A Cure for Madness (22 page)

A cure for Gaspereau.
Wes would love this; he’d always thought he was special. “Are there others with this same mutation? These special cells?”

“Not as far as they know.”

“So what do they need? More cerebrospinal fluid?” If Kenneth was right, surely Wes would be willing to undergo one more procedure.

Kenneth rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand, making the front of his hair stick up. When he looked back up, his eyes were wet. “I wish it were that easy,” he whispered.

A stone seemed to lodge in my throat. “What are you talking about? Why isn’t it?”

“They haven’t been able to replicate these special cells. And there aren’t enough of them in the CSF. It seems the highest concentration of them are in a certain area of his brain. His hippocampus, to be exact. And they would . . . need to harvest them. All of them. It’s the only way they can halt the spread of Gaspereau in time.”

“They want to harvest . . . his brain?”

“Parts of it. Just the two hippocampi. He would live; that’s almost certain. But . . . it would drastically change him. There’s so much about the brain we still don’t understand. But we know the hippocampus plays a major role in memory, especially in creating new memories. He would possibly lose that ability.”

A wave of nausea swept through me, replacing the lightness that had filled my chest at the prospect of discovering a cure.

“I don’t know exactly how it would play out,” Kenneth continued. “It’s still rather unpredictable. But there’s a very good chance he would come out of the operation quite . . . impaired.”

“And that’s the only way?” I choked. “There’s absolutely nothing else they can do?”

“Hopefully they will eventually be able to make a synthetic version,” Kenneth said softly. “But right now . . . there just isn’t time. Not if we want to contain the outbreak before it’s too late.”

I gripped my head in my hands to keep the room from spinning, to keep the whole world from spinning. A fleeting image flashed through my mind, of a game show host surrounded by blinking white lights. “Behind door number one is your brother on an operating table, left to live life as a vegetable and not remember anything or anyone! Behind door number two, the whole world goes stark raving mad! It’s all up to you! Step right up and make your choice. Time is running out!”

“No, no, no,” I moaned. “This isn’t happening. There has
got
to be another way.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kenneth said. He looked so pathetic, sitting cross-legged in the dust. But I couldn’t find it in myself to feel sorry for him. He wasn’t being asked to make this decision. He wouldn’t have to live with it for the rest of his life.

“Latasha. I need to talk to Latasha,” I said, getting up and grabbing my new phone.

“Why?”

“Because . . . this can’t be right! You saw what she sent me! Gaspereau came out of a government lab! It’s a biological weapon. Why would they create a weapon without making an antidote?” Hysteria threatened to finish off my already frayed nerves. I took several deep breaths, but that only made me light-headed. “But she’s gone. Something’s wrong; I know it. I think they caught her.”

“Who caught her?”

“I don’t know—the NSA, USAMRIID, the CDC, the same people who are hunting us! She’s not responding to any of my messages. It’s not like her.”

“Maybe she’s just lying low,” Kenneth said, his calmness infuriating. “And you don’t know for sure that Gaspereau was meant as a weapon. All we know is that there was a breach and then Gaspereau showed up. It looks suspicious, sure, but you don’t have any proof.”

“What about that classified document? What about what Wes said? What about Dr. Ling and Project Amherst or whatever the hell it’s called?”

“Clare . . . I know you’re upset, but this isn’t about how Gaspereau started. It’s about stopping it.”

I stalked over to the far wall and rested my head against the peeling paint. “I need more information,” I said. “They can’t possibly expect me to make this decision.”

“You’re the only one who can, Clare. Wes is unique. It’s your call.”

“What would you do?” I asked, gazing up at him through a haze of tears.

He looked away, his face tight. “I know it’s a lot to ask . . . but try to see the big picture. There are a lot of people suffering. Families being destroyed. If you have the power to stop it, to cure this disease . . . that’s what I would do.”

The silence sat heavy between us. Of course I wanted to help; what sane person wouldn’t? But it was at too steep a cost. For me, there was really only one choice. The world would have to wait for another savior.

“You said yourself, they’re not going to die, right? The people who are infected?” I asked, hating the sound of my own voice. It was a horrible thing to say. “So there’s time for some other cure to be discovered.”

Kenneth still wasn’t looking at me. “It’s not fatal. You’re right. And thank God for that. But some things . . . some things are worse than death, Clare. The victims of Gaspereau, they lose all empathy, all compassion. They lose the ability to relate to the people who love them. At first, we thought it was the same as a severe case of mental illness. But it’s worse—much worse. It’s as if they stop being human.”

His shoulders twitched, and he buried his face in his hands.

“Kenneth, I’m sorry. I know you think I should do the right thing. But there
is
no right thing here. And I can’t—I won’t—hand over my own brother to be sacrificed. I just can’t.”

He lifted his head, revealing cheeks stained with tears. “Just think about it a little longer,” he pleaded. “Please, Clare.” His voice broke. What had he seen—or what had they told him—to make him this insistent? But I’d seen it myself. I knew what the stakes were. Could I really stand by while the whole world burned?

“Think about it,” he said again. “This could be Wes’s chance to do something really meaningful with his life.”

Hadn’t I said something similar to Wes just a couple of days ago? My cheeks burned at the memory.

But we were both wrong; the decision wasn’t mine to make. My resolve strengthened. “His life
is
meaningful, just as it is,” I said. “But you’re right. It’s
his
life. This is his decision. And whatever he chooses, I’ll support him.”

Kenneth nodded slowly, as though in a daze. “I understand why you would want to ask him. I wouldn’t want to make a decision like this, either. But you’re his legal guardian. We know that he has an irrational fear of doctors. I don’t really think he’s capable of choosing.”

“He
is
capable,” I said. “He’s capable of protecting the people he loves. And he is capable of choosing his own fate.” I held out my hand to Kenneth, who was still sitting on the floor. “Help me explain it to him. I don’t know if I would get the details right on my own. But he deserves to know the truth.”

Kenneth accepted my hand and rose shakily to his feet. His eyes were sad and guarded. “Okay. I’ll help you.”

I wrapped my arms around his waist, and he rested his chin on the top of my head.

We went back down to the first floor, where Wes was sleeping in the car. “Listen,” I said to Kenneth. “Don’t make him feel guilty if he doesn’t want to do it. It’s his life, remember. We’re just going to present him with the scenario and let him decide.” I knocked on the window to wake Wes up.

“Whasss?” he said groggily, opening the door.

“Kenneth has some information we need to talk with you about.”

He climbed out of the car and sat on the hood, the chains that dangled from his belt clanging against the metal. Kenneth and I sat down on the sofa, facing Wes. Haltingly, I explained how fast Gaspereau was spreading, with Kenneth jumping in here and there to elaborate or correct something I’d gotten wrong.

“So it’s like, the end of the world?” Wes asked, his face intense.

“I don’t know if it’s gotten to that point yet,” I said, but then caught Kenneth’s eye. “But yeah, it looks pretty bad.”

“And they still haven’t found a cure?” Wes asked.

“Well, that’s what we wanted to talk to you about.” I explained what the doctors had discovered. “So you see, there
is
a cure. It’s . . . these special cells in your brain.”

“Ha! I told you so,” he said.

“You told me what?”

“That I’m a warrior.”

Kenneth nodded, a little too eagerly. “That’s right. And as a warrior, you could save a lot of people. You’d be a hero.”

I glared at him. I didn’t need him feeding into Wes’s delusions in an attempt to sway his decision.

“They used the cells from your cerebrospinal fluid to do some tests in the lab,” I continued. “They’re pretty confident that it could work.”

Wes opened his mouth to respond, but I rushed on. “The problem is that they need more of them. They can’t just take a few and then be done with it. They would need to . . . cut out parts of your brain.”

Wes stared at me as though I had just suggested we conduct a child sacrifice. His nostrils flared, his eyes doubled in size, and his lips drew back over his teeth as he recoiled from me.

“Hell no!” he said. He scrambled off the roof of the car, away from us. “Are you crazy?”

I stood up and held out my hands. “No one’s making you do anything. I’m just . . . explaining the facts. That’s all. It’s your decision. It wouldn’t be fatal—you’d live. But . . . the parts they need are the parts that control memory. Honestly, they don’t really know what would happen. But you might forget everything . . . or wake up a totally different person. I don’t know.”

“I don’t care if everyone fucking goes to hell,” he said angrily. “No one’s getting near my brain.”

“Like I said, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do . . . but I know that you do care about what happens to other people.”

“So this is my choice?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “It’s your choice. That is . . . if they catch us, I don’t think they’ll give you a choice, even if it’s illegal. But until then, I won’t be the one to turn you in. I won’t. No matter what the stakes are.”

His eyes met mine, and there was perfect clarity in them. He nodded. I knew then that I was finally forgiven.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do care—about you. About Mom and Dad. But everyone else thinks I’m a freak. They can’t see what I see. They just want to lock people like me away. Why should I give my life for them?”

“Wes, you wouldn’t be giving your life—” Kenneth said from the sofa.

“Shut up,” I snapped. I grabbed both of Wes’s hands and held them in my own. “Then we’ll keep running. So they don’t find you. They’ll figure out another way in time.”

I turned back to Kenneth. “Tell them you couldn’t find us. No, you’ve been gone too long; they’ll know you’re lying. Tell them you delivered your message but we got away.” I spied a coil of rope hanging from a nail in the wall. “We’ll make it look like we tied you up or something but you got free after we left.”

“Clare . . . I can’t.” Kenneth’s face shone with sweat despite the coolness of the hen pen.

“Why not? You came to deliver a message, and you’ve done that. They should leave you alone.”

“It’s not that. You can’t . . . you can’t leave. They know you’re here.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

He may as well have picked up the gun and shot me in the gut.

“What are you talking about?” I demanded. “You said you weren’t followed.”

“I needed for you to believe that. Otherwise you wouldn’t have listened to me.” Kenneth looked positively wretched as he spoke, his head in his hands.

“You . . . you brought them here? All along, you knew they were just going to come in here and take him anyway.”

“I wanted it to be your choice! Or his choice,” Kenneth said. “It’s just Dr. Hansen and a couple of officers. They’re a mile down the road. Consider it an escort. But if you run, it could get much worse. You don’t want the United States government after you, Clare.”

“You fucker . . .” Wes began, advancing on Kenneth.

I threw out an arm to stop him. “Explain,” I said, angry tears pressing against my eyes. “Why? Why would you do this to me? To us?”

“I wouldn’t have, Clare, if I’d had any other choice,” he said, his voice breaking. “I didn’t want to tell you this. But it’s Maisie. She’s been infected.”

“What? How?” I had seen his lively, clever girl just hours ago. It didn’t seem possible.

“I don’t know; I have no idea how she could have been exposed. But when we went back to the house, they were waiting for us. They made us take tests. I was still negative. So was my mother. But Maisie tested positive.”

“Oh my God, Kenneth.” The anger at his betrayal still pulsed through me, but now I knew what madness had brought him here. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How could I? How could I ask you to choose between your brother and my daughter? I didn’t want to put you in that position. I thought that maybe setting the stage in global terms would be enough to convince you.”

“Is all that a lie, too?” I asked softly. “About how bad it is?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s all true. It’s just . . . hitting close to home now. When they told me that Wes could really cure her, I didn’t believe them at first. I thought it was a trap. But they showed me the results of the tests. It all checks out. And think about it: why else would they want him so desperately?”

“He’s standing right here, you know,” I reminded him. “You can talk to him directly.”

Kenneth rubbed his face as though clearing cobwebs. “I know. I’m sorry,” he said to Wes. “And I know it’s an impossible thing to ask. But here I am, asking it.” He slid off the sofa and onto his knees. “Please,” he said, looking up at Wes with desperate, bloodshot eyes. “It’s my little girl.”

The two men stared at each other for a long moment. Then Wes said, “I’m sorry. I like Maisie. She’s a cool kid. But I’m not gonna do it.” Then, before Kenneth had a chance to respond, Wes picked up a shovel leaning against the wall and swung it at Kenneth’s
head. It connected with a solid thump.

“Oh my God, Wes!” I screamed. I ran to Kenneth, who was lying prostrate on the floor. I grabbed his wrist frantically and felt for a pulse. Then I sagged over his body. “He’s alive,” I breathed.

“Of course he’s alive,” Wes said. “You think I’ve never hit anyone before? I hit him with the flat of the blade.”

“It’s a shovel, you idiot, not a sword!” I said. “You almost killed him—again!”

“Whatever.” He shrugged. “Now we can get out of here.”

“What are you talking about? He said they know we’re here! They’re probably waiting to ambush us as soon as we leave.”

“Then I guess we’ll go down in a blaze of glory.”

“We are
not
going down in a blaze of glory.” I kept my fingers on Kenneth’s wrist and closed my eyes, thinking hard.

We had to get out of here; that was certain. But how? And where could we possibly hide, here in our hometown, where so many people knew us? How long until the CDC was splashing our faces across every news site, TV station, and newspaper? How long until the NSA discovered just who Latasha had been communicating with? Even if I cut and dyed Wes’s hair and took out his piercings, there wasn’t anything I could do to hide the tattoos all over his face and neck. He would be recognized anywhere.

“I think we should go to Canada,” I said suddenly.

Wes wrinkled his nose. “Canada? Why?”

“We can claim asylum. I used to volunteer at a transition house for refugees. They’d come to the States and then they’d try to get into Canada, where there was a better chance they’d be accepted.”

“Yeah, but we’re Americans, not refugees.”

“What they want to do to you is illegal. Government agents want to forcibly confine and experiment on you. At the very least, they’ll have to consider our case, and that can take years. By then, they’ll have found another cure, and we’ll be able to come home.”

“Yeah, maybe the government will have to pay us off, too!” Wes said, his eyes shining.

“Don’t get your hopes up. We have to get to the border first. And we already failed once.”

Wes shoved his hands into his pockets, making the chains on his pants clink together. He frowned. “I’ve got some buddies on the Mistigouche reservation. It’s on the border.”

“You think they’d help us? What if they turn you in?”

Wes snorted. “They won’t. Tony’s awesome. My friends are a little less dickish than yours.”

I bit my tongue. Kenneth stirred beside me. His eyelids fluttered open, then closed again. “Thank God. I think he’ll be okay,” I said.

“We should go before he wakes up,” Wes said, eyeing Kenneth nervously. “If we go through the woods, we should be able to lose the pigs.”

“Don’t call them that,” I said, but he ignored me. I grabbed some of the supplies I’d bought that morning and stuffed them into my backpack, including the gun. Then I put some of the food in Wes’s bag—if we got separated, at least he’d be able to eat. I held his medication in my hand, wondering if I should split it between the two of us.

“I’ll take that,” he said. He snatched it out of my hand and shoved it into his bag.

Was I doing the right thing? How could I leave Kenneth lying unconscious on the floor, knowing his only child was probably all alone in an isolation room somewhere? She had to be terrified. But the thought of them dragging Wes away to a gruesome fate was just as terrifying.

“Do you think they’re watching the door?” Wes asked.

“You can’t see it from the road,” I said hesitantly. “And he said they’re about a mile away. Probably didn’t want to risk tipping us off by getting too close.”

“All right, let’s run for it.”

“Wait! Take off your chains. They make too much noise.”

Wes unfastened the various chains that hung from his pockets and belt. He smirked at me. “Should I tie your lover boy up with them?”

“No!” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

I pushed the door open, just enough for us to squeeze through. I peeked out, and my heart nearly stopped. Coming up the long driveway were three police cars.

“Now! Run!” I said. We ran around the corner of the barn, the open door blocking us from their view. From there we sprinted into the cover of the woods.

“Go, go!” I urged Wes, but he was already huffing and puffing, his years of smoking and sedentary living catching up to him.

“I . . . can’t . . .” he gasped, stopping to rest. The hen pen was still in sight through the trees. If they came into the woods now, they’d hear us running.

“I have an idea,” I said.

He nodded, still struggling for breath.

“The old fort. Is it still there?” I craned my neck back and looked up in the branches around us. Another world ago, our father had built it for us way up high in the branches of a huge spruce tree. One of his logging buddies had lopped off some of the upper branches to make room for the rudimentary fort. The lower branches were still there, so when you were in the tree fort, it was as if you were separated from the world. And when you were on the ground, it was almost impossible to see. It used to drive our mother crazy—she could never find it as easily as the rest of us could, and she hated heights, so as long as we stayed quiet, we could hide up there for hours.

“It was a bit closer to the house,” I said. “C’mon.”

We moved through the woods as quietly as we could, keeping an eye on the tree line, which was uncomfortably close.

“There,” Wes whispered with a nudge to my side.

I looked up and nodded. If you knew what you were looking for, you could just make out a small glimpse of planks through the dense spruce needles. Dad had nailed a few leftover blocks of wood to the tree trunk to make the climbing easier.

“You first,” I mouthed.

For all his inability to run more than fifty feet, Wes was still a capable climber. He scaled the tree trunk as easily as he had when we were kids, and in moments I could hear his boots clomping on the wooden floor above. Casting one last glance around me, I grabbed onto one of the handholds and hoisted myself up—as unsure and awkward as ever.

When I reached the top Wes was sitting in the corner, grinning. It was much as we had last seen it, except the floor was now carpeted in needles. The four walls still seemed sturdy enough. A large open window was situated at the end pointing toward the house, with a smaller window on the other side. There was no roof but the sky.

I edged further into the fort, testing each step before planting my full weight. A bird had built a nest in one of the corners, but it was empty.

I crouched down beside Wes, who was stretched out on the floor, his head and feet just inches from the walls. It had seemed so much larger when we were kids; a castle of our own. Now, it was a few wooden planks placed precariously high in a tree. “Wake me if I need to shoot someone,” he said, moving his pack under his head.

I looked in my backpack to make sure the gun was still there. It was.

I rested my head against the wall. A car door slammed down below, and my head jerked up. Wes opened his eyes and gave me a questioning look, but I shook my head and he closed them again. Staying as close to the floor as I could, I crept over to the window facing the edge of the woods. I couldn’t see anything through the foliage except a few slashes of white barn. Then I heard Kenneth’s voice drifting toward us.

“It was an hour ago,” he said to someone. They must have been standing outside the hen pen. “Maybe more. She said he didn’t have his medication; it wasn’t his fault.”

The other voice was sterner. “Did they tell you where they were going?”

“You think they’d trust me with that information?” Kenneth asked. “But my money would be on their old house, just over there.”

I frowned. Did he actually think that was true . . . or was he trying to help us by sending them in the wrong direction or making them think we had a head start? I remembered how his eyes had fluttered open while Wes and I were discussing what to do. How much, if anything, had Kenneth heard?

More voices spoke now, and then engines started. I held my breath as more car doors slammed and the sound of the engines grew closer. But then they faded as they continued on the gravel road toward the house. I felt sorry for the people who lived there now, if they were actually home, but at least Dr. Hansen and the others didn’t seem to be planning a search of the woods just yet. I turned back to tell Wes we should keep going, but he was fast asleep.

A breeze drifted through the windows, and I snuggled closer to him. I rested my head on his arm, which was flung out to the side. He smelled awful—but I was sure I didn’t smell like a rose either. The afternoon sun streamed like ribbons through the branches above us, making me feel warm and dozy. I fantasized about a warm shower, a soft pillow . . .

It was dusk when I woke up, needing to pee. “Oh!” I gasped when I realized I’d fallen asleep. Wes was still conked out beside me. I listened for the sound of voices or cars or even dogs that might have been sent to sniff us out, but heard only the hum of crickets. Hoping it was safe—and not able to hold it any longer—I made use of the hole in the floor by the tree trunk. That done, I sat down beside Wes.

The moon was visible against the darkening sky, just above the neighboring treetops. It was almost full, the smiling face beaming down on the world, oblivious to our pain. It was an odd thought, that the stars and the moon would continue to exist just as they always had, whether or not the world descended into horror, whether or not anyone bothered to look up at them in admiration anymore.

At the height of Wes’s illness, before he was on any medication, I used to escape out my bedroom window and sit on the dormer above the garage on moonlit nights like this one. I’d tell the moon all my troubles, about the boys I liked and the fight I’d just had with my mom, about Wes’s latest meltdown. And the moon would listen without judging or giving patronizing advice. He’d just smile, and I would feel better.

“What do we do?” I whispered to my old confidant. Wes’s suggestion that we attempt to escape to Canada through the reservation was a long shot. I didn’t see how his friends could help us—they’d just as likely turn him in if they knew the truth. But . . . if we convinced them that the government was hunting us, without saying anything about the cure, maybe they
would
help. The Mistigouche reservation was part of the quarantine zone, so there shouldn’t be anything to keep us from getting in. And it might be our only hope to leave the country undetected.

I had no idea who Wes’s so-called “friends” were, but now that Kenneth had switched sides and Latasha had gone AWOL, I was running out of people to trust.

“Wake up,” I said, shaking Wes gently.

“Are they gone?” he whispered.

“I think so. I’ve been thinking about what you said. About your friends on the reservation. Do you really think they’ll help us?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his eyes and stretched, yawning widely. “Tony will, anyway. He hates the feds. Let’s go see him in the morning.”

“I think we should go now,” I said. “If we wait until daylight, it’ll be harder to get there unseen.”

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Just after eight. Do you have Tony’s phone number?” He shook his head. “Will he shoot us if we show up unexpected?” I asked pointedly. I’d known enough of Wes’s friends to recognize this as a distinct possibility.