The Cure

by Glenn Cooper

  Over tea and ginger cookies, Holland directed the full measure of his attention to Morningside, clearly beside himself having the president in his living room.

  When she frostily demurred at being called Madame President, he curled his plump lips into a smile and said, “Well, as you know, Article II, Section 1 of the Constitution states that in the case of the removal of the president from office, or of his death, resignation, or inability to discharge the powers and duties of the office, the same shall devolve to the vice president. Now the framers sowed the seeds of ambiguity here by not making it clear whether the vice president merely assumed the duties of the office or became the president. That ambiguity persisted until the Twenty-Fifth Amendment to the Constitution was ratified—when was that?”

  Mrs. Holland said, “It was in 1967, dear.”

  “Thank you, yes, 1967. The amendment clearly stated that in case of the removal of the president from office or of his death or resignation, the vice president shall become president. So, I would say this, Madame President: you were formally installed as vice president in the dying days of a functional Congress and therefore, upon the death of President Perkins, you automatically became president.”

  Morningside had been listening with a bemused expression, and now said, “How is it you have the Constitution at your fingertips?”

  “My wife and I are history professors,” Holland said proudly. “We taught American history for almost twenty years at a community college in Asheville.” He added defensively, “Not a big university, but a very good school.”

  “Jack was the chairman of the department,” Mrs. Holland said. “I worked for him.”

  “And domestically, I work—present tense—for Melissa,” he said. “She rules the roost at our abodes, the one in Asheville you see in that oil painting and this one here.”

  “But this is a summer camp,” Connie said. She ran her fingers through her son’s thick hair. “Dylan went here. What’s your connection?”

  “We own the place. What year was he a camper?”

  She told him.

  “I don’t think we ever met, Doctor.”

  She shrugged. “I was probably busy at the hospital. Dropped him off, picked him up, didn’t do the full monty.”

  Mrs. Holland said to the boy, “Do you remember going to camp here?”

  Dylan looked at her blankly and answered, “No.”

  “You know he won’t remember,” Connie said angrily. “He’s got the illness.”

  Mrs. Holland gave a fleeting, faux smile and said, “I was just checking.”

  Holland said, “I think we’ve drifted off track. Presidential succession was the topic.”

  “I’m impressed by your knowledge,” Morningside said, “but I’ve never taken the oath of office and without a Supreme Court Justice to administer it, I don’t believe I’m officially in the job.”

  Holland was ready with a comeback. “The Constitution is silent on who must administer the oath. Yes, it’s traditional for it to be administered by the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, but this is not specified in any law or statute. If memory serves, Calvin Coolidge was sworn in by his father at his family home on learning of the death of President Harding.”

  Streeter came in to let the Hollands know he’d sorted out the cabins. He poured himself four fingers of bourbon and sat down in Holland’s corner reading chair. When they arrived at the camp, Jamie thought Streeter was coming off a high. Now he seemed jazzed up again, his eyes wild, pupils dilated.

  “It’s getting late,” Holland said, “but why don’t we get this done here and now. It won’t take long. Melissa, get the camera, please. The Polaroid. I’ll get the Constitution.”

  He knew precisely where on his wall of books to look, pulled one down and flipped through it until he tapped a page with his finger.

  “Mrs. Morningside,” he said, “can you stand?”

  She pushed herself up and grunted at her still-sore wound. “I don’t know why I’m going along with this,” she said. “That man is a cold-blooded murderer and you happily employ him.”

  “Think about the big picture,” Holland urged her. “This isn’t about one man or one unfortunate incident, it’s about the United States of America. Now, Dr.—I’m sorry—your last name is hard to latch on to so I’ll call you Dr. Connie—would you hold our family Bible?”

  She didn’t move.

  “Please,” Holland said.

  She reluctantly got up and took the worn book.

  “Mrs. Morningside,” Holland said, “please place your right hand on the Bible.” He referred to the Constitution and said, “please repeat after me: I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.”

  Mrs. Holland took a photo as Morningside repeated the oath. Holland congratulated her and declared her to be the president.

  Morningside slid her hand off the Bible, her lips trembling, and slumped back on a chair.

  “Are you all right?” Jamie said.

  She swallowed and used a napkin to dab at her eyes. “I’m fine. I don’t feel like the president, but I’m fine.”

  “I think it’s time for bed,” Holland said, rubbing his hands in satisfaction.

  “You haven’t told us what your game is?” Jamie said.

  Holland’s grin disappeared. “Game? This is no game. This is about the survival and renewal of our country. You’re at ground zero. Wait until tomorrow. Tomorrow, all will be revealed.”

  Mrs. Holland took Morningside up to a spare bedroom and Streeter barked at the others to follow him to their cabin. Rocky and Roger took up the rear, their rifles slung on shoulders, at the ready. There was enough moonlight to give some idea of the layout of the camp. At the front of Holland’s house, there was a central assembly area centered around a flagpole. Opposite to where they were heading, Jamie got a glimpse of what looked like tennis and basketball courts. The winding path into the woods took them past several long, bunkhouse-style buildings, all of them dark.

  Jamie and Connie fell behind Streeter a few paces. “I think he’s juiced up again,” he whispered to her.

  “I noticed,” she said.

  Streeter stopped at a smaller cabin where candles flickered through the windows. Further down the path, Jamie saw at least one more bunkhouse.

  “This is yours,” Streeter said. “Three bedrooms. You work it out.”

  Inside, by the light of a couple of battery-lamps, scattered on the floor they saw the possessions they had been allowed to take from Connie’s house, along with the large plastic chest of Connie’s medical gear. The bedrooms were tiny and the main room was small and basic. There was a kitchen counter and non-working sink at one end, an old oak table with six chairs, an armchair with stuffing coming out and some beanbag chairs facing the cold fireplace. The bathroom toilet had to be flushed with a jug of water. There was a stack of wood, some kindling, and matches.

  “Where is my bed?” Kyra asked. “I’m sleepy.”

  “We’ll figure it out in a minute,” Jamie said.

  “I want to stay with Emma,” Dylan said.

  “Not going to happen,” Connie told him. “The girls are going to sleep together.”

  Streeter said, “Don’t even think about escaping. The camp’s surrounded by razor-wire fencing and I’ve got my guys on patrol all night long. Besides, we’re in the middle of nowhere you want to be. We got bears and coyotes in these woods and they are hungry as hell.”

  Jamie bent to repack the contents of his bags that Streeter had spilled onto the floor. The lab notebooks were all there. He made a move toward his duffel bag, but Streeter snatched up Mandy’s rolled-up painting.

  “Pretty picture,” Streeter said. “Wife? Girlfriend?”

  Before Jamie could react, Streeter hit it with a butane lighter and when it caught, he lit a cigar.

  Jamie exploded, “You fucking bastard!”
and when Roger unshouldered his rifle, Connie took hold of Jamie’s sleeve to keep him back.

  “Jamie, don’t,” she said.

  Emma and Kyra started to cry.

  Jamie shook with rage and told Connie for the sake of the kids he’d control himself. “But you,” he said, pointing a finger at Streeter. “I know what you are. I’ve seen your kind on the road. You want to know what happens to evil fucks like you?”

  Streeter blew cigar smoke in his face. “What? What happens?”

  “They die.”

  Streeter puffed at his cigar and said, “You should control yourself, Doc. The vein in your neck is bulging. You’re going to make yourself sick. Who’s going to take care of your pretty little girls if you’re the one who dies?”

  *

  Streeter and his men made their way down the path toward their cabin checking the bunkhouses.

  “Boy, girl, boy, girl,” he joked to Rocky. “Make sure they’re all good and locked. You know how Jack and Melissa feel about intermingling.”

  Holland was waiting outside Streeter’s cabin, dressed for the chill in a padded jacket and Persian wool hat.

  “Got a minute, Chuck?”

  “Sure, Jack.”

  “Let’s walk.”

  The wind had died down and waves gently lapped the shore.

  Streeter bent low, picking up stones, and skipped a couple. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Is it true what they said?”

  Streeter showered him with words. “It was self-defense. When we got in their house, he and—I guess it was his father—shot at us and we shot back. We took out the old man, but the kid ran out the back and made it over to where the others were. When we got there, the kid was bleeding. I guess we wounded him at his house. Anyway, he had a knife and he lunged at me. That’s when I shot him.”

  “Why would they say he was unarmed?”

  “Because they’re clever sons of bitches. They’ve just got here and already they’re trying to drive a wedge.”

  “When you go on your recruiting trips,” Holland said, “you don’t kill innocent people, do you, Chuck? It would be a violation of the moral foundations of our enterprise.”

  “Far be it from me to fuck with your moral foundations, Jack.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t swear.”

  Streeter winked at him. “I’ll work on it.”

  “You seem jumpy. You’re not using again, are you?”

  “No, I’m not using.” He said the last word sarcastically. “I only take a little-bitty pep pill when I’m on a raid to keep me sharp.”

  “You say pep pills, I hear amphetamines. Are these the drugs you had when you came to the camp, or are you finding new sources?”

  “I was open with you. I told you I raided the evidence room at the police station for shit before I got out of Dodge. I’m almost out, if you’ve got to know. But hey, if you don’t trust me, I’ll be gone in the morning and I’ll take Rocky and Roger, and my other guys with me.”

  Holland raised his gloved hands. “All right, Chuck, I believe you.” His voice lost its edge. “You’ve been a great help to Melissa and me. We couldn’t have come as far as we have without you. I don’t thank you enough.”

  Streeter smiled. “No problem, Jack. I’m going to turn in. It’s been a helluva day.”

  “Yes, it has,” Holland said. “The President of the United States. Can you believe it?”

  Streeter’s cabin was dark. Rocky and Roger had retired to their rooms and he could hear the snoring through their doors. He switched on a battery-lamp in his own small room, the one occupied by the camp’s director of athletics during summers past. He got down on his knees, not to pray, as he imagined Holland was doing, but to reach under the bed to pull out a footlocker, unlocked the padlock and took stock of the cornucopia of narcotics he had liberated from the Asheville Police Department in its dying days. He was flying on meth and he rummaged for something to bring him down so he could sleep. He found a fat baggie of OxyContins, removed two, and washed them down with a swig of bourbon.

  “Just what the doctor ordered,” he said, slumping onto his mattress. When he closed his eyes, he replayed the moment when Jamie Abbott threatened him, and mumbled, “Hey, asshole, you’re already dead. You just don’t know it.”

  53

  The next morning, Streeter rousted Jamie and the others early and told them they were expected at the Hollands’ for breakfast. The living arrangements in their cabin had proved awkward. In order to separate Dylan from Emma, the boy had to have his own bedroom, leaving Jamie and Connie to occupy the third room and the same narrow bed. They got through it with some attempts at humor (you don’t sleep in the buff, do you?—that’s fine, neither do I) but they purposely slept on their sides, their backs brushing.

  The morning was harshly bright and near freezing, and the kids shivered and complained from the moment they awoke. The fire they had started in the common room last night had died and Jamie saw his breath in the bathroom. He made a mental note—if they stayed here, he or Connie would have to get up in the middle of the night to feed the fire.

  The lay of the land was revealed in the morning light. There were several more bunkhouses up the path. They were to learn that their cabin was used during the summers by the camp nurse and other members of staff. When they emerged from the woods, the sun glinted off the lake and made them shield their eyes. It was then that they heard voices counting as a group, “Five, six, seven, eight—” When the assembly ground came into view, they saw a few dozen men and women, teenagers to middle-aged adults, doing jumping jacks around the flagpole, a large American flag flapping in the breeze. “—eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen—” The calisthenics were being led by a young man wearing a Camp Splendor sweatshirt. Arthur, who had been chasing a squirrel, appeared again and bounded over to the assembly, causing the young man to drop to a knee to pet him, and others to point and laugh.

  “Keep going,” the young man shouted to his charges, before jogging over.

  “Hi! I’m Jeremy,” he said. He was a handsome kid, by the looks of him, a year or so shy of twenty. He was altogether too cheerful for Jamie’s taste, seeing as he was greeting a bunch of people violently kidnapped the night before. “I was so excited to hear about you all, I could hardly sleep. Welcome to Camp CM!”

  Jamie growled at him. “Your shirt says Splendor. What’s CM?”

  “Camp Splendor was the old name. Uncle Jack gave it a new one. He’ll tell you, I’m sure.”

  “Uncle Jack?” Connie said. She gestured toward Streeter in disgust. “That mean you’re his son?”

  “Hell no!” Jeremy said, keeping his grin going. “My dad was Aunt Melissa’s brother. Chuck is Melissa’s other brother. Both my parents got sick and died.”

  “I’m sorry,” Connie said, automatically.

  “It was kind of rough, but I’m over it now.”

  As Jeremy talked to them, he was mooning over Kyra, in the most obvious of ways, and she responded by smiling back and waving.

  This did not go unnoticed by Jamie who said, “Her name is Kyra.”

  “Is she your daughter?”

  “Emma here is my biological daughter. Kyra is basically my adopted daughter.”

  Jeremy said, “Uncle Jack told me they weren’t officially going to be our recruits, but this is a small place. Anyway, nice to meet you and hope to see you around, Kyra.”

  “I like you, Jeremy,” Kyra said.

  “Easy, Kyra,” Jamie said. “You don’t even know him.”

  “Well, I like you too,” Jeremy said with a wide grin. “Got to go back to work!”

  Jeremy trotted away, and Streeter steered them toward Holland’s house.

  Morningside was in the living room, reading one of Holland’s books. She exchanged some cautious how-did-you sleeps with Jamie and Connie before Holland called them to the dining room. Breakfast was a Spartan affair, with bowls of porridge, raisins, and instant coffee. Streeter went off somewhere, leaving
them to dine alone with the Hollands. Without asking, Connie ladled some porridge into a spare bowl and set it outside for Arthur, who came running to her call and quickly lapped it up. When Mrs. Holland cleared the bowls away, she brought out a pound cake that Connie recognized as her own. Streeter had cleared out her pantry and loaded everything onto the bus the previous night, along with supplies from Dennis Cole’s house and Pete Dyk’s.

  Mrs. Holland must have noticed Connie’s look of bemused irritation, and said, “Was this your cake? I hope you don’t mind.”

  “I made it. Why should I mind eating it?”

  Jamie saw an opening for getting under Holland’s skin. “How are you people fixed for supplies? Lot of mouths to feed and winter’s around the corner.”

  “It’s a challenge,” Holland said, “but I believe we are up to it. It’s one of Mr. Streeter’s many responsibilities—perhaps his most important. He’s been continuously on the prowl for provisions, as he was last night, when he came upon your place. If he happens to find potential new recruits, he decides whether they fit our criteria.”

  “If not, he kills them?” Jamie said.

  Holland looked horrified. “No! What happened to the young man last night was out of the ordinary. I believe Chuck when he says that it was self-defense.”

  Morningside said, “He lied to you. He was about to execute us too before they told him they were doctors and that I was, well, who I am.”

  “I think you must have misread his intentions, Madame President,” Holland said.

  “I want you to stop calling me that,” she said. “Call me Gloria or don’t call me anything at all.”

  He looked displeased. “Whatever you like. Gloria. Anyway, let’s change the subject. You want to hear about our camp, I assume. The young people can go outside and play with the dog if they like.”

  Jamie spoke for Connie when he replied that the kids were going to stay with them.