The 40th Day (After the Cure Book 5) (31 page)

“We have to coat everything,” he said, shouting to be certain he was heard through the thick plastic of his mask and over the rumbling truck. “It’s been quiet, but that doesn’t mean we’re alone. Do you have anything to defend yourself?”

Father Preston shook his head. Vincent opened the truck’s passenger side door and fumbled around until he found the tire iron behind the seat. Lisa looked pale through the clear plastic face guard. “The sound will probably draw them to you first, Lisa. Just keep moving, the gas will incapacitate them within a few moments. Keep your mask on and your windows rolled up.”

She nodded. “What if— what about Immunes?” she asked.

Vincent shook his head sadly. “If they get to you, it’s probably too late, they’ll have breathed in too many fumes. But if they can make it. We’re meeting a boat at the docks, anyone still healthy that can get there, we’ll take. The City is a grid skirted by the barrier. It’s large but it’s hard to get lost. If you went straight from this point, you’d hit the docks. There’s too much ground to cover in one day. Take a left here and keep the docks behind you and to the right as you work your way down. Tomorrow we’ll do the other side. You could probably get through the streets today, but you’ll have to stay a little close, we’ll have to change canisters often.”

She nodded and he shut the door, turning to hand the tire iron to Father Preston. “There’s only three of us,” shouted Preston, “We’ll never cover the whole City.”

“Five,” said Vincent, “Dr. Ryder and Mr. Courtlen will be here tonight. They’ll help. And somebody has destroyed the entrances. They knew what was happening. They would have gathered people up for defense or for quarantine. We have to find those places.”

“We still won’t be able to coat it all. Even if we had the strength to do it, we’d run out of chemical.”

Vincent nodded. “You’re right. We just have to do what we can. Anywhere that looks promising to a looter, and anywhere that looks like it might have people still living in it, we have to douse. We saw the fires several weeks ago, I think a good portion of the buildings are gone. It’s up to us to take care of what we can.”

Vincent headed into the sagging entrance of the barracks where the tank had collided. He walked up to the top floor and glanced out the window. Lisa was creeping ahead with the spray truck and Father Preston disappeared into a building across the street and further up. Vincent called a few hellos as he sprayed, not expecting any answer except the hollow echo of his own footsteps. The first building took a while as he became used to the sprayer and tried to hit every surface. As he went on, he picked up the pace and concentrated on surfaces people would have touched, objects that looters would want. The emptiness started to unnerve him a few hours in and he kept glancing over his shoulder and calling out into the dim twilight of the buildings as he went. The chloropicrin became a cloudy fog that spilled from shattered windows and opened doors and rolled along the road in a thick smoke as they worked their way up the hill toward the airport. The buildings gradually petered out and left a rural road to the flat expanse of the airport and beyond. They joined Lisa in the cab until they returned to the City’s grid. Vincent gasped as they passed the power plant. It was a twisted bloom of metal and ash. The hospital as well, had been gutted, its walls blackened with soot. A huge pile of ash stood in its parking lot surrounded by military trucks.

“What was
that
?” asked Father Preston quietly.

Vincent shook his head. “If I had to guess— I’d say it was a cremation pile. Marnie said the people they’d let into the bunker had told her that the military was taking sick people away. They had to do something with them… looks like maybe some of them fought back. Or some of the soldiers turned.”

Father Preston crossed himself and said a prayer behind his plastic shell.

“This is where the bunker was supposed to be. We have to check,” Vincent waited until Lisa pulled into the large covered lot and slid out. The metal door to the basement was twisted open and down, its back dusty with ash. Vincent turned on a flashlight and headed carefully down the stairs. The bunker door hung from one hinge and pieces of the generator’s red painted sides were curled and spearing the walls all around the basement. Vincent pushed the bunker door farther open, just in case. All that was left was an empty cement tube and the melted metal of the bunks like ragged spider webs. He sighed and returned to the truck. It had been his best hope at finding survivors.

They went back to spraying after that, finally reaching the town square as the sun set. Vincent was convinced there would be people in the large town hall and he didn’t want to quit without checking. He pushed through the large glass doors, remembering the last time he’d been there with Henry, begging for the City’s help with Phil. Begging for justice. It was very dark, the large rooms echoing with his footsteps. He picked his way up the stairs in the gloom. The Military Governor’s office was at the very top. He knocked on the large doors, calling out a hello. There was a scrabbling and a thump behind them. Vincent reached for the knife at his side. “I don’t mean you any harm. We’re here to help. Who is in there?”

There was no answer. Vincent curled his hand tightly around the knife, letting the sprayer hose drift behind him. “I’m coming in now, there’s nothing to be afraid of—”

He pushed gently on the heavy doors and they opened a crack. It was too dark in the office to see anything through the crack. There was a low moan from the other side. He pushed the doors open further. The right-hand side door caught up on something and wouldn’t open farther, so he pushed past the left door and into the large room. The military governor was lying against the other door. His uniform gave him away. Vincent wouldn’t have recognized him otherwise. Crouching on the desk, in the ragged, torn remains of what was once a pristine white silk blouse and smooth pencil skirt was the secretary Rickey had thought was so pretty. She snarled and Vincent could see the broken tips of her long fingernails glint in the half light, jagged and bloody. Her face was scraped in stuttering strips where she’s scratched herself. Her mouth dripped with drool.

“I’m sorry,” said Vincent, sadly and held up the knife as she leapt at him. She flopped onto him and he threw her sideways, withdrawing the knife. Another stroke to the neck, and it was done. He looked around the dark room. Dozens of folders, maps, plans all scattered and crumpled. The heart of the City, and it was dead. He and his friends hadn’t been comfortable here. They hadn’t agreed with some of what the City did, but its loss was devastating anyway. The Colony was truly alone. The loss exhausted him. He sprayed the room and gradually worked back down to the lobby, sagging with the weight. “Let’s find the boat,” he said, climbing into the truck.

Thirty-nine

The harbor was empty. The plastic suits had become uncomfortably hot and Vincent could hear the others gasping to draw breath. Where was the boat?

Father Preston groaned. “It was Gray. I know it. He killed them.”

Vincent shook his head. “They’ll be here. They promised.”

Lisa killed the engine and they sat in the large arch next to the beach. “There’re no docks here,” she said. “Looks like they were destroyed. Maybe they couldn’t land here.”

Vincent got out of the truck and walked down toward the beach looking out over the water. He itched to strip the plastic mask from his face but he turned to see the silvery trickles of the poison gas spilling down onto the sand. He sat on a stone bench until the moon rose. A sleek shadow pierced the horizon and a white speck flashed in the waves. They had waited to be able to see, they were rowing toward the City now. Vincent stood up and walked back to the truck. “They are coming.”

Lisa pulled the keys from the ignition. Father Preston gathered the remaining canisters in his arms and they headed down to meet the small, gleaming rowboat. Vincent could tell something was wrong before the boat was even close enough to shout to. There was only one person in it, and the figure slouched and pulled the oars half heartedly, as if it took tremendous effort.

“It’s Gray,” hissed Father Preston, placing the canisters down and pulling the tire iron from his belt. Vincent held him back.

“Just hold on. Just wait and see. We don’t want to hurt anyone we don’t have to.”

The small boat knocked floating pieces of wood out of the way and hissed to a stop in front of them. The figure inside slumped backward. Vincent ran forward and pulled the rowboat up onto the beach.

“It’s Frank, give me the extra mask, quickly, he’s wounded.”

Lisa fumbled with the package and hurried to slide the face mask over the unconscious lawyer’s head.

“Get in,” said Vincent, “we can find out what happened once we’re out of the range of the poison.”

They piled into the small rowboat and shoved off. They were halfway back to the sailboat before Vincent felt safe enough to shake Frank awake.

“What happened? Is Gray on the boat? Do we need to fight?”

Frank stared blankly at him through the mask. He touched the dark bandage on his stomach gently. “Already done,” he rumbled, “Nella— he’s dead.”

Vincent slid out of his mask to get a better look at Frank’s stomach. “He did this to you? Why didn’t Nella stitch it?”

Frank sobbed.

“Never mind,” said Vincent, alarmed, “I can do it when we get to the boat. Is she hurt too?”

Frank pulled the mask off his own face and shook his head. “She’s dead. I had to shoot her. It wasn’t time yet. It wasn’t supposed to happen yet. She was supposed to wait for me.”

“Did she do this?”

“No, no this was Gray. She— she lost it when he stabbed me. She was mad. I’ve never seen anything like it. I begged her to calm down. To just— to
come back
. You know how hard it was once you’d given in, though, don’t you remember?”

“I remember,” said Vincent softly.

“I kept calling her and calling her, asking her to talk to me. She turned around so slowly. Like she was trying. Like she was fighting not to hurt me too. She was drenched in his blood but her face was so sad. Like I was already dead and that’s all she could see. She was so out of breath, she was taking these heaving gusts of air and shaking. I lifted the gun to show her that I had it. I asked her again, please, just say something. This low growl rose up from her gut, the strength of it vibrating her, making her shake even more. I told her I was sorry— so
sorry
. And I shot her. Because I promised I would. I promised I wouldn’t let her go through what I did. I promised.” Frank was sobbing into his hands.

“And you bandaged yourself and sailed here?” asked Father Preston, his voice colored with awe.

“I gave my word that we’d be here. I pulled out the spear, hoping maybe I’d bleed out before we got here. I know how to stitch, but I wasn’t certain if I was supposed to for something this deep.”

“I’ll take care of it,” said Vincent.

Frank shook his head.

“She’d have wanted you to try. She let herself go to save you. She gave up what time she had left so you’d finish it. If it were her instead, you’d beg her to try, wouldn’t you?” asked Vincent gently.

Frank was silent. They’d reached the boat. They pulled up the small row boat and Vincent lit the cabin lanterns. Nella lay on the deck, the ends of her hair fluttering in the wind, giving the illusion of movement. The interior was soggy with blood. Another mangled body and a large spear lay across the large, dark stains on the carpet. He told the others to try and sleep while he helped Frank onto the bed and unwrapped the wet bandages.

Vincent shook his head. “It’s bad.”

“I know. That’s okay.”

“I can stitch it, but you have to try.”

“What’s the point? If she was sick, then I’m sick too.”

“What if you’re immune?”

Frank laughed and it was bitter and angry. “Now? I’ve lost— everything. I failed in every possible way. Why should I be immune?”

“It isn’t your fault that she got sick— it wasn’t your failure.”

“It
was
. All the way in the beginning. She cried because she was frightened that we wouldn’t find the Plague, that it would be released and we wouldn’t be able to stop it. I promised her we’d find it. But it got released anyway. It got past me. I didn’t save her. We were hundreds of miles away when we found out it was loose. I could have kept us away. I could have kept her safe. But I agreed to come back. Even though I knew there was nothing we could do to stop it. I agreed to come anyway. She would have stayed away if I’d insisted. She loved me enough. I came back to die with her. And I didn’t even do that right.”

“We
are
stopping it. Without you— we wouldn’t have even tried. The Colony would be gone or under perpetual siege by the Infected. She let herself go, she stopped fighting the disease so that she had the strength to defend
you
. To save your life. If you want her death to mean something, then you have to try to live. See this through. Help me stop the thing that defeated her. Help me carry any survivors away to start over.”

“It’s too much to ask,” cried Frank.

“I know,” said Vincent, “but I have to ask anyway.”

He pulled the first aid kit from the wall and began cleaning Frank’s wounds.