Greg Cox - A Touch of Fever

Without any further preliminaries, she raised her right hand in benediction. The audience gasped as a phosphorescent blue glow emanated from the glove. Nadia’s stomach turned over queasily, but she couldn’t stop now if she wanted to. Her gift was growing stronger. She didn’t need to touch people one by one anymore. She just had to let the healing power of the glove flow out of her. “Fear not! Let the light bathe you-and banish all your afflictions!” Sparking azure beams radiated outward, spreading over the crowd like a laser light display.

The audience oohed and aahed before succumbing to its restorative effect. People swooned throughout the crowd, often sagging into the arms of friends and loved ones. Not everyone collapsed, however.

Others merely moaned or sighed as minor aches and pains were washed away by the unearthly effulgence. Mere spectators, drawn only by curiosity or ailing companions, gaped in wonder. There was a smattering of applause. A few overwhelmed people sobbed in joy. Don’t thank me, Nadia thought. Thank Clara’s glove! She basked in the moment. An overpowering sense of exhilaration allowed her to ignore the nausea churning in her belly. She swayed atop her makeshift podium, a dreamy expression on her face, as she held her right hand aloft. The azure light grew brighter and brighter, outshining the sun.

All her doubts dissolved into the light. Forget the glove’s occasionally unpleasant side effects: this was the greatest moment in her life. She could die happy now… if she had to. Jim came up beside her, ready to catch her if she slipped. “New York City, babe,” he whispered proudly. She could tell he was making an effort to overcome his fears long enough to share this moment with her. “You’ve hit the big time.” Spoken like a born showman. She smiled indulgently. You can take the boy out of the sideshow, but you can’t take- A disturbance in the distance cut off her thought. There seemed to be something going on at the rear of the crowd, several yards away from the stage. Agitated shouts and exclamations reached her ears, contrasting sharply with the grateful sighs of the people nearer the front. People started racing madly away on the outskirts of the mob.

They looked scared. I don’t understand, Nadia thought. What’s happening? She peered over the heads of the swooning pilgrims, but there were too many people in the way. She couldn’t make out what the problem was. Had somebody had a scary reaction to the light? People often collapsed after being healed, but they had always recovered quickly before, and without any lingering effects. Maybe someone was just panicking prematurely? “It will be all right,” she called out in a calming tone. “If anybody’s feeling faint, just give them air.

There’s nothing to be afraid of, I promise.” But the cries grew louder and more frightened, like something was seriously wrong. The commotion was impossible to ignore. The rest of the audience started looking around anxiously. Jim tugged on her arm. “Screw it!” he blurted. “I knew this was a bad idea. We need to get out of here!” “I can’t!”

Nadia resisted his pull. “These people trusted me. I can’t just leave them!” The glowing glove flickered, then flared up even more brightly than before. Her palm itched like crazy. She fought an urge to scratch it. Her heart was pounding and her legs felt like rubber. She wiped her brow with her free hand. Had this ever happened to Clara? The crowd parted before her, starting at the outer fringes but working its way toward the front. People started collapsing down the middle of the audience while the folks at the sides ran away in fear, forming a wedge-shaped gap pointed at the stage. Terrified men and women trampled over each other in their haste to escape. A wheelchair was knocked over, spilling a young paraplegic woman onto the grass. Newly healed, she sprang to her feet and joined the frantic exodus. A desperate father clutched a crying toddler to his chest as he shoved and shouted his way past the panicked people blocking his path. Right behind him, a family of four dropped to the ground in unison. They hadn’t gotten away quickly enough. Is this my fault? Nadia wondered.

Am I doing this? Her audience fell away, revealing the source of the tumult. A solitary figure wearing a tan trench coat strode down the center of the wedge. A swirling gray fog accompanied him, wafting about him like a misty aura. Oily tendrils spread outward from his presence, rolling across the meadow, close to the ground. Nadia recognized his gaunt face and baleful gray eyes at once. So did Jim.

“Crap! It’s that freak from before!” You could literally see the sickness fuming off him. The noisome vapors reeked of rot and disease.

The contaminated air rippled around him as though burning up with fever. A familiar-looking white leather glove resided on his left hand. It pulled on her like a magnet. He’s come for me, she realized.

For my glove. The stranger cut a swath through what was left of her audience, infecting people left and right. He swept his left arm before him to clear a path to the stage. Like her, he didn’t need to touch anyone to get to them. Fog billowed from his glove, throwing off infection with every wave of his hand. The plague felled all it touched. People dropped like flies, convulsing upon the ground. They coughed and moaned. Some even vomited. “This is effed-up!” Jim tried to drag her away. “Come on! We can still get away!” “No!” She yanked her arm free. “You go! I can help them!” She had to undo whatever the stranger was doing. Her face wrinkled in concentration as she called upon the full power of the glove. Help me, Clara! The spectral nimbus enveloping her hand intensified. Blazing blue light shone through the noxious gray mist, driving it back. The stranger was slowed as well.

He staggered backward, as though repelled by the light, but quickly regained his footing. “Very well.” A sardonic smile played upon his thin lips. He threw out his left hand. “Let’s see what you’ve got!” A battle of wills ensued. Left versus right. Sickness versus health.

Blue against gray. Caught in the middle, hundreds of innocent victims thrashed in agony upon the grass, their bodies and souls pummeled by conflicting waves of infection and relief. Nadia tried to heal them all, over and over again, even as the stranger spread his disease like wildfire. The luckiest souls, farther away from the conflict and as yet untouched by the fog, ran screaming from the meadow. Their headlong flight threw the entire fair into an uproar. Thousands of confused and frightened people, most not even knowing what had started the panic, started running as well. Pandemonium emptied the park, except for those who were already too ill to escape. They flailed about in torture. This is a nightmare, Nadia thought, her heart breaking. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I only wanted to help people! The weather was going wrong too. Angry black clouds came charging in from nowhere, hiding the sun. They clotted thickly overhead. Howling winds tore through the abandoned fair, blowing over deserted tents and booths. New Age pamphlets and trinkets flew about wildly. Fallen leaves swirled like red, yellow, and brown dust devils.

The temperature dropped to freezing. What had been a beautiful fall afternoon turned bleak and wintry. Just like in Fairfield. Clara Barton’s gloves, separated by time and fate, yearned for each other.

Nadia felt the other glove pulling on her. Her palm itched like an entire colony of ants had burrowed beneath the glove and were chewing voraciously on her flesh. His arm outstretched, the stranger marched toward her, callously stepping over and around the convulsing bodies strewn in his path. Despite herself, Nadia stepped off the box. She lurched toward him. “Wait! Where are you going?” Jim grabbed her around the waist, holding on to her like a lifeline. The irresistible force surprised him. “Son of a bitch! It’s sucking on you!” “Run!” she urged him. “Don’t let him get you!” “Not a chance!” He strained against the pull until they were leaning at nearly a forty-five-degree angle. Veins and tendons bulged on his neck. He grunted through clenched teeth. “I’m not going to let you go!” “You have to!” She tilted forward, dragging him behind her. Both of his arms were wrapped around her. Callused fingers, strengthened by years of knife practice, dug into her side. “Please, Jim. Save yourself!” “Not without you!”