The 40th Day (After the Cure Book 5) (18 page)

Fortune favors the bold,
he thought. A stupid person would have sprinted. A less confident person. Gray strolled instead. As if he belonged there, as if he’d just stepped into the woods for a break and was returning to work. There were other people not very far away. Some of them must have seen him. But he hadn’t mingled much with the people from the City. Only Father Preston’s people really knew who he was, and Gray depended on the consistent divide between the two camps to protect him. Nobody stopped him. Nobody went running for the nearest guard. Nobody even stopped their work to look up at him. He slipped into the barn. It had been emptied months before and used as a place to house people. Now it was slowly filling up again as people moved into their own new homes and large wooden bins waiting for harvest lined the walls. A few were filled, and one wall shone with glass jars where they’d canned what they could not dry. It was a pitifully small amount for the number of people that would be relying on what was stored there. And they’d worked themselves ragged just to set that much by. For a short moment, even Gray hesitated.
What if the boat thing doesn’t work? What if I need this food later?
He looked around at it. There was nobody in the barn. He could grab whatever he wanted. Enough for a few weeks if he was careful. Probably nobody would even notice. And it had been easy to get in here. He could do it again when he needed. Maybe he should just find a nearby farmhouse and hole up for the winter instead. Just until he found a new crew. And the whole plague-thing blew over.

It’s easy until you get caught, old boy,
he told himself,
they aren’t going to toss you out the front door so easily next time. And they aren’t going to care even if you come crawling on your knees begging. Next time they find you, they’re going to kill you. And you know what that means, old boy. Got to hit them first, boat or no boat. So they know you mean business. So they know not to mess with you.
He didn’t waste any more time with doubts. He looked around. A large barrel of diesel still sat in the corner, though the tractor it went to had been pushed out long ago. Gray dismissed it. Good to keep a fire going, but not so great at starting one. Same with the small shelf of motor oil bottles above it. He pushed aside a few crusty cans of house paint and found a small can of turpentine. He shook it and it still sloshed. He whistled an old tune as he climbed up into the loft. It had been swept clean when the colonists moved in to sleep, but Henry had stored most of the spare lumber and insulation now that people were moving out.
Oh yes, this is going to hurt them badly,
Gray thought, hunting around for some tinder. He swept together some small piles of sawdust where some of the lumber had been cut to length. An old paperback novel lay in the corner, forgotten by one of the colonists who’d moved out. Gray saw it and ripped the flimsy pages out in clumps, fanning them out over the sawdust. The turpentine came next, he splashed it over the paper and then as far as he could reach across the spare lumber. He pulled out his old flip lighter. Joe had given it to him, back when things had been better. Back before Gray had sliced his tongue out for betraying him. He looked down into the floor of the barn. Still empty. He was going to have to get back to the woods before they noticed the fire, otherwise, he’d be caught before he could reach the farmhouse. He took a deep breath and jogged a few steps in the loft, warming up. Then he bent down and held the lighter to a book page. The little pile went up with a whoosh and a little ball of flame that almost singed Gray’s hand. He laughed nervously and then, seeing that the flames were spreading instead of going out, climbed down the ladder, slipped out the back and strolled just as casually back to the tree line. Then, he waited. His bladder squeezed painfully as the first shouts reached him. He hadn’t been this excited in months. Years maybe. He grinned and relieved himself as he waited for the momentum to build, for the people to come running and gawking at what he’d done. He wanted to look for himself, to see the angry blades of flame piercing the roof of the barn, to watch the timbers slump and then cave in like ribs when you kicked them hard enough. He shook himself, forcing himself back to the task at hand. He slipped behind the stragglers to the farmhouse. They’d be back for pots and buckets in a few seconds. He didn’t want to risk being found. He avoided the front door, shoving the living room window up in its peeling frame instead. He slithered through the window and let it crash down behind him as he bolted for the stairs. He wasn’t certain where the papers he needed were, but he was going to start with the second floor until the firefighting was in full swing. He slunk into one of the bedrooms and carefully pulled back the curtain to look. The air was thick with dark smoke and the barn’s open doors acted like wind tunnel whipping the flames into a massive twisted crown. The people below looked tiny and helpless. A few of them splashed water onto the barn, but they couldn’t reach high enough to do much. He could see Molly stopping them, directing them to splash the nearby cottages. Then she ran inside the barn. He wanted to see if she’d come out again, but tore himself away. If she died, so much the better. He turned to the dresser and began yanking out drawers.

Twenty-four

She couldn’t understand it. Amos had warned them about damp hay combusting, but she and Henry had swept out the entire barn together. Nothing had been left except bare wood and concrete. “Is anyone here?” she shouted. “Is anyone hurt, do you need help?” The loft was entirely ablaze. She hoped no one was up there and she glanced quickly around the bare bottom floor. Only food bins. They were too heavy to move by herself. She ran to the wall of canned goods. The glass jars were already warm, hot even, burning her arms as she gathered as many as she could carry and ran outside with them. She didn’t know where to go. What was safe? If the wind changed, would the whole Colony burn? She wanted to cry. She ran toward the garden. That would be the last place to go. She’d make sure of it. She dumped the jars onto the soft dirt and turned back to get more. People were screaming, running past her. They needed someone to tell them what to do. So did Molly. She reached for the radio before she remembered they were all gone. Except Vincent. She could call him. He’d help her. How could he help her? He couldn’t save her. He might as well be on the moon. It was
her
turn to save them. It was
Molly
who had to stop this. She stopped a few people running past.

“You, go get as many buckets and pots as you can. Grab as many people as you can. Meet us at the well.” The woman’s face was pale, but she nodded. Molly turned to the boy who was with her. “You go find as many blankets, towels, sheets as you can and come to the well. Tell everyone to come to the well!”

Molly spared one more desperate look at the open doors of the barn and turned back to the well. The food and lumber inside were already lost. She had to save the rest while she could. She found a man already pumping water into a bucket and others lining up behind him. She split them into two groups, sending one to the shallow pond. Rickey had said he expected the well to go dry if they didn’t get some rain soon and she worried with every splash of water. But they needed it
now
, they’d worry about another well if the Colony survived. Soon, a bucket line had formed and she ran along it, directing the people to save the new cottages on either side of the barn. She had the kids pass out damp cloths to protect faces and lungs, knowing it would be a long time before they could stop.

She could hear people beginning to gasp and cough around her, her own chest rattled and burned, even with the wet scrap of sheet tied around her head. Nobody stopped or complained. Nobody spoke, just the coordinated movement of bucket or pot down the line.

It felt like hours, but Molly was certain it was closer to twenty minutes, when someone shouted, “Look out there, it’s going down!”

Everybody stopped and looked up. Molly didn’t dare to.
Don’t lean,
she willed,
just collapse. Don’t take anything else out.
There was a crash and a roar as a ball of smoke puffed up. The barn had crumpled inward, burning on its own footprint. Molly shook with relief. She redirected the bucket lines to put out the fire, urging them not to risk their lives by getting too close. Her radio crackled and she stumbled toward the garden to answer it.

“Molly?”

“I’m here Vincent. Everything is— every
one
is okay.”

“What’s happened? All we can see is smoke.”

“It’s the barn— all the winter stores, the spare lumber— it’s all gone. There was—
is
a fire. I don’t know what started it. I don’t know if there was anyone inside the barn. I tried to help, I tried to find anyone—” She let the transmit button go and sobbed. She calmed herself down. “We saved the other houses. We’re putting out the original fire now, but there was that big barrel of diesel in there, it’s going to burn for a while, no matter what we do. And all the food— I only saved a handful of—” she turned and looked at the jars beside her. “A handful of pickled beans. A lot of good that will do us.”

“You saved the people, Molly, that’s what matters. Nobody is hurt and you did what you could. I wish that I could help somehow. But you don’t need infection up there with everything else.”

“But what
happened
? We didn’t leave any hay in there. Everybody, even the kids know not to smoke in there. Even Rickey doesn’t anymore.”

There was a long silence. “Don’t tell me it doesn’t matter, Vincent,” said Molly, “because it can’t happen again. We have to figure out why it started.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.” Vincent’s voice was cautious, slow. “I don’t want to frighten you, Molly, but maybe somebody started it on purpose.”

Molly felt the hairs on her arms spike painfully. She didn’t even bother to ask who Vincent meant. “Where would he— how would he have done it? He had nothing with him. Why? Why didn’t he just steal?”

“I don’t know. But if he wanted to hurt the Colony, he’s done it. And he’ll go for the garden or the well next.”

Molly glanced around her and bent over to pick up a hoe. She was isolated, a little way from the well and everyone’s attention was on the fire.

“I’m scared,” she whispered into the radio.

“I’m coming,” said Vincent, his voice hard and resolved.

“No! No, he’ll know. It’s what he wants maybe. For us to panic enough to wipe out the whole place. I’m going to find him. I’m going to finish this.”

“Molly, don’t go looking alone.” But Molly switched off the radio. She wasn’t going to risk anyone else. And she wasn’t going to wait around for Gray to make the next move. She wished she had something more than a hoe, but she gripped it tightly and ran toward the woods, certain he was sitting there, watching them. A few colonists saw her and ran toward her. “Go back,” she said, “Go back and guard the crops. This wasn’t an accident. We can’t let him get what’s left.” The people looked confused but ran back to the garden. Molly continued into the woods and stopped a few feet in. She had no idea how to find him. She wasn’t a tracker or a warrior. She was a teenage grocery clerk that woke up one day ten years older in a world that didn’t need her anymore. She spun around.
Stop thinking that,
she told herself,
You just saved the farm. Give yourself a little credit.
She looked back at the Colony, trying to see what he had seen. Where would he go if he were waiting for another chance to strike? Where would he wait if he were laughing at them? She crouched down and looked. The barn was still a ball of black and orange, the people’s faces shiny and red as they doused it over and over. Her gaze flitted over the Colony, searching for the hiding places, the shadows between buildings, the spaces empty of people. He’d hit where it would hurt the most, maybe he hadn’t hung around. The damage was done, wasn’t it? But just as she thought it, the curtain in the living room window of the farmhouse flickered and swayed. A hand pushed up the pane as she watched. Molly started running even before Gray’s face appeared in the open window. A scream of anger mixed with terror spilled from her as she ran and she saw him hesitate halfway out of the window to look up at her. He scrambled out of the frame, heading for the wall. But Molly was faster. She slammed the blade of the hoe down, catching the back of his calf. The impact shuddered up the pole, stinging and vibrating the stumps of her missing fingers and rattling her arm. Gray swore as he stumbled a few more steps. Molly lifted the hoe again, but Gray turned and hit the side of her head, knocking her backward onto her butt. The hoe clattered against the stone wall and out of Molly’s hands.

“Fucking zombie!” he hissed as he tried to look at the deep slash in the back of his leg. He wound up for another punch. “Don’t you know when to stay in your place?” He swung but Molly rolled out of the way, grabbing for the hoe. She would have grabbed it, had her hands still been whole. The stumps of her fingers brushed by the handle instead. She sprung up and darted around him.

“This
is
my place. It’s
you
who don’t belong here. Why couldn’t you just leave us alone?” Molly demanded.

He swung again, this time connecting with her cheek and she fell backward into the wall.

“You’re monsters. Vermin. Diseased rats that scrabble in the waste of normal people,” he gasped with another tight jab, splitting her lip as his ragged thumbnail slammed into her mouth. Her head rocked backward and she struggled to keep it from smashing into the stone wall. A high buzz drowned out some of his words before dying away again “…cockroach-whore who should have died years ago. Practically ripped off your arm but still…” he grabbed her scarred arm and twisted it up over her head, driving her farther back into the wall. It ached as he pushed it farther behind her and she knew he meant to finish ripping it off, as if she really were a fly or a roach. She stood on tiptoe, her legs starting to slide up the wall as he pushed her arm up farther. Her other hand sought something, anything, grasping at the stones, reaching for the hoe. “You should all be extinct. Should be you that’s homeless and hungry, not
me
. Survival of the fittest. Should have left
me
, me and the other Immunes. Then there’d be no new Plague, no ruined City.”