The Cure

by Glenn Cooper

“Look, Blair, that’s not a reasonable request. The only nutrition she’s been getting is the sugar water in her IV bags. She’s going to be weak as a kitten. We can start feeding her now she’s conscious. That will help her recovery. But it could take weeks for her to be able to walk again, let alone dance. And she may continue to have a problem with some degree of weakness on her right. It’s impossible to predict her long-term outcome. You need to let us leave immediately.”

  Edison replied by whispering, “And you need to go fuck yourself,” before adding at full volume, “Twirling, Doc. I want to see my baby twirl like a top.”

  *

  Jamie remained a prisoner with limited contact with the others in the house. He took all his meals in the bedroom and his only company was his recovering patient. Brittany was a sweet little girl, but given who her father was, it was hard to bond with her. Edison flew in a few times a day for brief visits. He would be jolly and superficial with the girl then ask Jamie what he thought about her progress. Jamie always had the same answer: she’s doing as well as can be expected, but it was going to be a long journey. Then he would lobby for Emma’s return.

  “Your Emma’s fine, Doc—fit as a fiddle,” Edison would reply, or some similar pablum.

  And when Jamie would demand their release, Edison would get angry and remind him that his services were still required.

  Gretchen was a more significant source of information, and he was able to chat with her briefly when she brought him his trays. She was the one he asked about hearing gunshots several nights earlier. She had darkly replied that she had no idea what they were about, before adding that she hadn’t seen her fellow captive and kitchen helper, Mary Lou, since then. Gretchen was restricted to the main house, occupying her days with cooking, cleaning the upstairs bedrooms, and teaching Edison’s wife and sons how to talk again. When she wasn’t working flat-out, she was worrying about her family.

  “Do you know where they’re being kept?”

  “Somewhere on the property. I heard Ed Villa had several houses up here.”

  “Do you have any idea if my Emma is with them?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

  “We can help each other,” Jamie said, renewing an earlier refrain. “We can work together to get our kids out.”

  “I’m scared,” she said. “I don’t want to get them killed.”

  A couple of days later, he asked Gretchen if she had seen Linda. She had stopped her shouting after their first night in captivity and her silence was deafening.

  “She’s still up in her room most of the time, but when she isn’t, she’s been chummy with Edison.”

  “Chummy how?”

  “He has her come down to take meals with him. They’re always talking low to each other.”

  “What do you think’s going on?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if she hasn’t joined up with him. I don’t trust her.”

  “Did she get her daughter back?”

  “Yes.”

  He was incredulous. “She did?”

  “Couple of days ago.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I thought I had. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  “Can you get her a message?”

  “What message?”

  “That I want to speak to her.”

  It was three days after Brittany woke up that Jamie heard the padlock outside his door snapping open. It was late at night, not the usual time for Edison or Gretchen.

  Linda had two glasses and a bottle of Scotch under her arm.

  “Thirsty?” she said.

  She plunked herself down and glanced at the sleeping child.

  “I heard she’s improving.”

  “You heard right,” he said coldly. “What’s going on, Linda? You sleeping with the enemy?”

  “Literally, no.”

  “Figuratively?”

  “He thinks I am.”

  “But are you?”

  She poured and handed him a drink. “He thinks I’m on his side. That’s why he freed Kyra.”

  “Are you trying to get Emma back too?”

  “Of course, I am.”

  “And?”

  “He doesn’t trust you yet.”

  “I see he trusts you. You’ve got the key to my room and the key to the liquor cabinet.”

  “I’ve been working my ass off to get that trust. He’s the kind of a guy who’s had people step on him his whole life. He’s a little man—super insecure. He’s no genius, but he’s street-smart and he sees an opportunity to grab power. He’s volatile. He’s violent. You know all those documentaries on TV about those ordinary thugs who became high-ranking Nazis? Blair’s one of those.”

  Jamie sipped his Scotch and listened to her. It required immense self-control not to tell her she could have been describing herself.

  “Okay,” he said, “what’s your play here?”

  “I’m going to help him. Up to a point.”

  “Help him how?”

  “He wants a big army of infected men he can train to do what he wants.”

  “What does he want?”

  “I don’t fucking know, Jamie! He’s a wacko. He talks about religious purity, ethnic purity, women in their place—all the shit that these neo-Nazi white nationalist assholes run their mouths about.”

  “As a woman, how do you feel about that?”

  “Oh, come on. I told you I think he’s a wacko. That’s how I feel about it.”

  “How does he get this army of his?”

  “He’s mustered all the men he can from Dillingham. Next on his list is Clarkson, which is ten times the size. He wants to move fast before too many infecteds starve to death. He’s doing a raid tomorrow. He wants me to participate.”

  “And what does that mean? Participate.”

  “The plan is to roll into town and knock off a bunch of houses on the periphery. Toe in the water. Try to get a dozen, maybe two dozen new men. Edison’s found that the men who’ve been hunters know how to shoot a gun without any training.”

  “Procedural memory,” Jamie mumbled.

  “Whatever you call it, they just know how to do it. So, he looks for hunting rifles in the houses.”

  Jamie put his glass down and leaned forward with an angry glare. “All right, he breaks into houses at gunpoint. What does he do to the people who aren’t infected men?”

  She didn’t pull her punches. “I’ll tell you what happens to them because I asked him that. He takes the women he wants and shoots the men he doesn’t want.”

  “So, he’s a murderer.”

  “Yes, he is, and there’s no one who’s going to arrest him.”

  “That used to be your job.”

  “Used to be.”

  “So, tell me, what does he do with the women?”

  “The ones like Gretchen who’re normal—he’s looking for domestic help.”

  “Kitchen slaves,” he spat.

  She ignored him. “From what I understand, he only wants the sick ones that are pretty.”

  He buried his face in his palms before looking up. “Sex slaves,” he whispered. “Is that what’s happening to Emma? Is that what happened to Kyra? Did you confront him?”

  “Of course, I fucking well did. He denies it.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  She flung her empty hand in the air. “I don’t know, but obviously, that’s why I’m playing along with him! I wanted Kyra where I could see her.” She must have picked up his hateful eyes, and added, “And Emma too, of course.”

  “So, what do you want from me? What does Edison want from me? He’s got me locked in here looking after her. What else can I do?”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  “He sent you? I asked Gretchen to tell you I wanted to see you.”

  “Yes, Jamie, she told me and yes, he sent me. He sent me to sound you out in joining him. He’s willing to let Emma stay with you if he’s got your loyalty.”

  “I don’t know what that
even means.”

  “It means he wants to trust you the way he’s starting to trust me. The question is—are you willing to play the game and do what he wants?”

  “I asked you before—what does he want?”

  “A doctor. For his militia.”

  “He wants me to stay here? Permanently?”

  “Well, he didn’t say permanently, but he doesn’t want you to leave anytime soon.”

  “How could you even ask me this? I’ve got half the cure in my pocket! The clock’s winding down. I don’t know how much time is left to make it to Indy before Mandy’s generator craps out. She said she had two weeks of fuel. Today’s the ninth day since the power went out. I’ve got to get Emma and get the hell out of here fast. You and Kyra can come or not come. I don’t give a damn which, but if you want Kyra to be cured, you’ll help me.”

  “I don’t know what I can do. I’m only one person.”

  “You get a gun, you put it to his head, you pull the trigger.”

  “Joe’s always with him.”

  “You’re enterprising. This kind of shit’s in your wheelhouse.”

  She stood and took the bottle. “Okay, Jamie, but I won’t tell him no. I don’t want to close off the possibility of a yes. Otherwise, when this little girl’s better, he might just kill you. You have a good night.”

  *

  The mornings were getting downright cold and the grass started off salted with frost. Linda was trying to keep herself warm by sipping hot coffee from a paper cup. She was down at the militia barn, watching Joe and Mickey load sleepy-looking soldiers onto the buses. Edison came down the path from the house, his favorite rifle slung over his shoulder.

  “Ready?” he asked her.

  “You giving me a weapon, Blair?”

  “When we get there. One catch though. Mickey ain’t going. If Joe and I don’t come back, Mickey’s going to shoot Kyra. So, don’t think about no friendly-fire situations out there.”

  “And here I was thinking I was on team Edison.”

  “You are, honey. It’s just that you’re on the junior varsity squad. Do good today and we’ll discuss a promotion.”

  There was a streaky cloud cover and the sunshine was on and off all the way to Clarkson. They entered the town on the main state road from Dillingham. Edison drove the lead bus, Pastor Snider’s, with Joe trailing in the school bus. He was scanning the houses at the edge of town and pulled up at a handsome, gray split-level.

  “We’ll start here,” Edison told Linda.

  “Do you know who lives here?” she asked.

  “I don’t know folks over here. They don’t come from Clarkson to buy my meat or worship in my church. Might as well be from Mars.”

  Joe got the militiamen assembled on the side of the road and passed out the rifles. Edison gave Linda hers too, an AR-15.

  “Missing something, Blair,” she said.

  He tossed her a full magazine. “Wanted to see if you noticed,” he said with a smile. “Got a little show for you. We been working with the boys on their schooling.”

  Edison went back into his bus and came out with a small American flag attached to a broken-off car aerial. He held it up in the air with his left hand and clamped his right hand to his chest.

  “Okay, boys, I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America.”

  The militiamen—some better than others—repeated the line.

  Edison beamed at the display and said, “And to the Republic for which it stands.”

  The next repeat was more ragged. “And to the Republic for which it stands.”

  “One nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

  When the last line came out like hash, Edison told Joe they had more work to do, but he appreciated the effort.

  “Now, boys,” Edison said, “Father loves you. You know that. Who do you love?”

  “We love Father,” was the reply.

  “And who else do you love?”

  “We love Jesus.”

  “And what do you do to bad men?”

  “We kill bad men.”

  “Okay, then, let’s go find some bad men.”

  Linda got to see Edison’s system. He sent a group of his militiamen led by Jacob Snider toward the house to catch any fire in case anyone inside had a mind to defend themselves. Then Joe would knock on the door. Depending on who answered, they either got shot or pushed inside and the militia would be called to rush in. If no one responded, Joe would break the door down and bring the boys in. Edison would bring up the rear, taking Linda along.

  In the first house, they found a family with two sick boys and a sick girl, all under the age of ten, a sick husband, locked away, and a wife who was uninfected but weak from hunger, trying to take care of her family on a dwindling food supply. The woman was too frail to put up a struggle. Edison quickly took stock, grumbled to his son that he didn’t like the look of any of them, and lined them up in the living room in front of the dormant flat-screen TV.

  Linda grabbed at his jacket sleeve. “These are children, Blair.”

  “I don’t want them. They’re gonna starve—can’t you see that?”

  “So, this is your idea of a humanitarian gesture?”

  “It’s my idea of the kind of leadership we need in this day and age. Go outside if you can’t stomach it.”

  She stayed and watched Edison point toward the pathetic family, four of them dumb, one of them numb, and tell Jacob that these were bad men.

  He said, “Go ahead and shoot,” and when it was done, and the room was hazy with gunpowder and splashed with blood, he praised his boys and let them eat the scraps in the kitchen.

  Linda went outside and sat on the front stairs. She had prepared for the day by washing out a pickle jar and filling it with liquor and she drank from it while waiting to board the bus for the next stop.

  As the morning progressed, the body count rose, and buses filled with new prospects. Able-bodied, infected men were put into the school bus, a few comely infected women and a couple of uninfected ones who Edison thought would make good kitchen staff were loaded into Snider’s bus.

  “One more and let’s call it quits for the day,” Edison told Joe.

  The last house was on a large, flat lot framed by two towering maples, splendid in autumn hues. As the militia marched toward the porch, a front-facing window slid open and a bald man with a pistol leaned out and fired a shot into the air.

  “You get away from here!” he shouted. “I will shoot to kill if I have to.”

  Edison fell back to a position behind his bus and motioned for Joe and Linda to follow. A row of militiamen shifted on their feet, clutching their rifles, trying to stay warm. They listened for orders from their father. Edison told Joe to get him his bullhorn from inside the vehicle. He used it to address the homeowner.

  “Now listen up, mister. We’re coming in the easy way or the hard way. So, put down your gun and open the door to us.”

  “You go to hell,” the man yelled. “You got no right to come in here.”

  “Rights don’t matter no more,” Edison boomed back, “but tell you what, you tell me who’s inside and I’ll consider moving on.”

  The man shouted back, “I got my wife, my mother-in-law and my father-in-law. They’ve all got the disease. I don’t know why I don’t.”

  “Let’s just move on, Pa,” Joe said. “Nothing for us.”

  “Hate to back down, but you might be right,” Edison said with a shrug.

  As he went back around to recall his men, the man at the window fired again, this time directly at him. The round whistled past Edison’s ear and made him throw himself onto the cold road.

  Linda was quick to respond. She stepped away from the bus, took aim through her iron sights, and squeezed the trigger. A puff of red mist escaped from the bald skull and the man fell back into his room.

  Edison dusted himself off and said, “Damn! Helluva shot. Linda, why don’t you go inside and finish the job?”


  “Why?” she asked.

  “Just do it so we can get some lunch.”

  She did as she was ordered. Edison heard three shots from inside the house before she emerged to the sound of his slow clapping.

  “Congratulations,” he called out. “You’re officially on the team. You got your varsity letter today.”

  42

  Edison wouldn’t leave it alone. He badgered Linda to keep pressing Jamie for an answer.

  The night of the Clarkson raid she returned to his room, another bottle of booze in hand.

  “He wants to know if you’ve changed your mind,” she said. “He did a small raid on Clarkson this morning and he’s planning a bigger one for day after tomorrow.”

  “Did you kill anyone today?”

  She sounded offended by the question and said, “No, Jamie, I didn’t kill anyone,” before changing the narrative. “He almost got shot today and he’s nervous about not having a doctor along.”

  “I’m not a surgeon.”

  “He knows that, but you successfully put a drill through that girl’s head. That impressed him. How’s she doing?”

  “See for yourself.”

  She went to Brittany’s bedside. The girl was hugging her stuffed bear with her good arm. “What’s her name?” Linda asked.

  “It’s not a her, it’s a him,” the girl said.

  “Okay, what’s his name?”

  “Jamie.”

  “Was that always his name?”

  “He didn’t have one before.”

  Linda told Jamie, “I’d say she’s doing pretty well.”

  “She’s a long way from passing his twirling test,” he said.

  “What’s twirling?” Brittany shouted.

  Jamie told her it was dancing.

  “I can dance.”

  “I know you can. Your daddy just wants you to dance and spin really fast.”

  Then he said to Linda, “Tell him no.”

  Linda returned the next night, but this time she wasn’t alone. His knees went a little weak when he saw who was standing behind her.

  “Hello, Kyra,” he said.

  She jumped about with excitement and hugged him.

  “I love you, Jamie,” she said.

  “And I love you too, sweetheart.”

  “I love Emma too,” she said.