The Cured (11 page)

“Hi,” said Henry, “Do you mind if I read this?” She shook her head and handed him the paper and went back to staring at the stove top. Henry retreated to the living room.

Thirteen

“I wish I could be here to tell you this instead of leaving a letter, but this is an emergency. I hope you can forgive us for leaving you to recover by yourselves. My name is Nella Rider. I’m a psychologist who worked for a long period in a Cure camp with the Infected– people like you. I’m traveling with Frank Courtlen, the man who administered the Cure to you. He was also Infected once. We’ve both seen what you will be experiencing in the next few weeks and months. And we both regret not being here when you woke up.

I don’t know how much you knew about what was happening before you became infected, or how much you can remember about it. The world has changed since you’ve been ill. There is no easy way to tell you how much it has changed, not even if I were able to speak to you face to face as I would like. The first news of what we call the December Plague came roughly eight years ago now. I know that people who have been cured remember most of what has happened in the intervening time since infection, but those memories can be blurry for the first few weeks. For better or worse, they will return with greater clarity after a while.”

Henry looked away from the letter. He buried a hand in his filthy hair and clenched his jaw. He wasn’t surprised that it had been so long since he had been infected. He’d watched Dave and Marnie grow older and Phil grow meaner without realizing what he saw, but he understood it now that his head was clear. He didn’t want to remember. He wanted it to stay a vague whirlwind, to never resolve itself into definite focus. He heard spoons clattering in the kitchen, but he didn’t go back in. He looked back at the careful words on the page.

“For two years there was terrible violence between the Infected and Immunes. Many, many people died. The federal government is gone. Contact with the world beyond a fifty mile radius around the City is non-existent. At last, only a small immune population was left, kept safe behind the Barrier. But then the Cure was discovered. Six years ago the military began using sleeping darts to administer the Cure to groups of Infected. We tried very hard not to miss anyone, but there are so few of us left. There were bound to be blind spots as we expanded from the City. I’m sorry that we passed you by somehow, until now. It’s been a long crawl back towards normal life, and we are nowhere near finished. The Cure has helped hundreds of people over the past few years, but the military began finding fewer and fewer groups of Infected as more and more succumbed to exposure or starvation. They’ve all but wrapped up their Cure operation now, which is why they didn’t find you.”

The others must have been shocked to realize they had lost six years needlessly. If they’d known how close the early Cure camps had been, they might despair. But Henry knew. It had been Elizabeth who had told him. He wondered if Marnie knew, even now, what had happened to her mother.

Elizabeth had fed him first, so he would listen. Even Marnie hadn’t been able to sneak him food that week. Phil had thrown the corpses of a rival camp over the palings, but he’d allowed none of the Infected to be fed anything else. He’d even threatened to tie those that violated his order to the central pole of the pen and release the Infected from their leashes.

But Elizabeth had walked into the pen at midday, brazenly holding a platter mounded with real, warm food. She’d ignored the howls of the other Infected, just skirting the reach of their leashes. She’d come straight to Henry. She’d put down the food and shoved the platter with her foot into his small, worn, dirt ring so he could reach it. Then she had squatted and watched him while he stuffed himself. This memory was like a clear photograph among hundreds of blurs. He remembered how dark her bruised eye had been compared to the blond hair falling across it, the twisted puff of her split lip in the smooth, drawn lines of her pale face. She’d watched him until his growling and lunging had stopped, until he was full and the mild sedative she’d put into the food took effect. He swayed and looked at her, glassy eyed, like a tired child. And then at last she had spoken to him.

“I should have picked you, Henry, all those years ago. Even knowing what you’ve become. It still would have been the better choice. Instead I’m yoked to a coward.” Elizabeth turned her head and spat. It had been a pink stream in the black dirt of the pen. “I know you can’t answer me. I don’t even know if you can understand what I’m saying. But sometimes I wonder if I still see a flicker of the old Henry. I wonder if you are still trapped in there. So I came to tell you that there’s a Cure.”

She leaned in, close enough for Henry to bite. But he was no longer hungry and the sedative muted his normal aggression. He snarled, but he didn’t move toward her.

“There’s a Cure. And it isn’t far away. But Phil doesn’t want you cured. He wants to keep his guard dogs. He wants to stay king of scenic Cannibal Lodge.” Elizabeth laughed and Henry had backed away. A chill cut through even the confusion of the infection, his sick brain sensing an even sicker one in her.

Elizabeth’s eyes streamed tears even as she continued to smile and speak calmly. “But I’m going to the Cure camp anyway. And when I come back, I’m bringing the army. They’re going to cure you all. And then you and the army, you can give Phil what he deserves.” She covered her breasts with her arms as if she were cold. “Oh yes, Henry. Then you can do what Dave will not and make sure Phil pays for everything he’s done.”

Elizabeth stopped and swiped at some of the tears and her face became threatening. Henry began to pace his dirt circle, the mild sedative overridden by his increasing agitation at her presence. She backed out of his reach.

“Marnie told me you have a deal. Henry, if you can hear any of this– if you understand or remember or even dream any of this, pay attention. I know you have a deal. I know you promised to take care of her if she got sick and she promised to take care of you. I know you didn’t really mean it when you said it. I know you didn’t expect to get sick. But Dave won’t protect her.
Doesn’t
protect her. And if something happens to me– I’m taking care of you. I’m getting the Cure for
you,
Henry. So I’m going to hold you to your promise. I’m taking care of you for Marnie. So you need to take care of Marnie when you can. No matter what, Henry. Don’t leave her alone here with these people. Even if Dave stays with them. I’m taking care of you, so you’ll take care of her when I’m gone. Remember Henry.”

He started as Vincent handed him the hot glass of reconstituted milk.

“Drink it slowly. Sips at a time. Or it will hurt,” he said.

Henry nodded and set aside the letter and Elizabeth’s memory. He held the cup with both hands as if it would give him more control of himself. Hunger rumbled through the aching echo chamber of his gut and he raised his cup in front of his face. The steam was a warm, sweet breath on the small patch of his face not buried in hair. The slightly soured smell of the stale milk made Henry salivate. He was relieved that he could still find something besides meat appealing.
This is going to be difficult,
he thought, and pulled the cup to his lips. It took a superhuman effort to stop drinking after just a small gulp. His hands were shaking as he lowered the cup to his lap. Most of him wanted to tilt the glass all the way back, fill the cold hollow of his belly with a the warm slosh and gurgle of too much milk. But he knew Vincent was right and forced himself to stop and count slowly to five before the next sip.

Pam crept up to him, holding a small spoon. She held it out to him as if she expected him to slap it from her hand. He took it, confused.

“It will help you not drink it all at once. The priest said just a spoonful at a time. It will stop you from gulping.”

“Thanks,” said Henry. She sat down across from him near the fireplace. The clothes he’d brought down were so large, she almost disappeared into them, a bundle of sticks inside a parachute. He wondered if he looked the same.

“Are you going back for your daughter?” she asked as she lifted her spoon.

“What?”

“Your daughter. The one that untied us. Are you going back for her now?”

Henry looked down into the flat white of the milk. “She’s not my daughter.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I just assumed, she seemed to bring you things.”

“Her parents were friends of mine.”

“Oh.” Pam sipped another spoonful and avoided looking at him.

“She couldn’t still be there. She would have run away during the confusion, don’t you think?”

She shrugged. “I had babies. You know, Before. But not as old as her. I’m going back home to find them.”

Rickey shuffled into the room, his pants puddling around the knees and feet. He flopped down next to Henry and eyed his almost empty glass. “Didn’t you read that letter? It’s been eight years. Almost everyone’s dead. Your babies won’t be home,” he said, downing the last few drops of his milk and sliding closer to Henry.

“You don’t know that,” said Molly from the doorway. “The letter also said there was a city with lots of people. Even people like us, and families that reunited. I’m sure your kids are there, Pam.”

Pam smiled at her. “They were away when I got sick. They went on a school skiing trip. I can’t wait to see them again.”

Rickey snorted.

“What’s so funny?” asked Henry, with a warning look.

Rickey shrugged. “Well, it’s just– Let’s say this city is real and that they allow people like us inside–”

“People like us?” asked Vincent wandering in with Melissa in tow.

“Yeah. Infected. Cannibals. Zombies. Uh, Cured or whatever it was the psychiatrist chick called us. People like us. Let’s say they allow us to come in. And let’s even pretend that Pam’s kids here, are actually alive and living in this city. You think they’re going to want to see her? You think they’re going to kiss and hug her and pretend everything is okay, when they know what she’s probably done in the past several years? You think
anyone
will want to be around us?”

“Hey,” said Henry quietly, “relax.”

“We don’t know what is normal any more. If there are enough– enough Cured around, if we outnumber the Immunes then maybe what we’ve done isn’t really that unusual. Maybe it’s not even surprising,” said Melissa, throwing a scrawny arm around Pam’s shoulder.

Henry scrubbed at his itching, crawling beard. “Murder’s not normal,” he said quietly and felt his eyes prickle with tears. “There’s nothing normal about what we’ve done.”

“We just did what we had to do to survive,” said Molly, “We didn’t know what we were doing.”

“We do now,” said Rickey, “and so does everybody else. Why would they let us in? Why would they want us back after that?”

“The people that cured us were willing to accept us,” said Vincent, holding his hands out toward the pile of supplies spread on the coffee table between them, “They’ve left us directions straight to their home. And if things are as bad as Dr. Rider’s letter says, I can only assume the things they have left us are scarce and valuable now. They could have killed us or left us to fend for ourselves, but they didn’t.”

Rickey shook his head. “It’s a trap. You think they are just going to give us this stuff without expecting something in return? Have you people forgotten the past several years? Have you forgotten what Phil and his gang did to us?” he waved at Pam, who shrunk backward into Melissa, “did you forget what he did to you? No one came to help us in all those years. What makes you think this city is any different? This guy,” he flicked the letter with a finger, “What’s-his-name, Frank? He’s probably this woman’s slave. That’s all we’ll be. First guard dogs and whores. Now servants or slaves. Pam’s kids hope she’s
dead.
That’s the best anyone can hope for. We have no friends. We have no families. Their lives and memories are happier if they continue to believe we’re dead.”

Henry stood up. He shoved his almost empty cup into Rickey’s hand. “Shut up and drink your milk,” he said and walked toward the kitchen.

“You know I’m right,” Rickey called after him, and picked up the spoon to finish Henry’s food. Pam got up and followed him into the kitchen.

“Do you think he’s right?” she asked.

“I think he’s kind of a jerk. I don’t know what to think about the City or the people that left us that note.”

“Aren’t you worried about going there then?”

“It’s a little early to worry about that. I don’t think any of us are going anywhere for a while. We’ll have to wait until we’re stronger.” He started rummaging through the kitchen drawers.

“What are you looking for?”

“Scissors. I can’t stand this hair any more. Although, if I come across soap first I’ll be equally happy.” He could feel bugs and debris wiggling and itching and it made Henry want to scream. Now that the overwhelming pain of his empty stomach was gone, it was all Henry could think about. If he didn’t get rid of the itches soon, he thought he’d scratch himself until he bled.

Molly heard them and walked over. “I could die happy if I could brush this foul taste out of my mouth.” Henry nodded. The taste in his own mouth was the congealed memory of all his sins.

“I think there are two bathrooms,” said Pam, “but they might have been cleaned out already. I’ll go look.”