Read Online The Cured by Deirdre Gould - Free Book Online

right? Besides, if I go, there’s no one to watch the store. What if someone needs things, just like you? Or what if Sheriff Douglass comes back? He might have people who need help too. Someone’s got to stay. At least until the power gives out.” Wyatt looked around at the freezers and coolers around him, “After that, lots of this isn’t going to be good for much.”
    Henry handed him the bundle of bills after fumbling with the flimsy things for a moment. “I hate to think of you down here, when it does go out. And with all those sick people wandering around outside.”
    Wyatt’s eyes sparked with tears as he folded the money and stuck it in his back pocket. “I know most of them, Henry. Some of them grew up from babies right around the corner. The ones that are outside; they’re not going to come out okay. Unless the Sheriff can get them back in their houses they’ll freeze to death. And the ones he had to shoot.” Wyatt scrubbed his face and snuffled, but then he looked up and smiled at Henry. “The rest of them though, they’ll be okay, it’ll be like a bad flu. They’ll just wake up normal and a little hung over in a few days and mosey on in here to get the news and their milk like always.”
    Henry started to shake his head.
    “It’ll be okay Henry,” Wyatt clapped him on the shoulder, “You take these supplies back to the lodge and have a nice Christmas. By New Year’s Eve you’ll be making a beer run down here in the car, you’ll see.”
    “And if not?”
    “If not, I’ll be hiking up there to take advantage of your hospitality. Consider it a down-payment on future supplies, if you need them.”
    Henry nodded and picked up the palette’s rope lead. Wyatt opened the bay door with a loud rattle. Henry peered out, but none of the infected even glanced over. They just slogged in senseless patterns through the snow. It was somehow more unsettling than seeing them bear down upon him. He turned back toward Wyatt. “Thank you. I’ll see you later,” he said.
    Wyatt shook his head. “I bet I’ll be seeing you first Henry. Have a safe trip back.” The bay door clattered closed between them and Henry began to climb the hill back to the lodge, going quickly in case the infected people decided they were hungry after all.
    The palette was heavy and cut deep into the snow, dragging the weight of packed lumps of ice beneath it. Even in his best shape, Henry would have been exhausted after dragging it for three miles. The infection was slow, and it had crept up on him for weeks. It was painless, but he was quickly wiped out now and he found himself struggling to concentrate on even the simplest tasks. He spent most of his energy getting the palette up the first hill out of town. He sat on the crest to catch his breath and was alarmed when he realized he’d sat there much longer than he intended.
    He dragged the palette on, trying to remember what the news had said about patients recovering. If he’d heard anything, it was lost now and he eventually gave up chasing echoes in his head. He tried to focus on each step as he passed by the snowmobile wreck, not wanting to see the shattered glass of the headlights or the empty shallow grave of the woman he’d dragged to town. He slipped and fell onto the bare patch that some spilled gasoline had made. He swore as the overloaded palette tipped toward him. It didn’t fall and nothing slid off, and Henry scrambled up after a moment. He checked the palette over, his hand brushing the scarlet fabric of the cheap stocking Wyatt had found for him. Henry didn’t want to lose it. The kid was expecting Santa. He started off again, an aching creak in his knee where it had hit the pavement.
    The snowy path was just as quiet as the day before. No birds, no cars, only a slight breeze catching the snow in streams like broken cobwebs. The trees hunched themselves over the narrow strip of road. The last loads of snow had thumped from their branches hours ago, and they