Before the Cure

By Deirdre Gould

In Neil's mind it started with the man in the park. Or, more specifically, with the vicious bite the man had given Neil. He was wrong about that. The December Plague had started weeks earlier, though no one knew it.
The early symptoms were so mild that almost no one noticed them. A scratchy throat. A feeling of lethargy that you just can't shake. But then the slurring started. And an intense irritability. Finally, an irresistible urge to bite and consume accompanying an uncontrollable rage.

The Infected cannot be reasoned with and there is no known cure. They cannot recognize even their closest friends. Anything that attracts their notice risks being torn apart, including one another. Quarantined in a desperate attempt to contain the December Plague, the patients and staff of Wing Memorial hospital are left to fend for themselves. When the small security force sent to aid them are wiped out, the Infected run loose in the halls and Neil is trapped inside with them. Even worse is the knowledge that containment has failed and the outside world has no idea what’s coming.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deirdre Gould
• Release date: Apr 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463120491

Deirdre Gould

A severe addiction to Post-apocalyptic literature combined with a lifetime of a very rural existence, first in central Maine and now in northern Idaho naturally led to both of Deirdre's novels: The Jade Seed and After the Cure.Deirdre's education in anthropology and peace and conflict studies prompted the central idea for After the Cure: How do people live with each other after doing horrendous things to each other? How do societies put themselves together or continue to exist after terrible wars? What is day to day existence like when such violence exists within living memory? Though fiction can never come close to the reality of living with atrocity, it can help us ask important questions about our world and our treatment of each other.Since living in the woods makes it all too easy to imagine being one of the last people left in the world, After the Cure is only the first novel of several that will take place in a post-apocalyptic, "post-zombie" world.

Book preview

PART ONE

1

Furbish Park was massive and Neil hadn’t been willing to pay the outrageous parking fee to get them closer to the parade muster point. So he and Randi hurried across the lightly wooded west end, the sun barely pinking the horizon. Plumes of breath puffed from them both and the grass crunched under his boots. Neil hadn’t been paying attention, too focused on getting them across the park to take note of their surroundings. So it startled him when the man on the bench rose from beneath the tattered olive sleeping bag he’d been huddled under. He flashed Randi a lopsided, snaggletooth smile. Neil instinctively jerked his daughter’s hand, pulling the little girl closer.

Won’t hurt cha, the man mumbled, still smiling. His eyes were glassy and he swayed in place. Neil wondered if he were drunk or just still waking up. He glanced at Neil. Good-mornin’ he offered cautiously.

Neil gave him a tight nod and flushed, embarrassed by his own uneasiness and a sense of guilt that the man had been forced to sleep on a frigid bench.

Awful col’ day for a parade, said the man, staring at Neil’s gloves. Good you got her all bundled there. He pointed toward Randi and Neil thought he meant to close the small distance and touch his daughter’s head. He stepped swiftly sideways, blocking the man’s line of sight with Randi. The homeless man’s smile dropped at the action. He took a step back toward the bench and pulled up the slumped pile of sleeping bag, folding it haphazardly.

Sure is, said Neil. You have somewhere to go, sir?

It took the man a few extra seconds to answer and he blinked blearily before saying, Oh, ayuh. Shelter’ll reopen at three. He shoved the sleeping bag into a backpack and picked it up.

Neil glanced over his shoulder at his daughter. She looked nervously up at him. It’s so cold. Why’s he got no mittens? she whispered.

He heaved an internal sigh and turned back to the man, tugging his gloves from his fingers. Here, he said, holding them out. Too cold to wander around all day without.

What ’bout you? asked the man. Neil shrugged.

I’ve got pockets.

The man took the gloves and pulled one slowly over his right hand. He tipped a little too far sideways and lost his balance. Neil caught him by the shoulder.

Whoa there, he said quietly. He pulled his wallet from his pocket, though he knew it was stupid, risky— the whole thing could have been a con to grab the wallet. But the man only stood there, blinking at him, as if stunned. Neil pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. Go get yourself some breakfast. I think the Homestead’s open. Warm there. They won’t kick you out if you order something. Kill the time before the shelter opens. Sober you up and stop you touching any of the other little kids going to the parade, Neil thought sourly, but then felt an immediate wave of shame.

Well I— thank you, said the man. He took the bill with a slight bob of his head. Happy holidaysss, he added.

Neil knew he meant it kindly, but it felt like a slap, comparing what this man’s holidays would likely be to what Neil’s own. Have a good day, he said instead.

The man turned back to the path and stumbled sideways again. Neil reached out for him again and the man tumbled right into his chest. Take it easy, Neil said quietly, righting him.

Sssomethin’s wrong, frowned the man.

You get something bad last night? asked Neil. You need me to call an ambulance?

The man shook his head. No. No ambulance. No police. Be right in a bit. Get sssome coffee… he began wandering off, still muttering. Neil straightened his coat and watched him for a few seconds before turning to check on his daughter.

What’s wrong Dad? Randi asked him, still folded against his legs.

Not a thing, sweetheart. Just helping someone out.

Neil’s hand felt itchy where he’d touched the man’s shoulder. He wiped it self-consciously on the side of his coat, knowing it was just a trick of his mind but feeling it anyway. But you’re scared, said Randi looking up at him.

Neil patted her shoulder. It’s just not a good idea to talk to strangers. Some of them turn out— ok. Like that man. Some of them want to hurt you, though. And you can’t always tell. But it all worked out for the best. Come on now, we don’t want to be late or Mom will find us before you even see the floats. And Brinybrickle will take off without me. He caught Randi’s hand again. He wanted to move them along, get farther away from the homeless man who was still shambling toward the far road and distract his daughter from more questions about the episode. Randi let him lead her toward the parade route, gawking at the large balloons under their thick nets as they passed. The bands were warming up farther on, stamping their feet and blasting the brass horns just to move some warm air around while they waited. Joan found them near the float, her sad smile already setting him on edge.

You wait long? he asked, trying to brush off the irrational spike of annoyance. This was supposed to be a good day. For Randi. Two years ago we would have been doing this together. Laughing. Joan would be in her favorite jeans and those ridiculously bright rainbow gloves of hers. Not this drab, plastic version with the disappointed smile. He snapped off the thought. It wasn’t his business what she wore. Or how she smiled. Not anymore. This would be easier if she seemed happy, he realized.

No, just walked up from the toy store. Harry’s saving us a spot.

He nodded, his own smile tight. Good choice. I should be back here by one, that’s what the captains told us. It’s a long time to wait. I can meet you at the restaurant, if you’d rather, pick Randi up there.

Joan frowned down at her watch. Here’s probably better. Traffic and all. Our flight to Bermuda is at four and the airport’s going to be awful.

Right. Here’s fine then. Bermuda. Ten years, she never said a word about Bermuda. Guess summer weekends in Popham’s just not the same, he thought but shoved it quickly aside. Be nice. Randi’s day, remember. He bent to hug his daughter. Have fun! And don’t forget, you’re supposed to cheer Brinybrickle this year.

She laughed. No Dad, Brinybrickle’s the bad guy. I’m going to boo. She yanked on his collar to pull his head farther down. "But I’m not booing you. Just a secret cheer," she whispered.

Okay, he agreed. "Secretly cheer then."

Joan smiled and for once, it was a real one. It made his heart ache more than the sad, polite smile did. Wish she’d smile like that more. Wish Harry’d figure out the trick because I’ve forgotten how. He let go of Randi’s hand and waved to Joan as they headed off. His daughter had been too distracted to ask anything more about the homeless man, but now they’d have to stand near the toy store for a while staring at the empty street until the parade started. He didn’t envy Joan having to explain when Randi’s questions inevitably started again. He headed back to the park.

The Brinybrickle balloon snarled out at him from its net, the black reels of its tethers already lying neatly in a large circle around it. The enormous elf looked more silly than menacing at the moment, its tall pointed ears pressed almost horizontal by the heavy net. A large, too cheerful man in a black and green vest popped up beside Neil as he stared at the balloon.

I hope you brought gloves, he said.

Neil glanced down at his hands again, wiped the one that had touched the homeless man’s shoulder against his thigh. Sorry, Evan. I had them but this guy in the park was freezing…

Evan shrugged and reached into his pocket. "Shomeone— someone always forgets. I have spares. He handed Neil a pair of thin black gloves. Where’s your balloon buddy?"

Haven’t seen Dante yet this morning, said Neil, pulling the gloves on. But I’m sure he’ll be here.

Get into position, anyway. He can catch up. We’ve got about fifteen minutes before the netsh come off and we have to stabilize Brinybrickle. Evan shook his head slightly as if he were trying to clear it, then checked off Neil’s name on his little clipboard and moved away to the next arrival. Did everyone get sloshed this morning except me? Neil wondered. It wasn’t something he’d expect from Evan though; the guy was too straight-laced. Probably only had a beer at the company picnic or something like that. But he was weaving a little as he walked away and the slurring was slight but definitely there. It’s the holidays, he told himself. Cut him a little slack. Probably make the whole morning more relaxed anyway.

Neil wandered over to the net, lifting it slightly to duck beneath and find the cord he’d been assigned to.

He stamped his feet to knock some warmth into his legs and scanned the distant crowd though he knew Joan and Randi were much too far for him to see.

Fucking traffic, huffed Dante, yanking up the edge of the net with one hand and sloshing coffee from a cup in the other. Got here as quick as I could.

Uh, Mr. Owens, called Evan from somewhere nearby here on the Brinybrickle sssupport team, we need to refrain from colorful language—

Sorry, boss, said Dante, mock saluting. I thought with him being, you know, an evil elf bent on destroying Santa that a little f-bomb would be in character.

Neil laughed. Evan jogged over and lowered his voice.

"This is a family parade, Mr. Owens. It’sh an honor to pilot a balloon in the Children’s Parade and one that many others—"

Ok, ok, sighed Dante. Relax Evan. I get it. I’ll watch my mouth.

Evan looked at him skeptically until he noticed one of the other handlers got a cord tangled with someone else’s and he dashed away. Dante just picked up the cord near Neil’s foot. Would’ve thought he’d be looser when he was tipsy, he muttered.

You noticed too? asked Neil.

Sure. I mean you add a few more s-words in there and— Jesus, you don’t think he’s having a stroke, do you?

Neil watched Evan help another handler rewind her reel. I— don’t think so. I mean you get a headache, right? He’d notice, wouldn’t he?

Not sure. I didn’t smell any alcohol on him, did you?

No. Nothing at all. It occurred to Neil that he hadn’t smelled any on the homeless man either, and the man’s face had gotten quite close when he’d taken the gloves. Maybe we should call someone.

Dante shook his head. His face looks ok. Not saggy or anything. That’s supposed to be a sign, right? And he’s making sense. Probably just a little hungover. Chomped a couple breath mints and hoped no one would notice. And he’s cranky this morning.

He’s always cranky.

Maybe that’s why.

Neil doubted it. But he watched Evan a few more minutes and he didn’t seem to be acting out of the ordinary. No visible signs of distress. Probably just tired. It’s early and he likely got here hours ago. Man’s entitled to be a little groggy without everyone thinking he’s on the verge of collapse.

Is Randi here? asked Dante.

Yeah. Joan and Harry have her near the toy store. She’s a little upset about cheering for Brinybrickle, though.

Dante turned halfway around and made a face at the surly expression of the balloon. Can’t blame her. Look at him. Wouldn’t want to cheer that sourpuss either. Tommy’s down by the far end, near the arcade. We told him to stay put but you know how it is. He and his friends probably won’t even watch until we get there.

Evan returned, patting other handlers’ shoulders along the way. All right Dante, finish up that coffee. The marshal’s about to kick things off and we’ve got to stabilize our star. He winked at Neil who managed an embarrassed smile. Oh and— cups in the recycling bin please! No one likesss a litterbug, not even Brinybrickle. Evan stumbled for a second as he moved away, Neil caught him and righted him. Evan frowned at the pavement, expecting a crack or divot but shrugged and kept heading toward the front when he saw only smooth tar. At the time, Neil didn’t connect it to the homeless man’s stumbling. There’d been nothing on the news yet about the December Plague. And there wouldn’t be for several days more. It would take even longer for the word to spread to the general public about the subtler symptoms. Longer than Neil had, anyway.

"Littering’s kind of his thing, he throws old broken toys in Santa’s way to slow him down," muttered Dante under his breath, but he held out the reel to Neil. Dante jogged away, looking for the bins. He loved the parade, Neil knew, despite the complaining. The band started up again somewhere ahead, this time falling into a jazzy, well-rehearsed version of Jingle Bells. Dante sprinted back, fumbling with the net.

Relax, laughed Neil, We’ve got a dozen balloons in front of us. It’ll be half an hour before we even start moving.

2

A slow rattling noise dragged by them as the net was pulled from the balloon. Evan tripped over the edge of the net and went down near the balloon’s right shoulder. He started shouting as the handlers closest helped him up. Dante frowned.

Must have really hurt himself, he said. Evan doesn’t yell. Complain and nitpick, sure, but not yell.

Maybe we should have called the medics.

But the balloon captain subsided and began giving instructions as Brinybrickle shifted one way and then another until the large crew had it hovering and level just above the large pines in Furbish Park. The world beneath the balloon was a sickly lime green where the sunlight leaked through, wavering and shifting like water. The band’s music receded, fading little by little until it seemed more memory than sound. The sound of feet ahead replaced it, and the squeak of one of the ground float’s brakes as it rolled slowly forward. By the time it was their turn, Neil’s toes were frozen and Dante was bouncing foot to foot to keep some blood moving. It was an odd sort of irritated relief to move forward. Part excitement, part frustration, as if Neil were not in a parade, but a traffic jam, craning to see what the hold up was.

That was just until they hit the crowd. The cold and the frustration vanished as they passed hundreds of awed kids. The cheers and applause were a little overwhelming for Neil, each section of kids and parents waving and calling as they passed, as if it were a massive swell that grew and receded, taking Brinybrickle and his handlers with it, never quite dying away. Until they came to a quiet section. Frightened kids cringing against their parents.

Jeez, I know Brinybrickle’s kind of a jerk, said Dante, "but I don’t think I’ve ever seen kids scared of him."

It’s not the balloon, said Neil, raising one hand from the reel to point into the crowd where several people in blue uniforms surrounded something, their backs entirely to the parade. Fight maybe?

F— Dante caught himself. Silly drunks, he amended. Think that’s the Whaler back there. Didn’t think they were open this early.

I didn’t think so either. Looks dark, but it’s a bar so… Who knows? Maybe it’s a fender bender that got out of hand in the parking lot. Or a domestic. Or just some parents arguing over a prime position.

Dante stared at the policemen as they passed the knot of people. Neil could hear a massive burst of applause from behind and knew that Santa’s sleigh must have finally entered the road, and with it, the conclusion to the parade. His fingers ached with the cold. The gloves Evan had lent him were too thin. They barely shielded his hands either from the chill or the biting plastic of the reel as the breeze tugged the massive balloon. Still, better than nothing. He could just see the large, vibrant green of the storefront where Joan and Randi should be. And Harry. He shut off that dangerous line of thought.

Fans just ahead, he told Dante. Out front of Granby’s.

Dante grinned. Think she’ll boo us?

Neil laughed. "I’m not sure. She said she’d be secretly chee—" he broke off as he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure standing at the edge of the road. He was beyond the security barrier, listing unevenly on the dark tar like a lost marcher from somewhere farther up. But his dirty jacket and ragged pants put him squarely outside the norm. Why isn’t security at least putting him back behind the barricade? Neil wondered. Forget security— where are Joan and Randi? Did he follow them? How did he—

What’s wrong? asked Dante.

That guy, Neil leaned toward Dante’s ear to mutter. The one just ahead in the street. Ran into him in the park earlier. He tried to talk to Randi. Neil shook his head as Dante stared at the man. Probably harmless. Drunk though, for sure. Just creeped me out. Gave him some cash and my gloves and told him to go someplace warm. I’ll feel better when we get to Joan and Randi.

Dante craned around to look behind them. All the cops are back at that fistfight or whatever it was.

"Really, I’m sure he’s fine. He backed off easily enough. Don’t think he wanted to, you know, take her or anything."

You sure? Dante glanced at him. It must have been obvious from his face how Neil actually felt, because Dante immediately said, No, you aren’t sure. And if it’s not Randi, there are a thousand other little girls in this crowd. He glanced back once more, looking for security. Then he leaned past Neil. Hey! he shouted, his voice just another in the sea of music and cheering and feet stamping. Hey, you!

He hasn’t really done anything, Dante. Just a guy down on his luck. Could be us. Almost was, a few years ago.

Maybe. Do you want to risk it? Looks to me like he was following Randi. Waiting to catch her when you and Joan were distracted.

Neil couldn’t deny how uncomfortable the man made him. And that he had come so close to Granby’s made it worse. Maybe Dante was right. I’ll just call parade security, he said, trying to hold onto the reel with one hand and fumble in his pocket for his phone with the other. The line wobbled slightly. Evan gave us that number if we saw anything bad—

Yeah, yeah you do that. I’m going to take care of this so we don’t lose him in the crowd, said Dante absentmindedly. He let go of the reel and took a few steps toward the homeless man. Brinybrickle bounced and Neil abandoned his search for his cell phone and gripped with both hands. Don’t, man, I’m sure everything’s fine.

Just going to talk. That’s all, said Dante absently. Evan glared over at them, alarmed by the unexpected movement, but they were moving into a spinning maneuver and he was too busy directing the handlers to come and correct the problem.

Dante, called Neil, following the arcing curve of the other handlers. Dante, come back!

But Dante was shouting to the homeless man, trying to catch his attention. The man’s face was utterly blank. Passive. Neil glanced back over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the man’s hands before the path of the balloon became more acute and he had to pay attention to the road in front of him. He’d had only one of Neil’s gloves on. Just the way he had as he’d taken the twenty from Neil’s hand. The other glove dangling between his fingers still. Don’t be ridiculous, Neil told himself, he obviously just took the glove off again a minute ago. That’s all. It disturbed him more than it should have.

Evan was ahead, still directing the balloon but his gaze was elsewhere. On Dante and the homeless man, most likely. Even from the far side of the street, Neil could hear Dante’s raised voice intermittently between the chatter of the crowd. The balloon stopped to waggle an inflated arm in fury back at Santa’s sleigh and Neil took the opportunity to peer through the web of cords beneath toward the toy store, hoping for some glimpse of Joan. For some signal that she and Randi were okay. Don’t panic, he scolded himself. Of course they’re fine. Just a homeless man who needs a bed. Just wandered downtown. Not hurting anyone. They were moving again, rotating back. Neil dutifully marched the slow arc, gripping the plastic reel tighter as a sudden gust slid under the balloon’s belly and began pulling it upward. He concentrated on holding his line level, pressing his weight downward, so he missed a few of the next vital seconds.

It was the collective gasp of the crowd that made him look down from Brinybrickle’s pickle-green pants. Dante was still in front of the homeless man, who seemed not to have moved an inch, nor focused on Dante in the least, still staring vacantly at something across the road. But Evan had joined Dante now. Neil squinted and saw Dante was holding Evan by the arm. Perhaps join was the wrong word. Evan was lunging for the homeless man. His normally placid, friendly face strained and deep red in an open-mouthed howl. Neil had a flash of fear that the balloon pilot was having a heart attack right there on the road before Dante lost his grip and Evan tripped into the homeless man, sending them both careening into the metal barrier. The tumble seemed to shake the other man from his stupor and he grappled with Evan, who had not stopped, his teeth snapping shut on the homeless man’s cheek. The barrier slid with a rumble as they struggled and the crowd pressed instinctively away. There was little space to move, though, and it only created about a foot of space between the people on the edge of the mass and Evan. The homeless man yelped and shoved at Evan’s head. Dante tried to pry his way in between the two men and Neil’s immediate thought was to help, his grip on the tether loosening until the cries from the other handlers stopped him and the balloon wobbled, making waves of green light over the entire thing.

Don’t let go! the man in front of him turned to shout. You let go and a lot more people are going to get hur— He broke off with a surprised grunt as the homeless man plowed into him and knocked him over. His partner on the reel let go to help when the homeless man snarled and clawed at the downed handler. Neil’s reel yanked with the sudden release of one of the cords. Several people had climbed over the barrier to help. Neil didn’t understand what he was seeing. Evan had turned his rage on Dante for some unfathomable reason and had sunk his teeth into Dante’s jacketed arm. He wouldn’t let go despite the group of people trying to separate them and Dante’s own attempt to pull his arm free. Another yank as more tethers were abandoned as people ran to help the combatants struggling beneath Brinybrickle. The evil elf tipped toward Neil for a second and a breeze gusted beneath and the balloon slid rapidly, dragging Neil and the remaining handlers sideways. Most of the crowd was far more interested in the fights than they were in the fate of the balloon. Neil saw enough to know that Dante was bleeding, but not how badly or where the other combatants were. The wind picked up again and he stumbled backward, lifted slightly from his feet by the balloon. He could hear the panicked yells for help from other handlers who hadn’t let go. His back hit the metal barricade and half a dozen arms shot out to grab onto the tether.

The reel, hold the reel, he cried. The hands shifted, helping him to push down on the reel.

Sit down, commanded someone behind him. More stable that way. Someone pushed his shoulder and Neil obediently buckled onto the freezing tar. A few of the hands resolved into terrified faces as they shoved aside the barrier and joined him. More streamed into the road to help the handlers, some people darting toward the clumps of fighting instead. The breeze gusted and a crash of breaking glass came from overhead. A few screams from the crowd and then a steady squeal of helium rapidly exiting small holes in Brinybrickle. Neil resisted the urge to look up, expecting an eyeful of glass shards if he did.

Where the fuck is security, growled a man across from him. Neil shook his head.

"Saw some two blocks back dealing with a fight, but that shouldn’t be all of them. And this seems a little more—" he broke off as the wind gusted again, yanking on his tired arms. The balloon flapped as it began slackening in the middle. He could hear voices through speakers nearby now, police trying to corral the crowd. A vehicle must have been close by, the strobe of blue lights mixing with the yellow-green of the sunlight through the translucent balloon. It made a strange glow over them all. The balloon collapsed slowly, settling and drooping toward Neil, cutting him off from any view of the crowd and then of the other handlers. It was still full enough that he couldn’t risk releasing the reel. A few of the people sitting with him did, though, standing to hold up the sagging plastic, creating a small tent of air.

Take shallow breaths, commanded a woman in front of him. Most of the helium will go up but some’s going to be trapped under here with us. Help me find the edge, she said to someone farther up, get fresh air in here until help comes. The crowd sounded distant, muffled by the thick material. Neil had a second of uneasy calm and time to worry whether Joan and Randi were safe. He hoped Randi hadn’t seen any of it. That she was still laughing and pointing at the toymaker float ahead. The balloon shifted again, this time violently and repeatedly.

Shit, muttered the woman next to him, pressing down on the reel with him. Are they fighting on top of the vinyl?

The crack of a gunshot burst through the cocoon of plastic as if in answer. And then multiple screams.

My kids! cried one of the men holding up the balloon. He started toward the edge of the balloon, following the others.

"All of our kids," said another. The wail of a siren blared through the crowded street. She’s down the road. She’s out of sight. Safe, Neil kept telling himself, mostly to stave off utter panic.

Think it’s down enough, said Neil after the siren abruptly cut out. We can let go and stand on top now. At least we’ll be able to see that way. He released the reel and clutched the plastic above him instead, making his way toward the opening the woman had made. The others followed in a train. He pushed aside the heavy material and began rolling it back, trying to push against it, sending little pockets of helium puffing away toward holes. There were other small lumps on the edges of the balloon where other handlers were holding on. The elf’s leering head, still bouncing and bulbous, blocked Neil’s view of the spot where Dante had last been standing. A large section of the balloon’s chest was being cut away by officers, near a writhing, shrieking mass that wriggled beneath it. Much of the crowd had been moved back and Neil found himself in a mostly clear space. It changed quickly, officers sprinting toward them. Neil was horrified to see a few with drawn weapons. He held up his hands instinctively. The people who had followed him out did the same.

Get down! one of the officers bellowed and