My small town in the woods has 463 people.
A week before Christmas, we stand together in the middle of Main Street and sing carols.
Jim, my dog, told me this Christmas would be different.
On the morning of that day, we were sitting on the porch of my cabin looking at Benny the wolf, who was standing next to my shed.
“Benny’s ready,” Jim said.
“Ready for what?”
Jim passed along some troubling information from Robert, the Rottweiler Dr. May was using to guard her clinic at night. Everybody in town knew there was no reason to post a watchdog there. But that’s the kind of person Dr. May was.
Jim said, “There’s a new state program. Some workers just delivered a bag of vials to the clinic. It’s a vaccine for Disease X. May intends to inject all of you.”
“Robert told you that?”
“He’s on our side,” Jim said. “You know if you were threatened, I’d defend you. I’d die for you if I had to. Would you die for me?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I don’t know.”
“Well,” Jim said, “you’d better make up your mind.”
Unknown to me, the word had gone out. Dr. May was planning to show up at the carol singing that afternoon with Tank, the town cop, and his two deputies. With syringes.