The Cured (29 page)

Amos shook his head. “I don’t understand. What is it that this guy did that’s so much worse than what we’ve all done? I don’t like to assume, but I don’t think there’s any way that you survived Infection for eight years without getting some blood on your hands.”

They both looked up as Rickey slid a wooden chair over the floor toward them. “It’s true then? You saw him Henry?” he asked, tumbling into the chair. Henry just nodded. Rickey looked like he want to spit, but a large red-faced woman behind the counter was eyeing him suspiciously. He turned to Amos instead. “Listen, did you hear about the cannibal who attempted suicide and then changed his mind halfway through?” Amos looked confused.

“Not now, Rickey,” Henry groaned. He knew Rickey was nervous, but he had no idea what the other man would think.

“Seems he jumped out of the frying pan into the fire,” said Rickey, ignoring him. He didn’t wait to see if Amos would laugh. “Sure, we’ve done things. Killed people. Eaten ‘em. Some of us even waste time feeling bad about it. Right Henry?” he said, nudging Henry’s arm with his. He looked over at the red-faced woman and lowered his voice, “But Phil– he didn’t just kill people. He kept us, like dogs. On chains. He fed people to us, tortured people that didn’t give him what he wanted. Even stopped us from being Cured a long time ago. And he didn’t stop there. He had this shack for most of the Infected women . . .”

Henry blushed and turned away from them, letting the television’s music drown out Rickey. He’d lived it once already. He didn’t need to hear it. What happened after they had escaped? Those women must surely have died. Without teeth they would have starved even faster. Was Marnie in that shack now? Did the little girl have to take their place? Was he keeping her just the same way, somewhere secret in the City even now? Something much more terrible than rage filled Henry then, an overwhelming, paralyzing wave of grief replaced the anger that had energized him for so long. He was exhausted and panicked. He was free, but was the girl?

Vincent and Melissa came in when Rickey was still droning on behind him, and Henry quickly rubbed his arm across his face. They pulled two more chairs up to the table. Henry decided to order dinner from the red-faced woman, so he wouldn’t have to hear them add anything to the story. He watched the endless loop of pictures while a dead man sang the virtues of the equally extinct and wonderful world.

“You know any of them?” asked the red-faced woman, looking up from chopping vegetables. Henry shook his head. “You in any of them?”

“I doubt it.”

“Least you got friends now,” she said with a significant nod toward the table, “It’s not everyone who can say that these days. Lord knows we all got things to bring us down mighty low these days. But you just remember you got friends. They’ll help pull you back up again when nothing else will. New people always want to run off and find someone they lost from Before. Most times, they don’t find anyone. Whatever it was, whoever it was, it just isn’t where they thought they left it. Protect what you already got first, or when you come back, it may not be where you left it either.” She handed him the plate of wrapped sandwiches.

“Thanks,” he said, offering her an extra red coin. She shook her head.

“Advice is free. We don’t take returns on it.”

He smiled and walked back to the table, setting down the platter. Rickey was the only one that was hungry. Amos was silent, but his face was ashen and grim. “Does he know who you are?” Melissa asked. Her eyes were puffy and Henry knew she must have been crying.

“No. I couldn’t lie about my name, someone would have called my by my real one, but he didn’t make the connection. Still, I don’t think he should see all of us together. Do Pam and Molly know he’s here?”

Vincent shook his head. “Both in the hospital. Even if we can somehow reach them through the phone or something, I don’t see what good it will do. It’ll just make them more nervous while they wait out this quarantine thing.”

“I told you we should have left last night,” Rickey mumbled around a sandwich.

“And leave the rest of us behind?” asked Melissa, “Thanks for that.”

“Even if we had everyone, I’m not leaving until I find out about Marnie.”

Melissa sighed and shook her head. Vincent’s lips tightened.

“Don’t you get it, man? She’s dead. They’re all dead. There’s nothing to find out,” said Rickey hitting the table with his palm, “how many times do we have to go around on this before it gets through that thick stubbly head of yours?”

“I have to know,” said Henry. “That’s just the way it is.” Amos looked over at him with an expression of pity and grief. It scared him and he looked quickly away. “You can all leave for a while if you want. I’ll find a way to get rid of him one way or another.”

“Go to the Governor,” rumbled Amos, “Try one more time. He’s here, that changes things. And you’re right. People like him shouldn’t be forgiven.”

“Everyone can be forgiven,” said Vincent in a gentle tone.

Amos shook his head. “Sorry, Father, but not this one. Not if he’s done the things you all say that he has. There are always men like him around, but they stay hidden mostly. Bad times bring em out though. Some people do terrible things just to get by. Others go a little crazy, get swept up in a thing and can’t stop themselves. I’ve seen it before. I did a peacekeeping tour in Rwanda, you know, Before. Met a lot of people who weren’t proud of things they’d done. Met a lot of people managing to live together after it all. But not with people like that gravedigger around. They were all gone. Escaped to do more harm or already dead. Men like that, they thrive on times like these. Start them even. They’re the ones that know exactly what they are doing and enjoy it. He’ll keep going until he’s stopped. He can’t stay here. The Governor has to see that. I’ll make sure he stays on the Farm tomorrow. You can go see the Governor together, I’ll arrange it with Stephanie.”

Henry shook his head. “If we see the Governor, it’ll tip our hand. If he doesn’t do anything, then Phil will know who we are. If he does, Phil will be dealt with but I’ll still miss my chance to find out about Marnie. We have to wait until I can get him to talk.”

“How can you be so damn thick Henry?” cried Rickey. Melissa shushed him. Vincent looked hard at Henry.

“I hope you’re right. I hope she’s alive. But we don’t know. And right now we’re all in danger. The six of us are in real trouble if he finds out who we are and what we remember. We have to do something before that happens. It’s one thing to risk your own life in a desperate mission, but Henry, we’re all at risk. Will you trade all of our lives for a girl that is probably beyond help? Pam and her family? Molly who is fighting so hard to recover? Us?”

He refused to look at Rickey and Melissa, concentrating instead on Vincent. “She’s just a kid,” he whispered, “you’re supposed to tell me to do what’s right, not confuse me.”

“Henry, how would you get him to tell you where the girl is? By threats? Torture?”

Henry was silent.

“How can either of those be right?”

Henry looked around at the others. “Just one day, a few hours in the morning even. He might have her in his house. She might be in the City. Give me that long to go look while Amos keeps him at the Farm. Just a few hours.”

“How are you going to find his house?” asked Rickey.

Melissa sighed. “I know where it is. I looked it up this afternoon at the delivery office. Just in case.”

“We’re going tomorrow afternoon,” said Rickey, “with or without you Henry.”

“I’ll be there,” said Henry, his chest expanding with relief.

Thirty-four

Henry waited in the shade of a mausoleum doorway watching the caretaker’s cottage. He’d been there before dawn. It was five minutes past the work bell and he still hadn’t seen Phil. The thought of Marnie being inside the old house, at Phil’s mercy, looped relentlessly in Henry’s mind. He decided to chance running into Phil and get into the house one way or the other. He couldn’t wait any longer.

Just before he stepped out of the doorway and into the plain light of the weedy cemetery lane, Phil stumbled down the slumped wooden stairs in front of his house. He wore dirty coveralls and a dusty hat shoved partially over some cowlicks. He coughed and spit into the grass, then set off at a leisurely pace toward the Farm. Henry waited until he was just out of sight, then darted down the sunny lane and up to the rickety screen door. He could hear voices inside and hesitated. He crept back down the steps and around the corner of the house, peering carefully into the windows. The shades were drawn. He listened for a long moment. There was a shovel sitting in a rusty barrow next to the house. Henry picked it up, careful not to scrape the blade along the metal barrow. He gripped it tightly and had a disorienting flash of holding a cane in Mrs. Palmer’s apartment. He shook it off and walked up to the door.

He’d just knock. Pretend he was here to get Phil for work. No need for violence. Not yet. Not unless they didn’t let him in to get Marnie. He opened the screen and knocked on the heavy wood door. It sounded too loud to him and he winced. Nobody came. He turned the knob and opened the door a crack.

“Hello?” he called, his voice full of neighborly cheer. His hand was sweating around the wooden handle of the shovel. Nobody answered and the steady drone of voices from inside didn’t change. He opened the door wider and stepped inside. He looked at the shovel. If he took it and found someone, it would look suspicious. If he left it and found someone he’d be defenseless. He glanced around him, but there was nothing in the small hallway that would work better.

“Hello?” he called again and after a few seconds, “Marnie? Are you here?” When nobody came, he tightened his grip around the shovel. He felt better with the wooden door open, so he left it hanging that way and moved farther inside the house. The hallway opened into a small living room where a television blared. The shades were thick and kept out almost all of the morning light. It was hard for Henry to make out anything in the flickering light of the television. There was a hulking shape of a couch facing away from him, but he couldn’t see if anyone was on it. The television had been turned up, as if someone a few rooms away were trying to listen. Henry pressed himself against the peeling wallpaper and inched toward the couch until he hovered just behind it.

“Marnie?” he asked in a hissing whisper. No one sprang up. He looked over the couch back. It was empty. He tried to listen around the noise of the television, but it was too loud, spilling out some old action flick that had been scrounged up. He reached over and switched it off. He waited to see if anyone would come, but no one did. Henry was almost certain that he was alone in the house. If Marnie wasn’t here, there had to be some way to find out where Phil had put her.

He opened a few of the shades, reminding himself to put everything back before he left. There was a pair of muddy boots tumbled onto the floor near the couch and a grimy set of work gloves tossed onto the arm of a chair. A few moldy plates and a scuffed up coffee table were everything else there was to see. Henry shut the blinds again, disgusted. He moved into the next room and flipped on a light. The kitchen sink was overflowing with dirty dishes and the refrigerator was almost empty.
If he’s keeping her here, he’s not feeding her much. Not that that is anything new,
thought Henry, his stomach aching with the memory of so many years of hollowness. His throat tightened with panic at the thought of the girl starving to death.

“Marnie?” he called loudly, “Marnie, it’s Henry. Call out if you can hear me. I’ve come to get you.” But nobody answered. He shut off the light and propped the shovel at the bottom of the stairs, convinced that he was alone now. He ran up the steps trying to find anything personal, anything from Phil’s life before the City. Anything that might give him some idea of where Marnie was, or how she might have died. In a corner of the bedroom a half-emptied hiking pack leaned on its side. Henry headed straight for it, shoving dirty clothes out of his way. He sat beside it and opened the canvas flap. On top was the same folder Henry had been given when he entered the City. It showed Phil’s medical exam results, his housing assignment, his work assignment and most importantly, the date he’d arrived. Henry tried to remember what day it was. He counted back and tried to figure out what day Marnie had let them loose. He scraped a hand over the stubble on his head, frustrated at how vague it all seemed. Phil had arrived in January. Henry thought it was late March, but time hadn’t meant so much to him in a very long time. It had been snowing the night Marnie unchained him. It couldn’t have been much earlier than January. He had to have come soon after Henry and the others had escaped. Had the whole camp been wiped out? Had Phil found out who had done it?

Henry flipped to the medical record. He didn’t understand most of it, but the notes said that Phil had to have stitches and was treated for tetanus. Henry wondered if it was the scar on his face. It could have been from the same night that Henry and the others escaped. He had a time line, but Henry still didn’t know what it meant. He flipped through more of the folder. There was a psychological evaluation. Henry wondered why he and the others hadn’t received one until he saw the signature at the bottom. Dr. Rider, the same woman who had cured them. Must have been the only one on staff. Still, he wondered if it was standard procedure or if something about Phil had been wrong. The evaluation read like a transcript, the bare skeleton of a story, no notes from the doctor. It frustrated Henry that all that Phil’s words were all that were there. Whether his story was true or not, it didn’t matter. These people had let him in. Henry hoped he’d be able to pick out the truth.