“Obstacles? I think traffic will be light at this time of night,” Dave said.
Henry shook his head, thinking of the woman in the traffic accident that morning. “Look, just wake me up if you have to stop for any reason, okay?”
“All right,” said Dave.
Henry settled back onto the seat. Marnie’s soft breathing and the little halo of heat that her body made in the car caused Henry to drop off quickly. The sound of Elizabeth and Dave fighting drew him out of sleep. He looked over at Marnie who was sitting up and looking anxious. Her teddy bear had dropped into the hollow near her feet and Henry struggled to reach it. He handed it back to her and she gave him a nervous smile, which he returned.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Elizabeth glanced back at him. “There was a couple with a flat tire on the side of the road and Dave refused to stop and help them. The woman was crying.”
“But the man looked ready to strangle the next person to look at him wrong,” grumbled Dave.
“Honey, it’s dark, it’s snowing, the police don’t seem to be anywhere around. What if no one else stops?”
“Someone will stop,” said Dave, glancing at Henry for support in the rearview mirror. Henry’s mind flashed to the woman with the remains of a nose in her teeth.
“Do you two have any idea what’s actually happening?” he asked.
Elizabeth glanced back at him and then her gaze lingered on Marnie who had fallen asleep again beside Henry. “Only what the news has said. That there is some kind of disease or chemical causing people to act irrationally or become dangerous. No one seems sure exactly what is going on.”
Henry looked over at Marnie to make sure she wasn’t listening. He leaned forward. “Elizabeth,” he whispered, “These people, the ones affected by whatever this is, they’re crazed. I saw a woman bite the nose off a man’s face today before she climbed onto my windshield to try to do the same thing to me. There’s some monster in my apartment building– I think it killed my elderly neighbor and then waited for me outside my apartment. And you can ask Dave about the woman this morning at the office.” Elizabeth turned pale but still looked unconvinced. With an interior wince, Henry drove his point home. “Look, if you want to keep Marnie safe, it’s best if we not trust anyone outside ourselves, even if they look like they are in trouble. Those people back there may have been okay, or they might have been sick. Or they might just have been panicked enough to steal our car and leave us on the side of the road in the snow.”
Elizabeth began crying and Henry fought the heavy guilt that fell on his shoulders. Someone needed to say it and Dave was too gutless. Otherwise, they’d all be dead in the next few days because of some misplaced kindness. Henry watched the snow building, thick and choking on the road. Or dead in the next few hours, his mind amended.
There were no plows and as the highway dumped them onto the side roads, even the tracks of previous vehicles disappeared. The lights of gas stations and little villages disappeared or winked out as the night grew later and the snow heavier. They were swallowed up, lost in a blank world of dark trees and smooth white. As if they were the first or last ever to travel that way.
Henry switched with Dave when they got to the gravel roads. Henry cursed under his breath as they slid from bank to bank, the skids coming so close together that eventually the adrenaline just quit and he let the car scud back and forth as it would, always barely catching on the shoulder and righting itself. They got stuck at last, about half a mile from the lodge. He and Dave pushed the car the rest of the way as Elizabeth attempted to steer. Henry and Dave were both soaked and Henry was shaking with exhaustion by the time they made it up the hill to the dark house. He began to be really afraid that he had caught the flu that was going around. He tried to push the thought out of his head before the followup panic could set in. Elizabeth carried Marnie into the house and began turning lights on. Henry was shocked to realize that he was still out of breath as he carried the groceries inside. Dave stopped him.
“You okay Henry? Maybe you should sit down for a minute.”
Henry waved him off and wondered why his pudgy friend was not as winded as he was. “It’s just been a long day Dave, and I’ve been running on adrenaline for most of it. A good night’s sleep and I’ll be back to normal.” He hoped. They slogged the rest of the supplies in and Dave went looking for the generator, certain that the snow would take one of the lines down fairly soon. That left Henry to find the woodshed. He groaned when he saw it halfway up the sprawling backyard. The open back door made a gold path on the snow toward it, but the trees clustered close to its back and made deep shadows where anything might wait.
Don’t be ridiculous, he told himself, there isn’t anything out here, that’s why you came.
“Henry?” Elizabeth called, “Can you close the door, it’s getting cold in here.”
Henry grimaced. “Sure thing,” he called and closed the back door behind him. Now it was really dark. The hiss of the falling snow and his own deep breaths were all Henry could hear. He decided that was a good thing. A safe thing. He started out toward the woodshed. His footsteps and his breath seemed thunderous. He tried to force himself to breathe evenly so that he could hear over the sounds in his own chest. The snow melting into his jeans wicked up to his thighs and his breath was a dark wet cloud around him. Miserable and tired and jumpy, the shed seemed miles away from Henry. But when he got there, the trees seemed to lean over it, to strangle the glowing light of the snow. The metal door was pitted with rust and almost a foot of snow had drifted against it. Henry pulled it slowly open. The aching screech it made as it slid over the top of the snow made Henry’s teeth hurt. The woodshed was blank, staring dark. Henry took a breath and then fumbled around the wall for a light switch. He began to sweat through the chill when he found nothing. He reached up and found a pull string. He smiled as he yanked it on. But the bulb had burned out a year before when someone had left it on to shine alone all spring. It’s just going to be one of those days I guess, he thought, you know, typical Monday. He stifled a laugh. Henry didn’t like to reach into the dark for the wood. He told himself that it was just that he didn’t want to be bitten by any rats that may have taken up residence or put his hand into a recluse nest. But he knew he was lying to himself. There was no help for it. Get the wood or freeze.
Henry reached in and grabbed the first log. He almost yelped as he drew his hand back. It was smooth and cold and slid easily out of his grasp like a dead arm rolling into the snow at his feet. He looked down in the dim light. Just a birch log with loose bark. Henry caught his breath and told himself to stop being an idiot. He reached in and scooped up a few more logs. When he had what he could carry he plowed his way back to the porch and the bright house. He looked at the small armful as he placed the logs into the kindling bucket. He groaned and trudged back. The kindling bucket still wasn’t full after the second trip. Screw it, he thought, glancing back at the woodshed. It squatted and glowered like an evil crone against the dark trees. I’ll get more in the morning. When I can see, he thought and banged the snow off of his soaking shoes before he walked into the lodge.
Five
The snow continued through the next day, but it was dry and slid off the power lines. Neither plow or car passed along the quiet dirt road and since the power stayed on for the next few weeks Henry assumed there were no vehicles to run into the power lines on the main road either. Henry tried to ignore the news reports that Dave was glued to, but it sank into their conversations, pervaded the air. Even Marnie, who spent most of the time sledding or dressing the lodge’s stuffed deer with costume jewelry, knew something was very wrong. Within a few days the experts had concluded that the violent attacks were the result of a bacterial infection that targeted the brain.
Elizabeth and Dave pretended that they were only going to be at the lodge for a few days, a week at most. But even the little pieces Henry accidentally gathered from the news told him that things were quickly shutting
down. There had been no police on the first day and there had been no snow plow since they arrived. No mailman, no bush planes overhead, no trains sounding whistles on the well used tracks just half a mile down the road. Even the news was broadcast in longer and longer loops. Henry had even tried calling work, but no one in the large building had picked up the phone. He assumed he had worse problems than whether he would be fired for not showing up. He allowed himself to wonder if he even ought to be worried about running out of food before he clamped down on the thought and shook it away.
The lodge was drafty and leaky, not meant for winter living. It was a good-time summer place. Something that was meant to be shut up, its pipes drained, it’s light wicker furniture stacked and sheeted until spring. Henry knew they wouldn’t last without making some changes. The first thing to go had to be the woodshed. Henry tried to persuade Dave to help, but Dave thought it was pointless. He was too scared to let himself believe the whole thing wasn’t going to blow over. Henry privately fumed. His friend would let them starve or freeze before he’d admit to himself that they were on their own. But Henry knew.
He stood on the back porch after taking the swing down and pushing the patio table to the edge. He looked at the dark shed with it’s chorus of deep woods surrounding it. No one else is coming Henry, he thought. He pushed into the heavy snow. It took him a few days, but Henry got all the wood onto the porch while Dave sat glued to the television and Marnie made snowmen and carried the small sticks to keep him company. Elizabeth flashed him sympathetic smiles through the kitchen window, but she didn’t lift a hand to help either. Henry wondered if he were the crazy one.
He stood on the porch in an itchy sweater and pitchy gloves and stacked the wood in neat bundles, the logs hitting each other with a satisfying clunk. Marnie was digging a snow fort at the corner of the raised porch. He could hear the television droning inside and he tried not to let himself listen more carefully. He heard Dave swear loudly and call his wife. Elizabeth shrieked and Marnie came darting out of the snow cave toward the door. Henry grabbed her before she reached it. He peered in through the kitchen window, but Dave and Elizabeth were only staring aghast at the news.
“It’s okay Marnie, your mom just saw something scary on tv.”
Marnie relaxed and sat down on the edge of the porch, biting the packed snow on the top of her mitten. Henry turned back to the woodpile.
“Henry? What’s going on? When can I go back to school?”
Henry hesitated before throwing another slippery birch log on to the stack. He didn’t turn around to look at Marnie. “It’s Christmas vacation isn’t it kiddo?”
“I guess. Christmas is still a few weeks away. We’re only supposed to have Christmas Eve off for break. Our vacation comes after Christmas.”
“Well, I think this year your parents just wanted a few extra days,” he turned around and smiled brightly, “Are you worried about Santa? I’m sure he’ll find us out here.”
Marnie rolled her eyes. “I know that Henry. Santa knows everything. Of course he could find us here.”
Henry tried not to laugh. “Right, of course, that was silly of me.”
Marnie went back to chewing her mittens and Henry reached for another log, feeling like he dodged a bullet. There were a few muffled shouts from the living room. Elizabeth and Dave were fighting. Henry tried to cover up the sound with the thunk of falling wood. But Marnie heard anyway. “They’re arguing about the sick people aren’t they?”
Henry felt his chest sag. He didn’t want to have this conversation. It wasn’t his job. More than that. It wasn’t his place.
“What sick people?” Henry kept his voice light and pulled his gloves off and sat down on the porch next to her.
“The ones the lady on the tv talks about. The ones that like to bite.”
Henry looked into the dark woods for a moment. He decided the television told the girl far worse things than he might. “Yeah, Marnie, I think they’re arguing about the sick people.” He looked down at her, the ebbing light turning everything sepia. She was an old photograph, a memory wrapped up on a different day and hidden for decades. “Don’t worry. The sick people won’t come here. We’re safe in the lodge.”
Marnie banged her boots together for a moment, the snow curling off her toes. She looked up at him again. “I’m not worried. No one can find us in the deep, dark woods. But Henry, what if we get sick too?”
Henry picked splinters off the back of his gloves. “We aren’t going to get sick Marnie.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you only get sick by being around other people. And we’re by ourselves, so we can’t get sick, right?”
Marnie thought for a while. Henry stared at the dark woodshed as the sun sank behind the tall trees and the night hunched around the edge of the backyard. The little girl beside him tugged on his jacket sleeve.
“But if I get sick– or Mom and Dad, you’ll take care of us, right Henry?”
Henry smiled. “Sure, if you’ll take care of me if I get sick. Deal?” Henry stuck out his hand. Marnie shook it with a wet mitten.
“Deal,” she said.
Six
The news blared through the lodge’s thin glass as Henry stapled plastic over them. He’d been both surprised and relieved to find the large roll of plastic in the back of the wood shed with an old metal toolbox. However it ended up there, in a summer cabin, Henry was grateful. Elizabeth had tacked spare blankets around the inside of the frames, but he knew that wasn’t going to be enough. It was only late December and it was already uncomfortable inside. Dave insisted that Henry was wasting his time, that they’d all be back in the city before the month was out. But for all the time Dave and Elizabeth spent in front of the television, they didn’t see what Henry and Marnie saw.
The little girl might not have noticed all the subtle clues that Henry had, but she was sensitive to the tones of the anchors and to the increasing amount of violent footage that reeled over the screen. Henry had asked Dave to shut it off for Marnie’s sake, but he hadn’t listened. Henry watched as the anchors became less and less varied. The channel had been sticking with one camera for a few days now, and Henry wondered if only one cameraman were left, or if it were simply stationary and unmanned. Interviews with doctors, police, even military happened less and less. Most of the footage was from viewers’ cell phones now, rough, unedited. The stories looped over and over, the same bits of information. And still Dave sat in a chair shushing his daughter and Elizabeth lay crying on the couch, hour after hour, day upon day.
Henry tried to distract Marnie, feeling ashamed of his friends for neglecting their daughter. He tried to take her with him on his home improvement errands, but it was too cold today. She watched him from the other side of the blurred plastic. Henry flashed her a smile and then went on hammering a thin slat of wood over the plastic sheet. The news blared out at him. Henry pretended not to hear, but it seeped into his brain anyway.
“ . . . symptoms include a lack of coordination when walking, slurred speech, low-grade fever and inability to focus. Those infected become highly irritable and eventually violent as their ability to communicate decreases. While this violence seems to be randomly directed at any other living thing in the area, the real danger is limited as the Infected don’t seem to use weapons, but will attack with their bare hands and–”
Marnie’s face was pale and turned toward the screen and she had stopped coloring under the window. Henry whistled loudly to get her attention. Dave looked irritated but Marnie reluctantly turned away from the television to face Henry.
“Hey,” he yelled through the plastic and the blaring broadcast, “get your boots and jacket. Let’s put up some decorations.”
Marnie ran to get her clothes. Henry finished the window, slamming his thumb with the hammer as he pounded the last nail. He tried not to swear. Fifth time today, he thought, I’ve got to pay more attention. Must be tired, I’m never this klutzy. Marnie came bounding out of the door.
/>
“Come on,” said Henry, “I found some party lights in the woodshed. We’ll decorate the house for Christmas.”
Marnie smiled, but it quickly faded. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“No one will see them this year.”
“We’ll see them. And Santa will appreciate it. I mean, I know he’s all seeing and everything, but he probably doesn’t like landing in the dark.”
The girl puffed white plumes of warmth as she lugged the heavy box. Henry slid the tall ladder up against the back of the house, where the television was just a soft drone. He locked it into place and then turned to Marnie rubbing his hands together.
“Okay, your job is untangling and plugging them in to see if they work. I’ll staple them up, sound good?”
Henry fished the end of a long string of twinkle lights from the box and tucked a stapler under his arm.
“Should we use all of them?” asked Marnie holding up a small pink flamingo dubiously.
Henry shrugged. “Sure, why not? They have Christmas in Florida too. Maybe flamingos pull the sleigh in the south.” Most of the lights were plastic beer bottles or palm trees. Party lights. No one would have been here in the winter. Henry thought about pulling the caps off so only the twinkle lights were left.
“I like the peppers,” said Marnie, holding up a string of bright red chili lights. Henry grinned and started climbing the ladder. I’m going to make a terrible father, he thought, carefully stapling the little brown beer bottles to the eave. Elizabeth came out at last, while Marnie untangled one of the last strands and handed the end up the ladder to Henry.
“Here for the big reveal?” he asked cheerfully. Elizabeth’s eyes were red and tired, but she managed a small smile.
“I actually came to see if you two would like to have some hot chocolate.”
“With marshmallows?” asked Marnie.
The Cured Page 3