A Cure for Madness

by Jodi McIsaac

  Tony’s eyes were wide, and he was holding the flash drive as though it might blow up in his hands. But when he looked up at me, it was with a new kind of respect. “You’re not shitting around,” he said.

  “No, I’m not,” I said grimly. “Mind if I step outside? I gotta make a call.”

  “I wouldn’t go outside if I were you,” Rick said. “Bedroom’s in the back; you can go in there.”

  “Wish me luck,” I said, kissing Wes on the forehead.

  “You’ll be awesome,” he said.

  “Blackmailing the feds?” Tony said, his forehead wrinkled. “You’ll need more than luck.”

  I followed the orange carpet down the hall until I came to a door, which I gingerly pushed open. A fan stood in the corner, and I turned it on. The more ambient noise the better; I didn’t want Tony and Rick to find out I’d only told them part of the story. They needed to stay on our side. Then I fished Dr. Hansen’s card out of my back pocket.

  He picked up on the first ring. “Hello?”

  “Dr. Hansen?”

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “It’s Clare Campbell.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then he said, “Clare. Good God. We’ve been trying to reach you. Are you all right?”

  “I’d be better if you stopped chasing us,” I said. Then I paused. “How is Kenneth—Dr. Chu?”

  “He’s very upset, Clare, and for good reason—”

  “But he’s okay?” I asked. “Physically?”

  “If you don’t count the welt on his head and the bullet wound in his arm, yes, he’s fine. But you must—”

  “Listen, Doctor, I want to make this quick. Kenneth explained everything—your theory that Wes has the cure, and what you want to do to him. We gave Wes the choice, we really did. I don’t want Gaspereau to keep spreading any more than you do. But Wes doesn’t want to sacrifice himself—and as his sister and his legal guardian, I’m going to abide by his wishes. So you’re going to have to find another way.”

  “You must be quite isolated not to know what’s going on, Clare.”

  “I know what’s going on. I’ve seen the news,” I bluffed. Was there something I didn’t know about?

  “Last night there were over two dozen suicides. People would rather die than get Gaspereau.”

  I sat down on the edge of the bed, my mouth open in shock.

  “And it’s only going to get worse,” he continued. “Every day that goes by without a cure, more people are going to die. More people are going to get infected. And in turn, those people are going to infect more people. I’m sure Dr. Chu told you about the symptoms. We can’t contain it much longer.”

  I shook my head vigorously, as though I could shut out his voice. “Then stop chasing us and work on another cure! You don’t even know for sure that this will work!”

  “I have a high degree of confidence that it will,” he insisted.

  “And I’m supposed to hand over my brother based on your ‘high degree of confidence’?”

  “It’s the best solution anyone has found. We don’t have time to play it safe. Right now, this is our only hope for a cure.”

  “I know about the leak.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I know what caused Gaspereau. I know about the lab outside Clarkeston, about Dr. Ling and Project Amherst.”

  I held my breath.

  “Miss Campbell—Clare—I’m not sure what it is you think you know—”

  “I have proof,” I said. “And if it gets out, it’s going to look pretty bad for you. Testing biological weapons in a civilian area? How well do you think that’s going to go over?”

  “If I can be blunt: you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I forced some extra bravado into my voice. “I know exactly what I’m talking about. I have a memo from the Department of Defense that proves it, and if you don’t leave my brother and me alone, everyone else will know it, too.”

  “Ah. So that’s what this call is about.”

  “I’m quite serious, Doctor. It’s all set up. If anything happens to Wes or me, that letter will be on the front page of the New York Times.”

  “And I’m serious, too, Clare. I don’t know how you came by this so-called information”—I sagged slightly with relief; maybe Latasha hadn’t been caught after all—“but releasing it would be a mistake. And if you think that’s going to dissuade us, you’re mistaken. The government cares more about the well-being of its people than its reputation.”

  Yeah, right.

  Dr. Hansen continued. “You want what’s best for your brother. That’s very understandable, even commendable. It really is, and I wish there were another way. There isn’t. It’s our job to look at the big picture. And we have an entire country to protect—perhaps the world.”

  “And what’s to keep that entire country from turning on you once they realize this is all your fault?”

  “We all have to live with the consequences of our actions. Even governments.”

  “So you admit it’s true?”

  He paused, then said, “By telling you this, I will likely lose my job—or worse—so consider it an act of good faith. Yes, there is a USAMRIID lab outside Clarkeston, and yes, there was a very unfortunate accident that led to one of the scientists working on the project being infected with what has now been identified as Gaspereau. But that’s where your information ends. Neither USAMRIID nor anyone else was using that lab to develop biological weapons. Rather, they have been working together with the CDC to develop an airborne antidote to several of the biological weapons we know Russia has developed. The goal was to be able to inoculate millions of people in a very short period of time in the event of a widespread attack.”

  I scoffed. “Are you telling me that’s what Project Amherst was doing?”

  “Our biological weapons program shut down in ’73. Russia’s didn’t. With tensions increasing dramatically over the last few years, and with Russia’s refusal to abide by international laws and borders, we needed to take steps to protect our nation and its allies.”

  When I remained silent, he said, “I’m telling you this because you need to believe we’re not the bad guys. The enemy is Gaspereau, and we need to fight it together.”

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t change anything. I can’t let you have him. I stand by what I said—I don’t care what purpose this lab was intended to serve; the fact is that you still created Gaspereau, and now you want to ruin my brother’s life to make up for your mistake.”

  “Clare, listen to yourself! You are not looking at the big picture. The lab doesn’t matter anymore. There won’t be a government if this disease is allowed to spread unchecked. There will be no one left to blame. The only thing we care about at this point is stopping this disease.” His voice hardened. “And we will do whatever it takes to stop it. If you refuse to help us, then you leave us no choice.”

  “No choice? What are you talking about?”

  “There is one other way we can stop Gaspereau. But I prayed to God we wouldn’t have to use it.”

  “Why not? What is it?”

  “I’ve just received an executive order from the president authorizing us to euthanize everyone infected with the disease.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  For a long moment, I was quite sure I had misheard him. The room blurred around me; the clothes and wallpaper and furniture blended into one swirling nightmare.

  “You’re going to . . . what?” I stammered.

  “I wish it wasn’t like this. But sometimes the few have to be sacrificed to save the many.”

  “You can’t!”

  “And what would you have us do, Clare, since you seem so sure of the right path? Wait until all the hospitals are overrun? Wait until the infected outnumber the healthy? Gaspereau doesn’t know borders. Even our soldiers have become infected while enforcing the quarantine. Then they go back to the barracks, and one of them coughs. The hospital has been shut down completely. This isn�
��t a movie, Clare. It’s happening. And if we don’t do something now, it will be beyond even God’s control.”

  “But . . . you can’t just kill . . .” Then I remembered, and doubled over onto the bed. Maisie. “Does Kenneth know about this?” I asked, my voice coming out in a moan.

  “Right now no one knows about this except you, me, the chief of staff of the army, and the president.”

  “How do I know you’re not lying to me?”

  “Because I’m a God-fearing man. I don’t know what this will do to my soul, but yes, I will sacrifice hundreds of lives in order to save millions. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

  “I can’t . . . I have to . . .” I couldn’t get the words out.

  “Think about it, Clare. Now you know what’s really at stake. He would be a national hero. He could stop all of this. It would be an amazing, selfless act.”

  “I’ll . . . I’ll call you back,” I said. I shoved the phone into my pocket and ran to the bathroom, where I was noisily, violently ill into the toilet.

  Wes came running. “What happened?” he asked, bursting into the bathroom. He gathered my hair and pulled it out of my face, and that small gesture was enough to send me over the edge. I collapsed over the toilet seat, sobbing so hard I could barely gasp for breath and retching until my stomach ached. Wes rubbed my back and made shushing noises, as though I’d merely had too much to drink.

  “No, no, no,” I moaned, my voice echoing into the bowl and sounding strangely hollow. I don’t know how long I stayed there, but eventually Wes hauled me to my feet. Rick, who had been standing behind him, handed me a warm cloth and a cup of water. I wiped my face and swilled the water around in my mouth before spitting it out into the sink.

  “Thank you,” I mumbled, unable to look at any of them.

  “What happened?” Tony asked. I walked past them back into the living room and sat shakily down on the sofa.

  “Nothing,” I said. “I’m sorry . . . I just . . . I just got overwhelmed. With Mom and Dad dying, and all this happening.”

  “It can’t have been nothing, Clare,” Rick said. “What did they say to you? Did you tell them about the document?”

  “I . . . I did,” I said, trying to break through the fog in my head. “They said that there was a leak, but that they weren’t creating biological weapons. They were working on an antidote. In case the Russians tried to attack us.”

  “Bullshit,” Wes said with a snort.

  “That’s what I thought at first, but he had no reason to tell me that. He could have just denied that the lab existed.”

  “They gonna leave us alone?” Wes asked.

  “No.”

  “What the hell do they want with you, man?” Tony asked. “It doesn’t make sense. Why aren’t they trying to find a cure for this thing instead of going after you?”

  I could feel Wes’s gaze on me but didn’t meet his eyes. “I wish we knew,” I lied. “He wouldn’t tell me anything more than we already know.”

  “Well . . .” Rick began slowly. “While you were on the phone, the three of us came up with a bit of a plan.”

  They all looked rather pleased with themselves. “What kind of a plan?”

  “A plan to get us across the border to Canada,” Wes said.

  “I thought you said there was no way.”

  “It crossed my mind when you first mentioned it, but . . . I figured it’d be too risky,” Tony said. “And it might not work. We don’t know what condition it’s in.”

  “What condition what’s in?” I asked.

  Wes leaned forward, his eyes shining. “The tunnel,” he said dramatically, his fingers splayed out in front of him.

  I stared at him blankly.

  Tony cleared his throat. “Back in the day, before we were the upstanding citizens you see before you, we, uh, may have known some people who would transport certain . . . illicit goods across the border. Or underneath it, if you see what I’m saying.”

  I saw what he was saying. “There’s a drug tunnel here?”

  “There was,” Tony corrected. “But as far as I know, it hasn’t been used in years. It may have caved in, or been blocked on the other side.”

  “Where does it lead?”

  “To a barn just on the other side of the border.”

  I stood up and went to the window. There was nothing but darkness and my own pale reflection. A few minutes ago, hearing about this tunnel would have filled me with excitement; finally, a way to get out of Clarkeston, a way to save Wes. I would have been halfway there by now.

  But things had changed, and horribly so. Now it was no longer a matter of simply waiting for them to discover a cure. For those infected with Gaspereau—hundreds of people, maybe thousands—there would be no cure.

  How would they do it? Lethal injection? A bullet to the head? I pictured Maisie lying in a hospital bed, her pillows splattered with blood. Wes’s reflection watched me in the window. He and I had a way out. Maisie didn’t.

  “How far away is this tunnel?” I asked.

  “Couple miles,” Tony said. “We can take you there in the truck. I called a buddy of mine, lives just across the border. He owes me a favor. Said he’d help you guys on the other side.”

  “You trust him? What if he turns us in?” How long would we have to ask that question?

  “He won’t. Like I said, he owes me.”

  I nodded slowly. “Okay. I need to . . . make a couple more calls. Then we’ll go.”

  As soon as I said it, I knew I had made my decision. I was doing the right thing . . . but it was the last thing I wanted to do. I’d been pretending this option didn’t exist, but the time for wishful thinking had ended. Some childlike, irrational part of me still clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, everything would still work out all right.

  I went back into the bedroom and called Dr. Hansen. “I’ll give you what you need,” I said, my voice sounding distant and hollow, even to my own ears.

  His sigh of relief was audible. “You’re doing the right thing, Clare. Where are you?”

  “We’ll meet you at my parents’ house. No soldiers. No guns. We’re coming voluntarily.”

  “When?”

  I glanced at the time. “In three hours.”

  “Three hours? Why don’t you just tell me where you are? I can send someone to pick—”

  “Three hours. Tusslewood Street.”

  There was a pause, then, “Okay.”

  “There’s more. I want a guarantee that you will leave us alone when this is done. Call Al Irvine. He’s our lawyer. I want it in writing that neither you nor any government agency will attempt to apprehend Wes, me, Dr. Kenneth Chu, Rob Wilkins, or Latasha Holt. I want complete immunity for us all. I want to see it in writing by the time we meet. Otherwise, no deal.”

  His pen scratched as he took notes. “Okay. Unfortunately your lawyer has been infected . . . but I can certainly have those papers drawn up by one of ours.”

  “Fine. What matters is that if you break our agreement in any way, I will release the document in my possession about the lab breach, as well as my recording of our last conversation.”

  “Recording conversations without consent is illegal, you know.”

  “So is killing hundreds of innocent people.”

  He took a deep breath. “Anything else? Wes’s medical bills will all be covered, of course.”

  “Put that in writing, too. That’s it.” I hung up. The wheels were in motion. There was nothing to do but move forward.

  Next I called Latasha. I knew she wouldn’t answer, but there were things I needed to say. I waited to hear her voice on the recording: “Hey, you’ve reached Latasha. Leave it at the beep.”

  I swallowed hard. “Hey. It’s Clare. Things are happening. I can’t talk about it . . . I wish I could. I wish we could sit down over a glass of wine and you could tell me what to do. But, for now, I just wanted to say that you are the best friend I’ve ever had, and I love you very much. And . . . thank you. For wha
t you did for me. I know you risked a lot . . . maybe everything. I just want to know that you’re okay. And, um . . . hopefully I’ll see you soon.”

  I ended the call and stared at the phone in my hands. I had to push forward before I lost my resolve.

  I deliberated calling Kenneth, but that would be a conversation neither of us wanted to have. Instead, I spent a few moments remembering how his hands had felt on me, how he smelled when he pulled me close, the sound of his voice whispering in my ear. Then I forced myself to stop.

  “Let’s go,” I said as I left the room. I double-checked our backpacks and accepted a couple more bottles of water from Rick. Tony programmed his and Rick’s numbers into my phone, as well as the number of his Canadian buddy.

  Wes and I climbed into the backseat of Rick’s pickup. We crouched down on the floor so we couldn’t be seen from the windows. The drive was bumpy and painful in this position, but in a few short minutes the truck came to a stop. I listened, wary of being discovered. “It’s okay,” Tony said, and we eased ourselves up onto the seats.

  We had pulled off the side of a road that seemed to run through a thick wood. Rick and Tony handed us flashlights and kept two for themselves.

  “We have to walk the rest of the way,” Tony said with a jerk of his head. I had no idea how they’d figured out where to stop. There were no markers, nothing that said this stretch of the road was any different from the rest of it. We followed Tony into the woods. There was no trail, so we were left to pick our way around brambles and climb over fallen logs.

  “How long has this tunnel been here?” I asked, more to make conversation than anything else. The silence was unnerving in the dark woods.

  “Before our time,” Rick answered. “I dunno; maybe the sixties?”

  “And it’s not being used anymore?”

  “Not by us. Maybe some of the younger kids have discovered it; who knows? But if they have, we don’t know about it.”

  “Does the rest of your band know it’s here?”

  Tony shook his head. “No, and we’d get our asses kicked if the council found out about it. We should have told them, I suppose, but the Canadians used it more than we did. We just used to buy what they brought over.”