Still, through it all, almost no one in the city will have any idea the Covid morgue exists. By the time the spring surge is through, 404 Covid victims will have passed through the site. Over the next two and a half months, Harvin, who describes himself as the вЂњgeneral in charge of the death troops,вЂќ and his top deputy, Lassiter, who has recovered bodies throughout DC for more than two decades, will oversee the makeshift mortuary. The clergy who led prayers on the day the field morgue opened were there to make sure the space didnвЂ™t violate the tenets of their three distinct faiths, and to consecrate the site as one. And so, over the previous few weeks, they hustled to secure the land, equipment, and manpower necessary to build an additional facility. Mitchell and Harvin prepared for the pandemic, they realized that the cityвЂ™s morgue didnвЂ™t have the capacity to handle the surge of fatalities that the virus would leave behind. YouвЂ™re not going to get discounts or big thank-you signs. вЂњThereвЂ™s not going to be a parade for you guys. But away from public view, a weightier matter has come to preoccupy a little-known but essential corner of the bureaucracy: the caretakers of the dead. Health-department officials opened testing sites and implored residents to wear masks and keep their distance. The DC Council pushed through legislation to extend unemployment benefits. Mayor Muriel Bowser shuttered businesses. Over the previous month, the city has been locked down as panicked residents watch their leaders navigate a 100-year crisis in real time. In the District of Columbia, where African Americans make up 46 percent of the population, the task is especially urgent, given the virusвЂ™s disproportionately cruel impact on people of color.

Their unwillingness to act has impelled local governments across the country to launch their own scattered efforts to prevent Covid-19 from decimating their communities. Several miles away, federal officials are dismissing warnings about the deadly airborne pathogen that has exploded out of Asia.

ItвЂ™s an ominous time in the nationвЂ™s capital. вЂњIn Judaism,вЂќ he tells the group, вЂњwe believe that the greatest kindness is to care for the dead.вЂќ Rabbi Herzfeld stresses the righteousness of the mission. Imam Shareef invokes the victims-вЂњTheir deaths,вЂќ he says, вЂњare not to be in vain.вЂќ Reverend Towner prays for the workers, that their bodies will be protected from the virus, that their minds stay healthy during the difficult days ahead. One by one, the clerics offer prayers, solemn exhortations for strength and humility, courage and dignity, resonating above the grinding hum of the trailers. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Tomorrow, the first body will be sent here. Wearing masks and rubber gloves, they bow their heads. Roger Mitchell, the chief medical examiner himself. Kimberly Lassiter, a supervisor at the medical examinerвЂ™s office.ДЄnd Dr. Donell Harvin, a top official at DCвЂ™s homeland-security department. Rabbi Shmuel Herzfeld of Ohev SholomвЂ“The National Synagogue.Дr.

Reverend Andre Towner of Covenant Baptist United Church of Christ. They form a circle, each six feet apart from the next. The clergymen gather with a handful of city officials in front of the canopies. The interior walls of the trailers are lined with seven rows of metallic shelving, sturdy enough to support thousands of pounds. Metal ramps are affixed to each trailer so that stretchers can be wheeled in. Inside, large trailers are arranged behind tented canopies and banks of lights. At the front gate, armed soldiers stand guard. The pitch of asphalt is unusually secure, hidden behind a 12-foot chain-link fence thatвЂ™s been swathed in sheets of black tarp to prevent anyone from peering through. On this warm morning, theyвЂ™ve come to a vast and empty parking lot, instructed not to tell anyone of its location. April 21, 2020-The clerics have been sworn to secrecy.

Secrets of the morgue