The 40th Day (After the Cure Book 5) (2 page)

“What do you propose we do with him? If I let go, he’ll be up in a matter of seconds chasing us again. Even if we lose him somehow, he’ll just wander around until he finds someone else to hurt,” she grunted. The man’s gasping stopped. It would only be seconds now until brain death.

Christine was crawling toward her. “Let go, Marnie, we’ll tie him up. I’m sure he’s got a family in the City. They’ll care for him until the Cure—”

Marnie shook her head and tightened her grip. “There’s no Cure, Christine. You said so yourself. If we tie him up, we just leave him to a worse death by slowly starving.”

Christine bent forward to look at the unconscious man’s face. “I know him,” she said, “He’s an electric plant worker. He came in for chemical burns last year. I treated him. He’s just sick, he’s not evil, Marnie. I know him.”

“Not anymore. He’s not who you think. He doesn’t know
you
. He tried to kill you. He’d keep trying. They all try. Don’t you remember what they are like?”

The man was dead now. Marnie was sure. She slowly untwisted the pack and slid the strap out from underneath him. His head dropped the rest of the way to the cement with a thunk. Christine slid a dirty hand over her eyes. “You didn’t have to do that. He was a human being. You can’t just kill people, there’s always another way.”

Marnie adjusted the pack on her back so that it sat flatter. “Yeah, he was a human being. He wouldn’t have wanted to live that way. I wouldn’t have wanted to live that way. Another way wouldn’t have been kind. You think your wife enjoys eating innocent people alive?”

Christine stared up at her. “Sevita isn’t eating people.”

“Wake up!” shouted Marnie, her voice ringing like cold metal from the tunnel walls, “If she’s still living, then she’s eating people. If she’s not, then someone else showed her the same kindness I showed this guy. You can’t go on thinking we can just knock em out and leave them or— or lead them home on a leash to their family. They aren’t the people that they were!” she kicked the man in the side. “He’s not Henry anymore, so get up and dust yourself off. There’s going to be more and we have to save ourselves.”

“Henry?” asked Christine, confused.

Marnie ignored her, picking up the flashlight and shoving it into Christine’s hand before wiping off the dampened map and heading off down the tunnel.

Two

He wasn’t a brave man, he could admit that to himself, though the others insisted he was. Reckless, desperate not to recover from a second madness as he had the first, yes. That’s why he had volunteered. It meant he’d never have to come back. The others would make sure of that. He wouldn’t be left to recover in some strange house with no explanation except his nightmarish memories ever again. But it wasn’t free, that assurance. What he’d have to do in the coming weeks… Vincent paced the long, grassy lane between the wire cages of the quarantine camp. Moonlight outlined each small square in the wire mesh and made the small tent where Father Preston slept glow in the dark field. The two men in the wire cages lay still under their tiny squares of tarp. Vincent softened his footsteps as he neared them. How could they sleep? He couldn’t. He hadn’t been able to quiet his mind enough even to say a proper prayer in weeks. Not since the barn meeting. Not since he’d realized what must be done. He hadn’t been able to sleep either, not really. Instead, he’d drop from exhaustion every other day for a scant few hours and wake unrefreshed and more strained than ever.

The mumbled panic-stricken pleas that took the place of his normally thoughtful, peaceful devotions made him ashamed, but it didn’t make his fear subside. He’d hidden it well from the others. He still hid it from the slowly sickening pair of refugees that he was caring for. But alone, when all of his work was done, the terror choked him and he resorted to begging, to bargaining, to everything he knew wasn’t really prayer.

You know I’m not afraid to face You,
he’d begin, his feet wearing away the long, smooth grass as he traveled the length of the camp over and over again.
I know there is no hiding from You. What I’ve been, what I’ve done. And I know Henry was right. There isn’t anything we can do to lessen the harm we’ve caused, no matter how long we live.
Vincent wrung his hands and paused halfway up the lane.
I’m not afraid to die. I’m afraid of what has to be done next. Is this murder or is it self-defense? I’m afraid of what I’m going to become. I need help. Help me.
He went back to pacing, trying to erase the feeling of cowardice and shame his thoughts produced.

The bell hanging in the silo clanged and echoed over the farm and down into the quarantine camp. Vincent turned to look down the road. A cluster of flashlights bobbed and wavered.
Help me,
he pleaded again, and headed down the dirt path as the light in Father Preston’s tent brightened and shadows began to move inside. He could see it was a large group from the number of lights. For a moment, he thought about switching on the small radio he carried to call for help. He couldn’t expose anyone else. If they were looters or worse— well, he guessed that he wouldn’t have to worry about what would happen in a few weeks.

The lights drew closer and Vincent could hear the dragging shuffle of several tired feet. “Hello,” he called, still several yards from them. He didn’t want to startle them. The shuffling stopped abruptly and Vincent found himself soaked in the bright glow of overlapping flashlight beams. He tried to force a smile. He was glad he couldn’t see them, these people he was meant to kill. “Where are you coming from?” he kept his voice casual, as if crowds normally walked the road in the middle of the night.

“Are we at the Cured Colony?” asked a voice.

“You’re close to it,” offered Vincent, squinting against the light. “Where are you coming from?” he asked again.

“Look, you can’t turn us away. We’ve nowhere to go. There are women and children—” shouted a man.

Vincent raised one hand to calm him. “We aren’t going to turn you away. Are you from the City?”

“Yes,” said the man hesitantly, “but you can’t send us back there. There were riots— half the soldiers are dead. People went crazy— just like before. Just like the Plague. The soldiers keep trying to round them up, to put them somewhere so the rest of us can be safe, but there aren’t enough of them anymore. We had to leave. You have to help us.”

“Of course. Of course we’ll help you. We’ve been expecting you—”

There was a murmur of relief and a few sighs as the small crowd surged toward him.

“But we have to protect the people who are already here,” Vincent continued.

“Please,” said a woman stumbling forward, “we’ve been walking for days. Most of us haven’t had anything to eat in almost a week—” She was carrying a sleeping boy whose arm hung crooked in a sling. Vincent gently reached out and lifted the child from her.

“I’m taking you somewhere safe, where you can rest. There will be food and medicine, but you’ve all been exposed to the new disease. The people at the Colony haven’t been. We have to quarantine you. We’ll take care of you, but you
must
cooperate.”

“But we aren’t sick!” cried someone.

“It’s a precaution. What if you brought it with you on your clothes or on your skin? Do you want to risk turning the Colony into the same nightmare you just left?”

“What about you? Now you are exposed. Maybe infected.”

Vincent nodded, wanting to close his eyes, wanting to flee. “I’m staying in the quarantine camp with you. When we’re all clear in a few weeks, we’ll go rejoin the Colony. Together. In the meantime, I’ll do what I can to help. Are you ready?”

The woman nodded, and Vincent hoped she was speaking for all of them. He didn’t wait for people to protest or threaten violence, instead he turned and carried the boy up the trail and back to the quarantine camp. The others followed closely behind. Father Preston was waiting at the entrance. Vincent brushed past him with the sleeping boy, hoping the other priest would let them at least get through the door before launching into his faith healing bit. He placed the boy gently down in one of the small tents and turned its lantern on. The others crowded into the cell around him.

“You can’t expect us to live here,” protested a man. “I admit things may not have been great in the City for you Cureds, but we didn’t make you live in tents. You had as good as we did.”

Vincent looked up at him. “I promise you, this is the very best we could do with the time we had. The people up in the Colony are living in tents and plywood sheds too. You’ll see in the morning. Most of the people up there are hoping their families are coming here, that their friends and loved ones will rejoin them in a few weeks. They
want
you to be comfortable. They want you to come home to them. Whatever we have, we are sharing.”

The man looked stricken. “This— this is how you’ve been living? You left the City for this?”

The boy’s mother knelt beside Vincent and stroked the child’s cheek, gently lifting sweaty strands of hair away from his skin. She looked up at Vincent and smiled. “I’m sure it won’t always be this way. We can make better lives here, when we’re out of quarantine. It’s better than what we left.”

Vincent stood up. “Let’s get everyone to where they ought to be, and then Lisa and I will get you a meal and do what we can if you have injuries.” He paused for a moment, “Is anyone here a doctor or nurse?” Nobody answered. “That’s okay,” he said with a tight smile, “I just had to check.”

“We don’t need a doctor,” said Father Preston from the back of the crowd. Vincent could hear the satisfied smile in his voice.

“I meant for other ailments, Father Preston,” Vincent sighed. “These people are tired and hungry, we’ll talk about things in the morning.” He hoped it would forestall any more miracle talk. He led them out of the cell, sorting them into tents and taking their names. A few tried to protest the separations until he tried gently to explain that it was for their own protection. Most were too tired to bother arguing at all. The mother, alone, pleaded to stay with her sleeping son.

“He’s sick,” she whispered, when Vincent and she were alone again. “The others don’t know.” She wiped away tears. “I know he’s going to turn. I know there’s no cure. But the soldiers would have taken him. They are taking anyone who might be sick. At first they said it was a vitamin deficiency, that they were taking people to get injections of vitamins. But the sick people never came back. And in a few days, the Infected started popping up on the streets, the ones who had hidden from the soldiers or who didn’t seem sick at first. They couldn’t hide what was happening anymore. I know they
tried
not to hurt the Infected. They
tried
to avoid shooting them, some of the soldiers got hurt rather than killing their own people. But it all ends the same, doesn’t it?”

Vincent started to shake his head but the woman just smiled. “You don’t have to pretend. I know what’s going to happen. I didn’t come here to hurt anybody, I meant to leave the group days ago, but I didn’t know how to do it without terrifying my son. I just wanted a quiet place for the last few days of it. I just wanted to hold him until— until I can’t anymore.”

Vincent squeezed her hand.

“You’re going to— you’re going to get rid of the ones who get infected, right? So they don’t make anyone else sick?”

Vincent nodded. “We don’t have much choice.”

“When he goes, I go.”

“But you might be Immune.”

She patted his hand. “Mothers are never immune to what their children suffer from. I’m going to stay with him. I go when he goes.”

“Okay,” said Vincent. He handed her two mismatched bowls with food in them. “Does he need anything for his arm? We don’t have any doctors, but I do know a good deal of first aid.”

The woman shook her head. “It happened when we left. I made a sort of cast, but— well, it doesn’t much matter anymore, as long as he isn’t in pain.”

Vincent nodded and turned to leave. He could see Father Preston talking to someone in a cell far down the lane. He turned back to the woman, almost hating himself as he said, “Don’t give up yet. Where there is life, there’s hope. Miracles
do
happen.”

The woman teared up again. “I can’t expect a miracle. I don’t deserve one.”

Vincent quietly backed out as she bent to kiss the sleeping child’s cheek. He locked the cell and glanced back at Father Preston.
I don’t deserve a miracle either, and here I am, pleading for one,
he thought. He watched the other priest for a moment, trying to conquer the deep dislike and unbelief he had for Father Preston.
Keep my miracle. Make his real. For all their sakes. Make his real.

Three

The abandoned gas station’s windows flashed in the afternoon light. Seeing it again made Nella uneasy and depressed. As if she were stuck in one long loop that had closed around her when she wasn’t looking. She hadn’t wanted to come this way. She knew Frank would have avoided it too, if they could. The world wasn’t the regular, organized net of roads it had been. If they hadn’t retraced their steps, Nella wasn’t certain they’d ever find the farmhouse. She still doubted there was anyone there to find.

It had taken a few extra days to skirt the City’s barrier and Frank had insisted on keeping it barely in sight, as if the concrete wall, itself, oozed the Infection through its pores. But the perimeter had changed and they’d accidentally missed the Smuggler’s entrance. They found themselves forced closer to the Barrier as they neared the main gate where the forest clustered thickly around the road. It was a shock as the trees gave way to a wide band of flat tar that ended abruptly on one side in a tumbled hill of debris. The smashed metal of a vehicle poked through a huge mound of rubble. The massive chunks of cement left holes scattered throughout the pile. Some were large enough that people had tried to crawl through. Nella could see some of them stuck there, halfway between the City and the open world. Half a dozen maybe. Most of them didn’t move. Shot or crushed, they’d been dead for some time. One of them saw her, though, and reached out to her with one arm. The other arm was pinned behind its body. Frank pulled Nella farther from the rubble.