The Cured Read Free Page A

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