteran detective, a medical intern, and an eccentric tinkerer – residents of a gritty urban neighborhood band together to protect themselves from the world-changing consequences of a society collapsed. During that dark time, the specter of death appears without warning, desperate actions produce fatal results, and misplaced loyalties, careless mistakes, and half-measures end in tragedy. But an unusual alliance and unexpected windfall offer a glimmer of hope that the beleaguered community may yet survive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Philip Revene
• Release date: Jul 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9780985858117

Book preview

Part 1 - Fall

Chapter 1

Not much traffic for Thanksgiving Saturday, thought Keith as he eased the old minivan into the left lane to pass an even older Buick Regal. Glancing at the rearview mirror, he saw that the two young boys in the back seat had tired of their electronic games and fallen into an exhausted sleep. Beside him, his wife’s head rested uncomfortably against the window and Keith smiled when he realized that he, who could have used a nap as much as any of them, was the only one awake.

Alone with his thoughts, Keith admitted that Louisa had been right. The weekend had been worth it; despite the hassles of wheedling two reluctant interns into swapping schedules, and now being on the hook to repay the favor with back-to-back shifts on Christmas Day. But this had been the first real vacation he’d taken since starting his residency, and the only chance he’d had to revisit his boyhood home in over a year.

Thanksgiving Day had been hectic, what with his shift not ending until six that morning, and of course there was that last-minute crisis that always seems to occur when you absolutely have to be somewhere. Finally at 6:40, Keith Sterling, still wearing his wrinkled scrubs, his civilian clothes tucked under his arm, shambled out of the Emergency Admission door and made his way to a dark blue double-parked Windstar; its back packed to the ceiling with boxes, suitcases, covered dishes and coolers.

Louisa saw Keith coming and gestured from her rolled-down window for him to get in on the other side. I’ll drive, she shouted.

Hi boys, he greeted, sliding into the passenger seat and leaning over to give his wife a quick smack on the lips.

Hi dad, his son Glen said excitedly, followed by a polite Hello Doctor Sterling, from Dewey, Glen’s neighborhood friend and guest for the holiday weekend.

Sorry I’m late, Keith apologized, but you know the drill. A gunshot wound came in just before six and I had to help get him stabilized before they moved him up to surgery.

Louisa produced an easy smile, Actually, you’re about twenty minutes early. You’ve never gotten off on time since you rotated to the emergency room, so I wasn’t expecting you until seven. The boys and I didn’t get here until about five minutes ago, so your timing’s perfect, she chuckled as she pulled away from the curb and headed for the interstate on-ramp.

Keith swiveled as far as he could in his seat to speak to Glen and Dewey. So are you boys ready for Thanksgiving in the mountains?

Yeah, I love staying at Grandpa Mac’s farm. GranAnnie says there’s a new little calf, and there’s plenty of other stuff we’re planning to do.

How about you, Dewey, have you ever been on a farm? Keith asked.

No … but I went to Maymont Park once and saw the farm animals they have there, he answered meekly.

Well, I think you’re in for a treat. Glen’s grandparents have all kinds of animals on their place: chickens, turkeys, cows, goats, dogs, cats, rabbits. By the time you come home, you’ll know all about farm animals, Keith assured him before turning forward to talk with his wife.

Any trouble getting the boys going this morning?

A little bit, replied Louisa, her eyes trained on the traffic ahead. Dewey slept over so we could get an early start, but the two of them were so excited about the trip that they kept each other up most of the night. I warned them to get to sleep at least a dozen times, but I could hear whispering and giggling coming from Glen’s room until almost one o’clock. They were pretty groggy when I got them up at 5:30. I imagine they’ll both fall back to sleep as soon as we get on the road.

Well, considering that I’ve gotten a grand total of five hours of broken sleep in the past 24, they’ll have good company because I’ve got to catch a little nap if I’m going to be the least bit civil when we get to my parent’s.

Already planned for that. Glen, hand your father his pillow, said Louisa. We want you well rested so you’ll be ready for a long day, she smiled.

Two hours later, Keith and the boys awoke just after the minivan left the interstate and began negotiating the roller-coaster country roads that led to the farm. Both boys watched in silent excitement as the fallow fields and bare-leafed forests of late November measured out the final miles. When they finally arrived, they were met in the driveway by Grandpa Mac and GranAnnie Sterling, who warmly greeted and hugged them all, including Dewey, who knew at once that these kind people would be treating him like one of the family. GranAnnie immediately took charge of the boys, ushering them through the 19th century stone farmhouse until they arrived at the broad kitchen table where a mountain of homemade cookies awaited them. Glen, you and Dewey better eat as many of those as you can because, knowing your father, there won’t be many left after he lays eyes on them, GranAnnie said with a mischievous chuckle as she hurried to the fridge to get out the milk.

It didn’t take long for Dewey to realize that he’d been transported to a child’s version of heaven. Of course Glen had visited here before, but the last time had been more than a year earlier when he was much younger and always under the watchful eye of an adult. Now nine, Glen was at the perfect age to enjoy all the outside activities his grandparents’ 120 acre farm offered, and bringing along his friend guaranteed that there would never be a dull moment for either of them. They toured the barn and learned from Grandpa Mac how to feed the animals, and then were allowed to explore other parts of the farm on their own. They reveled in their freedom to wander the harvested fields, climb the stacked rolls of golden hay, and marvel at the streams and mountain forest that surrounded Keith’s boyhood home.

For Louisa and Keith, the weekend was a delightful blur of too much good food – including two full meals on Thanksgiving; one with his parents, the other with Louisa’s folks – hikes with Grandpa Mac and the boys, house chores for her, farm chores for him, and a fair amount of good old-fashioned family activities centered around the large kitchen table. By the time they departed late Saturday morning, everyone was pleasantly exhausted from the sheer enjoyment of the past three days.

But now it was time to pay the piper, thought Keith as he stopped at the toll booth. He fished around in his pocket, tossed the exact change into the hopper and waited for the mechanical arm to raise, allowing him to proceed to the Belvidere Street Exit less than a half-mile ahead.

Chapter 2

My god, are we here already? blurted Louisa, startled awake by the harsh clanking of coins in the toll basket.

Yep. Did you get some rest? asked Keith.

Yeah, I guess I must’ve dozed off for a few minutes, she replied, instinctively turning to check on Glen and Dewey in the back seat. Louisa regretted that Keith had insisted on driving all the way home and felt a little guilty that she’d gotten a nap when he couldn’t; especially since he was due to start his shift at the hospital in just a few hours.

After three short blocks, Keith turned right and entered the narrow streets of Oregon Hill, the place they’d called home for the past five years. When they first arrived, the neighborhood had been a gritty, lower middleclass enclave consisting of about eighteen square blocks of 19th Century wood frame and brick row houses with a few standalones sprinkled here and there, and primarily populated by working class families and struggling students from the nearby Virginia Commonwealth University campus.

When they moved there, Louisa and Keith counted themselves among the cash-strapped students. Louisa, young mother of a three year-old toddler and second year chemistry major, and Keith, first year student at the medical college, had searched for a place that would match their meager means. They found it in a neglected three bedroom row house that was not only within walking distance of the VCU campus, but also close to bus service to the medical college. In the beginning, the country-bred couple were apprehensive about living in an urban environment, but they soon took a liking to the old neighborhood and its array of eclectic inhabitants. Since then, they’d made the small house into a comfortable home and considered themselves fortunate to be living in such a convenient, yet secluded location.

But things were changing in the little community. Encircled by natural and man-made boundaries, including the James River to the south, an expressway to the north, a major six-lane thoroughfare to the east and several expansive cemeteries to the west, Oregon Hill had always enjoyed a measure of insulation from the bustle and crime of the rest of downtown Richmond. But in recent years the enclave had begun to surrender itself to the gentrification movement endemic in so many of the older neighborhoods of the city.

A number of elderly home owners had either died or sold out to speculators, who proceeded to gut, remodel, and flip the properties at enormous profits. In addition, many of the original houses that overlooked the river had been razed and replaced with upscale townhouses designed to appeal to urban professionals. As a result of all this real estate activity, the Sterling’s rent had steadily increased and the couple knew it was only a matter of time before their aging landlord approached them with a buy or vacate ultimatum. This would put a definite crimp in their plans to remain in the house for another three years until they could return to Rockbridge County, where Keith intended to establish an urgent care clinic.

He turned onto a tree-lined side street and midway in the block turned again into a narrow gravel alley. Slowly passing several backyards, some of them well kept, others overgrown and littered with junk, Keith finally pulled into the rutted parking spot behind their house and cut the engine. OK guys, we’re home, he sang out loudly enough to stir the sleeping boys.

Louisa quickly shepherded the two kids into the house to use the bathroom while Keith popped the rear hatch and began unloading the van. As soon as she rejoined him, Louisa snatched the armload of clothes he was holding.

Oh no you don’t, you don’t touch a thing! After giving us a wonderful weekend and insisting on driving all the way home, you’re not allowed to do anything else. You should try to get some rest before I take you to work, she declared assertively.

Thanks, sweetheart, that’s a tempting offer, but we’ve got to get the van unloaded and take Dewey home before I can think about resting. Anyhow, I don’t think I could sleep right now. Maybe after we get finished with this stuff.

OK then, I’ll make you a deal. You walk Dewey home, and Glen and I will unload the van … how’s that sound? Then maybe you could take a short nap when you get back, she offered.

Fair enough, he agreed.

They helped each other pull out suitcases and coolers and corrugated boxes packed with Mason jars of GranAnnie’s home-canned vegetables until they found the blue and red backpack that Dewey used to carry his belongings. Keith slung the bulky bag over his shoulder, gave Louisa a quick peck on the cheek and headed for the back door.

As an afterthought, Louisa stuck her head from around the van and shouted half-jokingly – but only half-jokingly – And come right back. I don’t want you and Emlyn Dewitt spending too much time together without me being there to protect you.

Yes Missus Sterling, Keith said in mock deference, like a schoolboy to his teacher.

Fallen acorns and dry autumn leaves crunched under foot as Dr. Sterling latched the front gate and stepped over to where Dewey stood waiting. They walked silently for a time, watching their step on the herringbone brick sidewalks made bulgy and uneven by the tree roots growing beneath them.

So Dewey, did you have a good time this weekend? asked Dr. Sterling, a cold cloud of condensed breath accentuating each syllable he spoke.

Yeah, I had a real good time, he said happily. Suddenly he stopped in his tracks and looked back to where they’d come from, his face turning red with embarrassment. I’ve got to go back to your house. I forgot something and I have to go back, else my mom will get real mad at me.

We can go back if you need to. What is it you forgot? asked Dr. Sterling.

I forgot to thank Glen’s mom for letting me go to the mountains with you. And I forgot to thank you too! he said, upset to the verge of panic.

Dr. Sterling saw the concern on the child’s face and wondered if the boy was more worried about his lapse of manners, or about his mother’s reaction if he failed to follow her instructions. In either case, Dr. Sterling provided an easy solution for the child.

Relax Dewey, he said sympathetically, You didn’t forget, you remembered … just now. And nobody had to remind you of it either. You thought of it on your own. I say that counts as thanking me, and I’ll let Glen’s mom know that you thanked her too, although it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to tell her in person next time you see her, he said.

Dewey nodded at the suggestion and Dr. Sterling saw a softening of the boy’s face and a lightening of his step as they resumed their walk.

Hello Missus Reese. Finishing up your fall yard work? greeted Dr. Sterling as he and Dewey passed the front yard of a short, roly-poly woman of indeterminate years.

Well hi there Doctor, she replied cheerily. Yes. No rest for the weary, as they say. The weatherman is predicting an unusually cold winter this year … so much for Global Warming, eh? she tittered. Anyway, I’m putting down an extra layer of mulch to protect my perennials from freezing solid, just in case the forecasters are right for once. Did you and your family have a good Thanksgiving? That’s not little Glen, is it? I’ll admit it’s been awhile since I’ve seen you child, but you look completely different, she said, addressing the skinny, thatch-haired boy.

Doctor Sterling clarified that this was not Glen, but his friend Dewey, and then went on to explain their situation, followed by an abbreviated description of Thanksgiving weekend with their folks.

Well that’s fine. I wish I had some family left to be thankful about. For years, it was just Billy and me … and my middle school students, she added. Then when I retired, and Billy passed on, God rest his soul, it’s just been me. I guess that’s why I spend so much time looking after my plants, my little garden, the outside flowers and shrubs, my houseplants … they give me something to keep my mind busy instead of thinking about the past, she said philosophically.

Well, you certainly keep your property nice, everybody says so, remarked Keith, intending the comment to be as much a conversation-closer as a compliment.

Why, thank you, gushed Hattie Reese.

Well, I’ve got to get Dewey home, so we’ll have to leave you now. Happy Thanksgiving.

A block later, they arrived at Dewey’s front door where Keith tried the bell, then knocked after no one answered.

That’s OK Doctor Sterling, I’ve got a key. You can just leave me, I’m sure my mom will be home soon.

No Dewey, I can’t leave you here by yourself, said Keith. Let’s go back to our house and we’ll come again later when your mom’s home.

Just as they reached the sidewalk, the door opened and a shapely woman, dishwater blond, barefoot and wearing a tawdry thigh-length kimono, called out, Dewey, is that you? Come here baby.

Dewey ascended the porch steps and walked into his mother’s open arms. She gave him a smothering hug, then scooped his face up in her hands and kissed him on his cheek and forehead. Oh, I missed you so much! Did you have a good time? Did you behave yourself? Did you listen to Glen’s mom and dad? she asked in quick succession, not waiting for the boy to respond. She waved to Keith, gave Dewey another quick hug, then told him honey, go inside so I can talk with Glen’s dad.

Hi Doctor Sterling. Thank you so-o-o-o much for letting Dewey spend Thanksgiving with y’all. I hope he wasn’t too much trouble, she said in her sweetest voice.

Hello, Emlyn. No, Dewey was no trouble at all. In fact, he was great company for Glen and I think both of them had a good time together. He’s good kid and a pleasure to have around. It was nice of you to allow him to come with us. I hope our stealing him away didn’t spoil your own Thanksgiving, responded Keith.

Oh, it was lonely here without him, but I was happy that he got to go to the mountains and visit a farm, her words taking on the tone of noble self-sacrifice.

No sooner had she said this than the front door swung open and a tall muscular man appeared wearing a hooded sweatshirt under a heavy plaid jacket. Cradling a crumpled brown paper bag and dangling a helmet by its strap, the man grumbled, gotta go babe, as he stepped onto the porch.

Oh. Well, OK, she stammered as he brushed by her and gave Keith an indifferent nod on his way to the curb where his meticulously maintained motorcycle awaited. Call me, she shouted after him.

Straddling the bike, the man stuffed the bag under his sweatshirt, put on the helmet, started the engine, gave it a few loud revs, then disappeared down the street.

Keith watched the scene play out. After the biker was gone and a moment had passed, Emlyn Dewitt broke the silence with, Well, I don’t know how to thank you for taking Dewey this weekend. It meant a lot to him … and to me. Would you like to come in? I could make us some coffee.

Remembering his wife’s warning, Keith begged off. I’d really like to, but I have to be at work in a little while, so I’ve got to get home.

Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Well, maybe a rain check then? My door’s always open, she purred coquettishly before lightening her expression and playfully adding, … to anyone who’s been so kind to my Dewey.

After saying goodbye to Emlyn, Keith retraced his route home, but just before getting to his block, he made a detour down the alley behind their house to see if there was anything left to be unloaded from the van. Walking past neglected tool sheds and frozen yards bare of vegetation, Keith spotted the open door of an old brick garage and headed directly for it.

Happy Thanksgiving Clyde, Keith greeted the pair of legs sticking out from under the jacked-up Chevy pickup.

Well fuck, who is it now? a grouchy voice replied, how the hell am I supposed to get any work done with everybody bothering me!

The legs were attached to a pair of greasy work boots and the heels of the boots began kicking at the tool strewn cement floor, rolling out the low dolly until a body, then a head, appeared from under the truck’s chassis.

When the husky middle-aged man saw who it was, the furrow in his brow vanished and a broad smile replaced it. Well, hello Doc! How’s it hanging? the man said as he got to his feet.

Good Clyde, good. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just thought I’d let you know that the van did fine on the trip. No problems at all. I appreciate the oil change and tune-up you did before we left. It’s great to have a competent guy work on that old rattletrap of mine.

Glad it did OK, said the man, wiping his greasy hands with a rag. You know I’m always happy to fix your vehicle when I have the time. Like I told you before, it works out good for you and me both. You get your work done at a decent price, and I get a few extra bucks in my pocket. Course that’s in addition to the money you donate every time you sit in on one of our poker games, he teased good-naturedly. But seriously, did you and Louisa and the boy have a good Thanksgiving? How are your folks?

The folks are fine, and we all had a real good holiday, he said before going into more detail about their weekend and, knowing that Clyde was fascinated by anything electric or mechanical, making a point to spend extra time describing the farm equipment he’d used to do chores around the place.

While neither acknowledged it, Keith and Clyde were members of a mutual admiration society. Despite the differences in their upbringing, education and occupations, each respected the other’s capabilities and accomplishments, and both felt comfortable discussing a whole range of topics together.

Clyde Hadyn was a purebred product of the neighborhood. He grew up near the site where his great-great-great grandfather built a house in the1830’s. It was during that time that Trahaearn Yestin Hadyen, along with scores of other experienced artisans from western Wales, immigrated to the United States to work on the construction of the Tredegar Iron Works, an antebellum foundry which still stands on the banks of the James River, less than a mile from Oregon Hill. Until recently, most descendants of those immigrants were born, married, lived and died in this predominantly Welch enclave. But lately, other members of his family, including his high school sweetheart and now ex-wife, decided to cash in on the real estate boom and relocate to more comfortable lives in the suburbs, leaving Clyde and a few other old neighborhood diehards to fend for themselves amongst the influx of new residents. But Clyde was tough, smart, inquisitive and adaptable, and so accepted the area’s transformation more readily than some of the other lifelong inhabitants.

Clyde made a decent living doing odd jobs around the neighborhood. He prided himself on being an inveterate tinkerer and jack-of-all-trades and was at much at ease rebuilding an engine as he was patching a roof or repairing a broken furnace. And he had plenty of business. He enjoyed a good reputation for doing professional, reliable work at fair rates and as a result, there was always somebody in need of his cash only services. In fact, that’s how Keith and Clyde met.

Four years earlier, Keith’s van stopped running and someone recommended Clyde, whose garage was only a few houses down the alley. Clyde had taken a quick look under the hood, jiggled a few wires, tightened a couple of bolts and magically got the engine started in a matter of minutes – only charging Keith ten bucks for the trouble. From then on, Keith took all of his automotive business to Clyde. In the beginning, he only contacted Clyde when he needed work done on his vehicle, but Clyde did such good work that he eventually sought out the handyman’s services for other jobs, such as pointing up the crumbling brickwork on the living room fireplace, trimming limbs on the ginkgo tree in the back yard, replacing some rotting siding, and a dozen other small projects. Eventually the two men became friends and now Keith would sometimes stop by the garage just to shoot the breeze, or to sit in on one of the card games Clyde threw for his cronies from time to time.

Want a beer? There’s a six-pack of Pabst in the fridge over there, offered Clyde.

Nah, thanks. I’ve got to be at work in awhile, said Keith.

Well, let me get back to Johnny Sayer’s truck. Don’t know why he’s in such an all-fired hurry for me to finish it. He’s in the pool supply business, for Christ sake, how much work could he have this time of year? groused Clyde. You know Johnny don’t you?

I think I might’ve met him at one of your card games, Keith said vaguely. So many people stopped by the garage that it was hard for him to keep up with everyone Clyde had introduced him to over the years.

Anyhow, let me get back to work, said Clyde in the semi-rude tone one friend might use on another. And with that abrupt goodbye, he laid back down on the dolly and disappeared under the truck.

OK Clyde. Take it easy.

Chapter 3

Keith walked past the van and seeing it empty, continued across the small yard and up the porch steps. He’d forgotten his keys and moved to the kitchen window where he could see Louisa and Glen sitting at the table, both blowing on steamy cups. He rapped on the glass and Louisa got up and scurried over to open the back door.

That took longer than I expected, Louisa said sarcastically, obviously alluding to her earlier caution about Dewey’s mother.

Keith produced a Cheshire Cat smile and held it for a moment before breaking into a full grin and saying, Take it easy sweetheart, I have no wicked deeds to confess. We ran into Hattie Reese on the way to Dewey’s, and then I stopped by Clyde’s garage on the way home.

Oh, she paused for a second, well, that’s nice. Glen and I are having hot chocolate, would you like some? It’ll only take a second to heat in the microwave.

No thanks, glancing at his wristwatch. I think I’ll try to get a little sleep before I go to work. Could you wake me up about fifteen minutes before we have to leave? He scooted past Louisa, giving Glen a gentle scrub on the head as he made his way through the narrow hallway and up the stairs to the second floor bedroom.

Keith felt a warm kiss on his lips and opened his eyes to see Louisa bending over him. It’s almost five-thirty, she said softly as she straightened up.

Like he’d done a thousand times before, Keith quickly rose from the bed, headed for the hall bathroom, turned on the shower and while he waited for the water to warm, turned to the sink to brush his teeth. He was in and out of the shower in under three minutes and was dry and back in the bedroom in less than five. He jumped into clean underwear, pulled on his socks, threw on his scrubs and in ten minutes flat, he was downstairs putting on his shoes. It was only after he’d taken a few gulps from the cup of coffee Louisa left on the table, that Keith’s mind disengaged from autopilot and started to become aware of his surroundings.

As for their parts in this choreographed routine, Louisa sat in the driver’s seat with Glen in the rear, patiently waiting for Keith to stumble out of the back door and pour himself into the passenger side. As was the custom, nothing was said until they crossed the wide thoroughfare of Belvidere Street and halted at the stop sign at the intersection of 2nd and Spring. Still drowsy, Keith stared blankly across the open parkland towards the tall Federal Reserve Building several blocks to the east. Eventually he muttered his first words, Morning everybody, which alerted mother and child that he was now lucid enough to comprehend full sentences.

Well Glen, what do you and your mom have planned for the rest of the weekend? he asked as they continued on their usual route to the hospital.

Nothing much tonight, maybe finish my homework or watch a movie. Mom says we have to go shopping tomorrow morning, but after that we might go hiking if it doesn’t rain, responded Glen.

Even though they were situated smack-dab in the middle of the city, Keith knew that Louisa and Glen had an impressive array of nearby hiking trails to choose from. At the bottom of the neighborhood, close to the river, hikers could take a footpath that ran east, under the Robert E. Lee Bridge, to the Civil War Center at the old Tredegar Iron Works. From there, other paths led to the oldest districts of the city: Shockoe Slip and Shockoe Bottom.

If they decided to travel west, they could take the James River Park’s unimproved hiking-biking trail that runs parallel to the river. Keith knew that this was Glen’s favorite route, especially because of the side path leading to a pedestrian bridge that crosses above the railroad tracks. With a little luck, Glen could be on the bridge when one of the frequent trains passed beneath his feet – hearing the deafening thrum of diesel engines and feeling the bone-rattling rumble as powerful locomotives worked in tandem to pull a hundred coal laden hopper cars from Appalachia through town on elevated tracks to rail yards east of the city and then on to the bulk freighters waiting at Hampton Roads.

But knowing Louisa’s busy Sunday schedule, Keith figured that they would likely end up taking a short hike through Hollywood, one of the sprawling cemeteries located just west of the neighborhood. First opened in the mid-1800’s, Hollywood was the oldest of the cemeteries and served as the final resting place for scores of historic figures, including two Presidents – three, if you count Jefferson Davis, President of the Confederacy – governors, Civil War generals, the unmarked graves of thousands of Confederate soldiers, as well as a hundred and fifty year’s worth of other Richmond residents. And even though they’d meandered along the tree-lined wynds many times, there was always something new to discover every time they went: a route they’d never taken before; a different panoramic view of the James River, an elaborate mausoleum, a weathered headstone, a touching inscription, a famous name.

Keith turned to Louisa. Are you going to be shopping for what we talked about? he asked.

For the past few weeks, they’d been trying to agree on what to get their son for Christmas. They had just about settled on a new mountain bike, but the decision became more complicated when Glen, out of the blue, told them that what he really wanted was an archery set; specifically, a compound bow.

Glen’s request would not have seemed so surprising had they been aware of the boys’ secret excursions. Little did they know that while Glen and Dewey where both supposed to be at the other’s house, the two nine-year-olds were actually slipping off to James River Park to explore the woods and wildlife on their own. They’d been caught near the river once last summer and were strictly forbidden to do it again. But boys will be boys – and boys in the woods need something to hunt with.

Unaware of Glen’s prohibited activities, Keith, at least in principle, was open to the idea of Glen having a target bow – provided he was strictly supervised. Louisa on the other hand, was instantly against it, but was gradually beginning to reconsider her objections.

No, you and I are going to have to talk some more about that, clipped Louisa before describing their plan. No, I used up most of my supplies making the dishes we took to our folks, so we’re going out to the warehouse stores in the West End to pick up the staples we’ll need for the Christmas holidays. Can you think of anything you want while we’re shopping? she asked her husband.

I’m almost out of shaving cream, but I’ve got enough to last awhile … so who knows, maybe Santa will bring some for my stocking, he said loud enough for Glen to hear. It was an unspoken fact that Glen was well past the age where he believed in Santa Claus, but he was happy to keep up the charade, especially since it resulted in extra From Santa presents under the tree.

Louisa stopped in front of the emergency room entrance and shifted the car into Park. She leaned into Keith and gave him a peck on the cheek before saying, I’ll pick you up right here tomorrow night. Call us if you get the chance.

Will do. Keith stepped out of the car, then turned to the side window, See you, sport. Have fun and take care of your mother for me, he smiled before disappearing into the building.

Chapter 4

Well, welcome back Sterling. We missed you, said the short, thin man in a staff-length lab coat.

Thanks Dr. Wendell, it’s nice to be missed, replied Dr. Sterling.

No, I mean we really missed you. We could have used you the past few days. We called you and left messages, but obviously, you never responded, Dr. Wendell said in a plaintive tone.

Sorry. I was out of town from Thursday morning until just a few hours ago, and I must’ve turned off my cell, he said, pulling the phone from his pocket and turning it on, only to find that it needed recharging. Sorry, he said again as he tried to show the low battery bar to his boss.

Dr. Wendell, reigning head of the Emergency Medicine Department, dismissed Keith’s gesture with an impatient wave of his hand. I’ve got to attend an important staff meeting in just a few minutes, but I need to talk to you, in private, before I leave. Let’s see if the doctor’s lounge is empty. Follow me, his boss sternly commanded.

When they got to the lounge it was practically deserted, with only a lone intern there pouring himself a cup of coffee. Give us the room for a minute, ordered Dr. Wendell, very much at ease wielding the authority that came with his position.

Yes sir, mumbled the underling as he hastily threw a couple of spoonfuls of sugar into his cup, grabbed a thin wooden stir stick before making a swift retreat out the glass paneled door.

Sterling, since you were absent last Friday when the rest of the staff was notified, I need to give you your own ‘personalized’ briefing on something you’d already know about if we’d been able to reach you, Dr. Wendell said curtly. I’m sure the press will get wind of it soon enough, but until they do, you’re to treat what I tell you as confidential. You’re not to speak of this to anyone outside of the hospital … and even then, only on a need-to-know basis, do you understand?

Of course sir, answered Keith.

Good. A few days before Thanksgiving, we received a special bulletin from the Centers for Disease Control, Dr. Wendell paused to organize his thoughts. The bulletin advised of an emerging public health issue from a specific form of hantavirus known as Andes virus. Ever heard of it? asked Dr. Wendell.

No sir, said Keith. Then, feeling as if he’d missed a question during grand rounds, he attempted to redeem himself by adding, I’m aware of the genus hantavirus, and of the pathogenic viruses Hantavirus Pulmonary Syndrome, HPS, and Hemorrhagic Fever with Renal Syndrome, HFRS. If my memory is correct, both of them are potentially deadly if they aren’t diagnosed early. But I’m afraid I’m not familiar with … what’s it called again … Andes virus?

Begrudgingly, Dr. Wendell bestowed a backhanded compliment upon Keith, That’s correct. And congratulations on knowing at least something about hantaviruses. That’s more than most of the staff physicians could come up with. Now, can that great fountain of knowledge you call a brain recall how HPS is transmitted?

Although he wasn’t positive of the answer, Dr. Sterling proffered his guess as assertively as possible. I believe the primary reservoir for HPS is rodents, rats and mice, and transmission occurs through inhalation of airborne particulates of the animal’s urine, droppings or saliva.

You’re batting average is going up, Sterling, replied Dr. Wendell. Andes virus is carried by a specific South American rodent called the Long-tailed Pigmy Rice Rat. The virus has a similar composite to other HPS’s, with one rather nasty difference. Unlike the other HPS’s, Andes is the only known hantavirus that is capable of person-to-person transmission, and according the CDC bulletin, several cases were recently confirmed in the Southwestern U.S. This is significant because they are the first cases ever reported in North America. You realize the implications of this don’t you? We’re talking about a very deadly pathogen that can be spread from person to person by casual human contact.

Dr. Wendell went on to briefly describe the virus’ symptoms and stages. By the time he’d finished, Keith had a general understanding of the biological aspects of the disease.

I expect you to read the CDC bulletin, as well as the other material we’ve compiled on Andes and Hantavirus Pulmonary Syndrome. See Doctor Fisher, he’s got all the literature.

I’ll do that as soon as possible, but if I can ask, why are we so concerned about a disease that occurred three thousand miles away? asked Dr. Sterling.

Because, Sterling Dr. Wendell bristled, in the past 72 hours, this hospital has admitted three confirmed cases of Andes virus, and all indications are that we’ll be seeing more cases very soon! Clusters of the disease have begun to pop up all over the country, and since the early stage of the disease is largely asymptomatic, we don’t see the infected until they are well into the contagious phase. We estimate that there are a hundred or more metropolitan area residents already infected with the disease. The CDC and regional health authorities are tracking down every lead, but not everyone who’s sick is going to be found in time to treat them successfully … or to prevent them from communicating the disease to others.

Keith asked the obvious question. Then why don’t the health agencies make some sort of public announcement about the disease and tell people what they can do to avoid getting infected and where they can get help? Seems like that would be the most effective way to identify the target population and get the thing under control before it becomes a full blown epidemic.

We weren’t told anything official, but rumor has it that CDC determined that an announcement would cause a public panic that could be worse than the disease itself. For the time being, they’re trying to manage the situation out of the public spotlight. I’m not so sure that’s the best way to handle it, but the hospital has agreed to keep the situation confidential until the Feds decide what to do next.

Dr. Sterling shared Dr. Wendell’s doubts about the Federal Government’s strategy of concealment. An old saw popped into Keith’s head, something his father would recite when he heard of some ill-conceived action by the government, There’s the right way, the wrong way, and the government way, his dad would say while shaking his head in disbelief at some knuckle-headed decision the Feds had made.

Dr. Wendell headed for the door. "Read up on Andes before you start your shift. And make sure you know the symptoms. The Emergency Room is going to be our first line of defense for this and I don’t want anyone slipping through the cracks because some intern missed the indicators. I need everyone to err on the side of caution. If anyone looks like a possible, I want tests run and I want the patient to stay put until we get the results. If the tests come back positive, the person is to be admitted and immediately moved to the fourth floor. As we speak, the Epidemiology Department is converting that entire floor into a Level 2 bio-containment area.

And personal precautions for the staff? asked Keith.

Dr. Fisher or the attending physician will fill you in. I’m late for a meeting, growled Dr. Wendell over his shoulder as the door closed behind him.

Chapter 5

Dad’s going to kill us when he sees all the stuff we bought, joked Glen.

I know, I know, said Louisa pathetically. But we only do our big shopping once a month, and I used up most of my supplies getting ready for Thanksgiving, and it’s almost Christmas and I hate fighting the holiday shoppers, she paused, trying to think of some more reasons she could use to defend herself when Keith saw the vanload of groceries and shopping bags that sat behind them as they drove home.

Mom, have you and dad decided about that target bow I said I wanted for Christmas?

No, we haven’t. And to be honest with you, I have some real concerns about you being old enough to have such a dangerous weapon … and make no mistake about it, mister … bows are weapons, not toys. For a split second, she thought about adding You could put your eye out, but remembered that it was a classic line from A Christmas Story, one of their favorite seasonal comedies, and decided not to risk a detour from the seriousness of the discussion.

But I promise I’d only use it when you or dad were there to watch me. Dewey’s mom is getting him one and somebody at school told me that there’s an archery range at Bryan Park. We could go over there and shoot targets on the weekend, he cajoled. Glen was an honest kid at heart and he had every intention of keeping his promise. But if he really searched deep down inside, he’d have to admit that he already knew that sooner or later, he and Dewey would find themselves at James River Park, bows in hand, stalking squirrels and shooting at birds.

Dewey’s getting one, huh? Well maybe I’ll call his mother and she what she thinks about it.

This was a major setback for Glen and Dewey’s strategy. Armed with pointers from other schoolmates, Glen had used a variation of the time honored, child-tested so-and-so’s parents let him do it gambit, but it looked as though he’d made a rookie mistake by playing this card too soon. Who knows what Dewey’s mother would say if she called her now – Glen wasn’t even sure Dewey had asked for a bow yet, or whether his mom would say yes, or could even afford to buy him one.

Glen knew there was nothing he could do but shut up, keep his fingers crossed and hope that his mom forgot about this conversation. He prayed that she wouldn’t call Dewey’s mom until the two boys had had a chance to regroup and coordinate their tactics. In an effort to help his mom forget, Glen quickly changed the subject.

Mom, are we going hiking when we get back? he asked innocently.

We have a lot to do when we get home. After we put away the groceries, I’ve got to run a few loads of laundry so you’ll be ready for school and I’ll have something to wear to work on Monday. But if you really want to, we could hike in the cemetery for a little while.

No, that’s OK. I’ve got some homework to finish, then maybe I’ll go over to Dewey’s if there’s time. His reply was casual, but inside he desperately hoped she would agree because this might be his only chance to talk to Dewey and try to salvage their plan before it fell apart.

Well, alright. I’m glad to see you’re keeping up with your schoolwork … and I’m sure Santa is too, she added.

She turned into the neighborhood and onto the narrow one-way street that led to their house. Several VCU students were unloading their cars and she surmised that they were just returning from Thanksgiving visits with their families. Louisa found herself wondering why she assumed they were students and not permanent residents. After thinking about it for a moment, she guessed that besides being able to narrow it down by age, most of them ranged from their late teens to early twenties, the simplest way to recognize them was by their appearance. Certainly there were exceptions, but she decided that the vast majority of VCU students affected a certain indefinable urban/academic/grunge look that transcended race and gender. Louisa smiled when she recalled that it hadn’t taken her long to adopt the very same look when she transferred to VCU six years ago, and then she laughed out loud when she glanced down and realized that she still dressed the exact same way on weekends.

What’s so funny mom? asked Glen, sure that she’d somehow pieced together his diabolical plan.

Nothing. I was just thinking about when I was younger.

Oh. That might be a good sign, thought Glen.

It took several trips to empty the van and fifteen minutes more for Louisa to put away the groceries and Glen to carry the shrink-wrapped, family-size packages of toothpaste, shampoo, bath soap, paper products, and other sundry items to their appointed storage locations around the small house. When they’d finished, Louisa and Glen sat across from each other and smiled at their accomplishment.

I’ve got your favorite hot chocolate mix and I just bought some of those little marshmallows you like, let me fix you a cup, offered Louisa.

Not now, thanks. I think I’ll go upstairs and do my homework. Then maybe I’ll go over to Dewey’s for awhile.

Well, OK. I just want to tell you again that I’m very impressed that you’re being so conscientious. Dad will be thrilled when I tell him that you’re taking such an interest in your schoolwork, she fawned.

Feelings of sadness and shame came over Glen when he heard his mother’s compliment. Was a bow worth all this lying and deceit? Unsure of the answer, he went upstairs, closed the door and stayed in his room for the rest of the afternoon.

Chapter 6

Keith’s eyes scanned the screen as he rolled through the hundreds of pages Dr. Fisher had compiled. When he finished, his first reaction was how little of the data specifically addressed the Andes virus. He picked up a hardcopy of the CDC bulletin and perused it again, hoping he’d find some additional information that he’d missed in the previous two readings. Disappointed, his fingers released the paper, allowing it to fall carelessly on the table.

Excuse me, Dr. Fisher, he said