The 40th Day (After the Cure Book 5) (27 page)

They sat watching as the train of people was swallowed by the bright summer grass swaying gold against the blue sky and the rumble of the sprayer truck faded into the distant thunder of a faraway storm.

Thirty-four

It was good to be moving at last. Nella felt the old familiar tug of excitement as they packed up, as if they were going on a pleasant day trip rather than the City at the end of the world. She found she didn’t much care, the anxiety of waiting now finally relieved. They were doing
something
. The morning was warm and fresh after several days of heavy thunderstorms. They’d not discussed Gray or the boat and the countdown kept getting muddled in her head. She knew she was in denial, but she didn’t try to fight it. What good would it do now? It would only distress her and destroy Frank. He kept reaching for her hand, rubbing his finger over the scratch that had already healed, as if it were a magic crystal that could tell him how much time they had left. She let him do it without comment. He made her read aloud to him at night, telling her he was finding his eyesight weaker these days, though she knew he was counting the pronunciation mistakes and unintentional slurring she might be doing as she read. She let that go too, trying to let him accept what she couldn’t yet.

She watched the other cells empty, the people in various states of clumsiness and exhaustion ambling out of the fence. Every face was etched with terror, hardened with despair. They were all going to die alone, and they knew it. Alone and surrounded by strangers. Her chest tightened and twisted as a wave of gratitude overwhelmed her. Whatever happened, whether it was a few hours away or years, she and Frank didn’t have to worry about being alone at the end. She looked away from the cluster of people emptying out of the quarantine camp toward him as he folded the canvas that had been their tent as tightly as he could, tucking it into a corner of his pack. The deep stain of his scars on his bare arms made him seem frail, and worry had drawn his face thin and taut. Almost a reflection of the misery around them. She knew he was fighting to pretend the days weren’t winding down, the summer wasn’t draining away.
Their
summer. The one that should have lasted fifty more years. But he’d stopped planning sailing trips the day they’d found Christine. He no longer talked about building a farm or exploring forgotten islands. He didn’t talk about the future at all, unless it was to plan their part in finishing the City. Her chest twisted again, this time with grief. Was it just that he didn’t see a future with her anymore? Or was it that he couldn’t see one for himself either?

She knelt beside him as he clipped the last buckle on his pack. She brushed her fingers over the edge of the scar on his cheek and he glanced over at her, startled. She kissed him, a reverse of their first kiss. This time, it was her seeking his forgiveness.

“What was that for?” he asked, smiling.

“These people— don’t become like them. After. Promise me you’ll find a farm. Let me imagine you on a sunny beach, happy.”

He brushed the tears from her face but shook his head.

“I don’t want to leave you, Frank. I’m
sorry.
Let me go believing you’re going to find something better.”

He pulled her into his chest. “There’s nothing better than you’ve been,” he said. “If you’re infected then I am too. Whatever happens, it’ll happen together. Just—” he stopped and kissed the top of her head. “
Hold on,
Nella,” he begged.

The sprayer truck rumbled to life and they looked up to find themselves almost alone in the camp. He pulled her up with him and slung his pack over his shoulders. A lone woman watched them pass her cell without speaking. Across the way, Marnie offered a weak wave to them.

“I’m glad you’re staying,” said Frank with a gentle smile.

Nella nodded and held up her hand as well. “Good luck,” she said, “Remember Christine. She deserves to be remembered well.”

Marnie nodded. She clung to the fence. They passed out of the gate, closing it gently behind them. Nella gave a last glance toward the people who were watching at the wall. She knew they were all strangers, but still, her gaze clung to them. She hoped they’d thrive, that they’d remake the world someday, into something better. Happier. More just.

Frank looked back at them as well. His only hope was that they were worthy of the people who were sacrificing everything for them, most of all, the woman at his side and the priest walking somewhere ahead. He reached for her hand and curled his fingers around hers, grateful for the warm pulse in her wrist.
Hold on, Nella,
he thought,
just wait for me.

They weren’t able to stay together for long. The sprayer truck rumbled along quickly, leaving the group behind relatively early. It waited where Vincent had chosen to camp for the night, but the trek took longer than anyone had calculated. Of the nineteen left of the quarantined, twelve were in the end stages of the disease and had to be helped up from repeated stumbles or redirected as their attention wandered. Only Vincent, Nella, and Frank were willing to extend a hand to help. The others were too frightened to get close and were content to let the stumblers stay where they had fallen. So they reached the camp in two packs, the healthiest arriving first. Vincent kept a nervous eye on the sicker members, but nobody turned that day. The exhaustion from the walk didn’t do them any favors, though, the slurs and clumsiness becoming more and more pronounced as the afternoon drew on. Nella half dragged an older woman into the parking lot of an empty furniture store just after sunset. The sprayer’s form hulked against the remaining gold and purple light and a small fire sparked and popped on the tar several yards from it. She was the last one in and she could already hear raised voices. She helped the woman to sit down near the others.

“— can’t expect us to
sleep
like this. We should— we should tie em up or something. Look, that one could barely walk,” yelled one of the men around the fire, pointing toward Nella and the woman she’d been helping. She saw Frank’s thin silhouette straighten suddenly as the man pointed and he darted over to her silently, pulling her away from the group of people sitting on the tar.

“They’ve done nothing wrong,” rumbled Father Preston’s voice, “you can’t expect us to tie them up when they are just sick—”

Nella was surprised to hear him speak up for the Infected.

“It’s not a matter of right or wrong,” broke in someone else, “be practical. What if one or more of them turn overnight, while we’re sleeping? This miracle cure isn’t going to help us if we’ve been eaten alive—”

Frank whispered a swear. “I thought that story was just for the radio,” he hissed.

Nella shook her head. “Some part of them
must
know— Vincent has been taking care of the people that have turned for weeks. They’ve all seen it. They must know, deep down, he wouldn’t do that if there really was a cure,” she whispered.

“I don’t like that the Colony didn’t tell them the truth. Even if they ought to know better.”

Nella sighed. “How else would they have got all these people to just peacefully leave?”

“And when we get there and they find out for sure?” asked Frank.

“They must have some kind of plan,” said Nella, “it’s beyond our help anyway. We turn off tomorrow night for the boat. Vincent and Father Preston must have some kind of idea of what they are going to do. They wouldn’t be able to— to fumigate the whole City themselves anyway. Some of the healthier ones must be in on it.”

“Lock em in the store,” shouted a woman. Her face was half illuminated by the small fire, her anger and the orange glow creating a snarling gargoyle. “We’ll stand guard. If they want to rip each other apart, let them. They won’t get the rest of us.”

“Surprised atchu Joanne,” muttered a slumped shadow from the tar. “Known you ‘mos ten years. Someday, soon, you’ll be where I am. Soon. Miracle we’ve lasted this long. Should have turned weeks ago with the others. Jus’ luck. Jus’ luck now too. You wan’ me to stay ‘way. Okay. I’ll stay in the store. ‘Cause we’re friends. But soon, you’ll think ‘s not enough. Soon you’ll want to kill me before I turn. Put me out of my misery. Jus’ remember, when you think you’re doing a mercy, jus’ remember you’ll be here too, someday.”

The woman shook her head. “We’re going to get the Cure before then. We’ll be okay. You aren’t going to make it. You’ll be crazy by then. Sorry George, that’s just how it is. It’s too late for you. I can still make it.”

Frank watched Vincent for his reaction. The priest covered his face with one hand, but didn’t interrupt. The woman that Nella had helped began laughing. It started low and throaty and grew as she rocked back and forth on the tar. Everyone scattered, thinking she’d turned. Her laugh dwindled and she said, “You don’ buy that horseshit do you?
We
don’t.
We
know. No cure, none. We been cast out. We’re goin’ to walk until we die. Right, Father? They kep’ telling us the priest was going to cure us. That he had a miracle. How many died in the past few weeks? Time’s running out. The Colony don’t want us. Can’t blame ‘em, we did the same, and worse. Sending us home, to the madhouse, so we all go together. So we can’t infect anybody else. This is what they want. We’ll eat each other, until we’re all gone. You go ‘head and lock me away, none of you looks particular tasty anyhow. Let me die sane. Let me die as myself. I’ll welcome the priest’s knife when it comes. You can scrabble for the scraps of minutes that are left, all of you. Waste the seconds fighting. It’s endless war when you turn anyway, might as well practice.”

The woman fell silent and nobody else offered an argument. Lisa passed out a small packet of food to each and they ate near the fire, nobody speaking. There was no more mention of the furniture store or of guards and one by one, the people crept into their sleeping bags, most turning away from all the others.

Nella and Frank sank down next to the fire near Vincent. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he said softly, “Not when it comes down to it.”

Nella nodded. “This isn’t like before. There’s no urgency to it. It isn’t self-defense.”

“It will be,” rumbled Frank, “if we wait a few more days.”

Vincent sighed and squinted out into the dark lot. Frank squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t you remember?” he asked softly, “what it was like? These people don’t know. They were all immune last time. But
you
know what’s coming. They don’t have to feel that. They don’t have to do what we did, not if we stop it.”

“It would have been kinder to do it at the camp, before they were turned out. Before they were rejected by everyone,” said Vincent.

Frank shook his head. “Some of them are holding on. Some of them still have reasons to hang on. We shouldn’t rob them of whatever sanity they have left. Not until we must.” Nella reached out to clasp Frank’s hand, her breath suddenly tight and painful in her chest.

“What will you do, after we leave for the boat?” she asked in a whisper. “I thought more were coming with us. How will you manage?”

Vincent glanced around at the sleeping forms. “Our story is more transparent than I originally thought. There will be a few who accept the end. A few who will help those that can’t. Amos says that it is quick, if the amount is enough. Like drowning, he said. The people that have turned won’t even realize what has happened. Those that haven’t—” he stopped for a moment. “It will be frightening, and for that I am sorry.” His voice cracked. “God, forgive me,” he whispered.

“Forgive us all,” said Nella, leaning past Frank to hug Vincent.

Thirty-five

He squeezed the puckered edge of the stitched skin. Yellow fluid dribbled over his dirty hand, gassy and fetid. He wiped it away with his sleeve and stood up. The pressure was better, but now it throbbed from his touch.
The boat will have better stuff. Good drugs. Alcohol maybe.
The woman was a doctor, wasn’t she? She probably had things he could only dream of. He limped along the road. It had cracked and washed away in places, a patchwork of tar islands floating over gravel. He’d fallen into deep potholes more than once already, but the weeds growing in the bottom had cushioned him, preventing any serious damage. But the girl, the one-armed zombie scarecrow, had made sure that he was in trouble anyway.

His head buzzed as if it were filled with the horseflies that kept tangling in his hair and biting him. He wanted to vomit, but there wasn’t anything left in his stomach except a slosh or two of water that threatened to slide up and out every other step. He’d been more aware in the morning, catching the right road before he slipped down into the fever. Everything was too bright, too heavy with heat. He gasped to breathe though he wasn’t going much faster than a shuffle. He wanted to lie down in the cool moss at the edge of the road, the thick shadows of the trees promising relief from the buzzing and dizziness. But he couldn’t remember how much time had passed. He had to get to the boat before the others. He had to be long gone, uncatchable, by the time they arrived. So he kept going, licking his lips to cool them and thinking longingly of the deep purple damp of evening that seemed to creep further and further away.

He thought he was dreaming the bite of the salt air until he stumbled into the water and felt the chill of the ocean lap over his toes, splash up his leg and sting with an unholy sparkle of salt in his wound. The heaving gray-green hypnotized him as he looked up, making him forget for a few moments why he was there. The glare of the sun was even worse here and he squinted and stumbled backward onto the rocky beach, turning his face away. He sat for a while until his head stopped spinning quite so hard. He looked out over the water again, seeing the dark shadow of the sailboat. He was here first. He’d won. He glanced around for a rowboat, but gave up quickly. It was only a few hundred yards. He could swim it if he had to, wounded leg and all. He just had to have a little rest first. Just a nap on the chilled stones of the beach and then he’d be ready.