The Cured (21 page)

The doctor put a hand on Henry’s shoulder and guided him out of the room. Henry wanted to push him off, but he submitted. “This is going to take a long while,” said the doctor, “I wonder if we can do your exam in the morning? I’ll send word that it’s okay for you and the others to be fed. The girl–”

“Molly,” said Henry.

“Molly can eat when she wakes up.”

“You aren’t going to amputate are you?”

“It isn’t that severe, we can save her hand. I’ve done it dozens of times. It happens often these days.”

“Will it hurt her?”

“The sedative should be strong enough. It will be sore when she wakes up, but not excruciating. Unfortunately, with current drugs and technology, I can no longer promise no pain.”

Henry nodded. “I understand.” He turned to go, but the doctor stopped him.

“I’m sure that you think I’m cold, insisting on payment for a lifesaving antibiotic. But I do care, I’ve heard a little of what you’ve been through, and I wish I could do more. But once you’ve been here for a while, you’ll understand how rare good medicine is now. You’ll understand why I can’t just give it to you.”

“I understand,” said Henry, “I appreciate that your City is taking us in, no matter what the rules might be.” He walked down the hall back to the others and the first full meal he’d had in eight years.

Twenty-five

A soldier woke Henry before it was light. He was led to another exam room where the doctor was waiting. The doctor handed him a funny smelling cup of coffee.

“It’s just grain coffee. The real stuff is worth almost as much as chocolate now. But I figured it might help perk you up. It does me.”

“Thanks,” said Henry. He took a gulp. Not even hot enough to burn his mouth awake. Still, it was warm and something for his cramped stomach.

“We’re going to start early with your exam and then you’ve got entrance interviews. That is, if you’re staying.”

“I told you I’d pay off Molly’s treatment and I will.” Henry tried not to growl, knowing it wasn’t the doctor’s fault.

“She did fine, by the way, her hand will recover nicely.”

“She must be relieved.”

“I think so. I had your friend– Pam? Stay with her last night in case she needed anything but she seems pretty optimistic this morning and not in too much pain. Well, let’s get this over with then.”

Henry put down the cup and stripped off his clothes. The doctor began writing on his pad and it made Henry nervous. The room felt cold, but Henry wasn’t sure if it was the actual temperature or because he had no fat between his bones.

“Do you remember how long it’s been since you were infected?” the doctor asked.

“You mean do I remember being infected or do I remember when I lost control of myself?”

The doctor glanced up. “The latter.”

“It was Christmas day eight years ago.”

“You turned eight years ago?”

“Yes. Well, a little over eight years I guess, if the date on that letter was correct.”

“And you survived because of this bandit camp, like the others?”

“Yes.”

“Did they feed you or . . .”

“In the beginning they fed me, like a normal person. Then, they let me attack their enemies.”

“And you escaped this camp how long ago?”

“It’s hard for me to tell. I think it was a few months ago. There was snow at the camp.”

“What did you eat between then and now?”

“At first, we attacked the people who had enslaved us. Then we kind of spread out. The group that was with me stuck together because we found a farm with cows. It took more than one of us to take down a cow. There were a few cows, a horse I think. I remember attacking another girl, she was sick like me. That’s all I remember.”

Henry tried to pretend he didn’t see the doctor shudder. “Were you clothed when you escaped?”

“I was. At least partially. I don’t think I had shoes. I don’t know about the others.”

“Do you have any numbness anywhere, tingling or wooden feeling in any extremity?”

“I think the bottom of my feet have frostbite, if that’s what you are asking.”

“Hmm. Sit up here please.”

Henry was silent as the doctor checked him over and cleaned small wounds on his arms and legs and feet. He hadn’t even realized most were there, the pain of his hungry belly vastly outweighing any other concern.

“Did you do this?” asked the doctor indicating his shaved head.

“You mean the nicks? Yeah, I didn’t have the greatest razor. But I had to get the hair off. It was a nest of bugs and bacteria.” Henry shivered and gagged a little thinking about it. The doctor handed him a small trashcan in case he needed to vomit.

“Good job,” said the doctor, “it probably kept you from infection. What’s this from?” He touched his pen to the red ring around Henry’s neck.

Henry rubbed the smooth scar self-consciously. “A collar. Didn’t the others have one?”

The doctor shook his head. “One of them did, but the rest didn’t have them around their necks, they had them at their wrists. They said they were restrained at the wrist. Some of them have long-term injuries to their shoulders because of it. But some of them said it was to stop them from chewing on their own hands. Why aren’t yours chewed?”

Henry smiled. It was the one thing Dave did for him, long after Phil told him to stop. “My friend taped heavy wood gloves onto my hands. I escaped shortly after he died.”

“You didn’t chew through them in eight years?”

“Yeah, I did. They lasted about a month. My friend would replace them every so often.”

“That’s a good friend,” said the doctor shaking his head and writing. Henry didn’t bother to correct him. If that’s what he wanted to believe, who was Henry to disparage Dave?

“Do you remember your weight before you got sick? It doesn’t have to be exact, just an estimate.”

“Uh, about 210, but I wasn’t the best eater and I had a desk job.”

“Would you step on the scale for me?”

Henry hesitated. “Do I have to look?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

He stepped onto the scale and turned to face the doctor. He didn’t have to look. The doctor’s face as the little weights settled behind Henry’s head said it all. But Henry didn’t want to know more, so he didn’t ask. The doctor wrote without comment.

“You can get dressed now, if you like. You’re healthier than the others and your frostbite is only mild. It will mean a loss of sensation but not much else. Just be sure to wear shoes and inspect your feet for damage often, they can still get infected by stepping on something sharp, but you might not feel it. You are more underfed than the others, I suspect because you didn’t– partake as often as they did. I’m going to recommend a special diet for you for the next few weeks, I want you to follow it. It will help you get what you need without causing your body to shut down.” He pulled a few vials out of his pocket. “I need to do some blood work, it’s only to be sure you are healthy. It has no bearing on your being admitted to the City, it’s just so we can make sure we’ve treated you for everything that we can.”

Henry let him take the blood, feeling exhausted and a little woozy after. The doctor gave him a chipped mug with lumpy apple juice in it.

“Drink this, it will help with the nausea and the tiredness. Do you need a wheelchair?”

Henry shook his head. “Well, when you are ready, go down the hall to the first office on the left. You’ll have to fill out some background history with the secretary. I’m going to check on your friend. I’ll have your blood work results and diet recommendations sent to the apartment they assign you.” The doctor offered him a tight smile and then left the exam room. Henry felt as if his head was whirling. He drank the juice slowly while he finished dressing and then walked unsteadily down the hall to the next office. He knocked on the dull metal door and it opened to let him in.

The secretary wore a soldier’s uniform and unlike his younger, more casual counterparts from the night before, this one looked like he actually belonged inside it. He didn’t smile or hold out his hand to Henry, just opened the door and then returned to his desk.

“Have a seat,” he said without looking up. Henry folded himself onto the cold plastic seat. He noticed that the other man’s hair lay perfectly straight, held there with some kind of dark grease. His hands were thick but clean, as if he’d been doing this type of work for a while, but not for always.

“Name?”

“Henry.”

“Full Name.”

“Oh, uh Henry Steven Broom.” An old typewriter clacked into life. Henry wondered why they didn’t just use a computer. Maybe they could make typewriter ribbons easier than ink cartridges. He was so used to a paperless society. The stacks of pulpy recycled paper around him made him feel small, lost in the clutter.

“Social?”

“Huh?”

“Social Security number.” The secretary sounded irritated.

“I don’t– does that even matter anymore? I honestly don’t think I remember all of it.”

“It’s how we find surviving family members. Do you remember any of it?”

“I don’t have any family.” Henry felt a brief pang when he thought of his sister and father, but they had lived states away. If they weren’t dead, it didn’t matter. He’d never find them.

“Very well. When did you succumb to the infection?”

“Christmas, eight years ago.”

“How long have you been Cured?”

“Four days I think. I woke up sane four days ago anyway.”

The secretary finally looked up at him. “I thought the Cure camps kept you folks for a month.”

“We weren’t at a– what did you call them? A camp.”

“How did you get the Cure?”

“We were chasing a man and a woman across a field toward a farm house. One of us, another man, bit the woman and was shot and I think he died. The man and the woman made it to the farmhouse and then the man went up to the second floor and shot us with darts. The next thing I remember I woke up in the farmhouse with the others and there was a letter left for us, telling us to come here. Melissa has the letter I think, if you need it.”

The secretary squinted at him and then clacked away at the typewriter, shaking his head. He looked up again. “How did you survive for so long? We haven’t found an Infected in almost a year. Most of the Cured who come in now are runaways from the camps that couldn’t make a go of it out there.” He jerked his head toward the Barrier.

Henry shifted uncomfortably. “Is this part of the report?” he asked.

“No, why?”

“It’s a long story.”

The secretary shrugged. “Suit yourself. What occupations have you held?”

“I was a debt collector with a credit card company. Office work.”

“Anything else?”

“In high school I washed dishes for the local diner.”

“Did you have any hobbies? Fishing, gardening, hunting, that sort of thing?”

“You mean stuff that would help with survival.”

“Yes, we’re looking for skills, no matter how old. Could even be cub scouts if you remember it.”

Henry shook his head. “Sorry, I was a pretty modernized person. Movies, video games, trips to an air conditioned gym, that’s about it.”

“You ever shoot a gun?”

“Nope. Not even sure I’d know how.”

“Do any first aid?”

“Nothing beyond very, very basic stuff. I took a course for work, but it’s probably nothing more than the average adult would pick up from normal life anyway.”

The secretary looked grim. Henry felt like he was failing some sort of test. He started to sweat through the thin clothes he’d been given. “Look, I’m sure there’s some kind of clerical work I can do to contribute. And I’m willing to learn a new trade. Maybe if I knew what you need–”

The secretary waved him off. “Never mind. I’ll put you in the All-Work pool. Someone will find something for you to do. You can talk to your supervisor about apprenticing if you find something you’d rather do. But you have to work. In here, if you don’t work, you don’t eat, that’s just how it is.” Henry started to interrupt but the secretary spoke over him, “I’m not saying you won’t. I’m sure you will be a hard worker and always were, but I have to give the same speech to everyone.” He scribbled something on a gray piece of paper and slid it into a folder with Henry’s name at the top. “Here is your assignment. Take this folder down the hall to housing. Don’t lose your folder. It’s hard to find replacements.”

“I need to talk to someone in charge.”

The secretary barked a short laugh. “About your assignment? No one is going to see you about that. Besides, I told you that you could apprentice if you wanted–”

“Not about that. I need to see someone in charge about the people we were with all this time.”

“Oh. Well, the Military Governor sees citizens every afternoon between one and three when he can. But he’s pretty busy managing security for the trial, so I don’t know if he’ll see you. Housing will have a map of the City. They can show you where to go.”

“Okay,” said Henry standing. “Thanks,” he said, because it was something to say, though he wasn’t sure he meant it. He opened the heavy metal door and slid out into the hallway. The secretary didn’t bother to say anything, just clacked away on the typewriter as Henry left. Pam was waiting to go into the office after him.