Krisis (After the Cure Book 3) (16 page)

“One more try then.” She pointed to the largest red splotch on the map. “Here, don’t you think? There have to be people left there, it’s one of the biggest cities in the world.”

“What if it’s been wiped out by a bomb too?”

Nella was quiet for a moment. “Then we’ll know that we can stop looking at least. We won’t have to wonder any more, if there are other big groups out there to help or to threaten us.”

“One more try then,” he agreed. He wrapped an arm around her and closed his eyes again. He didn’t know if he wanted to know about all the people in that scarlet dot. He’d been isolated or mad with Plague for most of the outbreak, and when he was Cured he’d woken in a diminished world. He’d seen the empty houses, miles of crumbling road being swallowed by fields and woods. He had imagined the paltry crowd of humans that could barely fill up a large courtroom would be almost everyone he would meet for the rest of his days. But now he knew there was nobody coming. The capitol was gone. The coastal towns were silent. If he turned around now, he could pretend that there were others gathering somewhere, filling skyscrapers and making laws and teaching kids how to survive for another few years.

Going to find those people, sailing farther from the only place they knew was safe— Frank felt like the first astronaut watching the earth fall away beneath him, facing only the blank, unexplored dark. He’d never felt so lonely in his life.

Chapter 13

Ruth was surprised at how many things there were to pack. She’d spent almost six years at the police station, but in her mind she had a simple life, almost ascetic, if there were such a thing after the Plague. But she’d gathered far more from trading services than she’d realized. She didn’t take much for her time, food mostly, and that was consumed as soon as she received it, either by herself or left in small anonymous packages at Juliana’s door. An offering of penance, maybe. It wasn’t the ones who wanted medicine who paid the most though. They had to keep some back, to live upon. The people who asked her to kill for them, they gave her anything. Everything. Many of them took Nick’s planned route afterward. They didn’t have to worry about scrounging or bartering or defending themselves any longer. The gun itself had been from the wife of an Infected.

She had made three trips already, all at night. She hadn’t wanted anyone to see what she was moving or where. But it was broad daylight now, the thick windows already steaming behind her. Ruth was exhausted from her trips, and she knew the hospital meant another full day ahead. She was just locking the empty clerk’s room when she heard shouting outside. She pushed open the front door and squinted against the thick gold fog still burning it’s way up from the street. There was a chorus of shouts mixed in with the unmistakable roar of an Infected. And underneath, a constant metallic shudder. The sparkling end of a shopping cart burst through the edge of the fog. There was a boy inside it, screaming with hunger and anger. He had been bound to the metal with dozens of straining bungee cords. The hinged flap at the back of the cart was gone, because the boy was too large. His legs stuck out of the hole and thrashed under the handle bar. A middle aged man was running behind the cart, alternately pushing it and trying to turn to watch the people yelling at him. He saw Ruth leaning out of the police station and dragged his feet until the shopping cart skidded to a stop. The boy was still screaming, and the man was pleading with him to stop, though he must have known it wouldn’t help. The kid must have been about thirteen, not more. His face was still round, even though he was so skinny that Ruth could see his ribs between the rainbow of rubber cords that circled him. She should have been giving him his meningitis vaccine and warning him about mono. “Can I help you?” she yelled over the boy, certain the father was in trouble.

There was a shift in the wind and the sun blazed through the street as the fog swirled away. Father Preston stood at the end of the block with a dozen of his Congregation. The light glittered over them, hard and spitting sparkles, a sharp burning halo that made Ruth instantly furious. It made her feel as if she battled God, Itself. “It’s them chasing you isn’t it?” she shouted, nodding her head toward Father Preston’s group.

The man just nodded and tried to catch his breath.

“You’re wasting your time,” she yelled, loud enough for Father Preston to hear, though she meant it for the man too, “I don’t do kids.” She turned her back on all of them and locked the police station door. The man came up next to her and clung to her arm.

“Please, lady, just hear me out,” he begged, “it’s my wife. My new wife that is. She’s very pregnant.”

“Oh,” said Ruth, turning to smile at him, “you’re here to ask me to help with the delivery. I thought you were here about the boy. Those people probably did too.”

“No, you don’t understand. My wife thinks the boy will try to kill the baby. I’ve tried everything. At first, I put him in the garage. But it’s cold in the winter. He got frostbite and the ends of his toes rotted off. And it was still too close. So in the spring I moved him into the house across the street. But we’re running out of food and my wife says we need to save it for the baby. Winter will be here too soon, and I won’t be able to find enough wood to heat both houses. My wife wants to leave the city after the baby is born— how can I travel with a new baby and, and that?” He gestured to the cart.

“Is this boy your son?” asked Ruth, shocked at how little sympathy he seemed to have for the boy and how much he wanted her to have for his own hardship.

“Yes, by my first wife. I saved him from her, when she turned. I had to. But then a month later, he got sick too. I’ve cared for him so long, but he never gets any better. My new wife tries to understand, but she says we have to look forward now, that it’s kinder to let him go.”

“I’m sorry you’ve come all this way, but I don’t do children.”

“Why not? They suffer as much as we do, don’t they? More I’d think.”

“I just— I can’t.”

“What am I supposed to do?” the man asked angrily.

“Why don’t you take him to the hospital?” asked Ruth, though she knew she was only adding to her own troubles by saying it.

“You see the people back there?” he pointed at Father Preston’s group who were slowly but surely closing the distance to Ruth. “They say the lady at the hospital has come down with the big C. And nobody can help her now. They say she’ll be dead by winter and the people in the hospital are starving anyway. They said they’d take my boy. That they were starting a
new
place for the sick people, that my boy could earn his keep. But they want him to haul logs like a horse or guard their home like a dog. He may be crazy, but he’s still my son. I’m not giving him into slavery and misery. My wife’s right, it’s better to let him go now. He’s suffered long enough. Only, I can’t do it. He’s mine. I’ve tried, lady, trust me…”

But Ruth was reeling with shock and didn’t hear the rest. “I told you, I don’t do kids,” she said absently as Father Preston arrived in front of them, his expression a nauseating seesaw between compassionate pity for the man and triumph over Ruth.

The boy was still shrieking while his father stammered questions at Ruth. The Congregation began singing some strident hymn that Ruth didn’t recognize. Everything was a blur of heat and sound. The cords around the boy writhed and blazed their bright colors in the morning sun. Ruth’s mind felt aflame too, jittering and popping, all the thoughts just beyond her reach for just a second too long. Only Father Preston was silent, his smile settling into a gloat. He was like a gleaming crystal pillar that focused the meanness and cruelty of the others onto Ruth.

Just then, the boy’s father finally snapped. “I can’t do this anymore!” he shouted. He pulled at his hair and paced next to the cart. He leaned over the boy and kissed the top of his head. “I’m sorry Connor.” He wailed and spun around to face Ruth. “I can’t do this anymore,” he said and then bolted down the street before she could stop him. She watched him disappear, leaving the boy between her and the priest. She sighed and squatted down to take a can from her pack. It was tuna fish, her favorite. She hadn’t seen one in years. Canned meat had been one of the first things to disappear. She’d had it locked in the safe and had meant to share it with Juliana. But the boy was hungry. So hungry. She pulled open the tab and it made a low popping noise underneath the screams and the singing. The smell of unspoiled meat drifted into the air. The Congregation fell slowly silent as it reached them. The boy shrieked even louder and thrashed so hard that the shopping cart would have rolled away if Ruth hadn’t stopped it. Everyone stared at Ruth and the can. She could almost feel them licking their lips around her, but she ignored them. She freed one of the boy’s hands from the cords and put the open can on his lap. He didn’t waste time and fell silent as he ate. There were audible sighs as the others watched.

Father Preston finally spoke into the quiet. “So, Ruth, it seems you have a choice to make, since even
you
can’t kill a child. Juliana is ill. I’m sure it can’t have missed your trained medical eye,” he said, but his gloating smile told Ruth he knew she was shocked. “There’s nobody to properly care for the boy at the hospital. And there isn’t enough food set by to get even the Afflicted who are already there through the winter. Juliana denies it, but she may be forgiven for the deception, for her concerns now lie in a better world. I believe she expects to be singing with the angels before the snow flies.”

“What’s your point?” snapped Ruth, feeling more and more like a cornered rat.

“You don’t want to be burdened with the hospital after she’s gone. I know you’re itching to leave this city behind. They aren’t your family. You never volunteered to care for them. It isn’t fair for Juliana to foist them onto you.”

Ruth shook her head. “What are you talking about? She hasn’t even mentioned the hospital—”

“Oh, but she will. She’ll expect you to take over after she’s gone. To care for all those
strangers
and their most intimate needs. You don’t want to change diapers every day. Or toil in the fields to scratch out enough food for them.”

“How do you know she won’t ask
you
to do it?”

Father Preston’s face purpled with suppressed rage. He waited a moment to calm down. “Juliana’s path has diverged from ours. I will not judge her harshly, because she is a good woman who is very frightened of dying. I hope she will change her mind before the end.”

She did it. She made him leave,
thought Ruth.

“So the Congregation and I are beginning a new home for the Afflicted. One where they will be cared for by many hands and will also have the opportunity to participate in God’s work, even in their illness. Give us the boy, he will be well looked after. And when Juliana passes, turn the hospital over to us and be free of this place, confident you fulfilled her last wishes.”

“What do you mean, ‘God’s work?’” asked Ruth, glancing at the boy who was sucking on the rim of the empty can.

Father Preston turned to the Congregation and crooked one finger. A man slid out from the small crowd. He rubbed his right elbow self consciously as he walked forward. Ruth stared at him trying to place his face. “Brother Gray wandered the wilderness for many years,” said Father Preston. “He has come home at last, but his trials have not been without worth. In the south, he found a community that thrived by caring for its Afflicted and giving them honest jobs that they could do even with their reduced intellect. They defended their communities as guards and carried the burdens of those unable to do so, or provided the power for machinery that improved the lives of all. Please, Brother Gray, enlighten Ruth.”

Gray shrugged and wouldn’t meet Ruth’s eyes. “They pulled the plows or turned the stones in the flour mill. It kept them in shape.”

“You see? It keeps them healthy and gives them a purpose,” Father Preston rumbled like a contented cat.

Gray glanced up and Ruth finally recognized him. It was the man with the ear trophy necklace. Her hand dropped to the gun on her hip and she saw him flinch. “Just how did this miracle come about
Brother
Gray?” she asked, slowly pulling the shopping cart back toward her.

He shrugged again and glanced at the priest, who frowned, waiting. “Um. People just led them.”

“Led them. You mean they chased people. Because they were hungry. And they were made to move something heavy at the same time.”

“Yeah, I guess. Except the guards, they didn’t carry anything.”

“I bet they were kept hungry, too, though, just in case an enemy— I’m sorry, a
rival
wandered in. That about it?”

Gray nodded. Ruth fought a sneer of disgust and ignored him. She turned to Father Preston. “You’re talking about slavery. I’m not letting you take this boy or anyone else.”

“You wanted us to treat them like our neighbors and friends. Like they were human beings with value. I don’t disagree with you. Decent human beings contribute to their society. They work to better everyone’s life. That’s all that we’re asking. In return they’ll get lifelong care.”

Ruth snorted, “You mean by keeping them just above starving? By killing them slowly with too much labor while you sit back and reap the rewards? Are you going to loan your Infected out too? Have them work the local farms for trade while you build yourself a church? Unleash them on anyone who disagrees with you?”