The Cured Read online

  Henry crept slowly toward the bathroom and bedroom. He pushed the bathroom door slowly open with the end of the cane and tensed. It was dark and windowless. He reached one hand in and groped for the light switch, wincing with every soft thud of his hand on the wall. It wasn’t there. Henry held his breath and stepped in and reached up, finding a cord. The light turned on but the fan was louder than he’d expected. He jumped a little as the clear shower curtain rippled in the sudden breeze. There was no one there and the room was clean and undisturbed. He took a deep breath and headed for the bedroom.

  Henry could hear low voices from behind the closed door. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they were too even, too calm to be real. He nudged the door open a crack until he saw the bedside television tuned to a news station. It had fallen from the dresser and lay, flickering, on it’s side. Henry opened the door further and inched his way inside. Mrs. Palmer’s top dentures smiled up at him from the carpet. The porcelain teeth were tipped with pink and the floor around the denture was dark and wet. Henry shuddered.

  The closet’s flimsy door panel rattled and he jumped. He took a step toward it, raising the cane as if it were a heavy wooden bat. “Mrs. Palmer?” he whispered. There was no answer except the ongoing stream of calm reporting from the television. Henry glanced around him quickly and then looked back at the closet door. “Mrs. Palmer, it’s Henry,” he whispered a little louder, “I’m going to open the door now, please don’t be frightened.” The cane was still raised over his head. He let go with one hand and wiped the sweat that was rolling into his eyes. He gripped the cool ceramic door knob. This is really stupid Henry, he thought, Just get out of here and call the police. Henry glanced back down the hallway toward the living room. It was still empty. There was a sad wail from behind the closet door. Henry knew he wasn’t leaving. He turned the knob, holding his breath at the same time. He slowly pulled the door open between himself and whatever lay behind it, tensed and ready to slam it shut again if he needed to. Henry took a deep breath and peered around the open door. With a yowl and a sharp hiss, Mrs. Palmer’s siamese cat sprang at him. Startled, Henry brought the cane down without knowing what he was doing. The cat was faster than him and darted off down the hallway toward the living room. The closet was empty. Henry sagged against the door. He wondered whether he should search the rest of the building for Mrs. Palmer or just hole up in his own apartment until the police came. The reporter’s voice broke through his thoughts as he caught his breath.

  “– are saying that the hospitals are jammed with victims who have been brutally beaten and the police are answering calls as quickly as possible but there are just too many attacks to answer them all. Emergency services are stretched to the breaking point. We managed to talk to a physician this morning before the last wave of attacks.”

  Henry closed the closet door and walked over to the television set. He righted it as the camera focused on a haggard doctor in disheveled scrubs. He was slumped into an office chair and talking to an interviewer.

  “Can you give us any information about what is going on?”

  “We are seeing lots of injuries today, both from violent attacks and to a lesser extent, from household accidents.”

  “Why so many?”

  The doctor shrugged. “I’m not a sociologist or law enforcement. Holiday pressure maybe? You might want to try the doctors in the psych ward instead. Although they’ve been awfully busy today too.”

  “But they must have something in common. People have been attacking each other. Not just their enemies, but perfect strangers and loved ones as well. And when questioned they don’t respond. This has to be more than seasonal blues. Could a chemical cause this type of reaction? Have we been hit by a terrorist attack?”

  The doctor rubbed his temples. “I don’t know, I’ve never seen anything like it. None of the toxicology screens are showing any type of unusual drug or chemical in these people’s systems– at least, none in common. The only thing that seems to be a common thread is that the ones who have had household accidents are all running a very low-grade fever. Our labs haven’t come back yet on that, but it’s December. People are inside a lot. They have colds, they’re going to run a small fever. Look, whatever it is, it’s not a terrorist plot, okay?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  The doctor scratched at his chin uncomfortably. “I don’t want to cause a panic,” he said directly to the interviewer.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll edit it out,” lied the reporter.

  The doctor pulled a few pieces of paper from his desk. “This, whatever this is, has been coming for a few weeks.” He held up one piece of paper. “This is an email from a colleague in India. His hospital has been overrun for a week now. Same results, low-grade fever coupled with clumsy accidents and the rest victims of brutal attacks. All he’s been able to find are some early stages of a weak strep strain and a few instances of flu. Nothing more.”

  He waved another paper. “This one is from my brother who is on vacation in Venezuela. The police there are overwhelmed, they’ve told tourists to stay in their hotels for the time being. My brother got a piece of bad fish and went to the local hospital to see a doctor and he was turned away because they had too many patients.”

  The doctor unfolded the last sheet. “This one is a copy of the front page of a French paper. There was a minor fender bender on a busy street about three weeks ago. It turned into a riot, leaving over 200 people hospitalized and 40 dead. Whatever this is, it’s everywhere.”

  “You were looking for these incidents. Why?”

  The doctor leaned forward and slowly took off his cap, crumpling the cloth between his fingers. “Look, one of my old med school buddies brought his girlfriend in a few weeks ago after she cut herself on a piece of glass. I stitched her up and didn’t think much more about it. Later that day, he called me and told me to keep an eye out for anything unusual, like a spike in accidents. That I should do blood work if I saw it. I asked him what I should be looking for and he just said, ‘it’s probably nothing, but you’ll know it when you see it, I hope.’ And then we were disconnected. But this guy was panicked. And he isn’t someone I’ve ever known to lose his cool. So I started watching my patients and watching the news. That’s the only reason we’ve done blood tests on any of these people.” The doctor collapsed backward into his seat. “Look,” he said squinting at the reporter, “I don’t want to cause a panic, you can’t air any of that. I don’t know anything for sure yet. I just thought someone else should be watching out too.”

  The feed cut out and returned to the news room. “Jim,” said the anchor, with an embarrassed smile, “I don’t know if we ought to have run that– ”

  Jim interrupted with a spiel about the public’s right to know and Henry shook himself. This was not a place he wanted to stay. What should he do? He thought about knocking on each door, but there were over thirty apartments in the building. The thought of what he might encounter behind each one made his flesh ache with adrenaline. He walked quickly and quietly out of Mrs. Palmer’s apartment and up to his own. He was still holding the cane as he closed his door behind him. He picked up the phone and called the police. While he listened to the repeated hold message, Henry glanced out of his front window. His car was still the only one in the lot. It’s windshield was a web of fractures. The shattered doll looked like a dead baby from that distance. Henry felt sick. He was finally transferred, but instead of getting an officer, he got the station’s answering machine. He began with the woman at his office and ended with Mrs. Palmer’s cat, hardly knowing what he said. Then he hung up. He flipped the television on and then ignored it, pacing his small kitchen. Finally, he grabbed a marker and some masking tape and headed carefully down the stairs to the building’s front door.

  He covered a large square of the door with masking tape, looking around every few seconds for Mrs. Palmer or whatever had been in the apartment with her. “BE CAREFUL,” he wrote, “Police: Apartment 4A broken
into, resident missing maybe injured. Everyone else: Stay inside. Call Henry. Don’t get near anyone.” His hand shook as he wrote it and the wet snow smeared against the tape, but it was legible. Henry didn’t want to hang around to redo it.

  He vaulted up the stairs and into his apartment, locking the door behind him. He looked at the door for a moment, thinking of Mrs. Palmer’s, hanging like a snapped bone in its frame. He pushed the couch against the door and then collapsed into it. He was exhausted and hot. Henry guessed it was the stress. He pulled off his sweatshirt and turned the television on. He didn’t bother changing the channel to the news. It was everywhere now, even the cable channels were broadcasting emergency bulletins. Henry fell asleep in the gray light of the television as the broadcast replayed the same shots of riots and hospitals filled to the brim and the reporters convinced themselves that it was the result of a terrorist plot.

  He woke with a start when the phone rang. It was dark except for the blue light of the television, and Henry couldn’t remember where he was for a few long moments. The phone stopped ringing and Henry at last stood up. He heard running footsteps on the stairs outside his apartment and began pulling the couch away from his door. He stopped as the footsteps outside the door stopped, expecting a knock. But there was no knock. Henry tried to look out the peephole, but the hallway light was too dim to make out who was standing in front of his apartment. He put his ear to the door, holding his breath. He could hear a sort of wheezy snuffling but nothing else.

  “Hello,” he called, “who is out there? Do you need help?”

  Something hit the door with a bang and there was a scrabbling on the wood, as if it were a dog trying to come home. For a split second Henry assumed that’s exactly what it was, but then the brass doorknob jiggled and half turned. Henry was glad he had locked it.

  “Look,” he yelled, “Just tell me if you’re hurt and I’ll let you in. I just want–”

  He was cut off by a deep growl on the other side of the wood. Henry felt his skin tighten and pinch. He backed away from the door. The thing outside hit it with a hollow boom and the door shuddered. Henry pushed the couch back against the door. He tried the police again, but there was only the dead blatt of a busy signal. He paced the living room as the thing smashed into the door again and again. He looked out the window overlooking the parking lot. The landlady’s car was parked halfway across the lot. Henry wondered if the thing outside his apartment had gotten to her. Or if it was her. After half an hour, the thing gave up and either fell asleep or wandered away. Henry wasn’t going to open the door to find out.

  His phone rang and Henry leapt for it, afraid the noise would bring the scrabbling thing back. “Hello?” he whispered.

  “Henry, are you okay? It’s Dave.”

  “Yeah, I’m holed up in my apartment but I’m okay. What is going on?”

  “I don’t think anybody knows. Some of the news stations are saying it’s linked to the flu and others are saying it’s something else. All I know is that it’s worse in the city. I’m taking Elizabeth and Marnie to my brother’s hunting lodge. There’ll be no one there and it’s fully stocked, if we bring a few things, we’ll be able to hunker down for a while. I want you to come with us.”

  “What about that woman from this morning?”

  “What about her?”

  “Well, don’t you have to wait for the police to say it’s okay before you leave?”

  “Henry, the police never showed up. I don’t think they are going to. Besides, you saw, it was self-defense. If they want me they can come find me. Do you want to come or not?”

  “Yeah. Okay. What do you need me to do?”

  “Just get your clothes and whatever canned goods you’ve got and be ready to go. Oh, I don’t suppose you have a gun do you?”

  “No,” said Henry, “do you?”

  “No, but I guess we’ll be okay as long as we avoid people anyway. Be ready and I’ll honk the horn when I get to your apartment.”

  “You can’t do that,” said Henry quickly, “There’s at least one of those– those people in here with me. They are attracted to noise I think.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Have Elizabeth call me right before you get here. You turn off your lights and pull around to the back. There’s a fire escape from the bedroom. I’ll climb down that. Just try not to make any noise.”

  “Okay, we’ll do our best, but if you aren’t ready–”

  “Relax Dave, I’ll be ready. I want to get out of here as much as you do.”

  Four

  Dave was a coward. Henry knew that. He wasn’t just a coward in extreme situations, Henry couldn’t blame him for being afraid of what was happening. But Dave was a coward about everything. When they’d first met, Henry had felt sorry for him. Dave was shy and scared when he moved into Henry’s neighborhood. He was always first to snitch and last to join in. Most of the other kids avoided him, but Henry had tried to take him under his wing. A dubious friendship had sprung up between them. But as time went on, Henry realized that Dave was just riding his coattails until someone stronger came along. Dave regularly betrayed his friends and then his coworkers if he thought it would keep him safe, and he and Henry had argued many times about it. But Henry had stuck with him, felt responsible for him, long after their other friends had dropped Dave. He wasn’t a bad guy, he didn’t try to use people to get ahead. Dave was just chickenshit. Henry didn’t trust him with a secret, but he wasn’t motivated by malice or greed. Just-Plain-Yellow, that’s what Henry’s father had called him.

  And now, Henry was trusting Dave to get him out of a city gone mad. If he hadn’t seen the hospital or Mrs. Palmer’s corpse-like doll hadn’t come flying out the window at him– if he hadn’t just heard something growl at him through his door, Henry wouldn’t risk Dave’s trip. He’d rather hole up and wait it out. Whatever “it” was. He wondered why Dave wanted him to come. Why was he risking himself and his family to come get Henry when he could just drive straight to his brother’s cabin, straight to safety? Henry quietly stacked his bags on the fire escape, trying to guess if he had left anything important behind. He looked at his supplies with sudden unease. Was Dave just using him as a quick way to get supplies? Was he going to leave him there with nothing? Henry wasn’t going to give him a chance. He picked up his bags, slinging them over his shoulder and began climbing down the slippery fire ladder. The snow was coming fast now, and Henry strained to see if he could see Dave’s car or any of the crazy people walking around him. Just snow, sparking in the street lamp’s tired light. Henry tried not to look into the apartment windows as he climbed down, equally afraid of seeing a bloody face or a tranquil, twinkling Christmas tree. He kept his eyes on the metal rungs and tried not to make any noise. He dropped down to the ground next to the dumpster and crouched behind it.

  He was trying not to move as his legs stiffened in the cold when he felt the phone vibrate on his thigh. He tried to fish it out without banging his elbow against the hollow metal of the dumpster. “Hello?” he whispered.

  “Henry? Are you ready? It’s Elizabeth.”

  “Yes, I’m next to the dumpster where the fire escape ends. Is anyone following you?”

  “No, we’re okay. We’ll be there in a few seconds. I’m so relieved you are coming.”

  Henry hung up the phone. It was Elizabeth then. She’d persuaded Dave that they needed him. Henry couldn’t blame her, he wouldn’t trust his life to Dave by himself either. The car was almost silent on the snow and Dave had turned the headlights off. It rolled to a stop near Henry and he jumped up and opened the door, throwing the bags in before him. He slid into the warm car and tapped Dave on the shoulder to let him know it was okay to take off. He looked back at the apartment building as they drove away. The soft glow of Christmas trees dotted the building’s windows and the snow fluttered and clung, softening the building’s edges in the gold street light. Henry wondered how many people would be drawn in by the calm scene only to meet the thing ins
ide. He hoped that his warning sign would work.

  He turned back to his companions. Marnie was asleep in her booster seat next to him, her small face a white smudge in the dark. “Everyone okay?” he asked.

  Elizabeth smiled at him. “We’re okay. We’re probably just overreacting. I’m sure things will be straightened out in a day or two, but better safe than sorry, right? We’ll just have a little vacation at the cabin.”

  Henry smiled at her, but his eyes flicked to Dave’s in the rearview mirror. “The cabin is a few hours away. Why don’t you two get some rest and I’ll wake you up to switch with me if I get tired,” said Dave.

  Henry was troubled. “And if we–” he glanced at Marnie, who was still sleeping. “If we run into any obstacles, you’ll wake me up, right?”