Grim Fever

by R Scott Mather

  “Thanks.” I unscrew the cap and take a long pull. I wipe my mouth and set the bottle on the table.

  Ron and Kristin’s house is full of Lindsay’s friends and family. The kitchen counter teems with finger foods and soda cans, and the scents of deli meats and cheese blend with the odor of cheap wine. People I don’t know stand around and chit-chat. A loud male voice in the living room announces that a company called Creston Widmer has developed a Grim Fever vaccine, and it’s in the final trial. Lindsay’s sister, Kristin, sobs in the hallway while her children run around giggling.

  Ron’s eyes are red, but he carries his composure like a professional. He looks like a stoic secret service agent in his black suit and tie. “I know it’s no consolation—we all would rather have Lindsay here—but that guy wasn’t just a drug dealer. He’s into all kinds of evil. You shut down one of the worst criminals in the state of Washington.” He smiles weakly and pats me on the shoulder.

  Waves of emotion either crash into me with no warning or suck me out into an ocean void of feeling. In this moment, I am numb.

  Monica walks into the kitchen. She hugs Ron. “Kristin needs you.”

  Ron nods and leaves.

  “Hey, Chad,” Monica says.

  I force a pathetic smile.

  “Can I get you a plate of something? We have a ton of food.”

  I shake my head. “No. Thank you.”

  She grabs my hand and squeezes. “Okay.”

  A minute after she leaves, I get up and make my way through the hall toward the restroom. I pass Kristin, who is now crumpled on the floor weeping with Ron on his knees, consoling her. It kills me to see her in such pain.

  I close the bathroom door and examine myself in the mirror. Dark circles surround my eyes. My skin is ashy, cheeks sunken in from lack of appetite. I splash water on my face and open the door, unsure of where to go. The hall is teeming with people trying hard to not have a good time. Most of the funerals I’ve attended give off a strange energy where people think, “It’s great to see so-and-so, but I can’t act too excited.”

  I sift through the crowd and look into the backyard. No one is out there, and that’s the company I’d prefer to keep at the moment, so I squeeze through cousins and aunts and high school friends and find myself alone on the patio.

  I made a promise to Lindsay, and since her burial was only an hour ago, now feels like as good a time as any to fulfill it. I pull my phone out of my pocket and call the number for Lindsay’s doctor to make an appointment for Tuesday. After the call, I clutch the phone at my side and close my eyes. My ghosts visit. First comes Leanne, my beautiful wife. She’s smiling, but her face blurs into the dozens of prisoners I infected and sentenced to death. Now Wade’s sneer infects my mind. I wish I could kill him again. And again. Dwight’s face, locked in a scream, sends a cold burst down my neck. Finally, Lindsay’s face appears with her sweet, muted smile and those eyes that send my blood rushing.

  My phone buzzes and jolts me out of my visions. I look at the screen.

  Unknown number.

  My first instinct is to throw the damn thing onto the ground, but I stare at the screen instead, wondering if this is the person that has been calling me the past few weeks.

  I tap the green icon. “Hello?”

  “Oh, my gosh. You answered,” an excited woman’s voice blares through the speaker.

  “Who are you looking for?”

  “Chad Chaucer. That’s you?”

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “Oh, hi. My name is Ada Curry. I work at Creston Widmer Pharmaceuticals.”

  “Okay. And why are you calling me?”

  “I can’t believe I tracked you down!” She sounds like a giddy high schooler.

  “What’s this about?”

  “Sorry. Um, I tend to ramble. Uh, so you were infected with the SVE-1 virus two years ago, and I think you might be in serious danger.”

  PART III

  21

  “What do you mean I’m in danger?”

  “There’s a government agent,” Ada says. “She’s gone rogue, and she’s trying to track you down.”

  Dr. Choi?

  “How do you know that?”

  “Well, she was working with my company to trace people infected with SVE-1 virus, but…she turned against us. She’s off doing her own thing now. And we don’t trust her.”

  I consider telling Ada that I’ve already encountered Choi and her now-deceased partner, but I’ll keep that to myself. A man in a navy blue suit comes outside and pulls out a cigarette. He turns his back to me as he lights it. I move to the side yard and find the shade of a pine tree.

  “And you think she’s coming after me?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Why?”

  “My guess is she wants to take you in. The numbers of people infected…” She lets the words hang.

  What does Ada know about me? Does she know about Lindsay? About Wade? Are there any other survivors?

  “Why would she take me in?”

  “For all the…incidents at the various prisons you’ve worked at.”

  Shit. Ada knows about the prisons. That must be how she traced me.

  “I’m sorry,” Ada says. “I don’t mean to be so blunt.”

  “It’s fine. So, you assume this agent is coming to arrest me. Why are you telling me this?”

  “We want to find a cure for SVE-1. And I suspect your blood—since you’re one of the few known survivors—can give us the answers we’re looking for.”

  “So, you take a blood sample. And then what, I get arrested? Go to jail for those incidents you mentioned?”

  “Mr. Chaucer. Chad. I can’t promise what will happen to you after we get your sample, but at least you can have knowledge that you’re helping to find a cure.”

  I look inside through the window. Lindsay’s family and friends mill about in black dresses and suits, mourning the loss of an incredible woman. A woman I infected, who should be alive today. Yes, Wade Linford killed her, but she wouldn’t have gone after him if I hadn’t found him and passed the virus to him.

  “Chad? You still there?”

  “Yeah. I’m here.”

  “Well, what do you think?”

  “No idea.” Something is off. This Ada person knows so much about me and my past. Am I thinking too much? Is it possible to help without walking into a trap? “How can I get a blood sample to you?”

  “We’ll buy you a plane ticket to Pittsburgh, and you can come to our lab.”

  A cold blade slices through my chest. I haven’t been back home since the weeks following Leanne’s death. I vowed to never go back.

  “Pittsburgh?”

  “Yep. It’s the only way to guarantee a fresh sample.”

  “I thought you had a vaccine in the final testing stages.”

  Ada snickers. “There’s a vaccine in the final testing stages, but it won’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, it might help a few people have less severe symptoms. Maybe save some lives. But it’s not a cure. We need you for the true cure.”

  “This all seems a little weird. Why would you hire a government agency to trace survivors? That doesn’t seem normal. Where did the virus even come from?”

  Ada sighs, the puff of air deafening through the phone speaker. “Look, Chad. I could be in serious trouble for saying this, but I want to be honest with you, so you feel comfortable trusting me.”

  She goes quiet.

  “Go on,” I say.

  “Well, SVE-1 isn’t a naturally occurring virus. We created it to—”

  “You made the damn thing?”

  “Y-yes. The virus out is a prototype for a universal viral vaccine.”

  Warmth floods my neck and rises into my ears. My free hand balls into a fist. “You’re telling me your company created the worst virus in the history of humankind and let it out?”

  “Not intentionally, Chad—Mr. Chaucer.”

  “Oh, so you made
the deadliest disease in the world by accident. Got it.”

  Ada sucks in a breath. “I’m aware how bad it sounds. But I promise you, we were on the path to curing all viral infections. Everything from cold sores to AIDS. The goal was a single virus to destroy all other viruses. We designed our virus to be contagious, so we could minimize the number of dosages required to treat everyone across the planet.”

  “Well, guess what? It doesn’t work.”

  “No, not yet. But it will. And your blood could help us get there sooner.”

  “How did it get out? Did you deliberately infect some poor schmuck?”

  “No. Never! It was a total accident. My lab assistant touched a contaminated surface and became infected. No one knew about it at first. He infected three people outside of the lab—that we are aware of. You were one of those people.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “I’m so sorry. We traced the other two people, and they died within five days. My assistant, too.”

  “And why did you bring in the federal agent? To cover it up?”

  “No.” She says the word like it stole the last of her oxygen. “We wanted to make sure it didn’t spread.” She sniffles. “We didn’t know there was another infection until after your wife died. We couldn’t find you on our own, so we brought in Agent Choi to help.”

  Choi.

  “And why did she turn against you? Why am I in danger?”

  “I told you because she wants to apprehend you.”

  Choi had the chance to detain me and didn’t.

  “I still don’t see it. Why haven’t they taken me in by now?”

  “I—I don’t want to scare you,” Ada says in a near whisper, “but she killed someone. Our CEO had a private security officer accompany her. And now he’s dead. The security guy, not the CEO.”

  I wonder if she’s talking about McNulty. “So why does that mean I’m in danger?”

  “I mean...she’s dangerous. Who knows what she intends to do to you? Your best hope is that she just wants to arrest you and bring you in alive.”

  “You didn’t answer my first question. Why did she turn on your company? None of this makes any sense. Why didn’t your company speak to her supervisor or someone else at...what agency did you say it was?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Chaucer,” she replies in an angry whisper. “I’m just a biochemist. They make those decisions way above my head. My boss just wanted me to contact you to get a blood draw. I’ve already told you way more than I should have. I get it, this all sounds crazy, but can you help? Help us come up with a vaccine to save lives.”

  I should hang up. This company created a virus, let it out, then let loose a crazed Fed to clean it up. Why should I trust them? Yeah, giving my blood to save lives sounds noble, but I don’t owe this company anything. In fact, my wife is dead, Lindsay is dead, and tens of thousands of others are dead because they unintentionally let a deadly virus out of their building.

  No, I’m not helping them. They’ve ruined my life. Two years of a living hell. They don’t deserve my time or my blood. Hell, I should tip off the Pittsburgh news stations and expose what Creston Widmer has done.

  “Chad? Mr. Chaucer?”

  I pull the phone away from my ear.

  “Hello?” Ada’s voice comes out faint with the speaker at a distance. “Chad?”

  I tap the red icon to end the call.

  22

  I stare at the black phone screen. Did that just happen? The lingering numbness from watching Lindsay’s casket descend into the ground bleeds into anger from the call with this Ada Curry person. I grow more furious as I realize Ada is one of the people responsible for my life being torn apart. My thoughts twist into a whirlwind of emotions that I am not equipped to handle right now.

  I return to the patio. The smoker left, but the stale odor of burned tobacco still lingers. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows on the ground like gray ropes squeezing the world. I plop into a cushioned chair and rub my face. Someone slides the glass door open, but I don’t look up.

  “Oh, Chad,” Kristin says. “Sorry, I didn’t think anyone was out here.”

  I lift my gaze to Lindsay’s sister. Her eyelids are red, raw from the constant rubbing. She forces a sad smile.

  “Hey, Kristin. I was just about to leave.” I stand.

  “Oh. You don’t have to go.” She fumbles with her hands and sits across from me. “Please, stay.” She crosses her left leg over the other and tugs at the lace near the bottom of her black dress.

  I have no words for her. My mind is in a million places, nowhere near here.

  “Too many people in there,” she says. “I needed a breather.”

  “It’s a good turnout,” I say like it’s a garage sale rather than a funeral. “Seems like Lindsay has a ton of people that care about her.”

  I wonder how many people would show up to my funeral. Less than a dozen. I keep the thought to myself.

  “Yeah. Lindsay…she was a remarkable person.”

  “I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more when—” I cut myself off. I can’t finish that statement out loud. What do I say to Kristin? When Wade Linford crushed her neck with his heavy boot? When he picked her up by the throat and dropped her like a ratty doll?

  “No.” Her voice shakes. “You shouldn’t apologize for anything.” She sucks in a deep breath. “You know, when she was in the hospital with the infection...” She coughs. “Sorry. I was so scared of losing her. She used to sneak into my bed at night when we were little, terrified of sleeping alone. I was her protector. When she was in the SVE-1 unit, we couldn’t even see her. The thought of my baby sister dying alone shook me to the core. I just thought, ‘Poor thing; she has to go through this all by herself.’”

  Kristin stares off into the void.

  “But she made it,” she says. “She’s always been tough and strong-willed. When she got out of the hospital, I squeezed her so tight, she joked I broke her ribs.” Kristin chuckles and wipes away a tear. “I never wanted to let her go.”

  “I wish I could have known her longer,” I say. What I keep to myself are the constant arguments she and I had.

  “She loved you, Chad. I know you guys had your disagreements, but she loved you.”

  Dagger in the heart.

  “I loved her, too.” The words catch in my throat as my face grows damp under my tears. “I promised her…I promised I’d make an appointment with her doctor. To get the treatment.”

  Kristin shuts her eyes tight. “Lindsay would be happy about that.” She stands and walks over to me. She grabs my hands, and when I stand up, she pulls me into a hug. Sobs shake both of us, and I’m unsure who it’s coming from. Kristin squeezes hard.

  “I think you might break my ribs, too,” I say.

  “Sorry. I guess I’m a strong hugger.” She pulls away and laughs. “Thank you, Chad. You weren’t together long, but thank you for making her happy while you were.”

  I nod but don’t dare speak for fear of another dam-breaking flood of emotion.

  “I’m glad you made that appointment. There’s something special about you and Lindsay. Maybe the doctors can help find a cure by examining you.” Kristin draws in a breath. “Okay, I guess I should get back inside.” She smiles at me before she slides the door open and disappears into the crowd of mourners.

  Kristin’s words idle in my mind. I should want to help, to buy back some karma. Right my wrongs and all that. But something inside me holds me back. Distrust of that Ada woman is part of it. And some part of me wants to keep suffering. Even if that means others will suffer.

  I wasn’t always such a selfish asshole.

  The smoker in the navy blue suit comes outside again. He raises his brow at me, then pulls out another cancer stick. He flicks his lighter and ignites the tobacco. The odor reminds me of casinos and dank bars, two places I’ve thrown away plenty of money in my darker times. I hate that smell, so I get up to go inside, but two young women I don’t recognize come through the door lea
ning on one another, cackling, and uttering drunken exchanges. They stand in the doorway, beer bottles in-hand, unaware of anyone around them.

  “Excuse me,” I say.

  They ignore me.

  “Can I get through, please?”

  “Oh, sorry!” One giggles and the other breaks into full-on belly laughs before they part enough for me to fit through.

  It feels like thirty more people have shown up since I went out back. I can’t move without touching everyone around me; never have I been more glad to not have the Grim Fever symptoms active. I squeeze my way through the crowd. The noise has shifted from consoling chatter to boisterous partying. I spot Ron in the kitchen. He waves me down, so I fight through the congregation toward him.

  “Hey, can you help me close this thing down? It’s getting a little rowdy, and Kristin wants it to be over.”

  I want to leave, drive until I run out of gas, swim in my head for the rest of the night. But it’s the least I can do for Ron.

  “Sure. What do you want me to do?”

  “Tell people that the party is moving to Lonely Lou’s Pub. It’s down the street on Sharp, right by the campus.”

  “You got it.”

  I wind my way through the various clusters of people, telling them about the bar, that Kristin and Ron thank them for coming, that it’s time to head out. Most people oblige, while others continue their conversations as if I were invisible and silent. I peek outside. The twin drunks still block the door. Terrific. I slide it open and poke my head outside.

  “Hey ladies, the party’s moving to Lonely Lou’s. You know where it’s at?”

  They look at each other and laugh.

  I sigh. “Everyone’s heading there now. Better go if you want a good spot.”

  The one on the right eyes me. “Are you coming?”

  What response will convince them to leave? I shrug.

  “We’ll save you a seat,” the one on the left says. They giggle some more. I step aside and gesture. They walk in and head to the front door.

  The blue-suit smoker grins. “You want a wingman, bro?”

  “No, thanks.”

  He stubs his cigarette and the ground and shrugs. “All right, man.” He goes inside.