Neil focused on his feet, not trusting them to remember what they were for and Simon’s arm pulled him in the right direction. It was better than looking at the sleeping skulls around him anyway.
“What kind of decision did she mean?”
Simon shook his head. “It’s nothing you need to worry about. You’re in pretty decent shape for being sick as long as you likely were. You’re up, you’re mobile, you’re coherent. More than I can say for some.”
“If I hadn’t been? What happens to the ones who aren’t mobile? Looking around, I can already tell there will be some.”
“I know,” admitted Simon. “Look, there’s enough for you to worry about. Let the staff take care of the other Cured. They’re being well looked after. You don’t yet understand how many resources we spent to cure you. It cost so much heartbreak and hardship to bring you back. You’re valuable. We aren’t just going to wake you up and push you out the door.”
They’d reached the bathrooms. Or, rather, the side of a large truck that served as bathrooms. The steps seemed enormous and Neil leaned heavily on Simon’s arm to make it. The idea of owing someone for his sanity made Neil uneasy. Valuable? To who? he wondered. “So you did all this, the medicine, the camp, in return for what?” he asked. “How am I supposed to repay this? You talk about value but I’m not wealthy. I’m— was just a cook. Doubt I’ll even have a job after… how long have I been here?” Something warned him not to think about that. Not yet. So he settled on the immediate crisis. Money. It was always money. It almost felt comfortable to be terrified about a new debt. More normal anyway. “My point is, I don’t have much. Whatever you think you’re going to get out of me for this is probably more than I can scrape together. It’s not that I’m not grateful, you know. I just don’t have thousands of dollars to throw around.”
“You don’t have to worry about that. Not anymore. We don’t really want anything material from you. Just to live. That’s all we expect. To stop attacking us and return to san— society.”
Neil shook his head. “There must be more than just that. Whatever you want from us, it can’t be good or you’d already have told me.”
“Look, I grant that I’ve not been entirely forthcoming, but the things I’ve asked you to wait on aren’t about the City or what we expect. Life has changed. The world’s not as mercenary as you remember. Our own defense is a good enough reason for delivering the Cure, but beyond that, immune people just want their families back. We just don’t want to see other human beings suffer. Especially when they might be loved ones.”
The truck interior appeared exactly like a small gym bathroom, complete with dark green benches and a line of narrow shower stalls made up of foil-looking cubicles. Neil put a hand down onto the hard plastic bench beside him, leaning upon it. “I’m sorry. It’s just so much at once. Maybe we could start with smaller stuff?”
“That’s a good idea,” said Simon.
“Could you tell me about what’s supposed to happen to me here? About how I’m expected to act? Anything I can learn will help me survive— whatever this is. You seem kind enough. Better than the doctor anyway. I was hoping that kindness would extend to telling me the rules before I break them. Your doctor seemed compelled to be here. If the person in charge of me is forced to be here, then what does that mean for me?”
“You’re thinking of this place all wrong. It’s not a prison. Nothing is going to happen to you here. Except that you’ll be fed and your wounds cared for. You were sick. Most people will understand that you weren’t in control of your actions while you were ill. Some won’t. Like Dr. Gibson. If we had enough doctors, she wouldn’t even be on the Cure camp rotation,” Simon said, a slight scowl on his face. “But we’re sort of short-staffed, you might say. Everyone takes their turn, and right now it’s Dr. Gibson’s. She’s not compelled exactly. This is her assignment for the City right now unless she wants to find some other type of work. As cold as she might seem, she’ll give you good care. And ultimately, she’ll respect the governor’s official policies. Which is to treat you as if you’ve just recovered from a long illness. As if this plague were a natural disaster. The only responsibility you have at the moment is to recover. What you do with your return to health, how you live after you are released from the Cure camp, that’s up to you. If you choose to return with us to the City, you’ll find you have work assignments, too. But that’s not what you asked. You asked me about how to survive here. There are no real rules, or none that will result in any kind of punishment, except that you don’t try to hurt anyone. That includes yourself, Neil. No one here is going to harm you.” Simon helped him sink down onto the bench. It was cold on Neil’s legs. The floor was a smooth, warmer rubber under his bare feet.
“What about earlier? When I was upset? You seemed very against the doctor injecting me. What did she want to stick me with?”
“Just a sedative to help calm you—”
“Why were you worried then?”
“I was just concerned about how more sedative would affect you so close to waking up. It can be— iffy. Really, Dr. Gibson’s bedside manner needs some practice, but she’ll only do what’s best for you and the other Cured in the camp. I’ll get you some soap and things.”
Neil sat quietly trying to think. The heavy odor of bleach was an odd sort of comfort. It battled the foul spoiled taste in his mouth. No shower curtains. And no mirrors. For all that Simon told him it wasn’t a prison, it looked an awful lot like he’d expect a prison to look. Still, the lack of mirrors struck him as a kindness. If he looked anything like the other Cured he’d seen in the next room, he wasn’t certain he was ready to know. He wondered how he’d shave. He touched his jaw and felt a matted, felt-like snarl of hair. He tried to thread his fingers through it to comb it even a little, but ultimately failed to penetrate the thick mass of hair. It itched. And tingled as if something were crawling around in the clumps. He tried not to think about it. He knew it likely smelled awful, as bad as his mouth tasted. But he’d grown so accustomed to it, so he couldn’t tell. He knew what was in there, what was covering him. It was abstract still, but he knew. Meat. Blood. Filth. There were no faces connected to all that in his mind yet. No particular image that haunted him. The specifics hovered just out of his conscious thought. Instead, it was a blur of red and half-light and a salty, metallic tang on his tongue, the thick, sinking pressure of teeth on skin.
Simon returned before his mind could reach for more. He handed Neil a thin, paper-wrapped bar of soap, a cheap toothbrush that was already losing bristles, and a tiny tube of toothpaste with a hotel logo printed on the side.
“We don’t need to talk about everything yet,” started Simon, “You’re safe. But you need to know— this stuff, things like soap and toothpaste, they aren’t so easy to get anymore. Just— be careful with them. And keep them with you. Don’t leave them lying around.”
Neil looked at the handful of supplies in confusion. “What? What’s happened?”
“We’ll talk about it. I have others waking up now, I need to go help them. I’ll be back as soon as I can. An attendant will come by. Don’t be scared if he checks on you. We’ve had folks not be able to handle the showers. Elijah’s only here to keep you safe. Don’t drink the shower water. For— obvious reasons.” His gaze darted toward Neil’s hair and then away, embarrassed. “But also because it’s not purified. Just warmed lake water. It’s the best we can do for now, I’m afraid.” He hurried away and left Neil sitting on the bench.
2
Neil pulled himself up with the help of a nearby railing and stood still for a moment until his head settled. He tottered into one of the shower stalls. The walls were little more than a thin sheet of foil fabric and they billowed with every movement. It was like something he’d expect to see in some expensive tenting getup. There was nothing for him to lean against, though there was a small plastic stool to sit on in the center. Neil pushed it out of the stall, more afraid he’d trip than that he’d need it. The silvery
wall rustled as he bumped it.
A man stepped up into the truck, startling Neil. He was lean, but not starved like the people on the cots, and his face was heavily scarred in a tangle of thick welts just below his left eye. He was dressed in the same drab canvas-type uniform that most of the other workers were wearing. He held up his hands to show he meant no harm. “Sorry,” he said in a softer voice than Neil had expected, “I didn’t mean to make you jump. My name’s Elijah.” He pointed toward the showerhead. “Has anyone shown you how to use these? They aren’t the same as most people are used to. You’ve got to pump it a few times to get it running. It likely won’t be hot, a few hours of sun can’t do as much as a heater, but it’ll be warm anyway. Next to no water pressure, but since you’re one of the first up, you can use as much as you want.”
“Where’s the curtain?” Neil asked.
Elijah shook his head. “No curtains in the Cure camps. Sometimes after we’re cured we find all this— too much. It takes some time to get used to the idea of being… human again. Until then, we don’t leave you alone. Even in here.”
“You’re going to watch while I shower?”
“I’ll turn my back,” he said quickly. “I’m not doing this for the fun of it. I know it’s weird. Waking up like this and now some stranger has to watch you all the time. But it’ll be over soon and your life will get back to… it’ll even out. I swear, it will. Take it in little bits. Right now—” he reached past Neil and pumped the water lever, “you’re probably miserable. Achy and itchy and your mouth tastes like pond scum and rotted pork. So just concentrate on getting more comfortable. Clean up and forget everything else for now. After a shower, we’ll cut your hair and beard. If you’re ready. New clothes. Real ones. Something to eat. That’s as far as you should look.” He took a step back, turned around, and sat on one of the benches, his back to Neil. Neil hesitated for a moment.
“How do you know that? The way it tastes?” he brought himself to ask.
“I was cured just about… I was cured a while ago. Best get to it, or you’ll have competition for warm water,” warned Elijah, pulling a ragged paperback from his pocket. “I can hear people waking up already. It’s going to get crowded in here pretty soon”
Neil pulled off the flimsy johnny and twisted the water on. It was lukewarm but still felt like the first normal sensation he’d had since waking. For a few minutes, he just stood under the stream of water, dazed, letting it slide over him. The drain swirled with black flakes as it pulled old blood and feces and pus from his skin. There were sores beneath and the water stung as it hit freshly exposed scrapes and wounds before he’d even started scrubbing. Neil flinched but didn’t move out of the water, instead tilting his head back. His hair was so matted that the water didn’t make it to his scalp. He hoped they’d just shave it off. Not likely to give me a razor if I have to have a babysitter just to shower, he thought. Best get this done and then hopefully they’ll help me get rid of this crawling feeling. He began to scour his legs. He could see the yellow of old bruises and crescent-shaped puffed scabs near older, tougher scars he didn’t recognize. And always more dirt. The more he scrubbed, the more grit he seemed to find. Beneath his nails, in the deep hollows of his knees, clinging to his body hair. Even as his bare skin emerged, his own body was unrecognizable to him. This was not the sturdy, slightly paunchy frame he remembered. Not the body of a thirty-eight-year-old restaurant cook and father that Randi would recognize. He felt as if he were a malevolent spirit who’d possessed an ancient, starving ascetic instead.
“How long was I out?” he asked abruptly, frowning at the wrinkled skin on his forearms.
“About three days,” answered Elijah without turning around. “At least, that’s how long the sedation usually is. Don’t know when you came in, in particular, but the earliest batch was about four days ago so it couldn’t be more than—”
“No,” interrupted Neil, “I mean how long since this infection thing started?”
Elijah hesitated, licked his forefinger and turned a page. “I told you just to concentrate on ‘now’. That stuff, it’ll come back. Too soon. If you push, it’ll be even faster. Don’t reach for it. Trust me.”
“But I’m— not me anymore. Nothing about me is familiar. There are scars I can’t place. And I seem decades older than I should be—”
“It’s not decades, brother,” Elijah said softly, his head turning partway before stopping. As if he wanted to look Neil in the eye, but remembered the shower was still running. “What’s happened to your body, that’s starvation. Not age.” He paused, then sighed. “Two and a half years. Give or take a few months. I don’t know when you were infected. But it wasn’t a decade. You don’t have to worry that you lost that much time.”
It was a small relief to know that he hadn’t missed it all, that Randi was still a little girl, that she hadn’t endured half a lifetime waiting for him to find her, but two years— where had two years gone?
Elijah turned fully toward him. “Take a breath,” he advised seeing the distress in Neil’s face. “Think of something else instead or it’ll eat you alive. Gotta get healthy before you let yourself lose your mind again. Otherwise, you’re not going to make it.” Neil didn’t respond and Elijah put his book down beside him. “Did you do your teeth yet?” he asked. “Bet it’s pretty foul. When I woke up it tasted like a three-day hangover after a binge at an all-you-can-eat manure buffet. On top of it, I had three broken teeth and an abscess the size of a walnut. It almost killed me.”
“I know what you’re doing,” said Neil, trying to peel off an old clump of blood from his right elbow.
“Is it working?”
“Yeah, but Simon told me it wasn’t safe to drink the water.”
He snorted a laugh. “I drank toilet water for a week and then moved to the runoff in the road ditches and then snow and rainwater for several months. I’m certain you survived a similar way. A little lake water’s not going to do anything that our— habits didn’t already do. But if you’re really worried—” he went to a small cart, returning with another scuffed up bottle of water.
“Thanks,” said Neil, taking it to pour over the small toothbrush. Elijah nodded and returned to the bench. He didn’t turn around again, but picked up the book and pretended to concentrate on it. Neil wanted to scrape the film from his tongue and teeth and expected the cheap brush to be too soft, to be nothing compared to the muck. He started too hard, brushing vigorously. Hard pieces crumbled into his mouth and for a few seconds, he was uncertain whether it was shattered tooth or old, calcified food. That isn’t food, he thought, a flash of someone’s skin pulling free under his teeth before his mind shut it away again. Can’t call it food. Can’t think of it that way. Then the brush banged into a hole in one of his teeth and the sharp jolt of pain overwhelmed him. It made him immediately nauseous and dizzy. He gagged and clutched at the flimsy foil wall to steady himself. Elijah was at his side before he could tip any farther, holding him up.
“Sorry, brother,” he said, ignoring the water splashing his clothing. “You never know how teeth are going to come out after. Some people are completely fine, they just need a good flossing and some mouthwash. Others, well, I just wish they did the dental work while we were still under. I’ll take you to see Graham after a haircut. He’ll get the broken ones out and give you some antibiotics. Well— what passes for antibiotics these days, anyway.” He shut off the water behind Neil and wrapped the johnny around him. It grew immediately damp and he was shivering by the time he sank onto the bench. Neil’s mouth was still full of foam and stringy bits of matter. He looked for a place to spit and Elijah noticed, handing him a small, threadbare towel.
“Best not to look at it,” he warned, “Going to get you some clothes. I’ll be right back.”
Neil spat into the towel and then used the corner to gently wipe out the inside of his mouth, scared of causing another spasm of pain but needing the bitter slime out, even as his jaw throbbed. It tasted much worse now tha
t he’d disturbed some of the grit and filth. He wasn’t certain the shower had made him feel better at all. And he was unreasonably cold. He sat on the bench shivering and scraping at his tongue with the hand towel until a cadaverous woman tottered into the bathroom. She, too, was clothed only in a johnny, a tattered remnant of another sleeve dangling from one wrist. Her hair was a matted clump, stiff and clotted, more like dirty felt. Her face looked vaguely familiar and he stared at her as she swayed, one arm braced against a sink. She peered at him, her hand slowly rising to her neck. Neil wondered if she recognized him and searched his memory to place her. A flash of a face roaring with anger, browned teeth gaping toward him and then the memory was gone. He wasn’t sure whether it had been her or someone else. He tried not to chase the image, afraid of where it would lead. His attendant broke the uneasy focus the woman had on him.
“These’ll likely be too big,” Elijah said, laying a bundle of clothes on the bench beside Neil. “But give it a few weeks and you’ll fill out again. Best to have them be a little large. Good clothing that hasn’t rotted is getting pretty scarce in the scav zone—”
“Watch it,” murmured the woman’s attendant who had entered the bathroom behind her.
“Right,” said Elijah, glancing at her. He patted the clothes. “Let’s just get you dressed.” He started to kneel down, picking up a ball of socks. Neil was horrified.
“I can dress myself,” he said quickly. Elijah glanced up. The woman’s attendant began guiding her toward the showers.
“You sure? There’s no shame in a little help. You were sick for a long time. The way you remember yourself working— at least what you likely remember at this point, it’s not the same. Someone helped me, too, when I woke up. Take the hand.”
Neil shook his head.
“Well, lean on me then,” said Elijah, handing him the socks. “The last thing you need now is a bad fall.”
Before The Cure (Book 2): The Infected Page 2
