The Cured (7 page)

Henry nodded. “I knew they were attacking people and biting them, I just didn’t think they were—”

The older man shook his head. “Best not to think of it more then. Just consider yourself lucky.” He stuck a thick hand into the air between them. “Wyatt Reynolds.”

The rough warmth of Wyatt’s hand and the stale gasoline smell of the store’s loading area made Henry think of his father. The thought of the Plague reaching his parents was a wrecking ball bouncing in his chest. He cleared his throat. “Henry Broom. What were you going to do with the drill anyway?”

Wyatt shrugged. “Whatever I had to, I guess.”

“You don’t have a gun? Isn’t this a big hunting area?”

Wyatt laughed. “I’m a shopkeeper. Just because the tourists are crazy enough to tote their guns everywhere with them, doesn’t mean that I am. Besides, these people are sick. You going to shoot them just because they caught the flu?”

Henry shook his head.

“Nah, me either. But a good clunk to the head might discourage them if they try to bite. And it was the only heavy thing close to the bay door.”

“So what do we do now?” asked Henry.

“I don’t know how far you’ve come but you’ve been sitting in the cold for at least the last half hour. I’ve got electric heat still and coffee. And I know you didn’t come all this way for nothing.”

The bay door banged as something hit it. Wyatt nodded toward it and Henry could see him swallow back his revulsion. “They’ll be— they’ll be at it and each other most of the night. You can’t go out there for a while. As long as we’re quiet and keep the shades down in front, we’ll be okay.”

Henry let go of the palette’s guide rope and followed Wyatt through to the front of the store. They sat behind the candy counter and ate stale deli sandwiches.

“You heard any news in the past day?” asked Henry.

“Nope, the cable is out and the police scanner has been nothing but static since last night. I don’t know if it’s a signal tower or—” Wyatt shook his head and dragged a rough hand down his face. “Been through a lot of storms Henry. Bad blizzards, hurricanes, even a flood in ‘87. Almost everyone evacuated for that one. But there were still people around, you know? Voices on the radio, helicopters flying overhead even after the power went out, national guard trucks,
someone.
Not this time.”

“Maybe there’s just nothing to be done. Maybe we haven’t seen the guard or Red Cross, or whatever, because this isn’t a natural disaster. I mean, what are emergency workers going to do? The most they can do is gather up people to take to the hospital, right? And there’s nothing the hospital can do for them. In fact, the last time I drove by the hospital, it was overflowing. But not with infected people. With people who had been bitten. I don’t think those that are infected with the Plague are actually becoming weak or feeling ill.”

Wyatt tapped his metal travel mug. He shook his head. “No. That’s not it.” He took a sidelong glance at Henry and then looked into the mug. “You and I may not be willing to shoot sick people, but the military is.”

“What? How do you know something like that?”

“A few nights ago, right before the cable went out down here in the village, Sheriff Douglass stopped by. He told me to lock up the store and keep it locked. I asked him why and he said that some of the neighbors were showing signs of infection. He repeated that I was to keep the store locked, no matter what. I asked him what he meant, he said the president had given an executive order that all remaining military and law enforcement were to contain those infected by any means necessary.

‘Contain them?’ I said, ‘They’re stark raving mad. How are you going to contain them?’

Sheriff Douglass is a big guy. Kind of a pain in the ass actually. Always busting tourists’ chops and showing off. But I swear Henry, he started to cry. Right there, standing in front of the beer case, not three days ago. And he said, ‘I have to shoot ‘em Wyatt. There’s nothing else to do. I’ve got to shoot ‘em.’”

“But— what if there’s a cure?” Henry interrupted, “All those people, it’s just a flu, for God’s sake. And even if there isn’t a cure, they’ll shake it off, right? If their bodies aren’t worn out, they’ll shake it off and be back to normal.” He grabbed the thick sleeve of Wyatt’s cotton shirt. Wyatt just shrugged and shook his head slowly.

“The infected people are killing healthy people too. What would happen if they weren’t stopped? Maybe you’re right. Maybe someone will cure it or it’ll burn itself out and everyone will wake up sane in a week or two.” Wyatt whistled between his teeth. “Then there’ll be a reckoning, I guess. There’ll be a reckoning for everyone.”

Nine

Wyatt loaded the last cardboard box onto the palette as Henry peeked behind the curtain in the loading bay.

“There are still five or six of them milling around,” he muttered.

Wyatt nodded. “That’s okay. They’re full now. They won’t bother anyone for at least a day.”

Henry looked around at him. “Full? You mean—”

“Looks like karma paid you back. You should be safe to go back now.”

“So if we kept them fed, they wouldn’t attack anyone?”

Wyatt rubbed the corner of one eye underneath his glasses. “Well, I don’t know. I think they are less likely to. But they still seem to get very angry. They fight each other sometimes. But they aren’t as desperate, seems like. I saw a few eat a dog the day before you got here. They squabbled some after, especially when they stumbled into each other. They finally stumbled away from each other a few hours later, still okay for the most part. Not like the ones that came after you.” The older man shuddered. “Well, I guess that does it for your list, Henry.”

Henry turned away from the window and pulled out his wallet. It slipped through his hands and fell to the floor. He looked at it for a second and then bent down to pick it up. His hand missed twice and then closed around the warm leather. He stood up and avoided Wyatt’s gaze. “Look,” he said, walking toward the sled, “I’ll give you everything I have in here and a credit card to cover the rest, but I think we both know it isn’t worth very much right now. I don’t have anything else to offer though, and I’d be lying if I said the people I’m with could do without it. Why don’t you come with me? It’s safer together and there aren’t any infected up there.” His mind added
Yet.

Wyatt shook his head and held out the hand for cash. “I thought the same last night, and I was afraid it was going to come down to robbery on your part or murder on mine. But after you said you thought the infection would be cured or people would get over it, just like anything else, well, I realized how close to insane I’d got. Of course this is going to blow over. And the best thing we can do is continue to be civilized, right? Besides, if I go, there’s no one to watch the store. What if someone needs things, just like you? Or what if Sheriff Douglass comes back? He might have people who need help too. Someone’s got to stay. At least until the power gives out.” Wyatt looked around at the freezers and coolers around him, “After that, lots of this isn’t going to be good for much.”

Henry handed him the bundle of bills after fumbling with the flimsy things for a moment. “I hate to think of you down here, when it does go out. And with all those sick people wandering around outside.”

Wyatt’s eyes sparked with tears as he folded the money and stuck it in his back pocket. “I know most of them, Henry. Some of them grew up from babies right around the corner. The ones that are outside; they’re not going to come out okay. Unless the Sheriff can get them back in their houses they’ll freeze to death. And the ones he had to shoot.” Wyatt scrubbed his face and snuffled, but then he looked up and smiled at Henry. “The rest of them though, they’ll be okay, it’ll be like a bad flu. They’ll just wake up normal and a little hung over in a few days and mosey on in here to get the news and their milk like always.”

Henry started to shake his head.

“It’ll be okay Henry,” Wyatt clapped him on the shoulder, “You take these supplies back to the lodge and have a nice Christmas. By New Year’s Eve you’ll be making a beer run down here in the car, you’ll see.”

“And if not?”

“If not, I’ll be hiking up there to take advantage of your hospitality. Consider it a down-payment on future supplies, if you need them.”

Henry nodded and picked up the palette’s rope lead. Wyatt opened the bay door with a loud rattle. Henry peered out, but none of the infected even glanced over. They just slogged in senseless patterns through the snow. It was somehow more unsettling than seeing them bear down upon him. He turned back toward Wyatt. “Thank you. I’ll see you later,” he said.

Wyatt shook his head. “I bet I’ll be seeing you first Henry. Have a safe trip back.” The bay door clattered closed between them and Henry began to climb the hill back to the lodge, going quickly in case the infected people decided they were hungry after all.

The palette was heavy and cut deep into the snow, dragging the weight of packed lumps of ice beneath it. Even in his best shape, Henry would have been exhausted after dragging it for three miles. The infection was slow, and it had crept up on him for weeks. It was painless, but he was quickly wiped out now and he found himself struggling to concentrate on even the simplest tasks. He spent most of his energy getting the palette up the first hill out of town. He sat on the crest to catch his breath and was alarmed when he realized he’d sat there much longer than he intended.

He dragged the palette on, trying to remember what the news had said about patients recovering. If he’d heard anything, it was lost now and he eventually gave up chasing echoes in his head. He tried to focus on each step as he passed by the snowmobile wreck, not wanting to see the shattered glass of the headlights or the empty shallow grave of the woman he’d dragged to town. He slipped and fell onto the bare patch that some spilled gasoline had made. He swore as the overloaded palette tipped toward him. It didn’t fall and nothing slid off, and Henry scrambled up after a moment. He checked the palette over, his hand brushing the scarlet fabric of the cheap stocking Wyatt had found for him. Henry didn’t want to lose it. The kid was expecting Santa. He started off again, an aching creak in his knee where it had hit the pavement.

The snowy path was just as quiet as the day before. No birds, no cars, only a slight breeze catching the snow in streams like broken cobwebs. The trees hunched themselves over the narrow strip of road. The last loads of snow had thumped from their branches hours ago, and they stood dark and thick, like enormous brooding crows on a power line. Henry could feel the little breeze pulsing over his back and through his hair like a great breath, receding and returning. He could see the driveway to the first of the five cabins he’d have to pass before the lodge, and he could feel his heart pick up it’s already strained pace. They had been quiet and dark on the way to town, but he still didn’t like going past. He tried to slide toward the opposite side of the narrow road, but the palette had built up a mound of dragging snow underneath and it didn’t move easily.

They’re empty. Summer cabins,
he thought,
There’d be dogs barking. Or cars in the driveway.
Henry slunk by the driveway, looking down into the wide front yard. The house was dark, the garage doors closed. The snow still lay thick in the drive, but as he glanced at it, his eye caught on a spattering of dark hollows where the drive met the road. He froze and the palette slid into the back of his calves, but he barely noticed. He stared at the footprints and tried hard to think if they’d been there yesterday. Were they from the woman who’d caused the snowmobile accident? Were they Phil’s? Had he tried the other houses before the lodge?
Are they new? Come on Henry, think! You can remember the names and credit scores of hundreds of clients on command, surely you can remember if you saw footprints here yesterday.

But he couldn’t. He didn’t know if it was the infection or if he’d been daydreaming when he passed the cabin the day before. Even though the aching prickle in his skin convinced him that his life depended on remembering, Henry simply couldn’t. He looked as far as he could down the road. Then he dropped the rope of the palette and waded toward the shadowy voids where someone had passed by. He squinted against the glare of the sun on the snow. The pattern was erratic. Weaving over the drive and yard, into the woods and back out. Henry stopped near the closest footprint. They didn’t make it all the way to the house and Henry thought that was a good sign. He looked down at the outline and almost laughed out loud. The moose must have been a large one, it’s footprint almost the size of Henry’s and much deeper, but the sharp double leafed shape left no room for doubt. Henry felt his heart slow to a quick trot as he released a breath he’d forgotten he was holding. He brushed sweat from his face with a glove and tried to loosen his cramping arms and shoulders. He was getting too worked up. If he didn’t relax, he’d burn himself out before reaching the lodge. He slogged back to the palette and grabbed the rope. He tried to calm down, tried to appreciate the warmth of the sun on his face and the sudden cool, quiet patches of shade under the still trees. But the palette drew more and more snow under it and it packed into the hollows and slats, hardening into ice. It made a sound like scraping styrofoam and Henry began to feel a deep ache in his back and hands. He moved more and more slowly, finding himself stumbling more often in the deep snow. He tried walking in his own footsteps for a while, but he found it harder than just slogging through the unbroken part of the road. It took almost an hour to reach the next cabin, already afternoon, and Henry became afraid that he would be caught on the road after dark. He tried to pick up his pace, knowing he was only halfway back. He began to think resentfully of Dave and then Elizabeth sitting warm and dry and comfortable in the lodge. He would have been back by now if Dave had just come with him. But he was too chickenshit. Elizabeth wasn’t much better, but for a while he forgave her, since she would have to watch Phil.
Why am I the one doing this?
He wondered,
This stuff isn’t even going to help me. I’m sick. I’ll be crazy in a few days. They’ll probably toss me out to freeze to death
. Henry felt a lump growing in his throat at the thought, but then his anger burned it away.
Stop thinking that. I’ll get through this. It’s just a flu.
But the doubt wouldn’t go away and his annoyance grew with it.
You’re sick Henry. Just a day or two away from the lady in the city maybe. You’ll muckle on to the first person you see tomorrow. You’re sick. And getting sicker by being out here. It’s them that’s making you sicker faster Henry. It’s Dave and Elizabeth. If you’d stayed away from them, maybe you’d be okay. But now, now you’re going to freeze or Dave’s going to bash you in the head.
Henry shook his head and pulled at his hair. He took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on his feet and the crunch of the snow.
Or else you’re going to eat him. You’re going to eat Dave all up. And then . . .
The thought stung him suddenly and he sat down in the snow and sobbed before it could get any farther. It made him feel even weaker to cry, but there was no one around, and so he did for a minute, low and shaking. He thought for a minute about not going back, about wandering into one of the vacant cabins behind him and locking himself away. Let Dave come out and find the sled himself. It would be safer that way. For everyone.