A Cure for Madness (15 page)

The young man looked uncertain. “My mom died of cancer two years ago. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” I nodded gravely. “And I really appreciate what you’re doing to protect our country. All I’m asking for is a little grace . . . for whatever time I have left.” Was I laying it on too thick? But then the soldier stepped back and moved the metal barriers off the road. He returned to my window.

“I hope your treatments go well, ma’am. Good luck.”

Trying to not let my astonishment show on my face, I nodded and drove slowly forward, past the jeep. I wanted to slam my foot to the floor and get out of there as fast as possible, but I forced myself to drive at a normal, nonpanicked speed.

Finally, once the barrier was out of sight, I risked a glance at Wes.

“You should be an actor,” he said. “That was fucking awesome!”

“I can’t believe it worked,” I gasped. “We got out. We might even be able to get a flight to Seattle tonight.”

I was calculating the distance to Bangor in my head when I glanced in the rearview mirror and my heart plummeted.

“Shit!” I cried. The jeep had followed us. A cloud of dust billowed in its wake as it closed the gap between us.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

For a moment, I considered attempting to outrun it. But a Honda Civic was no match for an army jeep on dirt roads.

Maybe he’s not after us; maybe he’s just getting out of Clarkeston, too
. But that hope was dashed when a red light flashed in his window and he called through a megaphone, “Stop the car!”

“Should we make a run for it?” Wes asked, reaching for his door handle.

“No!” I said. “If we run, he’ll assume we’re infected. He’ll chase us. He might even shoot us.” I slowed the car to a stop and put on my most innocent expression. The jeep passed us and then turned, blocking the road. The soldier got out.

“Is there a problem?” I asked, rolling my window down again.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t let you go. I called it in to my supervisor and he reamed me out big-time. He says there are no exceptions.”

“I see . . .” It wasn’t hard to look crestfallen at this turn of events. I leaned out the window and looked up at the young man. “Listen, between you and me, what if you just tell your supervisor that you sent me back. I’ll continue quietly on my way, and no one will get in trouble.”

He shook his head firmly. “Can’t do that, ma’am. I shouldn’t have let you through the first time. I’m going to have to ask you to turn your car around.”

I glanced at the road ahead. There was no way for me to get around his jeep without ending up in the ditch. And I didn’t want to do something that would get us arrested—or back in Dr. Hansen’s custody.

“Fine,” I croaked out, my throat tight. The soldier stepped back, and I executed an awkward three-point turn. The jeep followed us until it reached the roadblock site, where it stopped. But I could see him in my rearview mirror, watching us.

“It was a good try,” Wes said after a while. I couldn’t speak. My cheeks burned with disappointment and frustration.

“Do you think they’re after me?” he asked.

I almost said, “You tell me. You’re the paranoid one,” but caught myself. This wasn’t paranoia; it was reality. The CDC was in charge of Clarkeston now, and if they were looking for Wes, they would make damn sure he didn’t leave. “I doubt they would set up a roadblock just to find you.” I tried to sound reassuring. “They’re keeping people with Gaspereau from leaving, remember?”

“Where are we going now?” he asked.

Good question. If they were looking for Wes, they’d be watching Rob. Going back to our parents’ house was out of the question, too.

“We’ll stay with Kenneth tonight, if he’ll let us.” I pulled over and sent Kenneth a text, then waited for a response. When my message alert went off, I read his response and sighed in relief.

“What’s he say?”

“He just got sent home for some rest. He says it’s fine.”

“Where does he live?”

I raised my eyebrows as I looked at the address on my screen. “Fourteen Garden Way.” That was one street I knew how to get to. It was the street that ran beside the river, and it was home to several turn-of-the century houses I’d always envied.

Wes was tapping his steel-toed boot against the underside of the dashboard. His hands were shaking.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I need a smoke. They took mine.”

I released a sigh of exasperation.
Stupid habit.
But I didn’t want him any edgier than usual. “Can it wait?” I asked.

He shrugged.

I kept driving.

“Are you and Kenneth, like, a thing?” he asked.

“No,” I said with a pang in my chest. “I mean, we used to be really close friends, but no.” What if we were, though? I pushed the thought aside and tried to ignore the bump in my heart rate as we drove toward his house.

I kept seeing flashing lights in my rearview mirror, but it always turned out to be another car’s turn signal or the low-slung sun glinting off a window. Soon the houses were getting bigger and the lawns more opulent. I had no idea which one was number 14, so I slowed down and peered at the numbers: 10 . . . 12 . . . “This must be it,” I said, pointing at the next house.

I steered the car into the half-circle driveway. Kenneth lived in a white two-story Victorian complete with upper balcony, wrap-around veranda, and wood lace trim around the eaves. Bright red, purple, and yellow pansies grew in window boxes, and huge red rhododendrons beckoned from the front lawn.

“Fancy place,” Wes said.

I got the suitcases out of the back and pulled them up the driveway. There didn’t seem to be a doorbell, so I grabbed the brass knocker on the door, which was shaped like two cupids’ heads kissing. I grabbed one of the heads and banged it against the other. A second later, someone fumbled at the door, as if they were trying to open it but couldn’t quite manage it.

“Maisie!” came Kenneth’s voice from inside the house. “Wait for me, baby.” A moment later the door opened.

“Hey, Clare,” Kenneth said, his face softening.

“I’m sorry to show up like this. Can we come in?” I said quickly, glancing at Wes, who was standing on the front step.

“Of course,” he said, opening the door wider.

Maisie’s eyes grew big as she took in Wes’s hair, tattoos, and piercings.

“Thanks.” I closed the door behind us and fastened the deadbolt.

“What happened?” Kenneth said. His eyes were scanning Wes, who had squatted down awkwardly next to the little girl.

“Hi! I’m Wes!” he said, holding out a hand. Maisie stared at it.

“My dad says I’m not supposed to touch anyone,” she said. “Not even him.”

Wes withdrew his hand and stood up. “You’ve got a good dad, then. He’s careful.”

“I like the stamps on your face,” she said.

Wes laughed. “Thanks! Maybe you can get some when you’re older.”

Maisie looked up at her dad. “Can I?”

“We’ll see,” he said, still looking worried. “What happened? Everything okay?” he asked me.

“I’m not sure.” We followed him and Maisie through a wainscoted hallway to the living room, which was lined with dark bookshelves.

“Have a seat,” he said. “I’ll get us some drinks.” He headed back down the hallway.

I sank down into a tall wingback chair and watched Kenneth’s daughter, who was doing the same with me. “How old are you?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

She held up a hand, her fingers splayed out. “Five,” she said.

“Are you going to kindergarten in September?” I asked.

She shook her head, sending her hair flying. “I already did kindergarten. But Daddy says I might go right into second grade.”

“Maisie is a bit of a prodigy,” Kenneth said, coming back into the room carrying a platter loaded with three bottles of beer, a pink plastic cup with a bendy straw, and a bowl of nacho chips. “She taught herself to read when she was three. I’m trying to figure out what to do with this little genius. Skipping a grade is only one option.” He smiled proudly down at his daughter and handed her the pink cup, then passed beers to Wes and me. “I don’t know if you’ve eaten yet, but I’ve got a lasagna in the oven.”

“Awesome,” Wes said, giving Kenneth the thumbs-up. “Is it okay if we take these off for a bit?” He pointed to his mask.

“Of course,” Kenneth said. “But I don’t want Maisie getting too close to anyone . . . just in case.”

“Are you sure it’s okay if we crash here tonight?” I asked. The last thing I wanted to do was put them in danger . . . but we had nowhere else to go. And I had to admit I felt safe with Kenneth. Or maybe it was just that I felt less alone.

“Of course,” he said. “What are old friends for?”

“Sleepover!” Maisie cried, jumping up from her seat on the floor and bouncing onto the sofa where Wes sat. He drew back in surprise as Maisie did a happy dance beside him.

“Maisie, time to get ready for bed,” Kenneth said. She stuck out her bottom lip but then bounced off the sofa and headed up the stairs. “I’ll be right back,” he told us.

I watched him follow the still-giggling girl out of the room, an ache growing in my chest.

“You gonna have kids?” Wes asked, apparently reading my expression.

“What? Oh, I don’t know. I doubt it.”

“How come? Too much work?”

“No, I’m just . . . getting old,” I said, hoping he would drop it.

“Never too old for a miracle,” he said, and I forced my mouth into a smile. Miracles were for other, more naive people. I pulled my phone out of my purse as a distraction and saw a text from Latasha.

Hey, I miss you. And our gaming nights! Let’s meet online in that game we played last week.

I frowned at the tiny screen. Did she really think I was in the mood to game right now? Unless . . .

Sounds fun
, I wrote back.
How about now?

I dashed back out into the hallway so I could get my laptop from my bag and nearly ran into Kenneth as he was coming down the stairs.

“Sorry,” I said, stepping back. “Is she asleep?”

“She’s going to read in bed for a while. It’s a bit early for bedtime, but I wanted us to be able to chat without her listening. What’s going on? Where did you go after you left the hospital?” His hand rested on my arm, just above the elbow. I felt an insane desire to step into him, to wrap my arms around his waist and hold him like an anchor in an angry sea.

I took a step back.

“We tried to leave Clarkeston, get down to Boston. Obviously, it didn’t work.” I filled him in on the call from Dr. Hansen and the roadblock. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I actually didn’t know what I was going to do until we left . . . and I didn’t want you to worry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, though he looked slightly dejected. “I’m glad you felt safe coming to me.”

“Honestly, I think I might be going a little crazy myself,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “Am I totally overreacting? Give me your professional opinion,” I added with a smile, hoping to lighten the mood.

His face was serious. “I don’t think you’re going crazy. Gaspereau has everyone on edge.”

“Something’s not adding up,” I said. “Hansen seems totally focused on Wes. He said his brain is ‘unique.’”

Kenneth’s eyes narrowed. “What does he mean by that? He didn’t say anything else?”

I shook my head.

The buzzer on the oven sounded. Kenneth went into the kitchen, and I found Wes watching TV in the living room. On the screen, a line of riot police advanced toward a crowd outside a grocery store.

“Where is that?” I asked.

“It’s here,” Kenneth said, coming back into the room. “The whole town has gone insane.” Seeing the expression on my face, he hurried to add, “Not with Gaspereau, though I’d wager quite a few of the people out there are infected . . . or soon will be. People lose their minds in a crisis.”

“Jesus . . .” I said softly as I watched the chaos unfolding. “I had no idea it had gotten this bad.”

“You’ve been rather busy the past couple of days,” Kenneth said wryly. “But people are terrified; they’re not acting rationally. News about the quarantine seems to have made it worse.” He walked over to the television and turned it off. “Come have some dinner. Let’s pretend everything is normal for a little while.”

We sat down at a round table in the corner of the kitchen, but instead of eating I opened my laptop. “Can I get your Wi-Fi password?”

“Sure. It’s ‘fluffybunnies.’”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Maisie picked it,” he said with a wry smile.

“What are you doing?” Wes asked, watching my computer screen warily.

Kenneth glanced over my shoulder. “You’re playing video games? Is this your idea of normal?”

“It’s Latasha,” I said. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I asked her to help me find out where they were holding Wes. I forgot to text her after we got him. But I got a weird message from her saying she’d meet me online. Maybe she found something.”

“Is this your friend who works for the NSA?” Wes asked.

“Mm-hm,” I said. “So she can be a little sneaky.” That was an understatement.

I waited for the game to load and took a bite of lasagna, hoping it would quell the nausea in my stomach.

Despite his misgivings about computers, Wes watched the screen with interest as I moved my avatar through the world. Kenneth’s eyes were trained on the game, too. Latasha wasn’t online. I texted her,
I’m here
. No answer, so I headed to the next town in the game universe, where I knew there was a mailbox. Maybe she’d left a message. There had to be some reason she’d wanted me to log on, and I doubted it was just to have some down time.

Kenneth and Wes ate their lasagna while mine cooled on a plate beside me. After a few minutes, Kenneth gave up interest in the game and began washing dishes, but Wes’s eyes stayed fixated on the screen.

“Remember when we used to play games as kids?” I asked.

“Yeah. What was it called? That one we played all the time?”

“Phantasy Star II. It was awesome. You always figured out the maps and secrets before me, so that made it easier.” I smiled at the memory. Most of my good memories of when things were normal, of when we were just your average brother and sister, had been eclipsed by everything that had come after.

“Yeah, well, I had help from Mom. She was better than I was!”

“She was not.”

“She was! We used to play while you were at Scouts.”

“I have a hard time believing that.”

“It’s true.” He looked more closely at the screen. “What exactly are you doing?”

“I’m looking for the mailbox. Sometimes it moves around a bit.” I played for a few more minutes, fighting some mutated wolves along the way, and then spotted it: a treasure chest sitting under a tree in the middle of a field. I went over to it and typed in the Open command. A window popped up, asking me for the password.

“Password?” I muttered. “I’ve never had to use a password.”

Kenneth returned to the table and squinted at the screen. “It says you can click for a hint,” he said, pointing. I clicked, and a question popped up on the screen.
Where do you want to live?

I frowned at the screen. Why was Latasha being so cagey? I checked my phone—still no response from her. “Where do I want to live?” I asked out loud.

“Well, we know it’s not here,” Kenneth said wryly.