Mary Jane and her husband Rob were happy together. They lived on a farm in rural Iowa, where Rob grew corn and where the two of them raised three handsome, healthy boys. And then Rob got sick. It was like something out of a horror flick, out of a sci-fi novel: flesh-eating bacteria, contracted from the fields, perhaps, but no one really knew how or why. Deadly. Usually, those who contracted the bacteria had to have an amputation wherever the virus had set in. Rob's virus was in his collarbone. "What could they do, cut off his head?" sobbed a hysterical Mary Jane in her mother's arms.
