A Cure for Madness (13 page)

“Wes?” I said tentatively, knowing if he were here, it probably wouldn’t be in this room. They said they wanted to do some scans of his brain . . . what if there was an operating room somewhere down here? I shivered. I hurried back out into the hallway and screamed when I nearly collided with Kenneth, who had just run down the stairs.

“Kenneth!” I gasped, clutching my chest.

“Clare, we have to get out of here!”

“Not yet! Help me look!” I said. I ran into the next room, which was very much like the last one except that it had huge glass cabinets under massive ventilation hoods against the walls. “What
is
this place?”

I headed back into the hallway, then stopped when I noticed the small sign mounted beside the door. “Amherst Core.”

“Wes mentioned this!” I shouted, pointing. “He said Ling was working on Project Amherst!”

I ran back into the room and started to pull cabinet drawers open haphazardly. At first it just seemed to be a random assortment of instruments and safety equipment, but then my eyes found a file folder. It was empty, but a label in the top corner read “USAMRIID.”

“Do you know what this is?” I asked, handing it to Kenneth.

He stared at it as though it might burst into flames. “Clare, we have to leave. I’m not kidding around.”

“What is it?”

“United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases.”

That’s when it all clicked. “Oh my God,” I breathed. “That means . . .”

“That means we’re somewhere we really shouldn’t be.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the exit. I let him lead me back up the stairs and out the smashed glass door, my mind racing so fast I hardly noticed where we were going. He yanked open the car’s passenger door and pushed me inside, then ran around to the driver’s side and got in.

“Give me the keys,” he said, holding out his hand.

“What? Oh, here . . .” I fumbled in my pocket until I found them. He backed out of the driveway, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“Kenneth . . . do you know what this means?” I said once we were back on the main road.

“That we could be in a lot of trouble?” he asked grimly.

“No . . . Wes was right about Dr. Ling. He
did
work in a secret government lab, on a project called Amherst. What if he was right about the rest of it?”

“What rest of it?”

“He said ‘something got out.’ Wes thought it was mutants. But what if that something was Gaspereau?”

Kenneth gave me a sidelong look. “I don’t know, Clare . . . I admit something strange is going on, but that’s a hell of a leap.” He sounded less than convinced.

I leaned my head against the window. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, I was starting to wilt, both physically and mentally. A yawn overcame me for a few seconds before I could speak again. “But why have a lab like that in the middle of nowhere?”

“Well, USAMRIID researches cures for infectious diseases, so being isolated is a good thing. But I don’t understand the secrecy. Still, there was just that one file; it doesn’t mean it’s some underground USAMRIID lab.”

“Yeah, but Project Amherst . . .”

“Clare. I thought this was all about finding Wes?”

“It is.” I watched the fields pass by as we drove back toward town. “I really thought he’d be there. I’m sorry for dragging you with me.”

“I offered, remember?”

“We should call an ambulance for that security guard.”

“I already did, after you went into the building. I told them he attacked us and smashed the door. They won’t know we went inside.”

I shivered and crossed my arms.

“We both need sleep,” Kenneth said. “And I need to get home to Maisie. But first I need to pick up my car from the hospital. Why don’t you drop me off there and then go home and get some rest?”

I hated to admit he was right. Kenneth hadn’t slept at all the previous night, and between shock and exhaustion, I was barely lucid. A deep, hopeless sorrow was settling inside me. I wished more than anything that I could turn back time, make the right decision, stand up for Wes when it counted.

Kenneth settled his hand on mine, which was resting in my lap. He squeezed it gently before letting go. “Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “We’ll find him.”

I dropped him off at the hospital, near the staff entrance on the side, then drove slowly through town back to my parents’ empty house. Even though I was drained, sleeping didn’t seem like an option. I made a sandwich, then settled onto the sofa to get caught up on the news.

Then it hit me.
Latasha
. If anyone could find answers, it was her. My stomach fluttered at the thought. If she got caught, she’d be fired . . . or face jail time . . . or worse. But if she could get away with it . . .

I picked up my phone and dialed.

“Clare!” she exclaimed when she answered. “I was just thinking about you. What’s going on? Why aren’t you coming home?”

As quickly as I could, I brought her up to speed.

“That’s . . . wow,” she said after I finished.

“Kenneth thinks I’m crazy, but it makes sense. The scientist, the lab, Gaspereau . . . I mean, doesn’t it?” I had the sudden horrifying thought that maybe it
didn’t
make sense . . . to anyone but me. But I had tested negative for Gaspereau . . . hadn’t I?

“It’s weird, but it might just be coincidence.”

“Or it might not be. Latasha, do you think you could look into it?”

There was silence on the other end. I held my breath.

“I don’t know, Clare. It’s not as easy as it sounds. I could land myself in some deep shit.”

“I realize that. I wish I didn’t have to ask. But this might lead me to Wes. I have no other leads.”

I could almost hear her thinking in the background, struggling with the decision. The lump in my throat grew larger with every second of silence.

“Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll see what I can find. And if you’re right . . . well, someone’s got to be held accountable. Give me the details again.”

I repeated the story and could hear her fingers clacking in the background as she took notes.

“There’s only so much I can do,” she warned. “But I’ll let you know if anything pops up. Just lie low for a bit, will you? You’re supposed to be staying away from this disease, not chasing it down.”

“Thank you so, so much,” I said. “I gotta go; Kenneth’s calling.”

“Okay. Talk soon.”

I switched over to Kenneth’s call. “Hello?”

“Hey,” he said, his voice low. “I think I found him.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“What? Where?” I jumped to my feet.

“By the time I got back, the CDC had taken over the entire psych facility and the third floor of the general hospital. They’ve locked it down. You need to be suited in order to go in; no visitors allowed. The army’s enforcing. They’ve moved inside to help contain the infected patients.”

“Contain them?”

“Think about it. With SARS or a flu outbreak, the infected are physically weak. They’ll lie on a bed without moving. They won’t try to escape, and they’re not convinced that someone’s out to get them. They won’t attack you when you try to draw blood.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. The first cases were kept in the psych ward, where there are locks on the doors. Once we ran out of beds there, we started putting patients in rooms on the third floor, but we either had to strap them down or sedate them so they wouldn’t escape. The problem is, the sedation isn’t working.”

“What? Why not?”

“I don’t know; it must be related to the prions. But so far, almost everyone with Gaspereau has presented violent symptoms. You saw Emma. Someone’s got to be able to contain them. I guess the army drew the short straw. A lot of these kids in uniforms don’t look older than eighteen, and they seem pretty freaked out by their assignment.”

“I don’t blame them.”

“Apparently they’re rigging up the college dorm to serve as a field hospital, but unless those doors lock from the outside, there’s going to be the same problem.”

“Have any of the soldiers been infected?”

“Not that I know of. They all have good respirators and protective equipment, but whether they know how to use it is another question. An armed soldier with Gaspereau . . . Jesus.”

The carnage that would result from such a scenario wasn’t hard to imagine. What if one of them went on a shooting rampage in the hospital? I pressed the heel of my hand into my forehead. This couldn’t be happening. But it was, and we were right in the middle of it.

“Listen, Clare, I’d bet anything Wes is on the third floor somewhere. You said they wanted to study his brain, right?”

“That’s what Dr. Hansen said.”

“There are a lot of ways to do that fairly noninvasively—an MRI or a CAT scan, for example. But a colleague of mine says he got called into that wing to do a lumbar puncture.”

“A what?”

“It’s sometimes called a spinal tap—you extract a small amount of cerebrospinal fluid from the spine. It’s a relatively safe procedure,” he hurried to add.

“On Wes?”

“He didn’t know who it was; the patient was fully covered, and they just referred to him as John Doe.”

“Oh my God, he was dead?”

“No,” Kenneth said quickly. “He wasn’t dead; they just didn’t want anyone to know his identity. Given what you’ve told me, I think it must be him.”

“Why would they want his cerebrospinal fluid?”

“I don’t know, exactly. Likely to compare it to a similar sample from someone who has tested positive for Gaspereau. CSF can be used for a number of different tests.”

“Is he okay?”

“There’s no reason to assume he’s not. He’s probably in recovery now. But they might have more tests planned for him, and some of them might not be as relatively risk free.”

“Well, they can stop now, because he’s coming home with me.”

“Clare, you can’t just walk in there and take him home.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because this place is crawling with soldiers, that’s why. And there’s no way you’ll be able to get into the isolation floor.”

I was silent, not wanting to ask.

He exhaled loudly. “There’s something else,” he said.

“What?”

“You said Dr. Hansen gave you the cold shoulder. That didn’t make sense to me. So I took a chance and called the CDC director.”

“You did? What did he say?”

“It took me a while to get through to him. But I dropped some names and said I had some important info about Gaspereau.”

“Did you tell him about the lab?”

“No. But I asked about Dr. Hansen and Wes. He didn’t have a clue what I was talking about.”

“But if they think Wes can help find a cure . . .”

“Exactly. He couldn’t even remember who Stuart Hansen was at first. I checked him out and he
is
an epidemiologist with the CDC, so he was telling the truth about that, but . . .”

“What the hell is he doing, then?”

“He might be doing exactly what he said: looking for a treatment. But it doesn’t seem to be as . . . official as you were led to believe.”

“Shit. We have to get him out of there. You’re sure that’s where he is?”

“Sure? No. But it’s our best guess.”

I was buoyed by the fact that he’d said “our.” But this was my brother, my responsibility.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

“I’m not going to ask you to do anything that could endanger your career, Kenneth. I’ll get him myself.”

“It won’t work.”

“I have to try.”

“Have you considered talking to your lawyer? He can probably mount a constitutional challenge or something. You can get him out through official channels, particularly if this Hansen guy’s operating off the books.”

“Yeah, and how long will that take? Months? Years? No, thanks. I’m not waiting around.”

“Listen, Clare, I don’t agree with their tactics any more than you do. But this thing scares the shit out of me. If Hansen really believes studying Wes will help them . . .” He seemed unwilling to finish the sentence.

“I get it,” I said. “I really do. I, of all people, have a reason to stop this thing.
Someone with Gaspereau killed my parents.
Do you know what it was like, those hours I spent in isolation, not knowing if I was going to turn into this raging monster? Knowing there is no cure?
I get it.
I don’t want anyone else to get infected. But it can’t be on Wes’s shoulders. He’s already gone through more than enough. And I owe him one. They’re not even giving him a choice.”

“I think we know what his choice would be.”

“Exactly. It’s not like Wes is the only person with schizophrenia in the world, or even in this town. Surely Hansen can do his tests on someone who is willing. That’s all I ask.”

“Something tells me this has to do with more than his schizophrenia. But I don’t know what.” He paused, then said, “Fine.”

“Fine what?”

“I’ll help you. I’ll get him out.”

I sat back down on the sofa. “Kenneth . . .
thank you
.”

“Meet me in the staff parking lot. And you’re going to stay outside while I get him.”

“No way!” I protested. “I’m coming in with you.”

“Clare, they know what you look like, and they know you want him back.”

“They know what you look like, too.”

“Yes, but I’m supposed to be there. Doctor, remember? No one will question my presence in that ward, whereas I doubt you could get in the front door. You can be the getaway driver.”

I huffed at this demotion, but he had a point. “Okay,” I said. “And thanks again. I couldn’t do this without you.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

I slapped on a medical mask and jumped into the car. A few minutes later I pulled into the staff lot, which was on the far side of the hospital, away from the triage bus and main doors. A convoy of military vehicles was pulling out as I entered.

Kenneth waved me down and got in the passenger side.

“Where are they going?” I asked, nodding at the retreating army trucks.

“The college dorm, I imagine.” He slipped his staff parking pass over the rearview mirror. “Just in case anyone asks questions.”

“What’s the plan?”

“There isn’t much of one,” he admitted. “First, I need to get to him. Once I know what state he’s in and how much security they have on him, I’ll figure out how to get him out.”

“And me?”

“You wait in the car. Give me fifteen minutes—if I’m lucky. It might be more. Then drive around to the morgue entrance in the back.”

“The morgue?” I asked, alarmed.

“Trust me.” He gave me a nervous smile, then got out and went into the hospital. I checked the time: 2:13 p.m.

I stared at the concrete walls of the building, wishing I could see through them and know what Kenneth was doing. If he lost his job or went to jail over this, I’d never be able to forgive myself. And then there was Latasha . . .

But I’d also never be able to forgive myself for leaving Wes inside those doors. It looked like a lose-lose situation—unless Kenneth got Wes out and the CDC left him alone. Fat chance of that happening.

I have to get Wes out of Clarkeston, whether he wants to go or not.
We were both clean; we wouldn’t risk spreading the disease to Seattle. Kenneth would write us notes attesting to this. I’d had more than enough of this town—and I didn’t think Dr. Hansen and his cronies would appreciate my busting their guinea pig out of the hospital. It was time to get as far away from this train wreck as possible.

Finally, the fifteen minutes were up, so I drove around to the back of the hospital. I’d never been to the morgue entrance, so wasn’t exactly sure where it was. There were another parking lot, a couple of service bays, and a number of unmarked doors. I started to panic that I wouldn’t be in the right place when Kenneth needed me.

A small sign on one of the doors caught my eye. I got out of the car and ran up to read it. “Clarkeston Morgue. Ring for Assistance.” An arrow pointed toward a round doorbell on the side of the wall. I pulled the car up close and waited.

Another ten minutes passed.

My nerves were starting to reach the breaking point. I turned on the radio to see what station Kenneth had been listening to. Country. Ew. I checked over my shoulder every thirty seconds, terrified a soldier or police officer would appear and demand to know what I was doing there, then arrest me for loitering or some other trumped-up charge. I thought about calling Rob to see if he’d found out anything new, but he’d told me to lie low. The less he knew about what I was up to, the better.

The song on the radio ended, and the DJ’s booming voice interrupted my thoughts.

“We’ve got some breaking news for our listeners. Governor Angela Preston is holding a press conference momentarily with an update on the Gaspereau crisis. We’ll be bringing this to you live when—okay, it appears we’re going live now. Here is Governor Angela Preston.”

The governor’s voice came over the air. “Our health officials have been working tirelessly since the discovery of the Gaspereau prion disease, and I would like to thank them for their commitment and dedication. Our police forces and state troopers have also been doing their best to maintain safety and security of the public in this difficult time. They, too, deserve our thanks.

“As you know, I have declared a state of emergency so that we can deal with this crisis as quickly and efficiently as possible. We are grateful for the support of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention as well as our National Guard.

“Despite the best efforts of everyone involved, a treatment for Gaspereau has yet to be found, and the infection rate is showing no signs of slowing down. In order to prevent the spread of this disease to other parts of the state and country, I am quarantining the town of Clarkeston, effective immediately. All travel into and out of the region is prohibited. All flights have been canceled, and as of this time, all roads out of the area have been closed.

“It is imperative that no one leave the area until we know we have contained this disease. I realize this will be inconvenient for some, but our priority must be the health and safety of the public.

“I must remind you again, there is no reason to panic. Supplies will be brought into Clarkeston; there is no need for hoarding. Stay home if you can and avoid contact with others. We
are
going to beat this thing.”

The DJ’s voice came back on, less confident than before. “And there you have it. That was Governor Angela Preston, speaking to the media, declaring Clarkeston under a state of quarantine. We’ll be following this story closely and will update our listeners as more information comes in.”

Another country song came on, and I slammed my fist on the dial, shutting the radio off.

“Fuck!” I screamed, banging my head on the steering wheel. If only we’d left when we had the chance.

A knock at the passenger window made me jump. A young man in a blue shirt emblazoned with “ParkLine” in white letters was peering in at me, a mask affixed around his mouth and nose. I made sure my own mask was fastened tight and rolled down the window a crack. “What?” I snapped.

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, reining myself in. “I just . . . found out about the quarantine.”

“They’ve quarantined us?” His eyes went wide.

I nodded. “The whole town. The governor just announced it.”

“Shit,” he said.

I nodded again and made to roll up my window.

“Wait,” he said. “I came over to tell you that this isn’t a parking zone. Are you waiting for someone?”

“Oh yeah, I’m just waiting for my friend. He’s a doctor here.”

“Is this his car?” the attendant asked, eyeing the parking decal dangling off the rearview mirror.

“Yes. He asked me to pick him up.”

“Staff parking is over there,” he said, pointing back the way I had come. “That’s probably where he’ll be expecting you.”

“Oh!” I exclaimed, sounding clueless. “This is the first time I’ve picked him up. I wasn’t sure where to go.”

“No problem. And don’t worry too much about the quarantine. We’re all in this together.”

I forced a smile—not that he could see it behind my mask. He stepped back, pointing again in the direction I was clearly expected to head. I didn’t have much choice but to put the car in reverse and turn around. I watched the attendant in the mirror as I slowly drove away. Finally he headed back to a small booth I hadn’t noticed before in the corner of the lot. Dammit. If—
when
—Kenneth came out with Wes, we’d have a witness.

I wanted to text Kenneth, but what if his phone buzzed while he was sneaking Wes out of there? I pulled into a parking space in the staff lot and pressed my knuckles to my forehead. I had to get back to the morgue entrance, and that meant I needed to get rid of the parking lot attendant—now.