A Cure for Madness (25 page)

“I’ve never been in here before, you know,” he said. “I mean, I knew some of the drugs came from Canada, but I didn’t ask how they got here. I assumed they smuggled them across the border in their cars or something.”

I smiled. “Well, now we know. Remember those snow tunnels Dad used to make us?”

Wes snickered. Every winter, he and our father would dig a network of tunnels through the several feet of accumulated snow on our front lawn. I would explore them only once or twice, preferring to stay inside where it was warm and read my books. But Wes and Dad used to spend hours playing spies or soldiers as they tunneled their way through the banks. “It’s just like that, except warmer,” I said.

I crouched down and pointed my headlamp ahead. “All we need to do is take one step at a time.” I was speaking more to myself than to Wes.

We started crawling. It only took a few minutes for my hands and knees to start aching. Rocks and roots littered the ground beneath us. Then I put my hand on something soft . . . and felt the crunch of bones beneath my fingers.

I screamed and bolted upright, slamming my head on the ceiling of the tunnel and sending a shower of dirt down my neck. “Oh my God, oh my God,” I said. My fingers were sticky, and a putrid smell filled the air, almost suffocating me.

“What happened?” Wes asked, pointing his headlamp at my face.

I shuddered violently. “Nothing. I just . . . touched a dead mole or something.”

“Cool,” Wes said, now scanning the ground with the beam of light.

“Let’s keep going.” I wiped my hand on my jeans and started crawling again. Every few yards we had to squeeze past a square post topped with a sheet of plywood. My assumption was that these were intended to keep the tunnel from collapsing. I tried not to think of how it would feel to be smothered by dirt and rocks. What if the tunnel ahead had already collapsed? What if we turned back, only to discover that we were trapped in both directions? What would it be like to starve to death underground? Would Wes kill me before that happened? I had the gun; would I need to use it?

“Stop it,” I said out loud.

“Stop what?” Wes asked. He was breathing heavily.

“Nothing . . . I was talking to myself. I’m just a little freaked out.”

Then my light went out.

I stopped dead. The only sound was my breath, coming in short, shallow gasps. The light from Wes’s headlamp illuminated the walls around us, but ahead of me there was only darkness.
I’m going to die down here.
Then I’ll see Mom and Dad. I can say I’m sorry . . .

“Clare!” Wes scuttled forward and put his arms around me. He pulled me tight against his chest, and I listened to his deep, heavy breaths. “Shhh. It’s okay. Just breathe. My light’s still working; I’ll go ahead. Follow me.”

He squeezed past me. I fixed my eyes on the light ahead of him and followed. We couldn’t die down here. It was my job to make sure Wes survived.

We stopped to rest after a few more minutes. We lay faceup on the ground and stretched our limbs as much as we could. The air was thick and musty. Wes coughed harshly. I pulled a bottle of water out of my backpack, and we each took several long swigs to rinse our throats.

We didn’t rest for long. It was better to keep moving, to get this over with as soon as possible.

Finally, after about an hour, the air felt less heavy in our lungs. The tunnel began to slope slightly upward. And then it stopped.

We were faced with a dirt wall, and for a brief moment I panicked—was the tunnel blocked? Had there been a cave-in? Then Wes looked up, and in the light of his headlamp we saw a wooden door above our heads. Whether it would open remained to be seen. Neither of us could reach it, even on tiptoes, and there were no footholds or ladders.

“Give me the light and hoist me up,” I said to Wes. “I’ll see if it opens.”

I had expected him to offer his hands or knee for me to stand on, but he immediately turned his back to me and dropped to the ground. “Get on my shoulders,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, c’mon.”

I took the headlamp from him and put it on, then awkwardly clambered onto his shoulders. I grabbed the dirt walls around us to steady myself as he got to his feet, grunting. I had to duck my head to keep it from slamming into the door above. I reached up with both arms and gave it a push. Nothing happened.

“What if it’s locked from the other side?” I whispered.

“Try again!” Wes urged.

I pushed again with all my strength, and the wood shifted slightly. “I think it’s working!” Again and again I pushed, each time moving the door a little further. Wes panted under my weight. “Almost there,” I grunted, and then the door popped open.

Carefully, I lifted my head up to peer out. It was just as Tony and Rick had said. We were inside a barn—a very old one. Moonlight shone through gaps in the walls and ceiling, and the floor was covered in boards that looked like they had once been part of the roof. It was too dark to spy any cameras or other signs of technology, but from what I could see, it looked like a human being hadn’t been in this place for years.

“I’m going to crawl up. Then I’ll help you, okay?” I said.

“Okay.”

I pulled myself up onto the barn floor and rested for a few seconds. Then I started handing broken planks down to Wes. “Make a pile of these to stand on,” I told him. I kept tossing them down until he was able to get high enough to crawl out. We lay on our backs on the floor, wheezing.

“You’re filthy,” Wes said.

“So are you.”

It was true; his hair and face were so covered in sweat-streaked dirt he looked as though he’d just smeared mud all over himself. Our clothes were now various shades of brown, and one of my knees was bleeding through a hole in my jeans.

“What now?” he asked, his chest still rising and falling as though he’d run a marathon.

I didn’t say anything. I wanted to preserve this moment of solitude, this moment in which we were the only two people in the world. The moon cast an eerie glow. It was as if we had entered another dimension. A speck of dust floated through the air, catching the light of the moon.

That’s all we are, really. Just specks of dust floating through time. Our lives mean so little—except to those few other specks who love us. And to those we can save.
I sat up and faced Wes. It was time.

“I guess we call Tony’s friend.” I dialed the number in my phone.

“’Lo?” a voice answered.

“Is this Dave?”

“Yeah. You one of Tony’s friends?”

“Yes. I’m Clare. My brother, Wes, is with me.”

“He told me you were comin’. I’m on my way. The old drug barn, yeah?”

“That’s right.”

“Be there in five.”

We waited outside the barn, watching the moon, too tired to speak. My mind churned and roiled like the waves we used to watch on the coast. I ached with exhaustion, but there would be no rest for me. Not yet.

The headlights of a truck approached, and we stood up. A young man got out and walked toward us.

“Dave?” I asked.

“Yeah. C’mon.”

We climbed into the back of the truck and bumped along silently. Dave parked in front of a nondescript house on a dark street.

“You want a drink or anything?” he said after we were inside.

“No,” I said. “I think we should just get some sleep. Thank you for taking us in.”

He snorted. “Tony saved my ass once. He’s a good guy. Now we’ll be even. I got a futon in the spare room, and your brother can take the couch.”

“I’ll take the couch,” I said quickly.

“You sure?” Wes asked.

“Yeah.”

Wes went to the bathroom while I sat down on the sofa and pulled out a pen and notebook I’d snagged from Rick’s place. I set them on the coffee table and waited. Wes emerged after a few minutes, looking slightly cleaner. I handed him his bottle of pills from his backpack and some water.

He pulled me to my feet and wrapped me in a fierce hug. “We did it. Thank you.”

I fought back my tears. “I love you,” I said.

“I love you, too.” He kissed my forehead and then went into the spare room and closed the door.

Dave hovered in the kitchen. “So why y’all running? Tony didn’t say.”

I hesitated. “I’ll let Wes tell you in the morning. But we’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than some of the shit I’ve done.”

I crept over to Wes’s door and listened. He was already snoring. Good.

“Listen, Dave. I’m not staying.”

“Say what?”

“I have to go back. I just wanted to make sure Wes got here safely. I know it’s a lot to ask, but do you think you could look out for him? I mean, he can take care of himself, and I’ll wire you some money when I can. For now, take these—you should be able to get them changed at the bank.” I handed him a couple of the gold coins I’d taken from my father’s safe. “Our uncle will come and get him as soon as the quarantine is lifted.”

“Okay . . . but why?”

“I have some . . . unfinished business in Clarkeston. But Wes needed to get out. It’s not safe for him there.”

“Well . . . do what you have to do, I guess.”

“Thanks. I’m going to leave Wes a note to explain.”

I turned back to the notebook and wrote:

Dear Wes,

I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you, but I have to go back to Clarkeston. I wanted to make sure you got here safely. I’m sorry for leaving in the middle of the night, and I hope you’re not angry. But I knew you wouldn’t let me go otherwise. It’s really, really important that you don’t follow me. You know what awaits you there. But there are some things I have to do back home.

I’ve given Dave some money, and you can stay here for a while. When the quarantine is lifted, Uncle Rob will come get you. I’m leaving my phone here so you can call Uncle Rob and Tony and Rick. Don’t forget to check in with them at least every five days so they know you’re okay. But don’t tell Uncle Rob or anyone else where you are; not until it’s safe.

If—and only if—you get caught by the cops or border guards or anyone, say you want to claim refugee status. They can’t send you back without a hearing. If they try, find a church and take refuge there. If you claim sanctuary in a church, they can’t come in after you.

I’m so proud of you, big brother. You’re kind and funny and imaginative and loyal. You are an amazing human being, and you’re going to have a long and happy life. You deserve that.

Don’t forget to take your medication.

I love you. God bless you.

~ Clare

I folded the letter before my tears could ruin the ink. “Can you give this to him in the morning?” I asked as I handed it to Dave.

“Yeah. How you gonna get back?”

“Through the tunnel.”

“Want me to drive you?”

I shook my head. “No. I don’t want Wes to be here alone.”

“Then take my bike,” he said. “Leave it in the barn; I’ll come get it later.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

I followed him into the garage, where a dirt bike stood against the wall. He handed me a helmet and a key. Before I put on the helmet, I called Tony.

“Hello?” he said groggily.

“Tony, it’s Clare.”

“Clare! Jesus. Did you make it? How’s Wes?”

“He’s fine. We’re both fine. We’re at Dave’s house; thanks so much for setting it up. But I need you to pick me up on your end of the tunnel. I’m coming back. Wes is staying here.”

“What? Why?”

“I’ll explain later. Can you come get me in about an hour?”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be there.”

I hung up and gave my phone to Dave. “Give this to Wes with the note.”

“Does he have your number?” he asked.

“I don’t have a number. I’ll . . . I’ll be in touch.” I hoped that was true.

I started the bike and backed it out of the garage.

“Thanks again!” I called. Then I drove away, heading back toward the moonlit barn. The air in my face was like a long drink of cold water. I imagined the salt spray of the ocean misting my cheeks and pretended the wind in my hair was coming off the rolling waves. The stars, so bright out here in the middle of nowhere, sparkled like a thousand tiny fireworks, sending me off on yet another grand adventure.

When I reached the barn, I cut the engine and tossed my head back for another look at the sky. It was perfectly quiet. It was the deep breath before the plunge.

I turned and ran back toward the tunnel entrance, lest I lose my nerve. I dropped back down into the darkness, landing painfully on my ankle. I cried out, but there was no one to hear.

The trip back through the tunnel was even more terrifying—and painful—than before. I counted each crawl to one hundred, then started again. Halfway through I lost all composure and sobbed miserably the rest of the way.
Just keep moving.
It had worked for me so far. I couldn’t stop now.

Finally, Tony and Rick pulled me out of the hole. I collapsed on the ground, weeping. They didn’t ask questions, not then. Tony lifted me up and put me in the backseat of the truck. Wordlessly, Rick passed me a flask, and I took a long pull of whiskey.

“Where to?” Rick asked.

“Home.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“
You gonna tell us what’s going on?” Rick asked as we drove back toward town.

“I had to get Wes somewhere safe,” I said. “But there’s something I have to do in Clarkeston.”

They didn’t press me. I wrote a letter to Rob while we were driving. How would he feel when he read it? Angry? Proud? It didn’t matter. However he felt, I trusted him to see things through.

I passed the letter up to Tony. “You can read this after you drop me off,” I said. “It explains everything. And then—if you don’t mind—take it to my Rob. His address is on the letter.”

I wrote another letter, this one to Kenneth. It was short and to the point.

You were the best thing to almost happen to me.

I’m sorry I didn’t give us a proper chance.

Live without regret.

Give Maisie my love.

~ xo Clare

The drive to my parents’ house was silent except for the simple directions I gave them. I wasn’t worried about being caught now. I watched the vacant shops pass by, their windows smashed and their signs torn down. A church was advertising a “vigil for Gaspereau,” but the parking lot was empty. Banners hanging over the highway signs read “Highway Closed. Quarantine in Effect.” Concrete dividers blocked the on-ramps. Barbed-wire fencing surrounded the college dorm building. Men armed with assault rifles stood at the gates.

“I’ve heard it’s a living hell in there,” Rick said as we drove by. “Soldiers are deserting just so they don’t have to stand guard.”

When we pulled up to the house, Dr. Hansen was already sitting on the front step. A sole car was parked on the street. I didn’t doubt that other cars were parked on nearby blocks, but at least he had kept his word. No soldiers. No guns. I got out of the car.

“Who’s that?” Tony asked out the window, watching Dr. Hansen.

“A friend—I hope. Thanks for the lift. And for delivering my letters. I left my phone with Wes; he’s got your numbers.”

“You sure about this?” Rick asked. “We can still make a run for it.”

I shook my head. “Not this time. You still have the flash drive?”

“Yeah.” He patted his front pocket.

“If anything happens to Wes, use it.”

I slammed the door, and he drove off. Dr. Hansen was standing now, his hands in his pockets.

“Where is Wes?” he asked.

“He’s not coming.”

His eyes narrowed. “But why—?”

I held up a hand to stop him. “When I arrived in Clarkeston a few days ago, a man coughed on me at the airport. Right in the face; I could feel the spit land on my cheek. And I shook hands with him. I found out later that he had Gaspereau. His wife caught it from him, so he was clearly contagious. But I didn’t get it.”

“What are you saying?” Dr. Hansen asked slowly.

“You told me Wes is the cure for Gaspereau. And I believe that I am, too. Both of us were directly exposed, and neither of us got sick. Has that happened to anyone else?”

He stared at me. “No. It hasn’t.”

“I know you’re not the enemy, Dr. Hansen. But neither is my brother. He’s made his decision. And I’ve made mine. You can have me.”

Dr. Hansen’s eyebrows knitted together. A deep crevice formed in his forehead. “Do you understand what you’re saying? We’ll have to do some tests, of course. But if it’s true . . . well, you understand the implications, do you not?”

“I do. At least, I think so. I know it’s risky . . . but there’s a chance that . . . that it might not be so bad, right?” My voice broke, and I pressed my fingers to my lips.

“We’ll do our very best, Clare. I can’t guarantee anything, of course, but . . . are you sure? You have a long, productive life ahead of you. I really think Wes might be the better choice.”

“That’s not an option. And I can still have a long, productive life ahead of me.”

Dr. Hansen watched me silently for a moment. “This is why you wanted the memorandum of agreement.”

“Yes. Those are my conditions. Do you have the papers?”

He withdrew a file folder out of his briefcase and handed it to me. I scanned the papers inside. “I want a copy of these sent to my Uncle Rob.”

“I’ll send them from the hospital. You can watch, to make sure it’s done.”

I nodded. “Let’s go, then.”

He led the way to his car. Before I got in, I turned and stared long and hard at the house, fixing it in my memory. It seemed truly empty now, with my parents dead and Wes in hiding. And then Fluff Bucket the cat walked across the lawn and sat on the front step, and for a moment I remembered it as it had once been: my mother cooking in the kitchen, dancing to the Beach Boys on the stereo; my dad reading the newspaper in his easy chair, delivering a running commentary; Wes and I playing G.I. Joe versus Barbie on the living room floor.
That’s
what I would remember.

I
told them to not let anyone see me, but those particular instructions were ignored. Rob was the first to come, right after I’d gotten the results of my tests. Dr. Hansen had immediately done a number of scans as well as a lumbar puncture and brain biopsy. My lower back felt tender. They had shaved half of my head for the biopsy, but they’d used a tiny needle. They only needed enough to confirm that I, too, had what Dr. Hansen had dubbed “warrior cells.”

I did.

He gave me a sheaf of releases to sign, but I just laughed at him and handed them back.

“If these meant anything, we wouldn’t have had to hide from you,” I said.

“All the same, since you
are
volunteering, it will be good to have proof. You’re going to be a hero, you know.”

I shook my head. I didn’t care about being a hero.

When Rob burst into the room, shouting at the guards that they’d have to shoot him to stop him, it was almost like seeing my parents again. He looked like he hadn’t shaved since the last time I’d seen him. He grabbed me in a bear hug that made me cry out from the soreness in my back. Then he gripped my shoulders. “What the hell are you doing, Clare?”

I shrugged out of his grip and sat up on the bed. “Did you get my letter?”

“Yes, I got your damn letter. Is it true?”

“Of course it’s true.”

“So Wes, he’s—”

“Best not to talk about it here,” I said, unsure of who might be listening. “Everything is in the letter. You’ll take care of him, won’t you?”

“Of course I will. I have a friend there. He’ll go pick up Wes.”

“Who? How will Wes—”

“I talked to Wes. He called me.”

“He did? How is he? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. He’s at your friend’s house, he said.”

“Did you tell him—”

“About what you’re doing? No.”

“And you’ll help him . . . process it? When the time comes?”

He nodded, then looked at me for a long moment. “I’d like to talk you out of it, but I have a feeling it would be futile. Dammit, Clare. You’ve got to be the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

I lowered my eyes. “It’s not bravery when there’s no other choice.”

“You had a choice. You could have kept running. You could have let them take Wes. Your parents would be incredibly proud.”

I smiled sadly, but said nothing.

“They always were, you know,” he said.

I snorted.

He sat down beside me on the bed, and I leaned into him. “Oh, come on, Clare. You were always too hard on them. They didn’t know anything about drugs and mental issues—none of us did back then. They did the best they could with Wes—better than anyone could have expected, actually. I know you felt like they didn’t love you; like they always put Wes’s needs first.”

I sniffed. “How do you know that?”

“Because
they
knew it. And they were torn up inside, not knowing how to juggle their troubled child and their extremely gifted one. So they took a chance that you would be okay, that you’d figure it out yourself. You didn’t need them as much as he did. Try to see it that way. They didn’t abandon you; they trusted you. They knew how strong you were.”

I pressed my face into his shoulder to soak up the tears. “I miss them. I thought we’d have our whole lives to sort out our shit. I never thought—”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” he said. “They knew you loved them. They also knew you needed your independence. And there’s nothing wrong with that. They never blamed you. You should have heard them talk about you to anyone who would listen. They loved you something fierce, Clare. You were a free bird—but you were
their
free bird.”

There was a commotion in the hallway, and Rob went to the door. “Looks like I’m not the only one who was hell-bent on seeing you.”

“Who?” I asked, but my question was soon answered. Rob opened the door and said, “Stand aside, boys. You’re not going to keep a doctor from seeing his patient, are you?”

Kenneth entered the room, dressed in full isolation gear. As soon as the door closed behind him, he stripped off his head covering and mask and peeled off the tape that bound his suit to his gloves. Rob slipped out of the room.

Kenneth’s eyes were red and swollen. “Clare . . .” he began, his voice shaking. “I can’t . . . I had no idea . . . I just . . .” Then he sank into a chair, his face in his hands.

I got off the bed and wrapped my arms around him. “Shhh. It’s okay. This isn’t your fault. I made this choice. I
want
to do this. For Maisie. For all the other people who are infected. And for Wes—so he doesn’t have to.”

He straightened up and pulled me to his chest. “I wish it was me,” he whispered. “I wish I could do this, instead of you.”

I smoothed the hair off his forehead and kissed it. “I know you do. But it seems that Wes and I are the only ones around who have this particular . . . mutation. You know, I’ve always wanted to have a superpower. I just didn’t think it would be something like this.”

“I asked to be part of the medical team that performs your procedure,” he said. “I was declined. They said I was too close to the subject.”

I held his face in my hands and kissed his lips, long and softly. “You are. And I’m glad.” I smiled at him. “Hey. No one’s dying here. Maybe I’ll just get some interesting new personality traits.”

He seemed unable to speak for a moment. Then he leaned closer to me and whispered in my ear, “A journalist from the
Post
contacted me. They’ve been in touch with Latasha. She’s going to blow this whole thing wide open.”

“What?” I said. My heart soared. She was alive.

“She says the world needs to know the truth about Gaspereau. I agree. It was only a matter of time until they found out anyway. It’s going to be a crazy shit-storm. I won’t be surprised if it goes all the way to the White House.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry. Latasha, you, and Wes—you’re all going to be protected. When this goes public, there’s no way the government will be able to go after your brother.”

“Good,” I said tearily. I kissed him again, harder this time. “You should go,” I said finally, looking at the floor. “You don’t want me to change my mind.”

He didn’t have a retort for this. He kissed the top of my head and said, “Don’t be afraid.” Then he left, and I sat alone, waiting.

It didn’t take long. Dr. Hansen came into the room only moments after Kenneth left.

“When do we start?” I said.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m ready.”