The 40th Day (After the Cure Book 5) (29 page)

“I don’t think he knew what was going to happen. We couldn’t exactly tell him either. Not then. It was an accident, Frank.”

“It
wasn’t
. It was because of
him
.”

She wrapped her hands around the fist clenching the leaf. “We also met because of
him.
Do you want to give him credit for that too?” His fist loosened and the leaf fell. “We can’t undo either event. Vincent said he’d do it all again, if he had the choice. I would too, even if I couldn’t change how it’s going to end. If it hadn’t been us— if it had been another lawyer or if he hadn’t pushed to hire me— we wouldn’t have even had the few months that we did. Nobody else would have stopped him. We would all have been dead by May. And no one would have introduced us either. I’ve been happy, Frank. No matter how long we had. Haven’t you? Isn’t that worth whatever price we have to pay now?”

“It’s not what
I
need to sacrifice that bothers me. It’s what it has taken from you.”

Nella shrugged her pack from her shoulders, unwilling to walk farther in the dark. She pushed his gently off too. She stood on her toes and slid her arms around his neck, waiting until he was staring at her to speak. “Before you came along,” she said, “I didn’t know my neighbors. I hated my job. I hated myself for the things I’d done. Christine and Sevita were the only people who I could stand to be around for any length of time. My entire world was that closed in, small minded City. Meeting you has taken
nothing
from me. You’ve made me a better, happier person. I’m kinder, more patient, less judgmental because of
you
.” She kissed him as the breeze shook more leaves around them, flickering in the lantern light. But in her heart, she understood his disappointment and anger, and for a second she gave thanks that she would go before him, that she wouldn’t have to be the one to carry on without him.

The sun was cresting over his bare shoulder when she woke. He was watching her and tracing the jagged outline of a half-turned leaf on the skin of her hip.

“Shh,” he whispered, “if we pretend it isn’t here yet, we can stay a minute longer like this. Close your eyes, go back to sleep.”

“Have
you
slept?” she asked rubbing his eyelids gently as he closed them.

“Yes, I slept. I only woke a second or two ago.” He pulled her tighter, the rough starburst scar on his chest pressing into her skin, familiar and comforting. “Stay just a little longer,” he said.
Hang on, stay with me,
he willed her.

He was able to push aside what was coming for most of the day. It slid by cool and windy, if quiet. He found they had little to speak about. Everything seemed either unimportant or too close to the coming grief to say. Frank didn’t want to think past the boat and though he tried, he couldn’t convince himself there’d be an “after” with her. So he didn’t make plans. They couldn’t speak of friends, because they were either long gone or in trouble. Even Ruth and Bernard were hard to think about. The walk, though beautiful, seemed too trivial, too fleeting to talk about. So they walked side by side, both in a sort of suspended misery for the other. Until Nella fell. The road was uneven, gravel and tar, broken and eroded. Nella was right beside him when she tripped at the top of a small hill. The weight of her pack was enough to throw off her balance as she tried to recover and she rolled, hitting a half dozen jagged lumps of tar that jutted up along the way. For a moment, Frank’s only thought was that he was glad he’d switched the pesticide to his own pack or the explosion might have killed them both instantly. Then he was running down the small hill to help her.

“How many days?” he was muttering to himself, “how many days left?”

She heard him mumbling as he ran. He stopped when he reached her, helping her up. “I’m okay,” she said as he checked, “Just a few bruises. It’s okay.”

His hands were shaking as he touched the scrape on her elbow. “Frank,” she said, pulling his chin up until his eyes focused on her face. “It’s not time yet. I’m still me. No slurring. I tripped over a piece of rubble. Plenty of days left. It’s not time.”

He nodded and folded her into him. She could feel his chest shudder as he tried to hide his sob. “It’s okay,” she said again, “I’m still here.”

But he couldn’t let go for several minutes.

Henry was absorbed in an old battered copy of The Guide to Gay Gardening, studying edible insects, when the radio crackled to life. “These two hunters got lost and were wandering in the woods and got captured by cannibals. They were tied up and put into an enormous pot of water. A large bonfire was lit underneath them and things were really starting to heat up. All of a sudden one of the hunters starts giggling uncontrollably. ‘What’s so funny?’ asked the other, thinking his friend had finally snapped. ‘I peed in the soup!’ said the first one.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “Hi, Rickey.”

“C’mon, that deserved a chuckle. Let me tell it to Marnie, she’ll laugh.”

“Is everyone okay up there?” Henry asked.

“Yeah, but worried about you. We finished repairing everything but the barn. I think it’s a total teardown, sorry Henry. At least the foundation’s poured. We can get some kind of structure up before the snow. Amos thinks it should be a school instead of a barn. He says we could use it for meetings too. Wanted to know what you thought.”

“What do
you
think?”

There was a pause. “Without Vincent— I miss him, Henry. I should have gone with him. I let Melissa persuade me to stay.”

“He would have wanted you to stay. There must be other teachers— if not, we could take turns. You could teach mechanical stuff. We need more people with that knowledge. Amos and Moll— Amos could teach farming. We’ll make a list.”

“She saved this place, you know. The others say the whole place would have burnt if she hadn’t been here. Who would have thought? She was always so quiet. They say Gray will never be able to walk properly again, after what she did.”

“I hope he dies of it,” snapped Henry suddenly. “Shouldn’t have been here alone. I should have stayed. It was stupid to go the next day.”

“She wasn’t alone, Henry. And I think she’d be proud. She’d want you to be proud too. She loved you, you know. She never would have said anything, but anyone with eyes could see it.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“It should.”

Henry was silent.

“You want anything down there? How is Marnie and the other survivor?”

“Her name is Nancy. They’re both still fine, but Vincent said to expect that, mostly. They were the only two who weren’t failing the coordination tests, but that doesn’t mean they won’t in a week or two. I think we’re safe, though. They are almost through the incubation period. We could use more books down here, if you have any to spare. Marnie’s a little sick of cards but we could all use some distraction. If Amos has any work we can do…”

“No dice, Henry. Sorry. Anything you touch could be contaminated and then we couldn’t use it. He said the best thing you can do is use the time to build skills. Read books, practice survival junk. All that boy scout stuff we never did.”

Henry laughed. “I’m trying.”

There was a long pause. “Hey Rickey,” said Henry, at last.

“Yeah?”

“Any news from the City?”

“Nothing yet. Melissa has been sweeping the channels, but we might
never
know.”

“I know. Thought I’d ask, in case.”

“If he
can
come back, he will. Or he’ll send word. I know it.”

“Yeah,” said Henry. “I know you’re right. It’s just hard to be the one left behind.”

Vincent woke to a chorus of screams. His hand went immediately for the blade at his hip. He was up and running toward the sound before he’d even rubbed the sleep from his eye. Father Preston was struggling with a larger man near a small crowd of people huddled near the tire pit. The grave still smoldered and stank, coating them with black smoke. A figure at the bottom of the pit was aflame, stumbling in a slow, agonized circle. Vincent bypassed the other priest and his opponent, plunging down the ramped side of the pit. He ripped his shirt off and shoved the burning figure down into the dirt, slapping it with the cloth, trying to put it out. The skin bubbled and peeled and a long, drawn shriek peeled out of it, stopping only when the thing was out of breath and paused to take another. Its arms and legs shriveled in towards its stomach, curling it like an unborn child. Vincent knew he was too late. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I’ll fix it now. No more pain.” He slid the knife out brought it down on the thing’s neck. It was done. His shirt caught the flames and the body blazed up again. He turned back to Father Preston who was shouting.

“I won’t let you, you can’t do this, they haven’t turned. They’re still human.”

The man grunted. “How long father? Ten minutes, another day? I’m not risking it. That thing almost ate one of us. Would have if I didn’t put it down. These people need to be taken care of. You don’t have to do it, Father. Just stand aside. It’ll be a mercy to us all.”

“No!” cried Father Preston, driving at the other man.

Vincent heard a few growls echoing from the small, huddled group. A few of the people were rocking back and forth, chewing on their fingernails nervously.

“Calm down, now,” warned Vincent carefully.

But Father Preston and the man didn’t hear him. They kept shoving each other, grappling at the edge of the pit. One of the growls grew louder, stretched out. Vincent began walking toward the little crowd, afraid to attract attention by running, but unwilling to wait until it was too late. A shriek erupted and Vincent broke into a sprint as the group erupted into a frenzy of movement.

“They’re turning!” shouted the large man fighting with Preston. “Get them, now!”

Vincent froze as a collection of shouts burst out behind him. Running down into the pit were a group of healthier people, each stooping to pick up rocks or pieces of broken junk metal that lay around the pit.

“Stop!” cried Vincent, holding up his arms. He was caught between both groups. The healthy people paused for a second, but then a large weight landed on Vincent’s shoulders and he fell face forward into the dust. He struggled to twist free. People ran past him meeting around him snarling and biting and slamming stones into faces. The weight on his back released and he crawled free. Blood spattered in the dust around him and then sparks as someone lit an old plank and began swinging it.

“Stop,” cried Vincent, “For the love of God, stop it!”

Nobody but Preston stopped. Father Preston let go of the large man and crept down the slope to drag Vincent away.

“It’s over Brother Vincent,” he said. “Nothing will stop them now.”

“We can’t let them kill each other,” cried Vincent.

“There’s nothing we can do,” said Father Preston. “The only thing we can do is spread the pesticide and kill them all. That’s the only way this stops. Either when the sicker half are dead or when they all are.”

Vincent reached to pry a pair of fighters apart but Preston held him back. “You ready to die? It’ll be for nothing. Don’t throw away your life. It won’t stop them.”

He let Father Preston lead him out of the tire pit. They stood at the side of the pit and watched it darken with blood. After a moment, Vincent noticed Father Preston’s lips moving without sound. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“The only thing I know how to do,” said Father Preston, “praying for help.”

Vincent nodded. “Will you say it out loud?” he asked. “Will you let me pray with you?”

They stood at the side of the pit, until the screams died out and the violence flagged and all anyone could hear were the murmured words of the two priests praying for the soul of the dead world.

Thirty-seven

Frank began pulling back the pile of branches they’d left over the rowboat. “That’s a good sign,” he said. “Maybe our luck is changing. Gray must not have made it here yet. Or ever. The boat’s still here.”

Nella frowned looking doubtful. “Maybe he found a different one. We didn’t check any of the nearby houses.”

“The sailboat is still there,” he said, pointing through the trees. “You’d think he would have moved it.”

“That’s true,” said Nella, allowing herself to relax a little. They worked together to clear the branches. There was a sense of going home for both, though they knew it was for the last time. The night before had been restless, and they had clung together, trying to find some sense of peace in the growing panic that threatened to swallow them both. But now they faced it, as they had a few months before, standing outside the gray, squat prison saying goodbye in the windy parking lot. It felt the same, there in the warm sun at the edge of the ocean. An almost-relief of having it arrive at last, regardless of what happened next. They carried the boat down onto the gravelly beach, laying their packs into the bottom. The water was chilled and Nella’s feet ached on the cold, smooth stones beneath them as they shoved it off and climbed in. She tried to imprint everything, though she knew it would be several more days until the sickness took her. Tried to hold on to the way the light shattered over the waves and the shadow of the water swallowed up the sparkles. Took in the sting of the salt in her nose and the dry tightness it left where it touched her skin. But mostly she tried to memorize Frank. The way he tried to smile at her, though he was as deep in grief as she. The way the scar on his cheek crinkled with every change of expression. The heat of his bare foot next to hers as he rowed. She wished he’d talk so she could save the roll and rhythm of his voice too, but she could think of nothing to ask him and he could think of nothing to say without disrupting the fragile peace between them. She wished, even in the misery of the moment, that they’d just keep rowing. That the day would keep shining and he’d still be across from her, rowing forever. But the moments passed, as they always did, and they were pulling up to the large sailboat before she even realized they’d gone more than halfway.