A Cure for Madness

by Jodi McIsaac

  “Were you part of this?” I asked Wes, already knowing the answer. After all, part of the reason his illness had gone overlooked for so long was because my parents had attributed his increasingly bizarre behavior to his drug use. There were rumors he’d been a dealer for a while, but he’d never confirmed them.

  He shrugged and grinned. “I plead the Fifth.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said, and it was true. Not a whole lot mattered anymore, except getting to the other end of this tunnel safely.

  Finally Tony stopped. He and Rick shone their lights at what looked like an old logging cabin. I’d been to my grandfather’s old cabin a couple of times, but this one was far more decrepit. The glass was missing in both windows and had been replaced by boards. Even a couple of those were hanging loose, as though they’d given up. The roof was covered in moss. I shuddered.

  Wes lit a cigarette, and I glared at him. “What?” he said defensively. “You want me to wait until we’re in the tunnel?”

  “I don’t want you to burn down the forest,” I muttered.

  “The border’s just on the other side of those trees,” Rick said, pointing with his hand and keeping the beam of light low. “They have cameras there”—he pointed east—“and there”—he pointed west—“but this is a blind spot. At least, it used to be.”

  Rick opened the cabin door, which had been slightly ajar. He looked around, his nose wrinkled, then kicked pinecones and branches out the door, cleaning a space on the floor. He bent down and pushed on one end of the floorboards, and the other end lifted up slightly. He wrapped his hand around the loose boards and tugged, but nothing happened. “Tony, give me a hand, will you, man?” Tony joined him. I couldn’t see what they were doing around Tony’s back, but at last there was a loud creak and a trapdoor lifted up. They set it against a wall and dusted off their hands.

  “Pretty sure this hasn’t been used for a while,” Rick said. “That’s a good thing, because it means the cops won’t be watching the other end. But it also means it might not be in very good shape. Course, it was never in very good shape to begin with. Not like those swanky tunnels the Mexicans use.”

  Wes eyed the hole in the ground nervously.

  “Think of it as the path to freedom,” I told him. “I’ll be with you the whole way.”

  Wes clasped hands with Tony and Rick. “God bless you guys. See you—if we ever make it back.”

  “We will,” I said.

  I walked to the edge of the hole in the ground, my heart pounding.

  “Wait. You might want these,” Rick said, handing us each a headband with a flashlight on it. “You’ll need both hands down there.”

  “Thanks,” we both said, trading in our flashlights for the headlamps. Without further ceremony, I dropped into the hole. It wasn’t far down, maybe seven feet. I swiveled my head around and found the entrance to the tunnel, which headed north. It certainly wasn’t anything fancy—there were no metal or plastic walls, just a long, dirty hole in the ground. We wouldn’t be able to stand up inside it, and there wasn’t even space for two people to crawl side by side. We’d have to go single file.

  My heart fluttered at the thought of being trapped down here. And if I was nervous, I could only imagine how Wes was feeling. He landed beside me with a thump and a grunt.

  Tony and Rick gazed down at us from above. I gave them both a wave, then pointed my light down the tunnel and said to Wes, “I’ll go first. Just follow me and you’ll be fine. Let me know if you need to stop and rest or stretch out for a bit; our knees are going to get pretty raw, I imagine.”

  “I’ve never been in here before, you know,” he said. “I mean, I knew some of the drugs came from Canada, but I didn’t ask how they got here. I assumed they smuggled them across the border in their cars or something.”

  I smiled. “Well, now we know. Remember those snow tunnels Dad used to make us?”

  Wes snickered. Every winter, he and our father would dig a network of tunnels through the several feet of accumulated snow on our front lawn. I would explore them only once or twice, preferring to stay inside where it was warm and read my books. But Wes and Dad used to spend hours playing spies or soldiers as they tunneled their way through the banks. “It’s just like that, except warmer,” I said.

  I crouched down and pointed my headlamp ahead. “All we need to do is take one step at a time.” I was speaking more to myself than to Wes.

  We started crawling. It only took a few minutes for my hands and knees to start aching. Rocks and roots littered the ground beneath us. Then I put my hand on something soft . . . and felt the crunch of bones beneath my fingers.

  I screamed and bolted upright, slamming my head on the ceiling of the tunnel and sending a shower of dirt down my neck. “Oh my God, oh my God,” I said. My fingers were sticky, and a putrid smell filled the air, almost suffocating me.

  “What happened?” Wes asked, pointing his headlamp at my face.

  I shuddered violently. “Nothing. I just . . . touched a dead mole or something.”

  “Cool,” Wes said, now scanning the ground with the beam of light.

  “Let’s keep going.” I wiped my hand on my jeans and started crawling again. Every few yards we had to squeeze past a square post topped with a sheet of plywood. My assumption was that these were intended to keep the tunnel from collapsing. I tried not to think of how it would feel to be smothered by dirt and rocks. What if the tunnel ahead had already collapsed? What if we turned back, only to discover that we were trapped in both directions? What would it be like to starve to death underground? Would Wes kill me before that happened? I had the gun; would I need to use it?

  “Stop it,” I said out loud.

  “Stop what?” Wes asked. He was breathing heavily.

  “Nothing . . . I was talking to myself. I’m just a little freaked out.”

  Then my light went out.

  I stopped dead. The only sound was my breath, coming in short, shallow gasps. The light from Wes’s headlamp illuminated the walls around us, but ahead of me there was only darkness. I’m going to die down here. Then I’ll see Mom and Dad. I can say I’m sorry . . .

  “Clare!” Wes scuttled forward and put his arms around me. He pulled me tight against his chest, and I listened to his deep, heavy breaths. “Shhh. It’s okay. Just breathe. My light’s still working; I’ll go ahead. Follow me.”

  He squeezed past me. I fixed my eyes on the light ahead of him and followed. We couldn’t die down here. It was my job to make sure Wes survived.

  We stopped to rest after a few more minutes. We lay faceup on the ground and stretched our limbs as much as we could. The air was thick and musty. Wes coughed harshly. I pulled a bottle of water out of my backpack, and we each took several long swigs to rinse our throats.

  We didn’t rest for long. It was better to keep moving, to get this over with as soon as possible.

  Finally, after about an hour, the air felt less heavy in our lungs. The tunnel began to slope slightly upward. And then it stopped.

  We were faced with a dirt wall, and for a brief moment I panicked—was the tunnel blocked? Had there been a cave-in? Then Wes looked up, and in the light of his headlamp we saw a wooden door above our heads. Whether it would open remained to be seen. Neither of us could reach it, even on tiptoes, and there were no footholds or ladders.

  “Give me the light and hoist me up,” I said to Wes. “I’ll see if it opens.”

  I had expected him to offer his hands or knee for me to stand on, but he immediately turned his back to me and dropped to the ground. “Get on my shoulders,” he said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, c’mon.”

  I took the headlamp from him and put it on, then awkwardly clambered onto his shoulders. I grabbed the dirt walls around us to steady myself as he got to his feet, grunting. I had to duck my head to keep it from slamming into the door above. I reached up with both arms and gave it a push. Nothing happened.

  “What if it’s locke
d from the other side?” I whispered.

  “Try again!” Wes urged.

  I pushed again with all my strength, and the wood shifted slightly. “I think it’s working!” Again and again I pushed, each time moving the door a little further. Wes panted under my weight. “Almost there,” I grunted, and then the door popped open.

  Carefully, I lifted my head up to peer out. It was just as Tony and Rick had said. We were inside a barn—a very old one. Moonlight shone through gaps in the walls and ceiling, and the floor was covered in boards that looked like they had once been part of the roof. It was too dark to spy any cameras or other signs of technology, but from what I could see, it looked like a human being hadn’t been in this place for years.

  “I’m going to crawl up. Then I’ll help you, okay?” I said.

  “Okay.”

  I pulled myself up onto the barn floor and rested for a few seconds. Then I started handing broken planks down to Wes. “Make a pile of these to stand on,” I told him. I kept tossing them down until he was able to get high enough to crawl out. We lay on our backs on the floor, wheezing.

  “You’re filthy,” Wes said.

  “So are you.”

  It was true; his hair and face were so covered in sweat-streaked dirt he looked as though he’d just smeared mud all over himself. Our clothes were now various shades of brown, and one of my knees was bleeding through a hole in my jeans.

  “What now?” he asked, his chest still rising and falling as though he’d run a marathon.

  I didn’t say anything. I wanted to preserve this moment of solitude, this moment in which we were the only two people in the world. The moon cast an eerie glow. It was as if we had entered another dimension. A speck of dust floated through the air, catching the light of the moon.

  That’s all we are, really. Just specks of dust floating through time. Our lives mean so little—except to those few other specks who love us. And to those we can save. I sat up and faced Wes. It was time.

  “I guess we call Tony’s friend.” I dialed the number in my phone.

  “’Lo?” a voice answered.

  “Is this Dave?”

  “Yeah. You one of Tony’s friends?”

  “Yes. I’m Clare. My brother, Wes, is with me.”

  “He told me you were comin’. I’m on my way. The old drug barn, yeah?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Be there in five.”

  We waited outside the barn, watching the moon, too tired to speak. My mind churned and roiled like the waves we used to watch on the coast. I ached with exhaustion, but there would be no rest for me. Not yet.

  The headlights of a truck approached, and we stood up. A young man got out and walked toward us.

  “Dave?” I asked.

  “Yeah. C’mon.”

  We climbed into the back of the truck and bumped along silently. Dave parked in front of a nondescript house on a dark street.

  “You want a drink or anything?” he said after we were inside.

  “No,” I said. “I think we should just get some sleep. Thank you for taking us in.”

  He snorted. “Tony saved my ass once. He’s a good guy. Now we’ll be even. I got a futon in the spare room, and your brother can take the couch.”

  “I’ll take the couch,” I said quickly.

  “You sure?” Wes asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Wes went to the bathroom while I sat down on the sofa and pulled out a pen and notebook I’d snagged from Rick’s place. I set them on the coffee table and waited. Wes emerged after a few minutes, looking slightly cleaner. I handed him his bottle of pills from his backpack and some water.

  He pulled me to my feet and wrapped me in a fierce hug. “We did it. Thank you.”

  I fought back my tears. “I love you,” I said.

  “I love you, too.” He kissed my forehead and then went into the spare room and closed the door.

  Dave hovered in the kitchen. “So why y’all running? Tony didn’t say.”

  I hesitated. “I’ll let Wes tell you in the morning. But we’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than some of the shit I’ve done.”

  I crept over to Wes’s door and listened. He was already snoring. Good.

  “Listen, Dave. I’m not staying.”

  “Say what?”

  “I have to go back. I just wanted to make sure Wes got here safely. I know it’s a lot to ask, but do you think you could look out for him? I mean, he can take care of himself, and I’ll wire you some money when I can. For now, take these—you should be able to get them changed at the bank.” I handed him a couple of the gold coins I’d taken from my father’s safe. “Our uncle will come and get him as soon as the quarantine is lifted.”

  “Okay . . . but why?”

  “I have some . . . unfinished business in Clarkeston. But Wes needed to get out. It’s not safe for him there.”

  “Well . . . do what you have to do, I guess.”

  “Thanks. I’m going to leave Wes a note to explain.”

  I turned back to the notebook and wrote:

  Dear Wes,

  I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you, but I have to go back to Clarkeston. I wanted to make sure you got here safely. I’m sorry for leaving in the middle of the night, and I hope you’re not angry. But I knew you wouldn’t let me go otherwise. It’s really, really important that you don’t follow me. You know what awaits you there. But there are some things I have to do back home.

  I’ve given Dave some money, and you can stay here for a while. When the quarantine is lifted, Uncle Rob will come get you. I’m leaving my phone here so you can call Uncle Rob and Tony and Rick. Don’t forget to check in with them at least every five days so they know you’re okay. But don’t tell Uncle Rob or anyone else where you are; not until it’s safe.

  If—and only if—you get caught by the cops or border guards or anyone, say you want to claim refugee status. They can’t send you back without a hearing. If they try, find a church and take refuge there. If you claim sanctuary in a church, they can’t come in after you.

  I’m so proud of you, big brother. You’re kind and funny and imaginative and loyal. You are an amazing human being, and you’re going to have a long and happy life. You deserve that.

  Don’t forget to take your medication.

  I love you. God bless you.

  ~ Clare

  I folded the letter before my tears could ruin the ink. “Can you give this to him in the morning?” I asked as I handed it to Dave.

  “Yeah. How you gonna get back?”

  “Through the tunnel.”

  “Want me to drive you?”

  I shook my head. “No. I don’t want Wes to be here alone.”

  “Then take my bike,” he said. “Leave it in the barn; I’ll come get it later.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  I followed him into the garage, where a dirt bike stood against the wall. He handed me a helmet and a key. Before I put on the helmet, I called Tony.

  “Hello?” he said groggily.

  “Tony, it’s Clare.”

  “Clare! Jesus. Did you make it? How’s Wes?”

  “He’s fine. We’re both fine. We’re at Dave’s house; thanks so much for setting it up. But I need you to pick me up on your end of the tunnel. I’m coming back. Wes is staying here.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I’ll explain later. Can you come get me in about an hour?”

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll be there.”

  I hung up and gave my phone to Dave. “Give this to Wes with the note.”

  “Does he have your number?” he asked.

  “I don’t have a number. I’ll . . . I’ll be in touch.” I hoped that was true.

  I started the bike and backed it out of the garage.

  “Thanks again!” I called. Then I drove away, heading back toward the moonlit barn. The air in my face was like a long drink of cold water. I imagined the salt spra
y of the ocean misting my cheeks and pretended the wind in my hair was coming off the rolling waves. The stars, so bright out here in the middle of nowhere, sparkled like a thousand tiny fireworks, sending me off on yet another grand adventure.

  When I reached the barn, I cut the engine and tossed my head back for another look at the sky. It was perfectly quiet. It was the deep breath before the plunge.

  I turned and ran back toward the tunnel entrance, lest I lose my nerve. I dropped back down into the darkness, landing painfully on my ankle. I cried out, but there was no one to hear.

  The trip back through the tunnel was even more terrifying—and painful—than before. I counted each crawl to one hundred, then started again. Halfway through I lost all composure and sobbed miserably the rest of the way. Just keep moving. It had worked for me so far. I couldn’t stop now.

  Finally, Tony and Rick pulled me out of the hole. I collapsed on the ground, weeping. They didn’t ask questions, not then. Tony lifted me up and put me in the backseat of the truck. Wordlessly, Rick passed me a flask, and I took a long pull of whiskey.

  “Where to?” Rick asked.

  “Home.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “You gonna tell us what’s going on?” Rick asked as we drove back toward town.

  “I had to get Wes somewhere safe,” I said. “But there’s something I have to do in Clarkeston.”

  They didn’t press me. I wrote a letter to Rob while we were driving. How would he feel when he read it? Angry? Proud? It didn’t matter. However he felt, I trusted him to see things through.

  I passed the letter up to Tony. “You can read this after you drop me off,” I said. “It explains everything. And then—if you don’t mind—take it to my Rob. His address is on the letter.”

  I wrote another letter, this one to Kenneth. It was short and to the point.

  You were the best thing to almost happen to me.