Mr. 8 Read online

  “I thought I’d give you a ride home. I thought we could talk.”

  Uh-oh. Something was up.

  Brown leather gloves were stuffed into Greg’s right coat pocket. Denton had been with his mother when she had bought them. Why would he have his gift now, on the 23rd of December, if he was sticking around for Christmas?

  “What did you want to talk about? Are you leaving?” Denton looked directly ahead at the road.

  “Yeah, I can’t stay here.” Greg ran his free hand through his thick, dark hair.

  Greg was always leaving. He had moved out the second he turned eighteen. Denton was only four at the time and had no idea about the family politics that had been at play. It had taken years for him to piece together what had really influenced his brother.

  “Dad said you were going to stay this time. He said that you would be working with him.”

  That was his father’s latest gambit to bring his eldest son home. Warren Reed planned on offering him a sales position in the family business.

  “I didn’t spend eight years in the Army to sell insurance. I have a degree in computer science, for Christ sake. Besides, I already have a job.”

  “You do?” More surprising than that his brother was working somewhere was that he programmed computers. The family line had always been that he was a soldier fighting for his country. Denton had never before questioned why it was so hard for Greg to come home and visit. He just always assumed he was overseas, like in a World War II movie. Not only did the image of the star athlete sitting at a computer all day seem absurd, it revealed how willful his absence had been.

  “What do you think I’ve been doing the last six months?” His tone betrayed annoyance, maybe even anger.

  Did he ask Dad the same thing, while arguing in his study?

  “My enlistment was up in June. I have a job, and I have a life. And they’re not here. The old man may mean well, but I don’t know what he was thinking.” He paused and chewed off some dead skin from his chapped lower lip. “Do you want to know why I’m leaving?”

  “Mom,” Denton said flatly.

  “Mom,” Greg said.

  That was what it all came down to: he had never accepted Warren Reed’s second wife as his mother. Greg resented her. And he resented their father for marrying her so soon after his real mother’s death. And Denton wondered whether Greg resented him for accepting her so completely.

  Denton had only ever had Cynthia Reed for a mother. He’d never known that other woman. Sometimes he wondered what she had been like, before complications in childbirth ended her life. He wondered how different she had been from the fragile changeling that had raised him. Would she have been a better or worse mother than the woman with cold, bony hands who took to her bed for days at the slightest whim of illness?

  Even though Greg hadn’t been in Bradford in ages, he followed the winding shortcut back to the house as if it were ingrained in his being.

  “I don’t think I’ll be coming back,” he said. “At least, no time soon.”

  They were almost at the house, the big modern home with the three car garage that Warren Reed had moved his sons and his new bride into when Denton was still in diapers. Greg had once told him they used to live on the other side of the tracks in a tiny cottage, until a life insurance policy changed their fortunes.

  “Anyway before I left, I wanted to give you some advice,” Greg’s voice was low and hesitant. It seemed as if he didn’t want to have to say this at all.

  Here we go, Denton thought.

  “I have no great wisdom, but the Army taught me a few things. You know, I never saw combat or looked death in the face, but I know a helluva lot more than I did when I left here. You’re what? Ten?” He looked over at Denton.

  “Twelve.” The answer came out too quickly to express the bitterness on his tongue.

  “You’re a good kid, and you’re going to find out that a lot of people will try and change you: friends, teachers, bosses, your parents. Don’t let them. No matter what happens, always stay true to yourself. Do you understand?”

  “I think so.” Denton knew exactly what Greg was getting at. He wanted to poison him against his parents. It was a seed he was trying to plant inside of him. It wouldn’t work.

  “Here we are.” He stopped in front of the house. He left the car in drive.

  “Okay. Well, see you,” Denton said, opening the car door.

  As he took one last look at his big brother, he noticed Greg was holding out his hand. Denton looked at it as if it were an alien being with five deadly tentacles. He was loathed to touch it, but he forced himself to shake it. He refused to show weakness.

  “Take care of the old man for me,” were the last words he ever heard Greg say. He never saw or spoke to him again. The last Denton heard, Greg was living in California and was married with two kids and a grandchild.

  As the front tires of the Buick ground the snow beneath them into ice, and the car failed to gain traction, Denton remembered that moment and Greg’s advice no longer held any malice. Instead, the words seemed eerily prophetic.

  Kaling and Radnor got into the car in front of him. It was a white Toyota and just the black of the disembodied grill and the windshield loomed before him in the storm.

  Denton took his foot off the gas and let the wheels stop spinning uselessly. He dropped the car out of reverse and downshifted into first. The Buick crept its way out of the frozen ruts. He was free but moving toward the car with the two infected men. Its headlights flared and a wisp of steam escaped the hood as the engine came to life.

  For half a second, they faced off against each other. Then Denton put the Buick back into reverse and pulled away. Not checking to see if the other car was in pursuit, he craned his neck around and watched the road through the back window. His body was contorted awkwardly. His foot was pressed firmly against the gas pedal, while his right arm was crammed against the head rest, and his butt barely touched the seat.

  It was a straight shot to the hospital, perhaps a mile at most. There were only three intersections and traffic was nonexistent on the late night, snow covered streets. Ploughs had passed, but not recently enough for the asphalt to be visible, except for two black lines that marked the last car to pass that way. Denton aimed for them, going as fast as he dared.

  Surroundings were recognized more from memory than from sight, as the dark store fronts and empty parking lots passed in his periphery.

  A glance at the dash told him he was going barely over twenty-five miles an hour. The Toyota’s headlights were less than five feet from his bumper.

  Denton slid through the second intersection just as the light switched to red. The car with Kaling and Radnor never slowed down and barreled through, picking up speed. The bumpers met, and Denton struggled to keep control as the Buick started to swerve. He dropped back into his seat and pushed down on the accelerator. Staring directly into the glare of the Toyota’s windscreen, he steered away from it, paying no attention to what he was heading toward. Snow shot up from his tires and started a thunderous rumble in the wheel wells. The speedometer climbed past fifty. The car began to shimmy and shake, bucking against the road. He gripped the steering wheel as if he were fighting off a writhing snake.

  Flashing lights reflected in the rearview mirror. He looked up to see an ambulance pulling out of the hospital parking lot into the road ahead of him. Without thinking, he slammed on the brakes.

  The Toyota came dangerously close to hitting him again, as both cars skidded down the middle of the road. Denton felt a strange calm take over him. Too much panic and adrenalin had already passed through his exhausted brain and this new peril brought him an unexpected peace. He even grinned at Radnor’s wide, horrified eyes, as the man’s body was thrust forward, his arms bracing against the dashboard to keep from hitting the glass.

  Should have worn your seatbelt, you bastard.
A giggle escaped his throat at the thought.

  They came to a shuttering halt. The Toyota no longer faced him, but it still blocked the way forward. Over its hood, Denton had a clear view through the window of a dry cleaner.

  A quiver started in his fingers. Then his whole body began to shake uncontrollably. He spasmed in rhythm with the flashing red light that bathed the interior of the car.

  It didn’t seem to be moving away. Had he cut the ambulance off? Did the paramedics stop to see if he was alright?

  He looked back just in time to see a patrolman step out of the squad car boxing him in. The ambulance was just a twinkling light in the distance.

  The Toyota was already retreating quickly, its white shape fading back into the storm. By the time there was a knock on the window, it was gone.

  “License and registration,” the authoritative voice said over the sudden howl of wind from the open window.

  “I’m sorry officer. Just lost control. I’m on my way to the hospital.”

  “License and registration.”

  “Talk to Bill Stahl. He knows I’m on my way. He’s meeting me there.”

  The officer bent down and looked him as if he were a dog that had just revealed it could speak. “Look, you want to get to the hospital faster, then hand over your ID. I’ll check thing out with Stahl.”

  Denton reached into his wallet and fumbled the cards out.

  “Pull over there before someone hits you.” He pointed at a spot on the side of the road.

  After several minutes, he came back. “Alright, I spoke to Detective Stahl. He’s not here yet, but he wants me to make sure you get to the hospital.” He leaned down on the window sill, arms folded. “My name is Officer Adams. Now listen to me: he doesn’t want any time wasted. So I want you to leave your car here and come with me.” At the first sign Denton was about to ask a question, he said, “It will be okay here. We can’t have it blocking the emergency entrance and the visitor parking is at capacity tonight. Do you understand?”

  Denton nodded. Despite the qualms he felt about getting into the police car, it made sense. The important thing was Kaling and Radnor were scared off, and in a few minutes he’d be safely in quarantine. Things were finally beginning to work out.

  He followed the patrolman back to his car and got in the back. Officer Adams made a beeline for the emergency entrance and parked just short of the unloading area. As though it were one smooth motion, he turned off the ignition, got out of the car, and opened Denton’s door.

  “This way, sir.” He ushered Denton to the sliding glass doors.

  There was a line up at the admissions desk. Every chair in the waiting room was taken and people were milling around or sitting on the floor. A man retched into a small plastic bucket. A woman rocked back and forth clutching an arm wrapped in a blood soaked towel. Denton tried to take it all in, but there was too much going on. Too much pain and suffering for any one room.

  Was it always like this, or was this the result of the blizzard?

  “Is this him?” someone asked.

  Officer Adam’s gave a curt nod. Two more patrolmen had shown up. They must have been waiting. A young man with sweaty blond hair stood behind them. His white smock and ID badge identified him as a doctor, and his youth and haggard look made Denton guess he was an intern.

  “Are you here to take me to the quarantine?” Denton addressed the question to the newcomers.

  “Yes, please come with us,” said one of the officers. He had a severe crew cut but a friendly, boyish face.

  The five them marched through the triage area and Denton was brought to a curtained off bed.

  “I don’t understand. I need to be separated from people,” he said looking from one face to another. The hospital must have better facilities than this.

  “Don’t worry, you will be.” It was the first words the remaining officer had spoken and he said them with a smirk.

  The doctor picked up a needle from a tray next to the bed. It was unwrapped and had already been filled with a clear liquid. “Please take off your coat and roll up your sleeve, Mr. Reed.”

  “Why? What’s that?” he said with growing alarm.

  “Just a sedative, Mr. Reed. Detective Stahl explained that you were under some stress.”

  Denton looked at the officers hoping to get some support. They’d spoken with Bill. They knew what he had really said. They couldn’t let this quack dope him up when the whole town was in danger.

  But as he glanced at them, he noticed they had taken up position, blocking off all routes of escape.

  Chapter 30

  The Rescue

  THE DOCTOR WASN’T EVEN LOOKING AT HIM. He stared down at the syringe, as though it were the most fascinating object he had ever seen.

  Denton took a step forward to read his identification badge. The young man stumbled back to keep his distance. When he looked up, his eyes were wide and his lips were stretched thin.

  “Dr. Malone,” Denton said, mustering his severe, authoritative tone normally reserved for the classroom. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of what is going on here. I have very likely been exposed to infectious pathogen or possibly a dangerous parasite. If the CDC hasn’t been called already, you need to do it now. I don’t need a sedative. I need to be put into a quarantined environment.”

  A hand grabbed his left forearm and clamped down. Denton felt the tug pulling him back. He began talking faster, each word rising in volume and pitch. “I don’t think it’s airborne, but I should be in a room with separate ventilation, until we know more.”

  “Look, Bud,” the officer with the snide attitude said from over Denton’s shoulder. “You can either take your coat off, or we can do it for you. But I don’t think you’re going to like that.”

  “Just cooperate,” his partner said, scratching the short, stubbly hair above his ear. “If you didn’t notice, it’s a zoo out there. The storm’s causing havoc all over town. Every minute we’re here with you is time we could be spending helping people with real problems.”

  Officer Adams remained silent. He stood there, blocking the thin gap in the curtain. There was a look of sympathy on the man’s face, but when he spotted Denton studying him, he folded his arms and frowned.

  “Look, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be,” Dr. Malone said. “I promise I’ll give you a full blood workup, after the shot. Let’s just stop wasting time. There are too many sick and injured people out there.”

  Somehow Denton had become the bad guy for not going along with this. But what were his options? How long could he argue before these policemen roughly stripped him? And what good would arguing do? He had to just hope that when they ran his blood they would realize their error and start taking him seriously.

  He began to pull off his old overcoat. His arm was released, so he could remove it from the sleeve, but the patrolman stayed close. Dr. Malone let out an audible breath and slouched a little. Denton draped the coat on the bed and rolled up the sleeve of his sweater.

  He was just unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt, when a raised voice roared over the din of the ER. “Do I look okay to you? I demand to see a doctor!”

  All eyes turned toward the source, even though the hospital curtain blocked any possible view. The noise that had filled the area with a static drone just seconds before hushed, like everyone was collectively holding their breaths. The air in the tiny examining area grew tense. There was hostility in the words that suggested an imminent threat.

  The officers placed their hands on their sidearms, on guard for whatever might follow. The young doctor paled and his forehead creased. He seemed to be waiting to find out what new misfortune the night had brought him.

  Denton froze in place. Wet, quivering jelly began to replace the muscles in his legs. The voice of the irate man off in the vague direction of the admissions desk was Cole Radnor�
�s.

  “No, I’m not going anywhere,” Radnor shouted. It was punctuated by a deafening crash echoing across the floor.

  A woman screamed, “Security!”

  All three patrolmen rushed out, throwing open the curtain. Dr. Malone followed fast behind them. It became readily apparent that whatever kind of madman they might have suspected Denton of being, they felt that the one out in the lobby required more immediate attention.

  Finding himself alone, Denton took a deep breath. What on Earth was Radnor doing there? Could he just be seeking medical attention? After all, only a few hours ago Denton had urged him to come with him to the hospital.

  This might be a good thing, he thought. The police would get him under control, Dr. Malone would inject him with the sedative instead of Denton, and the hospital would have two infected subjects to study. Except, the needle was lying on the tray with the other medical tools.

  The frazzled doctor had left it behind.

  “Freeze! Don’t move!” As the police barked out orders, the general mood of the ER began to roil. Voices of all sorts began speaking in everything from a murmur to a shout, creating a chaotic chorus from which no coherent words escaped.

  Denton took a tentative step toward the opening in the curtain and poked his head out. Almost every doctor, nurse, and patient in the triage area stared out at Admissions, watching the commotion.

  If he wanted to leave, now would be the perfect time. No one would see him if he left by the swinging doors marked: “Authorized personnel only.” He could get out of the ER and find another exit, away from the police and Radnor. But if he left, he risked infecting more people in town. And where would he go?

  “Get down on the floor,” one of the officers yelled, trying to make himself heard. Then the crowd of bystanders parted and a security guard crashed through them. He was on his back, sliding across the linoleum. His body came to a stop and didn’t move.

  Pandemonium erupted and all of the people so eager to get a view began pushing back into the room. The waiting room emptied out through the lobby, as people fled into the storm.