CHAPTER 1 August 15 "Okay, you guys! It's four-thirty and time to get this barbecue show on the road," Brian Yves Murphy ordered, clapping his hands to get his family's attention. His wife, Emma, and his daughter, Juliette, were draped over the living room furniture in the modest two-bedroom cottage they had rented for two weeks across from a hardscrabble beach in Wellfleet, Massachusetts, just beyond the town's harbor. All of them were appropriately exhausted after an active, fun-filled midsummer day that marked the beginning of their final week of vacation. Because of the SARS-CoV-2 pandemic, they'd opted for a road trip vacation rather than flying down to Florida to use Emma's parents' empty condo, as was their usual summer getaway. "Can't we just recover for ten to fifteen minutes?" Emma pleaded jokingly despite knowing full well that Brian wouldn't hear of it. In truth, she was as compulsive as he in terms of getting the most out of every minute of their vacation while the weather held. On top of that, she was also as compulsively fit and active as he. That morning she had awakened just after dawn and had soundlessly slipped out of the house for a bike ride and to be first in line at PB Boulangerie for their one-of-a-kind, freshly baked almond croissants. It had been a welcome surprise when they discovered the French bakery so far from what they called civilization. As life long residents of Inwood, Manhattan, they considered themselves quintessential New Yorkers and assumed anything outside of the city was hinterland. "Sorry, but no rest for the weary," he said. "I'd like to get to the Newcomb Hollow Beach parking lot before the evening rush to make sure we get a spot." They had found over their first few days that Newcomb Hollow was their favorite Atlantic-side beach, with fewer people and high dunes that acted as partial windbreaks from the onshore breeze. "But why the rush?" questioned Emma. "We already got a beach parking permit when we got the fire permit." "The parking permit lets us park, but it doesn't guarantee a spot. Plus, Newcomb Hollow Beach is a popular spot for obvious reasons." "Okay," she said agreeably. She got up and stretched her shoulders, which were mildly sore from the kayaking on Long Pond they had done that morning, an unusual workout for both of them. Then in the early afternoon she and Brian had done their daily mini-triathlon that involved biking ten miles to Truro and back, swimming for one mile in the bay, and running for five more into the Cape Cod National Seashore. Meanwhile, four-year-old Juliette had spent time with a local high school girl named Becky whom they had luckily found to serve as a daily sitter on day one. The lucky part was that Becky, despite being a teenager, was surprisingly acceptive and attentive to the required testing, mask wearing, and social distancing mandated by the Covid-19 pandemic. "I'll get towels, the grill, briquettes, beach chairs, and toys and load it all in the car," he rattled off, heading into the kitchen. He'd been looking forward to the barbecue for several days. Although they wouldn't have the sunset like they did every evening over Cape Cod Bay, the Atlantic side was glorious, especially compared to the narrow, seashell-littered beach in front of their cottage. "Ten four," Emma said. She glanced down at Juliette. The child seemed to already be asleep, although Emma was aware she could be pretending, as she often did when she didn't want to be bothered. With her eyes closed and lips slightly parted, she was clutching her favorite toy and constant companion named Bunny: a foot-long, very floppy, light brown, worse-for-wear stuffed rabbit with one missing eye. Emma couldn't help but stare at her with loving eyes, thinking as a mother that Juliette might very well be the world's most beautiful child, with her slightly upturned sculpted nose, Cupid's bow lips, and thick blond hair. Initially both she and Brian had been taken aback by their daughter's hair as it grew in. The expectation had been that it would either be Emma's flaming red or Brian's blue-black. Instead it had come in as blond as golden corn, establishing from the outset that Juliette was her own person. The same thing happened with her eye coloration. She ended up green-eyed in contrast to Emma's hazel and Brian's blue. But there were some definite commonalities. All three Murphys had pale, almost translucent, Irish skin that required constant application of sunscreen to keep from getting burned. Also similar were their well-muscled and long-limbed figures. Even at age four, Juliette promised to be as athletic and tall as both her father and mother, who stood at six-one and five-eight, respectively. "Hey! What are you doing?" he questioned as he wheeled a small portable kettle charcoal grill through the living room. He'd caught her hovering over Juliette. "Chop chop! What's holding up the show?" "I was just momentarily overwhelmed by our daughter," Emma confessed. "We are so lucky she's healthy and so damn cute. In fact, I think she might be the most beautiful child in the world." Brian nodded but rolled his eyes playfully. "Sounds like a serious case of parental bias. There's no doubt we're lucky, but let's please hold up on our appreciation until we've parked and are on the beach." She threw the Speedo swim cap she was holding at Brian, who laughed and easily ducked away before pushing out into the front yard, letting the screen door bang behind him. The characteristic noise reminded Emma of the summers she'd spent as a child out on Long Island. Her father, Ryan O'Brien, had done very well for himself and his family after starting a successful plumbing company in Inwood. Emma and Brian had both grown up among Inwood's sizable Irish community and had actually been aware of each other as grammar school-aged children while attending PS 98 even though he was two grades ahead of her. For her part in preparation for the barbecue, she went into the kitchen, got out the cooler, and after putting in the cold packs from the freezer, filled it with the hamburger patties she'd made the previous day, the fresh de-gritted clams they had gotten earlier that morning at the harbor, a bottle of prosecco, and some fruit juice for Juliette. The unhusked summer corn was in a separate shopping bag, as were the mille-feuille from the bakery. A half hour later the family was in their Outback Subaru, heading east toward the Cape Cod National Seashore preserve. Juliette was buckled into her car seat next to the cooler, an inflatable boogie board, and three folded beach chairs. As per usual Juliette was holding on to Bunny while watching a cartoon on a screen built into the driver's-side headrest. At Juliette's feet were the rest of the beach toys, including pails, sand molds, shovels, and a pair of Kadima paddles. After crossing Route 6, both Brian and Emma eyed the Wellfleet Police Department as it came into view. The building was a quaint, gable-roofed white clapboard structure with dormers that looked more like a country inn than a police department. "I can't help but wonder what it would be like being a police officer way out here in the middle of nowhere," she observed. She turned to get a final glimpse of the picturesque building with a split log fence defining a visitor's parking area. There was not a squad car in sight. "It is hard to imagine," he said with an agreeing nod. He'd had the same thought simultaneous with Emma verbalizing it. This was a frequent occurrence, and they attributed it to how closely their lives had coincided. Not only had they grown up several blocks apart in the same neighborhood in Manhattan and gone to the same grammar school, but they had both ended up majoring in criminal justice in college, with Brian attending Adelphi on Long Island and Emma going to Fordham in the Bronx. Although they also had gone to different high schools, their transcripts were remarkably similar. Both had done well academically, and had been very active in athletics in high school and college. For Brian it was soccer, wrestling, and baseball, and for Emma it was field hockey, basketball, and softball. "Compared to our law enforcement experiences, it must be incredibly boring," she said as she faced around to look out the windshield. Both she and Brian had matriculated directly into the New York Police Department Academy after college, serving as patrol officers at very busy NYC precincts. After five years of exemplary service, they had been accepted into the elite and prestigious NYPD Emergency Service Unit. It had been when Emma was a cadet at the ESU Academy that their remarkably parallel lives temporally aligned. Brian, who was a member of the ESU A team, volunteered on his days off to help the ESU Academy instructors. It was his way of staying up to date and in shape, and his reward was meeting one of the few female ESU cadets, falling in love, and gaining a wife. "Especially off season," he said. "To tell you the truth, I wouldn't be able to do it. No way." They were now passing through mostly pitch pine and black oak forests. They also passed Gull Pond, which was north but near Long Pond, where they had kayaked that morning. As it was their first trip to Cape Cod, they had been pleasantly surprised by the many freshwater ponds with crystal-clear water so close to the ocean on one side and the bay on the other. They'd asked a local about them and had been told it had something to do with glaciers back in the Ice Age. Gross Hill Road dead-ended into Newcomb Hollow Beach, and as they pulled into the parking lot, they were encouraged. A lot of bedraggled people were heading from the beach to their cars, carrying an enormous quantity of gear, including beach chairs, sun umbrellas, and impressive coolers that made the Murphys' Styrofoam model seem embarrassingly chintzy. Some were tanned regulars, but most were clearly burned visitors. "Ouch," said Emma, looking at one adolescent girl who appeared as pale as the Murphys. "She's going to be sorry tonight." "We're in luck," he exclaimed, pulling into a vacant slot remarkably close to the pathway that led from the parking lot to the beach up over an impressive fifty-foot grass-covered dune. As usual, Juliette was excited at the prospect of being on the beach, so she was first out of the car and impatient as Emma and Brian unloaded. Despite her agitation, she was willing to accept carrying the bag of corn and most of her toys in addition to Bunny. While Emma carried the cooler and towels, Brian handled the grill, the briquettes, and the aluminum beach chairs. It was late afternoon and the sun streaming over their shoulders painted the entire scene in a rich, golden glow. Everyone they passed leaving the beach was wearing their pandemic masks, as were the Murphys. When they crested the dune, Emma and Brian paused to take in the dramatic sight of the wide, sandy beach and the large expanse of the Atlantic. The breeze was onshore, and it carried the sound of the two-to-three-feet-high waves as they broke. Since the tide was going out, there were numerous tide pools, which Juliette loved, since she was a bit intimidated by the ocean. Capping the impressive scene were large cumulus clouds that hung over the vista like dollops of whipped cream. "Which way?" Juliette called over her shoulder. "What do you think?" Brian asked Emma. "I'd say north," she responded after glancing in both directions. "There's less people. And there's a good-sized tide pool directly in front." "To your left," he shouted to Juliette, who had already run down toward the water's edge. They set up their camp about a hundred feet north of the path and up against the steep dune embankment. While Brian struggled with the grill, Emma put sunscreen on Juliette before handing the spray can to him. After tossing Bunny onto one of the towels, Juliette immediately bounded off for the tide pool. "Don't go in the waves until I'm down there with you," he yelled to her, and she waved back to signal that she had heard. "When do you think we should eat?" she asked. Brian shrugged. "It's up to you. Just give me fifteen to twenty minutes' notice to get the briquettes fired up." He poured them into the grill and closed the lid. "Meanwhile, let's join Juliette." For the next forty-five minutes they ran in the wash from the surf, either chasing or being chased by Juliette. At one point he managed to get Juliette to venture out into the breakers with him holding her hand, but he could tell she really didn't like it, so they quickly went back to the tide pool. Shortly after, Brian could see that Emma was already back preparing the corn at their campsite, which was now in shadow. Taking the hint, he told Juliette it was time to start the barbecue and that he would race her with him running backward. Delighted at the prospect of beating her father, Juliette took off with a squeal and, mostly thanks to Brian getting a late start, gained a commanding lead. "I'm afraid we have some unwelcome visitors," Emma announced the moment they came running back. "What do you mean?" he asked. He glanced around, mostly skyward. On their previous visit to Newcomb Hollow Beach they'd had a run-in with a few very persistent seagulls and had been amazed at the birds' boldness. "No seagulls," she said, reading his mind. "Mosquitoes." "Really?" he questioned. He was surprised, considering the significant onshore breeze. "Yes, really," Emma said. "Look!" She raised her left arm and pointed to the base of her deltoid muscle. Poised and obviously preparing to bite was a black mosquito with white markings, but before the insect could do its worst, she slapped it with an open palm. When she pulled her hand away, she could see that the creature was reduced to a tiny bloody corpse, indicating it had already bitten someone else but still wasn't satiated. "I don't think I've seen a mosquito like that," Brian said. "Rather distinctive coloring." "I have," Emma said. "It was an Asian tiger mosquito." "How the hell do you know about Asian tiger mosquitoes?" "During one of my ESU Academy medical lectures, we learned about arboviral disease and climate change. The lecturer specifically talked about Asian tiger mosquitoes, which used to be restricted to the tropics, but now have spread widely northward all the way up to Maine." "I never got that lecture," he complained. "Times have changed old man," Emma said with a laugh. "Remember, you were two years ahead of me." "What's arboviral disease, anyway?" "Remember reading about Yellow Fever and building the Panama Canal? Well, Yellow Fever is an Arboviral Disease." "Yikes," Brian said. "Has there ever been Yellow Fever in the USA?" "Not since 1905 in New Orleans, if I'm remembering correctly," Emma said. She abruptly ran her fingers through her hair and then waved her hand above head. "Uh oh, I can hear more of the bastards. Aren't they bothering you?" "Not yet. Juliette, do you hear any mosquitos?" Juliette didn't answer, but like her mother, she suddenly waved her hands around her head suggesting she was hearing them. "Did you bring the bug spray?" Emma asked with urgency. "It's in the car. I'll run and get it." "Please," Emma said. "The sooner the better. Otherwise we are going to be miserable." With no further urging, Brian grabbed his mask, jogged down the beach, and then went up over the dune. As he expected, he found the can of OFF in the glove compartment. When he got back to the beach less than ten minutes later, Juliette was again in the tidal pool. "I tell you," Emma said as she began to apply the repellent, "these winged bastards were aggressive while you were gone. I had to send Juliette down to the water." "I tried to be quick." He took the spray and applied it as Emma had done and then called Juliette back from the water's edge to protect her as well. Once the Murphy's had the mosquitos at bay, they were able to get back to their barbecue. The corn cobs went on the grill first, followed by the hamburger patties, and finally the clams. By time the food was cooked and served, the entire beach was in the shadow of the dunes even though the ocean and the clouds were still in full sun. Excerpted from Viral by Robin Cook All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
