Now the mayor looked like a fool before his own people. He was angry and — like anyone with family here — afraid.
Rangers moved onlookers back, maintaining a thirty-foot buffer area inside the wire. In the airport they’d be double-checking hangars and offices. Our old Navy base to the north would return to its original function, housing military personnel. The huts were being gas-bombed right now, to kill germs. No one was allowed back in for the next few hours.
In quarantine drills I’d practiced, soldiers set up tent cities outside the infected area. Impossible here. Too cold. In drills, supplies arrived on roads. Here there were none. In drills, medicine worked. And these troops had been vaccinated, but if we faced a new strain, we all risked infection. There were no good choices, I thought. Only degrees of danger.
Standing atop the bank building, as Karen, Eddie, and I did with Merlin and the mayor ten minutes later, we got a complete view as Hercules aircraft disgorged more Humvees,50-caliber machine guns on top, beginning patrols along the perimeter. Rangers toting M4 carbines stood on higher rooftops, setting up terrestrial jammers.
“Full cooperation from communication companies,” Eddie said. “As pre-agreed for in a protocol four event.”
No cell-phone calls or YouTube presentations would be leaving Barrow to go viral. No chance of millions of people in Moscow, Tehran, Beijing, and Mexico City watching minute-by-minute panic: American town quarantined!
The crowd continued to swell.
Guards opened a gap in the wire and a lone Humvee drove inside. A single officer got out and climbed onto the vehicle’s hood to face the crowd, now easily more than a thousand people.
“Major General Wayne Homza,” Karen said.
From a distance, he looked shorter, bullish, but size meant nothing. His voice was deep and resonant, containing the right mix of authority and respect for the audience. His posture was as straight in person as on screen. I liked that he exposed himself. My respect rose a notch. I hoped he was more than just a self-serving featherweight attack dog. I saw formidability. He’d need flexibility as well.
He announced, voice clear in the silence, “We’re handing out free surgical masks and rubber gloves for anyone who wants them. Go home. Stay calm. Food will be distributed. Doctors will be at the hospital. Anyone experiencing headaches or fever, please go to the emergency room, at no charge.
“In one hour I will meet with you at the high school. It’s too cold for all of us to stand around out here. I will answer all questions. We’ll talk, calmly and rationally. One hour.”
A man’s voice cried out from the crowd, clear to us on the roof. “We need to hunt the bowheads now! They are here.”
“Sorry, sir. No boats going out.”
I recognized the man as a whaling captain. “We promise to come back. We need to hunt before they pass!”
Homza nodded sympathetically, but answered, firmly, “We will supply all the food you need.”
“I don’t want your food.”
“Sir, I’m not partial to Army food, either, half the time.” He smiled. “But we’ll make do for the time being. For safety.”
“Ours? Or yours? Once the whales pass they are gone until spring.”
The mayor turned to me speculatively. I’d dreaded this moment. Protocol four calls for local authorities to be notified before quarantine, but Washington had decided that an unannounced arrival would be best in this case. I’d argued over it. I’d said, “General, if the town was New York, would you keep people in the dark?”
“I won’t honor that insult with an answer.”
Merlin asked me now, “Joe, did you know about this?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell us.”
“No.”
Eddie looked from my face to Merlin’s. “He was ordered not to. He was threatened.”
The mayor made a disgusted sound, spun on his insulated boots, and headed for the rooftop doorway. Merlin looked sad. “Who’s side are you on, Joe?”
Eddie said. “You know the answer. Uno, tell him. Say something, man!”
Karen said, “How can you ask that, Merlin?”
The point was, I hadn’t told them.
Merlin turned to leave.
Panic ripped through the high school auditorium. Classes were suspended: No gatherings of more than five to form in public for the time being, General Homza said, but since there had been no advance warning of the quarantine, the auditorium was filled with one last community meeting, people who wanted answers; angry, yelling, fearful parents, whole families, old and young, everyone shouting at the same time:
— Why are troops here?
— This is the United States of America! You can’t do this to us!
— You’re treating us like criminals!
— We are French tourists. You must let us go!
The big room seemed smaller, and I could sense that razor wire outside, a half mile off, as if it had drawn town boundaries in, constricted even the air supply. A half dozen Rangers stood in front of the stage like security guards at a rock concert, hands at belts, sidearms conspicuous, but no M4s in sight. Gutsy call, General.
Karen whispered, “In this town there are probably as many firearms as people.”
On stage, Homza, floodlit, looked out at the standing-room crowd, people shoulder to shoulder, packing exit doors, sitting on steps, in aisles, spilling out into hallways, glued to intercom boxes overhead. More like firewood waiting to ignite than people. A cross-section of America: Eskimos and whites, blacks, Samoans, Cambodians, Pakistanis. I saw elders with walkers, guaranteed front row seats. I saw community college students. The handful of neighbors from the base were grouped together.
I saw, in all eyes, fear.
“I am Major General Wayne Homza, heading the task force charged with protecting you, and keeping any disease here from spreading. You’re afraid, I know. Angry that we’ve shut you in. I’d feel the same way. It’s no fun to make sacrifices. God chooses us for different challenges and gave this one to you. But by keeping whatever has happened here local, we may save lives. Yours. And others.”
The president, I knew, would probably be on TV, telling the nation that a U.S. town had been quarantined, “An unprecedented act for the safety of its citizens and all villages on the North Slope.” That hopefully the situation would be temporary. The rabies would disappear. That the disease might not be contagious. That nations which had received travelers from Barrow had been notified. That his difficult decision had been based on a CDC recommendation to protect four hundred million Americans. That his heart was heavy.
The general acted more diplomatically with civilians than I’d thought him capable. He said, “I hope that we will, together, defeat a danger. I’ve brought along top epidemiologists to pinpoint the illness’s origin. And special agents from the Army’s investigative units to coordinate the investigation with your officials, determine whether a crime or terrorist attack has occurred.”
Eddie whispered, “Coordinate? Or take over?”
Homza was no fool. Safety aside, he had to realize that the outcome of this quarantine would determine his professional future. The last thing he needed was a riot. He said, “I want our stay to be brief. We will do everything possible to make you comfortable. I will take questions now. Please line up at the microphone and identify yourself before speaking. Remember, our precautions are for your own good.”
“No, they are for your good. Martha Nukinek died yesterday and my neighbor, Mr. Kunisakera, is in the hospital,” said the first questioner, a slim woman with a moon face, long black hair, and wearing a thigh-length snow shirt. She carried her infant in a sling.