Krisis (After the Cure Book 3) (17 page)

Father Preston reddened again. “I will not waste my breath answering such outrageous accusations when I’ve done nothing but show the Afflicted kindness. They are my brothers—” he stopped and took a deep breath. “It’s very simple Ruth. If you really care what happens to this boy, you’ll let him take his chances with us. You’ll let them all come to us. Otherwise, they’ll suffer a very long and painful death through starvation and freezing this winter when you have too many to feed. It will be
you
torturing them then Ruth, you who advocate mercy. There isn’t any other choice.”

She knew he was right. She’d seen the meager garden and the bare pantry. She doubted whether there was even enough to get them to harvest, even with extensive scavenging missions. She’d comforted Juliana the other day, but in truth, she saw no way for them all to survive. The boy was chewing dents into the can and beginning to kick again against the cart. He was still hungry.
They’re always so hungry
, she thought. She glanced at Gray who was whispering to Father Preston. His clothing had changed into a plain, unassuming church goer’s outfit, but she knew what he was. He’d drive the Infected as hard as he could and then sell them to someone else who would treat them even worse. And as long as Father Preston could pretend it was good for their souls, he’d never stop it. The boy might survive the winter with them, but it wouldn’t be much longer than that. What on earth could she do? He was right. There was only one choice. There was no way out that she could see. She couldn’t watch him starve. She couldn’t watch any of them starve. It was too much.

She stared at the multicolored bands around his chest and arms. “Well?” rumbled Father Preston. Ruth selected a red bungee cord. She carefully unhooked it and draped it over the community board that held all her photos. “I’m sorry, Connor. I really, truly am. You didn’t deserve any of this. Better luck next time around, kid,” she said, looking at the boy. His gaze slid away and flitted over the rest of the crowd and then back to the can.

Father Preston smiled. “That’s not necessary Ruth. I assure you we’ll take good care of him. We can get him safely out of his bindings—” He stopped and the color drained from his face as Ruth pulled her gun from its holster. Gray ducked behind the priest. The others gasped or shrieked. Ruth hesitated for one more second.
It’s for the best,
she thought. She heard Bill’s voice in her head again. “It’s time to let him go. It had to be today.” She pulled the trigger and the boy’s head rocked backward. The shopping cart rolled a few feet away from her and caught on the edge of the community board.

There was time to hear the tin can clatter against the metal bars of the cart and then the cement. Then someone screamed. Then someone threw a stone. It landed in front of her. She turned and saw a look of utter shock on Father Preston’s face. Behind him, the Congregation was a seething mass of fury. She saw more stones in their hands and she ducked. A few hit her anyway. They were small, street rubble. In a few seconds they’d find the heavy stuff. She didn’t want to be there for that. She thought of her gun, but she knew they were too outraged to react to a simple threat.

She grabbed her pack and began to run. A large rock plowed into her hip and she stumbled but kept to her feet. Another smashed into her back. And then she was gone. She regretted leaving the boy’s body. They’d never let her go back to bury him. They might even attack the hospital. She knew Juliana would never understand what she had done. She would die hating Ruth. But Ruth had to try to explain. And she couldn’t abandon Juliana especially now. She made her way back toward the hospital, hoping she’d beat the mob.

Chapter 15

The hospital was in uproar when he arrived. The immense iron bar that was usually seated next to the door had been flung into the tall grass of the yard and the front door stood wide open. The Afflicted were shouting and banging and a mangy dog stood in the foyer growling and snapping. It looked like the gardener’s dog, but Father Preston couldn’t see Bernard anywhere. The dog, nervous at the noise of the Afflicted, turned toward Father Preston and growled.

The priest backed out and walked around to the kitchen rather than risk being bitten. He called for Juliana but no one answered. He wasn’t sure if anyone would be able to hear him anyway. The kitchen door was closed and the meal carts were empty, though Father Preston knew it was past lunchtime. He shrugged and pulled the door open. Maybe Juliana had already cleaned the dishes. But she’d had no volunteers that day, not from the Congregation anyway. They’d all been with him.

Maybe it was Bernard, or a family member helping her. Or maybe Ruth had beaten him there after all. Father Preston tasted a dry, bitter flash of fear. Was that why the Afflicted were screaming? Was she slaughtering them even now? His heart rattled against his ribs. He slunk into the kitchen and cautiously peered down the hallway. Just the dog, continually barking. There were thuds on the stairs just beyond the door. Father Preston pulled his head back and pressed himself against the wall. The kitchen door sprang open, almost hitting him. It was Bernard with a small bucket. He lumbered over to the sink, not seeing the priest behind the door. He threw the handle of the hand pump up and then slammed it back down, frantically trying to fill the bucket. Father Preston glanced around the door to make sure no one was with him. Then he slid out from behind it.

“What’s happened?” he asked. Bernard jumped and twisted around. The skin under his eyes was red, as if he had been crying and his hair was raked and pulled in half a dozen places. He grabbed the priest’s hand and pulled him toward the door. Father Preston pulled back. “Is it Ruth? Is she here?” The gardener shook his head. He pointed up and began pulling Father Preston toward the stairs again. “Where’s Juliana?” he asked Bernard, but his arm was only pulled harder, so the priest reluctantly climbed the stairs, wary of any ambush that might be waiting. It took three floors to house all of the Afflicted now. Juliana stayed in one of the attic offices. Father Preston had stayed in another until the Congregation rebuilt the local church and its parish house. It was suffocatingly hot in the attic, even in midwinter. It was almost unbearable when Bernard brought him to Juliana’s room. She lay on top of the neatly made bed, dust from the garden crumbling from her boots onto the covers. Her face was ashy and beaded with sweat. She was unconscious. Bernard patted her hand and gently shook her shoulder but she didn’t wake up.

“Go back and get that water,” ordered Father Preston, “It’s too hot in here.”

Bernard tromped back to the stairs and disappeared. Father Preston opened the window. It was one of the few perks of living up here, the offices all had windows that could open. The kitchen was the only other room that had them. He sat down in a rickety folding chair that Juliana kept beside the window. Bernard came back with the bucket of water. He placed it next to the bed and began soaking a cloth in it.

“Has she been unconscious long?” asked Father Preston.

Bernard shook his shaggy head.

“Was she feeling ill this morning?”

He shrugged. He put a sopping washcloth on Juliana’s head. She took a sharp, surprised breath and opened her eyes.

“Did you find Ruth?” she asked.

Bernard shook his head again and pointed with a grimy thumb toward the priest. Juliana struggled to sit up and see who was there.

“I came to see you about Ruth,” said Father Preston in a grim tone. “I’m sorry to have found you so ill.”

The gardener helped her sit up. Juliana smiled. “Nonsense, I just got a little dizzy from this heat. Bernard brought me back. I’ll be fine in a minute or two.”

“I’m afraid you are overtaxing yourself. Let me handle the hospital for a while. I know what needs to be done.”
This is almost too easy,
he thought.

“That’s okay, Ruth should be back shortly. We’ll be fine.”

Father Preston let the gentle smile on his face wither into a grave expression of pity. “Ruth has done something terrible— I would say unforgivable, except that I save judgment for God.” He shook his head slowly and looked at the floor. Juliana rubbed her temples gently and huddled closer to Bernard, who put a protective arm around her. Father Preston didn’t wait for a response. “There was a boy— a young boy, perhaps twelve. His father didn’t want him anymore. I begged him to give the boy to me, but he refused and brought him to Ruth. I thought she had rules about this sort of thing. She’s never harmed a child before, not even an Afflicted one.” Juliana looked up at him. “I asked her to give the boy to the Congregation, told her that we would care for him, that she didn’t need to worry about straining the hospital’s already depleted resources, that our church had enough and some to spare. She just— snapped. I didn’t think even
she
could harm a child. She had
rules.
” He reached for Juliana’s hand and enveloped it in his own. “She shot him, Juliana. Right there, in front of all those loving, caring Christians who were just trying to help him. She shot him and then fled. I know that God forgives all of our sins, no matter how heinous, but I’m afraid human justice isn’t so forgiving. I tried to hold them back, begged them to show her mercy, but the Congregation was outraged and filled with zealous wrath. They scattered and even now seek out justice. I would have followed them, in order to stop any violence, but I was worried she might be headed here and in her unstable condition, well— I’m glad to find everyone here unharmed.”

Juliana sat for a long moment in silence, her eyes closed. Then she turned to Bernard. “Will you find Ruth for me? I need her to come back. I need her help. Make sure she’s all right.”

Bernard nodded and tromped down the stairs again. Father Preston waited until he was gone.

“Are you feeling much pain?”

Juliana shook her head. “I just get tired and the occasional headache. I can manage.”

“I’m sorry such trouble has disturbed what ought to be a time of rest and peace.”

Juliana laughed. “There’s not much peace around here, regardless of what Ruth or you do.”

“You needn’t work so hard, you know. You could retire, live out the rest of your days in tranquility. I will care for the Afflicted. We are starting a new community, they will be well fed and attended to. They will be healthy with us until a cure is found.”

Juliana frowned. “Father, I’m past believing comfortable lies. We both know that there isn’t a cure. There won’t ever be one now. But we’ve already discussed this,” she waved a hand at him, “I want to talk to Ruth first, before I decide what happens to the hospital when I’m gone. You can fight like dogs over it if you want then, but let me think that my request will matter while I’m alive.”

Father Preston released her hand. “Of course your requests will be honored. I know we both want what is best for the Afflicted. But I now know what Ruth is capable of. I can’t possibly allow her to commit the same atrocity again. But she is your friend. Indeed, we ought to all be a friend to Ruth in her time of despair. You will want to hear what happened from her own mouth. I understand that impulse. I urge you only to be cautious. And know that I will be nearby if you need assistance, with Ruth, with the hospital or just to sit and read with you.”

Juliana managed a dim smile. “Thank you Father. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are lots of very hungry people waiting for me.”

Father Preston rose. He looked down at her, as if he were about to say something else, thought better of it and gave her a nod. Then he strode out of the hospital, leaving the shrieks and clawings of the Afflicted behind him and turning his thoughts to the future of Ruth’s police station.

Chapter 16

Ruth had run through the baking streets for several minutes before the sizzling in her lungs forced her to slow down. She kept glancing around her, sure the mob was chasing her, but her shadow was the only thing that moved in the windless concrete. She ducked into the cool dark of a small alley expecting an ambush but only the echo of her own feet followed her. Her hip and back were sore and hot where the rocks had struck. She was limping badly and knew she’d never beat the others to the hospital. She’d only end up being overtaken by them if she tried. And then what? A lynching? A fire at the hospital? They weren’t going to stop once they found her. She’d seen the complete surprise on Father Preston’s face. He’d been sure she’d never kill the boy. He’d probably told the Congregation as much. If he hadn’t pushed so hard— if he’d let her think for a moment…

Ruth sank against the brick wall of the building behind her. She had time to think
now
. Had there been another way? The people in the hospital would never survive the winter. She’d seen the pantry. The bins were only a quarter full, even while they were harvesting the early crops every day from the garden. The shelves were empty except for the very back. A few cans, a few jars of preserves Ruth had made herself from another distant orchard the year before. Family members stopped in less and less, and when they did, they brought very little. Ruth had watched as they, too, lost weight over time. The whole city was in its death throes, not just the hospital. Even if the boy had somehow survived, if she could bring them all through the winter, what was it for? He’d still be sick. Still be suffering. It was just Charlie all over again. It always was. Every day, every contract. She was just repeating and repeating the same hell, watching people wither and die for years and years. Was she really going to do this for the rest of their lives?