Mr. and Mrs. Loral had cleaned their only wheelbarrow as thoroughly as they could, considering the limited cleaning supplies that the village had access to. The wheelbarrow was used for everything from hauling manure to the crops to bringing back hunted game. It had been a piece in the family since Mr. Loral’s great grandfather’s purchase of the land. Since then, whenever the wheelbarrow was passed on to a Loral, the inheritor was recognized as the new head of the family and the newest hope that the family would strive.

	When they were done cleaning the wheelbarrow, they placed their daughter Jessie’s mattress in it. Because she was such a small child, the mattress fit perfectly. When Mrs. Loral was satisfied with it, Mr. Loral brought down pillows and Jessie’s favorite quilt that had been sewn by Mrs. Loral’s mother. It had a picture of a duck.

	They looked over their work five times, more so to delay the inevitable than for any practical purpose. They knew that it would work fine. With tears in their eyes, Mr. Loral and Mrs. Loral made their way to the village square. Along the way, Mrs. Loral put her hand on her husband’s shoulder.

	“It’s for the safety of everyone else,” she said with a shaky voice. Mr. Loral grunted, knowing that if he were to give any words tears would follow. 

	The usually lively village square was empty, with the exception of the doctor’s staff waving people inside. He couldn’t see their faces through the protective suits they wore, but he could hear the exhaustion in their voices as they yelled instructions for the infected.