The vulnerable: Rural America

Willie Johnson, 66, left, Horace Bell, 60, center, and Eugene Davis, 58, right, lower a burial vault into a grave at Cedar Hill Cemetery on Saturday, April 18, 2020, in Dawson, Ga.

Cordarial O. Holloway wears a protective mask as his tie blows in the wind after a funeral at Cedar Hill Cemetery, on Saturday, April 18, 2020, in Dawson, Ga. By nearly every measure, COVID-19 patients in this patch of Georgia are faring worse than almost anywhere else in the country, according to researchers at Emory University in Atlanta who found that the virus has been more deadly in places with high social vulnerability indicators, like poverty and low-income households.

Eugene Davis, 58, of Americus, Ga., kneels into a grave at Cedar Hill Cemetery to check the depth before a funeral for Judge Brooks, Jr., on Saturday, April 18, 2020, in Dawson, Ga. Across the county, as this state and others rush to throw open the doors on restaurants and stores, those here describe themselves as a cautionary tale of what happens when the virus seeps into American's most vulnerable communities, quietly at first then with breathtaking savagery.

Horace Bell, 60, of Americus, Ga., uses an excavator to dig a grave at Cedar Hill Cemetery on Saturday, April 18, 2020, in Dawson, Ga.

Mortician Cordarial O. Holloway, foreground left, funeral director Robert L. Albritten, foreground right, and funeral attendants Eddie Keith, background left, and Ronald Costello place a casket into a hearse on Saturday, April 18, 2020, in Dawson, Ga. Across the county, the latest Associated Press analysis of available state and local data shows that nearly one-third of those who have died are African American, with black people representing about 14% of the population in the areas covered.

Chaplain Will Runyon holds back tears as he speaks of the hardships and death amid the COVID-19 coronavirus outbreak outside of Phoebe Putney Memorial Hospital in Albany, Ga., on Monday, April 20, 2020. ÒThereÕs so much death right now, it piles up on you, it feels heavy,Ó Runyon said. He can feel it in his back, in his feet, like he's dragging something invisible behind him. ÒItÕs happening so often, over and over, everyday."

A wooden cross made from a tree stump, known by some locals as a symbol of hope, sits outside of Phoebe Putney Memorial hospital on Monday, April 20, 2020, in Albany, Ga. The patients were very sick. Some died within hours. Some died on the way, in the back of ambulances. The region is predominantly black, but even so, African Americans died disproportionally, said Phoebe Putney Memorial's chief executive officer Scott Steiner. In the 10 counties in the cluster hit hard by coronavirus, the population is 55 percent black. But African Americans account for about 80 percent the deaths at the hospital.

Latasha Taylor shows her aunt Nellie "Pollye Ann" Mae Tolbert's death certificate and points to the cause of death being acute viral pneumonia due to COVID-19, a deadly virus on Saturday, April 18, 2020, in Dawson, Ga. "Oh my goodness, she was a dancer, and the dances were so hilarious, you would just fall out laughing watching her dance and laugh at herself," Taylor said.

A pair of chairs belonging to Nellie "Pollye Ann" Mae and Benjamin Tolbert, who both died days apart due to COVID-19, sit in their bedroom on Saturday, April 18, 2020, in Dawson, Ga.

Cousins Latasha Taylor, left, and Desmond Tolbert sit during an interview on Saturday, April 18, 2020 in Dawson, Ga. Both have been affected by the COVID-19 deaths of Nellie "Pollye Ann" Mae and Benjamin Tolbert. "Burying both your parents, I ain't never want nobody to go through that. Burying both parents at the same time? It's hard," says Desmond.

Desmond Tolbert holds a photograph of his parents, Nellie "Pollye Ann" Mae and Benjamin Tolbert, on Saturday, April 18, 2020, in Dawson, Ga. Pollye Ann and Benjamin both died of COVID-19 two days apart.

Eddie Keith, 65, of Dawson, Ga., poses for a portrait outside of his church on Sunday, April 19, 2020, in Dawson, Ga. Keith lost his pastor to COVID-19. Keith has worked at Albritten's Funeral Service for around 35 years and was the person to retrieve his pastor. He felt like he'd lost a brother. "Why God? Why God? Why God?" Keith thought as he retrieved his pastor.

The Rev. Willard O. Weston Sr. of Sardis Baptist Church reacts to a phone call in which he learned of another COVID-19 death. "Who? Man, no. Oh, wow, OK. Alright, I'll call you back. Some more bad news, somebody else has passed," said Weston, on Friday, April 17, 2020, in Dawson, Ga. He'd found himself on his knees in his bathroom, trying to scream out the sadness so he could keep going. "At this pace, you don't get a chance to really take a deep breath from the previous death, and then you're getting a call about another," he said. "I've had some moments over the last two or three weeks, and I've questioned the good Lord: what is this? How can we continue?"