The road was a stripe of blindness. After the first mile, Henry began to notice the harsh rasp of his breath, the echoing crunch of his feet and the slithering shiver of the palette behind him. He had to stop and look around him every few moments to be sure he wasn’t attracting anything. His arms and shoulders began to ache from the tension and he ground his teeth almost constantly without realizing it. As the morning melted into noon, the trees began to spring up, flinging the snow from their backs in deep, sudden thuds. Henry jumped and whirled around every time. At last something shattered the smooth skin at the side of the road, a jagged black smudge against the horizon. The smell of spilled gas spread far into the thin, chilled air. The sharp scent prickled in the back of Henry’s throat and adrenaline stabbed into his shoulders and legs as he realized what it was.
He hadn’t brought any kind of weapon with him. Though he’d been prepared to knock Phil unconscious had he been sick, Henry didn’t think he could do it in the clear light of morning, and there hadn’t been anything that really fit the bill at the lodge. So far, he’d been lucky, the lodge was on a sparsely populated road and all the houses so far had been silent and dark, closed until summer. He stood still for a few moments watching the snowmobile’s corpse as if he expected it to start up again on its own, its mangled frame roaring and chasing him back up to the lodge or into the thick woods. Phil had said he “took care” of the woman who attacked him. Had he killed her? Just knocked her out? Was she waiting for Henry right up there? Henry shuddered, but there was no help for it. If they were going to make it, he had to get down to the town. He waded through the snow to the far side of the road. He wanted to run past, to be already beyond it, but his legs refused to listen. They shook and crept along while Henry’s mind and eye raced back and forth over the same small patch and off toward town. Even so, he almost missed her. The wind must have been relentless overnight, dragging snow over the mangled machine and on top of her small, curled up body. The air was still now, and though she was clothed in a light night-dress, it didn’t flutter or flap. Her hair clung to the tiny jags of the snow dunes the wind had made. Her face was tilted, eroding into the snow. Henry stopped and watched her.
He had an eerie feeling of having met her before, of trying to mate the face to one in his memory. But that was ridiculous, he’d never even been in this part of the state before. Maybe we all look the same when we die, he thought. He pulled the palette closer and crouched beside her, careful not to step on the limbs that were already buried. He was still too scared to wipe the snow from her face, so he slowly blew it away until the round curve of her cheek emerged. He had expected her expression to be one of rage, but it was blank and slack, like a book with all the letters rubbed out. Henry didn’t know whether to feel relieved or sad. He could see a deep ring of purple where the skin of her throat emerged from the snow. He wondered if Phil had strangled her to death or if he had just knocked her unconscious so that he could get away. He didn’t think he would have been able to do either, but then he thought of wandering through his neighbor’s apartment holding her cane like a bat. Of Dave smashing a woman with a chunk of glass. He shook his head. Henry looked at the thin cotton sleeve of her nightgown. If Phil didn’t kill her outright then she must have frozen to death. Who did she belong to? Henry tried to imagine a life around the blank oval of her face. Was she someone’s wife? A sister? A mother? He couldn’t picture it. Whoever she was, had gone. She was little more than a mannequin and Henry felt guilty for not feeling more. He wondered if anyone would care when he finally went crazy. Stop it, Henry, he thought, they’re working on a cure, I’m sure. But he stood and stared at the dead woman. Then he dug her out of the snowdrift and placed her stiff body on the palette sled. I can’t leave her out here. He tried to tell himself it was only what a decent human being would do, but the little voice in his head could only keep hoping that someone would return the favor if he needed it.
It was three miles to the hill-top above the grocery store, but Henry felt as if he’d trudged thirteen instead. He paced the hill-top for a while, sweat trickling through his hair and down his neck, the palette jittering and sliding over his footprints, the woman’s stiff limbs gently bobbing as the palette dragged over the lumps. At last he sat down in the road and watched the little grocery store until the sun drained away behind the thick trees.
The last orange reflection of the sun evaporated from the store’s windows. Henry immediately regretted waiting. He stood up and careened down the hill with the heavy palette rocketing behind him, as if he could take it back, as if he could recall the daylight. He lost control in the deep snow and fell, tumbling down the second half of the hill. The palette with the woman’s body kept sliding, crashing to a stop against the store’s back wall with a scraping thump. The corpse slid off, landing beside the makeshift sled in a hollow bowl where the snow had melted from the store’s roof and dribbled down it’s side. Henry groaned and got up. He made his way to the palette and could see the woman’s hair floating like tangled weeds on top of the slushy puddle where she lay. He reached to pick her up again and then froze as he heard a shout from nearby. He stood up as it was echoed on his other side. Not a shout, he thought, that’s a growl. There was a hoot now, and then a screech. Henry backed up against the store wall, his hand gripping the palette’s rough rope as shadows darker than the surrounding dusk roared and closed in. A hand closed around his arm and yanked him backward. Henry was too startled to fight back, and he fell onto his back and was dragged onto a hard cement floor. A rattling wall descended, cutting the howling shadows off from him. A light clicked on.
“Why did you wait until dark if you were just going to panic and blow it?” the voice growled from behind him.
Henry sat up and winced as the wood palette clattered across the cement floor. He’d forgotten he was still holding the rope. “How did you know I was waiting for dark?” he asked, turning around.
A scowling middle-aged man stood before him, holding a cordless drill as if it were a weapon. “I watched you all afternoon. I thought you must have some smarts since you were waiting. Guess I was wrong. Who was the woman?”
Henry shook his head and tensed as the store’s bay door rattled as something hit it. “I don’t know. I found her on the road. I couldn’t leave her like that. I thought I might be able to find the police or— or somewhere to bury her anyway.” He turned toward the bay door. “I need to find out how to get her inside.”
“That’s decent of you,” mumbled the older man, shoving the nose of the drill into a large leather pocket, “but you can’t get her now. Anyway, your good turn is why you’re alive right now.”
“Look, I’m not a looter. I have cash or we can figure out some trade, I wasn’t coming to break in—”
“Relax, that’s not what I meant. The sick ones— I don’t know what else to call ‘em, the sick ones went after her body instead of sinking their teeth into you.”
Henry’s throat shriveled and he tried to stop himself from gagging. The other man looked concerned. “You’ve been watching the news haven’t you? I mean, you did know that they were eating people, right?” He put a steadying hand on Henry’s shoulder and dropped his scowl.
Henry nodded. “I knew they were attacking people and biting them, I just didn’t think they were—”
The older man shook his head. “Best not to think of it more then. Just consider yourself lucky.” He stuck a thick hand into the air between them. “Wyatt Reynolds.”
The rough warmth of Wyatt’s hand and the stale gasoline smell of the store’s loading area made Henry think of his father. The thought of the Plague reaching his parents was a wrecking ball bouncing in his chest. He cleared his throat. “Henry Broom. What were you going to do with the drill anyway?”
Wyatt shrugged. “Whatever I had to, I guess.”
“You don’t have a gun? Isn’t this a big hunting area?”
Wyatt laughed. “I’m a shopkeeper. Just because the tourists are crazy enough to tote thei
r guns everywhere with them, doesn’t mean that I am. Besides, these people are sick. You going to shoot them just because they caught the flu?”
Henry shook his head.
“Nah, me either. But a good clunk to the head might discourage them if they try to bite. And it was the only heavy thing close to the bay door.”
“So what do we do now?” asked Henry.
“I don’t know how far you’ve come but you’ve been sitting in the cold for at least the last half hour. I’ve got electric heat still and coffee. And I know you didn’t come all this way for nothing.”
The bay door banged as something hit it. Wyatt nodded toward it and Henry could see him swallow back his revulsion. “They’ll be— they’ll be at it and each other most of the night. You can’t go out there for a while. As long as we’re quiet and keep the shades down in front, we’ll be okay.”
Henry let go of the palette’s guide rope and followed Wyatt through to the front of the store. They sat behind the candy counter and ate stale deli sandwiches.
“You heard any news in the past day?” asked Henry.
“Nope, the cable is out and the police scanner has been nothing but static since last night. I don’t know if it’s a signal tower or—” Wyatt shook his head and dragged a rough hand down his face. “Been through a lot of storms Henry. Bad blizzards, hurricanes, even a flood in ‘87. Almost everyone evacuated for that one. But there were still people around, you know? Voices on the radio, helicopters flying overhead even after the power went out, national guard trucks, someone. Not this time.”
“Maybe there’s just nothing to be done. Maybe we haven’t seen the guard or Red Cross, or whatever, because this isn’t a natural disaster. I mean, what are emergency workers going to do? The most they can do is gather up people to take to the hospital, right? And there’s nothing the hospital can do for them. In fact, the last time I drove by the hospital, it was overflowing. But not with infected people. With people who had been bitten. I don’t think those that are infected with the Plague are actually becoming weak or feeling ill.”
Wyatt tapped his metal travel mug. He shook his head. “No. That’s not it.” He took a sidelong glance at Henry and then looked into the mug. “You and I may not be willing to shoot sick people, but the military is.”
“What? How do you know something like that?”
“A few nights ago, right before the cable went out down here in the village, Sheriff Douglass stopped by. He told me to lock up the store and keep it locked. I asked him why and he said that some of the neighbors were showing signs of infection. He repeated that I was to keep the store locked, no matter what. I asked him what he meant, he said the president had given an executive order that all remaining military and law enforcement were to contain those infected by any means necessary.
‘Contain them?’ I said, ‘They’re stark raving mad. How are you going to contain them?’
Sheriff Douglass is a big guy. Kind of a pain in the ass actually. Always busting tourists’ chops and showing off. But I swear Henry, he started to cry. Right there, standing in front of the beer case, not three days ago. And he said, ‘I have to shoot ‘em Wyatt. There’s nothing else to do. I’ve got to shoot ‘em.’”
“But— what if there’s a cure?” Henry interrupted, “All those people, it’s just a flu, for God’s sake. And even if there isn’t a cure, they’ll shake it off, right? If their bodies aren’t worn out, they’ll shake it off and be back to normal.” He grabbed the thick sleeve of Wyatt’s cotton shirt. Wyatt just shrugged and shook his head slowly.
“The infected people are killing healthy people too. What would happen if they weren’t stopped? Maybe you’re right. Maybe someone will cure it or it’ll burn itself out and everyone will wake up sane in a week or two.” Wyatt whistled between his teeth. “Then there’ll be a reckoning, I guess. There’ll be a reckoning for everyone.”
Nine
Wyatt loaded the last cardboard box onto the palette as Henry peeked behind the curtain in the loading bay.
“There are still five or six of them milling around,” he muttered.
Wyatt nodded. “That’s okay. They’re full now. They won’t bother anyone for at least a day.”
Henry looked around at him. “Full? You mean—”
“Looks like karma paid you back. You should be safe to go back now.”
“So if we kept them fed, they wouldn’t attack anyone?”
Wyatt rubbed the corner of one eye underneath his glasses. “Well, I don’t know. I think they are less likely to. But they still seem to get very angry. They fight each other sometimes. But they aren’t as desperate, seems like. I saw a few eat a dog the day before you got here. They squabbled some after, especially when they stumbled into each other. They finally stumbled away from each other a few hours later, still okay for the most part. Not like the ones that came after you.” The older man shuddered. “Well, I guess that does it for your list, Henry.”
Henry turned away from the window and pulled out his wallet. It slipped through his hands and fell to the floor. He looked at it for a second and then bent down to pick it up. His hand missed twice and then closed around the warm leather. He stood up and avoided Wyatt’s gaze. “Look,” he said, walking toward the sled, “I’ll give you everything I have in here and a credit card to cover the rest, but I think we both know it isn’t worth very much right now. I don’t have anything else to offer though, and I’d be lying if I said the people I’m with could do without it. Why don’t you come with me? It’s safer together and there aren’t any infected up there.” His mind added Yet.
Wyatt shook his head and held out the hand for cash. “I thought the same last night, and I was afraid it was going to come down to robbery on your part or murder on mine. But after you said you thought the infection would be cured or people would get over it, just like anything else, well, I realized how close to insane I’d got. Of course this is going to blow over. And the best thing we can do is continue to be civilized, right? Besides, if I go, there’s no one to watch the store. What if someone needs things, just like you? Or what if Sheriff Douglass comes back? He might have people who need help too. Someone’s got to stay. At least until the power gives out.” Wyatt looked around at the freezers and coolers around him, “After that, lots of this isn’t going to be good for much.”
Henry handed him the bundle of bills after fumbling with the flimsy things for a moment. “I hate to think of you down here, when it does go out. And with all those sick people wandering around outside.”
Wyatt’s eyes sparked with tears as he folded the money and stuck it in his back pocket. “I know most of them, Henry. Some of them grew up from babies right around the corner. The ones that are outside; they’re not going to come out okay. Unless the Sheriff can get them back in their houses they’ll freeze to death. And the ones he had to shoot.” Wyatt scrubbed his face and snuffled, but then he looked up and smiled at Henry. “The rest of them though, they’ll be okay, it’ll be like a bad flu. They’ll just wake up normal and a little hung over in a few days and mosey on in here to get the news and their milk like always.”
Henry started to shake his head.
“It’ll be okay Henry,” Wyatt clapped him on the shoulder, “You take these supplies back to the lodge and have a nice Christmas. By New Year’s Eve you’ll be making a beer run down here in the car, you’ll see.”
“And if not?”
“If not, I’ll be hiking up there to take advantage of your hospitality. Consider it a down-payment on future supplies, if you need them.”
Henry nodded and picked up the palette’s rope lead. Wyatt opened the bay door with a loud rattle. Henry peered out, but none of the infected even glanced over. They just slogged in senseless patterns through the snow. It was somehow more unsettling than seeing them bear down upon him. He turned back toward Wyatt. “Thank you. I’ll see you later,” he said.
Wyatt shook his head. “I bet I’ll be seeing you first Henry. Have a safe trip back.�
� The bay door clattered closed between them and Henry began to climb the hill back to the lodge, going quickly in case the infected people decided they were hungry after all.
The palette was heavy and cut deep into the snow, dragging the weight of packed lumps of ice beneath it. Even in his best shape, Henry would have been exhausted after dragging it for three miles. The infection was slow, and it had crept up on him for weeks. It was painless, but he was quickly wiped out now and he found himself struggling to concentrate on even the simplest tasks. He spent most of his energy getting the palette up the first hill out of town. He sat on the crest to catch his breath and was alarmed when he realized he’d sat there much longer than he intended.
He dragged the palette on, trying to remember what the news had said about patients recovering. If he’d heard anything, it was lost now and he eventually gave up chasing echoes in his head. He tried to focus on each step as he passed by the snowmobile wreck, not wanting to see the shattered glass of the headlights or the empty shallow grave of the woman he’d dragged to town. He slipped and fell onto the bare patch that some spilled gasoline had made. He swore as the overloaded palette tipped toward him. It didn’t fall and nothing slid off, and Henry scrambled up after a moment. He checked the palette over, his hand brushing the scarlet fabric of the cheap stocking Wyatt had found for him. Henry didn’t want to lose it. The kid was expecting Santa. He started off again, an aching creak in his knee where it had hit the pavement.
The snowy path was just as quiet as the day before. No birds, no cars, only a slight breeze catching the snow in streams like broken cobwebs. The trees hunched themselves over the narrow strip of road. The last loads of snow had thumped from their branches hours ago, and they stood dark and thick, like enormous brooding crows on a power line. Henry could feel the little breeze pulsing over his back and through his hair like a great breath, receding and returning. He could see the driveway to the first of the five cabins he’d have to pass before the lodge, and he could feel his heart pick up it’s already strained pace. They had been quiet and dark on the way to town, but he still didn’t like going past. He tried to slide toward the opposite side of the narrow road, but the palette had built up a mound of dragging snow underneath and it didn’t move easily.
The Cured Page 5