Krisis (After the Cure Book 3) (19 page)

Juliana reached for her hand and squeezed it. They stood on the front step together as the flickering grew into a cluster and then a wave of light closing in around them. The field rustled and lay prostrate in the wake of people dragging heavy steel beams across the grass. Grim looking women followed the beams, each carrying heavy tools or draped in coils of rope. There were almost a hundred people. More people than Ruth had seen in one place outside of the hospital in almost a decade. All of them were silent, staring at Ruth and Juliana. They stopped at the edge of the grass, just in front of the hospital doors. They stood there and waited.

“Can we help you folks?” asked Juliana with a sour smile.

The crowd of people shuffled and Father Preston emerged with Gray. Gray had lost his penitent expression and didn’t avoid Ruth’s gaze any longer. He hefted a sharpened fire ax in one hand while he dragged a large chain over his other shoulder. Whatever the chain was attached to was lost in the dark beyond the mob.

“I think you know why we’re here,” Gray sneered, but the priest held up a hand and he fell silent.

“I’m here to beg Ruth to submit to justice, to prevent more bloodshed.” Father Preston held his hands out toward Ruth as if expecting her to leap into his arms for protection from the crowd.

Ruth just laughed. “Justice? This is just mob brutality. I thought you left judgment up to your God,” she said, clinging to Juliana’s hand. She tried to calm her breath but deep down, she wasn’t sure she’d survive the next half hour.

“Your actions are crimes against both man and God’s law, and both require redress. Submit to us of your own accord and no one else will have to suffer in your place.”

Juliana stepped in front of Ruth, half shielding her. “She’s harmed none of you. What she’s done, she’s done out of kindness. Not malice, not for gain or because she enjoys it. Her punishment is already severe enough. She carries it with her everywhere. Nothing you do can be as terrible as her own guilt.”

“What guilt?” A voice in the crowd shouted. “She shot that boy in the street in broad daylight. She has no remorse for the people she’s murdered!”

Juliana faltered. She glanced back at Ruth. “She was trying to prevent more suffering. The truth is, there isn’t enough food here. Not for anyone, but especially at the hospital. That boy would have starved to death in a few months along with the rest of the Afflicted. After all this time, the hospital is failing. We can’t care for all of these people. And starvation is a terrible, painful way to die.”

Ruth knew it broke Juliana’s heart to admit how much trouble they were in. Gray took advantage of the opportunity. He slunk forward as Juliana was speaking. “We offered to take the boy. He would have been safe, well fed with us. We can take them all. All of the Afflicted can stay with us. We have enough. You don’t have to break your back any more, Juliana. We can help now—”

“You mean you can use them as slaves, as beasts of burden and as human shields,” interrupted Ruth. “I won’t let you do it. You may have all these people fooled, even Father Preston. But I know what you are. The last time I saw you, you swore never to return. If we are truly seeking justice, why don’t we talk about how many Afflicted
you’ve
killed Gray? And for what? A couple of cans of dog food.” Gray raised his axe, his face a twisted snarl. Father Preston restrained him. “You cannot judge me,” continued Ruth and she looked out at the crowd of people. “None of you can. Who among you hasn’t killed someone in the past eight years? An Infected that was attacking your loved ones? A looter trying to take your goods? An attacker trying to violate a family member? Maybe you’ve been lucky. Maybe you avoided all that. But you saw your neighbors die to the same things and did nothing. Or they became infected and wandered out into the street and died on your doorstep from hunger or exposure. Or you knew about someone else’s stockpile and you took just a few cans of food or a couple of boards or books for warmth. And then you took what remained when they died of want. None of you are fit to judge me or anyone else.” She looked out over the crowd. “Go home. Forget the Afflicted. Forget this place. Let us starve in peace.”

“No,” growled Gray.

Ruth looked down at him and began speaking quickly and quietly. “I know you want the Infected. They are valuable to you. This is the only place where you’ll find so many together. Do you really want to create a frenzy? These people are a few words away from burning the building down around us. You want to risk all that stock? Think of the trade you’d lose. You could have it all in one job. Drugs, electicity, gas, whatever you wanted with this many slaves. Or you could let it all go up in smoke.”

“You aren’t going to give them to me anyway. What do I care if they burn?”

“Maybe you’ll get lucky. Maybe I’ll die first. Maybe you’ll outwit me. But if the hospital is destroyed, you’ll have no more opportunities to try. For now, it’s a truce.”

“Wicked deceiver!” cried Father Preston, “do not bargain with this woman, her tongue is as forked as Satan’s own. No truce!” He held up a handful of photos. They were bound in the scarlet bungee cord she’d taken from Connor’s shopping cart. “Someone has to pay for the innocent blood that has flooded these streets. If you will not submit, someone will have to pay that debt for you.” He nodded at Gray who gave the chain a mighty yank.

There was a groan and some jangling. The crowd separated and began moving the steel posts as the chain became slowly slack and slithered in the grass around Father Preston. Two men crawled slowly forward, moaning with pain. A badly hewn section of telephone pole was lashed to their backs, long splintery shards slicing their shirts and skin as they dragged themselves into the light. The others ignored them, busily chopping the brush and dirt away from two small sites.

Golden sparks sprang from the end of a few welding torches as they worked on the steel beams and the rope was uncoiled and cut into long pieces, shining like silver on the dark grass. Gray hauled the man on the left to his feet. The man screamed and thrashed feebly, too exhausted to do much else. There was a heavy dog collar around his neck that the chain passed through and his hands were bound to the telephone pole with rope. His face was swollen and dark from repeated beatings, Ruth didn’t recognize him. “Please,” he gasped, “my wife is pregnant. We’re having a baby. You have to let me go, she’ll be all alone—”

Gray wrapped the chain once around his hand and pulled the man closer to his face.

“You’re lucky she’s not up here too. From what I understand, she’s the one that wanted your son dead. Count your blessings and stay quiet.” He shoved the man backward. He fell and his head snapped against the pole at his back with a thud. He lay there weeping. Father Preston held up the red bungee cord. Gray took it and wrapped it around the man’s chest. Ruth finally realized that it was Connor’s father. She took a step forward but Juliana grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“They’re already dead, Ruth. They’ll kill them now whether you try to save them or not. It’s no use you dying alongside them. That man’s wife will need help. You’re the only person for hundreds of miles who can.” Her eyes were streaming, but Juliana’s face was hard and frozen.

One of the beams was lifted up by a small surge of hands. It sank into the crude hole that had been hastily dug in the yard. A few men held it upright while others packed the dirt back in around the beam. The other man was dragged to his feet, but he said nothing. His nose was bloody and smashed, but Ruth remembered the loose band-aid on his cheek. Father Preston plucked a photograph from the bundle he was holding. Ruth didn’t have to look to know it was a photo of Emma and the man in front of her was Nick, Emma’s father.

“You know,” said Father Preston, gently tapping the edge of the photo against his chin, “I’d hoped for some divine hand to strike the police station with lightning or a tornado or some other terrible force so that it would be gone. So you could no longer revel in your misdeeds. But I’m glad that prayer went unanswered. Because your board of trophies has given us a way of tracking down every wicked soul who ever resorted to your services.” He handed Gray the photograph while staring at Ruth. “How many did you say over the years? I think it was more than fifty anyway. Well, it’s going to be a little tricky finding fifty steel beams that will suit the purpose, but we’ll manage. You can have a new trophy board,” he raised his hands to indicate the field as another beam was lifted into place. Juliana sobbed but clung to Ruth’s arm to prevent her from surrender.

Nick looked up at her. His lips were broken and swollen but he managed to stretch them into a smile. “I buried Emma yesterday. She looked so peaceful. I slept today. Wanted to plant some flowers before—” His smile faded and his eyes sparkled in the torch light, “I just wanted to say thank you. Whatever the cost is, I’m paying it willingly. Happily. It was worth it just to see the calm in her face.”

Gray kneed him in the gut. “Shut up, baby killer. You think this is the price for what you’ve done to your daughter? You’re going to hell, you’ll pay for an eternity.”

Nick doubled over and then laughed, a wheezy, shaky rattle. “At least I’ll have a friend,” he managed and caught Ruth’s eye.

“I’ll see you soon,” she said and Nick nodded as he was pushed backward toward one of the beams. Twin stepladders were opened on either side of each post. Nick was relieved of the telephone pole, only to be rebound with his arms above his head in the center of it. A man stood on each stepladder holding one end of the pole, awaiting direction.

“This man is a murderer,” said Father Preston loudly, “he requested and paid for the slaughter of his own child. Since the one who carried out the deed will not submit to justice, he must answer for both his own sin and hers,” Father Preston turned to Ruth, “He is dying for
you
. It may be a pale reminder, but let it soften your pride and lead you back to the path of the righteous. Repent and put aside your wicked disobedience.”

“Blasphemy,” spat Juliana, but Father Preston ignored her.

He raised his hand and the men holding the beam started up the ladder. Nick closed his eyes as his feet rose off the ground. His body twisted slightly to the side as he dangled. Ruth watched the muscles in his arms tighten. The beam was put in place on a welded bracket and the photo of Emma was stapled to the wooden beam. Nick hung from his wrists directly below it. He tried to brace himself with his feet against the steel post. The men saw what he was doing and made a grab for his boots. He didn’t fight them as the boots were removed. His arms shook and his face began to redden. There was a hollow pop and he cried out before biting his lip. Ruth saw Gray’s slow smile smear his face and turned away for a moment. She shut her eyes. The sweet, green smell of the crushed grass made her dizzy. There was another pop and Nick screamed. Ruth took a deep breath and turned back so he could see a friend’s face as he died.

Nick began to gasp, panting out his breath as his feet slid against the smooth post behind him, trying to push himself up. He was drowning in the cool night air. He kicked and finally planted his feet on the post. He pushed himself up for a second and gasped before falling again, his torso twisting to the side.

Juliana sobbed and tugged on Ruth’s arm. Ruth turned to look at her. “Where’s the gun Ruth?” she asked in a whisper so that no one else could hear.

“The gun?” Ruth asked, too shocked to understand.

“You can’t leave him like that.”

Ruth glanced back at Nick, who had pushed himself up again. He was steady and his breath was coming in great whoops. She could see his legs shaking with the effort. The quarter moon emerged from the shattered clouds and cast a cool light on his face and over the crowd, turning them to marble.

“Ruth,” he said quickly, “it’s okay. It’s done.” He sucked in one great deep breath and then shoved off with his feet. He held his breath, kicking only once, wildly. After a few moments, his eyes rolled back and his head dipped forward. Ruth heard a few struggling wheezes and then there was nothing more. One of the men climbed the ladder and checked the pulse in Nick’s dislocated wrist. He nodded briefly to Father Preston. The first notes of a hymn spilled into the soft summer air, a woman’s voice, high and sweet overwhelming the crickets. The rest of the crowd joined. The Infected heard and began shrieking. Juliana turned and vomited. Ruth held her up as her body shook with the violence of the expulsion. “Go inside, go lie down. You don’t have to watch this,” Ruth said in her ear.

Juliana shook her head and wiped her mouth. “If I leave, they’ll grab you. Come inside with me. You don’t have to watch either.”

But Ruth did. She was somehow responsible for all of it. She had to be there. “If I don’t, they might do something worse,” she whispered.

The hymn evaporated, and the crowd became ominously silent again. Ruth turned around. Gray was walking over to the other bound man, the father of the boy Ruth had shot. The stepladders were moved.

“No!” cried the man, “No, have mercy! Please, my wife is very pregnant. I was only trying to protect my baby. What choice did I have?” He wept while they arranged him on the telephone pole and rebound him.

“You could have left the boy with us. We offered to care for him for the rest of his days,” said Gray and turned back toward Juliana, “an offer I extend to everyone inside as well.”

“You would have worked him to death,” the man sobbed, “You would have used him up and starved him or beaten him. I’ve heard of those camps to the south, I know what they do to the Infected there.”