The Cured (25 page)

Henry shook his head. “I’m not here to give you a sob story and get a pat on the back. Those men are still out there. Maybe keeping more Infected, people who didn’t escape. Maybe just killing the people who depend on them and the people around them. Terrorizing survivors for miles. There are people up in that Lodge that need help. I came to ask for help.”

The Governor leaned back, his chair squeaking again. “What kind of help?”

“You said in your broadcast that you wouldn’t tolerate bullies and looters. You said the war with the Infected was over and it is time to turn your attention to retaking land, expanding. These are the worst kind of bullies, Governor. Thieves, rapists, slavers, murderers. It doesn’t get any worse. And they have innocent people in their grasp who they’ll squeeze until there isn’t anything left, not even a corpse. You have to send someone to stop them.” Henry found himself half standing, breathing hard. He sat quickly.

“Do you have a location for this camp?”

Henry pulled out the wrinkled map that Melissa had found for him. He handed it to the Governor. “It was here when we left. Here for eight years. They were well entrenched, I doubt they abandoned it.”

His knee wiggled restlessly as the Governor studied the map. At last he put it down and looked at Henry again.

“This is a very long way from the City. It’s a long way even from the farthest our patrols have been.”

“But this is the only civilization left. This is the only place with enough people and firepower to help.”

“It would take a great deal of resources. Supplies and men that may be better used here or closer to us, to help protect the people we already have.”

Henry felt a little claw of panic piercing his arm, climbing with little jumps up toward his neck. “But there’s no one else to help them. They’ve already lived almost a decade in the worst kind of fear and pain–” The Governor held up a hand to stop him.

“Henry, if you don’t mind me asking, were there any Infected left when you escaped or did you all leave together?”

“I– I’m not sure. She said I was the last one to be freed, she wanted to give me a running start so I wouldn’t be shot.”

“She?”

“The girl that let us out. Marnie, my friend’s daughter. She let us out so they couldn’t use us anymore.”

“I see. And when you were escaping, did you flee immediately or was there some fighting?”

“There was fighting. Lots of fighting. We were hungry, most of us hadn’t eaten in days.”

“Don’t you think there’s a good chance that everyone is dead? Would you, in your starving state, have left anything standing?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe all the bandits are gone. But what if there are still Infected in the pens that didn’t get released? And the people Marnie locked away in the Lodge– they were already hungry. They might be starving. Or some of the men may have been inside or out looting. We need to go back and make sure.”

“I understand from your interviews that it’s been months since your escape. Dr. Rider finally administered the Cure, what, about a week ago now? If there was anyone left at your camp, they’ve either moved on or they’ve starved. I’m not trying to be harsh, but that’s the way things are. I can’t spare any men to go so far out of our current zone to take out someone who may or may not still be there. Not even to rescue a handful of survivors. I’m sorry.”

“It would be different if I was Immune and sitting here wouldn’t it?”

“Actually, Henry, I’d be far less likely to believe you if you were Immune. I’m trying to be as kind as I can about this, but we’ve walked into ambushes before trying to rescue people. I don’t know you. You just showed up a few days ago. Until I have a chance to speak to Dr. Rider or Mr. Courtlen to verify your story, I have no way of knowing if what you say is true. They are unfortunately both busy with the trial right now, too busy even for me. I can’t risk it. Try to understand, my first duty is to the people that already live here.”

“Then give me a weapon and some supplies, I’ll go myself and bring back whoever is left. I can’t just leave them there.”

“Have you ever even fired a gun?”

Henry shook his head.

“You are in no shape to go tramping through the outer zones again. You’re half starved, you don’t know the first thing about the dangers out there. You’ve survived mostly by dumb luck. If I gave you permission and supplies, I’d be responsible for losing a gun, not a small consideration these days, and probably for your death and the death of anyone you actually shoot. I can’t do it.”

“Look, I saw your broadcast. I know there are still people waiting for their loved ones. You’ve told them they’re all dead, not to hold out hope for them any more. But they might be. Some of them might be up at that camp. Immune and starving or Infected and enslaved. If I can’t get you to help me, I’ll have to go to the citizens of the City for help.”

The Governor sighed and scrubbed his face. “I know that’s supposed to be a threat. And if the man who had this job before me were still here, he would have had you and your friends executed and hidden before you even walked through the gate because he would have believed you could convince people. I’m not him though, and even if I thought you could get people on your side I’d still let you go on as you have. But I know how things work here. Better than I ever wanted to. You’re one man. Even if you could get people to sympathize with you, they wouldn’t help. They’re too scared of what’s out there. Too comfortable in here. And who is going to believe a newly Cured stranger over the government that has protected and fed them for years? I’m sorry, Henry, but there isn’t anything I can do. We should be headed toward that sector by the fall, if everything goes well. Why don’t you come to see me then, if you are still convinced you can help.”

Henry shook his head. “There won’t be anybody left by then,” he said quietly and stood to go.

“Oh, and Henry, in case you’re thinking of doing something silly like going after them yourself, I have to remind you that vigilantism isn’t tolerated here. If you leave, don’t come back.”

Henry walked out of the office without responding. What was left to say?

Twenty-nine

He didn’t sleep, just paced the floor and moved furniture across it. He didn’t answer the door when the others came by. He didn’t want to hear Rickey gloat because he was right or endure the pitying relief of Vincent and Melissa. He felt a pang of guilt for not visiting Molly after the meeting with the governor, but it wasn’t enough for him to make the trip to the hospital.

He tried to plan, but he didn’t get very far before he stumbled against the probability that they were already dead. Over and over, as if he were on a circular track and the thought only moved farther along to meet him again later. He got as far as planning to steal tools from his work, but had no real idea of which or how. He forgot to eat, the thick, greasy lump of impotence in his chest choking him. By the time the City’s bells rang for wake up, Henry was haggard and bristling with hair and he was stumbling, aimlessly, as if the Cure had never happened. He’d figured nothing out and his frustration had not abated. He resolved to watch the assignments and the tools that went in and out of the warehouse. He’d have to start saving up food and tokens for supplies. He wandered into his bathroom and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
Successful thieves don’t already look like criminals, Henry. Clean yourself up. Pretend this didn’t happen. That you’ve forgotten the idea, even to yourself for a while. Watch, wait. You’re only going to get one chance.

He took a shower, shaved, put on clean clothes, though he didn’t want to do any of those things. And then he went to work with a placid smile on his face, biking through the breezy City’s bright morning to the low, dirty brick All-Work building.

He was unlucky when he got there though, immediately assigned to the Farm instead of the warehouse. He’d have to wait to find a weapon for his journey.

“You normally wouldn’t get thrown into it this fast,” said Stephanie, “but everyone is at the trial, it’s the defense’s opening statements today. Don’t worry though, I’ll be with you. I don’t think we’ll be doing anything complicated. Probably rock picking or stubble burning. It’s too early to start planting.”

There was a long sling filled with a shovel, a hoe, a rake, and a few other tools Henry didn’t recognize. He arranged it on his back and picked up the thick plastic bucket Stephanie handed him. He was shocked at the mob of people walking in the opposite direction as he and Stephanie made their way to the Farm. The street was actually crowded and the noise shocked him. Stephanie didn’t seem to notice and Henry tried to pretend like he didn’t either, but he kept stopping to watch the people and at last she had to wait for him to catch up.

“It must be odd. Seeing so many people after all that time,” she said, “does it make you nervous?”

“No. Not nervous. Excited maybe? Happy I guess. Were you sick for a long time too?”

“No, I’ve been here a while now. I was a kid when it happened. Twelve. So I was small. Most people were holed up or locked away. The ones that made it here anyway. I wasn’t. I was just quick. I was faster than most of the other adult Infected, so they had a hard time catching me when they were hungry. I was too small to attack another person on my own. I mostly survived on animals. Cats, rabbits, squirrels. Sometimes on leftovers. I think the Immunes wouldn’t shoot me because I was a kid. No one wants to kill a kid, not even when they have to. I was pretty close to the original Cure camp, so I was one of the first ones. I was fourteen then. I think if I’d been sick much longer things might have been different. I was starting not to look like a kid anymore, I was getting bigger, going after wounded Infected on my own. It was only a matter of time.” She pushed open the large wrought iron gate to the old park. “Let’s find the foreman,” she said. There were a handful of people scattered over the dull brown field that used to be the park. Some were marking plots and others were hoeing up large stones and dropping them into buckets. A team of horses pulled an old plow down the field, the dark furrows bulging in their wake. Stephanie found the foreman drinking grain coffee and sorting seed packets.

“Good morning Amos,” Stephanie waved at the large man as they approached.

“Mornin’ Steph. Only two today?” Amos shook his head. “You’d think eating would be more important to people than a couple of lawyers jawing about nothing all day. Well, we’re mostly rock picking today. We just started, so take your pick of sections. The Governor gave the okay for bonuses until the trial is over, so for every bucket of stones you cart off, I’ll give you an extra red token.”

“Hot dog!” exclaimed Stephanie. Henry smiled.

“No cheating now. Full buckets,” said Amos, giving Stephanie a stern look. He turned toward Henry. “You just come in from the camps? You look like a stiff breeze could blow you over. You sure you’re up for this? You can stay and sort seed packets with me if you’d rather.”

Henry shook his head. “Thanks, but the only way I’ll get stronger is with good, steady work.”

“Good man,” said Amos, nodding his head in approval, “well you and Stephanie get to it, and I’ll make sure someone gets down to you both with fresh coffee and something to eat by break time.”

Stephanie elbowed Henry gently as they walked down the field. “Good job,” she said, “It’s hard to make friends with Amos. He’s a good guy to have in your corner though, especially if you end up working the Farm a lot.”

They settled about halfway down the field, intending to work their way toward the others. It was still cool, but Henry was grateful for the breeze anyway, picking his shirt off his skin as he dumped the sling near where he was working and grabbed the hoe and bucket. They’d started on opposite ends of the same row, working in toward each other. It meant they couldn’t really talk to each other, but that suited Henry just fine. The work was almost mindless, a twist with the hoe, the gritty cold of a wet stone and the satisfying hollow thud and then click as the stones hit the side of the bucket and then each other. It let Henry’s racing mind rest. He tried not to think about Marnie or Phil. Tried not to plan or eye the sharp blade of the shovel or imagine its weight on his back for miles. He remembered the smell of dirt. The way the rain sizzled as it put out the campfires, soaked through his rags. The soft flow of the mud as he paced a circle around the post. He was covered in it more often than he was clean, even though Dave tried to splash him with water every day. He was used to the smell, it was almost part of him. Henry’s shoes felt too tight and hot. He stood up and pretended he was stretching. Nobody was looking. He crossed to his bundle and pulled his shoes off, wrapping them carefully in the canvas of his bundle. He blushed, embarrassed. He wondered if he were doing something wrong. But it felt like burying the hair. An intense compulsion, now relieved by the feel of the damp soil brushing the top of his feet, cool and soft. He tried not to worry what the others would say if they saw, and went back to pulling the dark rocks, like teeth from a rotting jaw.

He was sore and sweaty by the first break, but he never let on, refusing another offer by Amos to sit and sort seeds. The sun was beginning to shine with real force and he’d stopped for water more than he meant to. Still, he’d filled two buckets by lunchtime, a horse cart coming slowly up and down the rows to empty the buckets and truck away the load. He and Stephanie had worked through four rows, but they were still a good distance down the field when the City bells rang. Henry’s breath was too loud in his ears for him to hear them, but Stephanie stood up and shaded her brow with her hand, looking toward the tall metal fence of the park. “Did you hear that, Henry?” she called. He stood up and shook his head. She looked at her watch, then held it to her ear. “It’s too early to be afternoon break,” she yelled.