On this scorching morning, he felt every one of his fifty-three years and then some. Weariness weighed down his limbs and clouded his thoughts.
Earlier, for a terrifying, lonely moment, he had lost sight of his purpose here. This crisis of faith had been very real. Fighting the temptation to give up and abandon his healing mission, he implored the One Father to give him the strength to carryon It was through prayer that he eventually retapped the spiritual light needed to reaffirm his faith.
Shamed by his moment of weakness, he had set out on his morning’s rounds with a renewed determination to share this healing light with his patients. For even if he couldn’t cure the sickness that consumed their fever-racked bodies, at least he could prepare their souls for the heavenly realm that lay beyond.
With a heavy sigh, Goss took a last fond look at the lively children before returning to his morning duties.
Each of the makeshift clinic’s twenty-four cots were occupied. His patients ranged from mere infants to wizened elders. All displayed similar symptoms, and each would share the same fate.
Though death had yet to visit them on this particular morning, Goss felt its cold presence hovering close-by. With such a morbid thought in mind, he joined his young Laotian nurse, Mei, who was in the midst of her rounds.
Like the true angel of mercy that she was, Mei stood before a cot holding a sunken-cheeked, emaciated old-timer. Bloody spittle ran down the patient’s chin, and he appeared to have fallen asleep with his eyes wide open. As she reached out to feel for a pulse, Goss signaled her not to bother.
“Forget it, Mei,” he advised.
“His time of earthly suffering is over.”
Goss closed the old man’s eyelids, made the sign of the crossover his wrinkled forehead, and covered the fresh corpse with a white sheet.
“I feel so powerless,” Mei declared, her voice quivering with emotion.
The priest’s response was interrupted by a low-pitched, monotonous chant, emanating from the opposite aisle. There, beside a cot holding a white-haired woman, stood a baldheaded middle-aged Laotian in an orange robe. It was from this wide-eyed individual’s lips that the chant came.
Both Goss and Mei watched as the man began stroking the old woman’s body with along, white feather.
Next a censer of incense was ignited, and a pencil-thin stream of pungent smoke was waved over the prone patient’s head. The chant intensified.
“So, the shaman has returned. Shall I get him to leave?” Mei calmly asked.
Goss shook his head.
“Why bother, Mei? He’ll only return in an hour or so. And besides, who’s to say that his methods are no sounder than our own.”
The distinctive clatter of a helicopter could be heard, and the priest expectantly looked up to the tin ceiling.
“It appears that our long-anticipated visitors have finally arrived. Now we can only pray that they can come up with some sort of answer to this madness.”
The priest turned and somberly led the way outside.
Mei accompanied him, and they both followed the excited villagers heading to the broad clearing at Ban Son’s southern outskirts. The ragtag group arrived at its destination just as the helicopter landed. The wash of the still-spinning rotors kicked up a blinding whirlwind of choking dust, and they protected their eyes as best they could.
The dust settled only when the engine was turned off and the rotors spun to a halt. Father Goss wiped off the clouded lenses of his glasses and then looked on as a soldier emerged from the helicopter’s hatchway.
This alert, mustached figure carried an M-16 rifle.
After a hasty scan of the clearing, he beckoned toward the Huey and another individual climbed out of the cabin. The priest could clearly see from this one’s shapely build that she was female. This was affirmed when she removed her flight helmet and shook free along mane of thick red hair. She carried a black medical bag, and Goss eagerly stepped forward to initiate the introductions.
“Welcome to Ban Son. I’m Father David Goss, the head of the local clinic, and this is my nurse, Mei.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Dr. Miriam Kromer.”
As they traded handshakes, the priest hastily sized up his visitor. She was certainly younger than he had expected. She had soft blue eyes and natural good looks that required a minimum of makeup. He liked the way she directly returned his appraising stare and got right down to business.
“Father Goss, I read your initial report with great concern and interest. Are the symptoms you detailed still prevailing?”
Goss nodded.
“That they are. Doctor. And so is the death rate. If this disease isn’t checked soon, we could lose the entire village by the onslaught of the rainy season.”
Kromer responded while studying the collection of locals huddled behind the priest.
“The symptoms that your report mentioned — headache, vomiting, high fever, and internal bleeding-could be characteristic of a fungal infection. Perhaps a natural-growing my co-toxin has entered the food chain here.”
“That possibility has crossed my mind,” said Goss.
“But I’m far from an expert in such matters.”
Kromer’s glance returned to the priest.
“Well, hopefully I can help. My doctorate’s in toxicology.”
“May I ask what hospital you’re affiliated with, Doctor?” asked Goss.
“Of course you can. Father. I’m currently working for the Armed Forces Intelligence Center at Fort Detrick, Maryland.”
This revelation caused the priest to flinch with abhorrence.
“I never dreamed my report would reach the military.”
Surprised by this reaction, Kromer did her best to be as honest as possible.
“You have nothing to fear from me. Father. I’m only here to help.”
The buzzing, mechanical drone of a small plane sounded in the distance, and all eyes went to the blue heavens. It was Lieutenant Kirdyo who pointed out alone propeller-driven aircraft lazily approaching from the cast.
Dr. Kromer identified this single-engine plane as a Piper Cub. It certainly looked innocent enough. Yet with its continued approach, the local villagers turned and ran back to town as if the devil himself were on their tails.
“What’s gotten into them?” asked the puzzled toxicologist.
It was Mei who answered.
“They’re afraid of chimi, the yellow rain that is said to often follow such overflights.
Many of the Hmong feel that this is the substance responsible for the plague that has struck this village.”
Kromer’s eyes opened wide with interest.
“Do you happen to have any samples of this chimi?”
The priest reacted with instant disgust.
“So that’s what you’ve come for. I should have guessed your real motive. You don’t believe this socalled yellow rain is real, that it’s aman-made toxin being utilized to kill innocent men, women, and children?”
“Father Goss, that is only one of the things I’m here to determine,” Kromer answered directly.
“Then let’s get on with it,” said the priest with a heavy sigh.
“Though I begged for medicine and some decent equipment, all they send me is another spy.
There was a yellow rain reported as early as yesterday, beside a stream only a few kilometers from this spot.
I’m certain there is plenty of evidence left to keep you and your friends back in the Pentagon busy for months to come.”
Kromer sensed the hurt and disappointment in his tone, yet readily accepted the priest’s offer to escort her to the site. After relaying her intentions to the helicopter’s flight crew, she followed Father Goss down a narrow earthen track that led away from the village.
Included in this group was Lieutenant Kirdyo, who brought up the rear with a two-way radio and his trusty M-16 in hand.