“Sorry,” he muttered again and got up, fishing around in the grass for the gun. Stop saying sorry, he scolded himself. You’re doing what you have to and that one, at least, didn’t die because of you. Can’t feel you. Can’t care. Probably couldn’t even before they were dead. Not beyond a sensation of pain. You wouldn’t have. The problem was, he did now. He felt it now. The pain, the loneliness, the indignity. Felt it for them, too, not just himself, though there was plenty of that. Why didn’t your families find someplace better for you? Just dropped stuff outside the fence where it couldn’t even help when you were sane. They saw you. They knew what you looked like. Maybe they even talked to you for a while. And then— what? Just forgot about you? Did they get sick, too? Where is everyone?
He found the gun and something else occurred to him. If Joan had come this way, she’d seen them, too. And so had Randi. What had she told their daughter? Had they just left these people without trying to help? I would have too, if Elijah hadn’t forced my hand, he reminded himself. But these were strangers. As cold as it was, he knew they were easier to write off. A distant sort of suffering, even when it was right in front of you. But someone you knew, someone you loved, that would have been different. Maybe she turned around. Maybe she saw them and tried to come back for me. But it had been over a year ago. If she’d returned, she would have known of the Cure. If she’d returned, Shay would have known. She hadn’t turned around. She hadn’t looked for him. Doesn’t love me, remember? Not anymore. But something in him protested. Randi would have wanted her to find him and despite all that had passed between Neil and his wife, Joan was a good mother and a decent human being. If she hadn’t come looking for him, it was because it was too risky for Randi. And if she didn’t put these people out of their misery it’s because she either couldn’t bring herself to give up hope or because it was too dangerous. They would have been healthier then. Stronger. Faster. Might even have still had people caring for them at that point. Maybe she didn’t even see the suffering at all. Forgive, Neil. Forgive them all. You’ve done far worse than any of them.
He picked his way through the tall grass avoiding scattered bones when he could and stumbling the few times that he didn’t see them. He’d almost made it to the collapsed tents at the edge of the pier when he found the first living body. Almost stepped on them. A groan erupted from the grass to his right and it swished slowly. Spindly fingers slithered toward his foot but stopped a few inches short of him, straining. He stepped carefully around the hand, looking for the arm attached. The Infected lay sprawled out. The hollow he made in the grass was long and thin as if he’d become his shadow. As if he were a stick scarecrow that had tipped off the post and fallen into the field. There were pieces of skin missing from his back and his buttocks. The arm that wasn’t reaching for Neil lay crushed at an impossible angle. The man wheezed and it sounded clotted and choking. He couldn’t even drag his body to Neil, but still reached and strained for him. The man’s shattered face twisted in a scowl of fury. Neil knelt down, unafraid as the hand finally reached his foot and clawed weakly at his shoe. “It’s over now. All done,” he said quietly, putting the gun to the man’s temple. “I’m sorry I don’t know who you are. This is the best I can do. Goodbye.”
He half-expected more groans or running feet after the bark of the gunshot, but no one came. He got up again and headed for the collapsed tent, slowing down and looking carefully around for any movement. He didn’t want to miss anyone. It would be hell to lie out here in the sun too weak to move, starving or dying of thirst. Every minute a misery. He couldn’t leave anyone.
The tent canvas was shredded and stained with filth. Angular lumps distorted the fabric and Neil pushed some of it aside to see what they were. Rotting cots and hospital carts. There were restraints at the head and foot of each. The third one he uncovered still held a corpse. The restraints had become loose as the body had eroded away. This had happened months ago. Maybe longer. Neil stopped looking in the tent. He’d find no one living in it at this point. He moved on to the three huts instead. They stretched across the pier, made of sturdy steel and splintering plywood. The first one’s door gaped open, hanging only from its bottom hinge. The interior was dark compared to the bright summer day outside and Neil felt a ripple of unease as he tried to look inside before entering.
“Hello?” he called, trying to hear any sign from inside the hut. Only silence. He stepped inside, let his eyes adjust for a moment. A narrow corridor ran the length of the hut. On either side, a grid of bars. They were cells, some with cots still remaining, some entirely empty. They weren’t much bigger than large dog kennels and he could see no kind of facility for washing or toilets of any kind. No access to water at all. The bars were too narrow for any hand larger than a small child’s to reach through. “Jesus,” he muttered. They were kept closed by a heavy bar but no lock. Neil stopped to swing each one up and prop the doors open though there were no occupants that he could see. There was a lone desiccated corpse at the far end of the hallway. A torn khaki uniform still clung to it in places. There was nothing else. No one alive. No obvious conclusion to what had happened. Had the person been one of the Infected’s keepers? Had they let the Infected out of their cells as a last resort? Or had it been only chance that the small jail was empty at that point? Why had they closed the cells again? He backed away and turned to leave the hut. There was no reason to keep wondering. He’d never know what happened here. Didn’t really need to. The results were lying all over the pier and near the fence.
The second hut’s door was tightly closed. The interior was dim, fewer windows than the previous hut, but the setup was largely the same. There were people still in the cages, but none of them were alive. Thin grooves were worn into the rubber flooring at the bases of the cages and the cots were entirely shredded. Why did they let one group out but not another? Why did they leave people here? They must have known they would surely starve inside the cages. He was overwhelmed by a wave of rage and despair. It alarmed him and he leaned against the bars of the last cage trying to calm himself. He hadn’t felt this type of anger since his illness. It’s not back. I’m not sick. It’s not back. It’s the people here. It’s what happened. Rational people would be upset too. He took a deep breath, but an unsettling thought lingered. Rational people are the ones who left them to suffer. Rational people are the ones who locked me in. And them. He opened each of the barred doors on the way out, wincing as the arm bones of one corpse separated and clattered against the bars as he did so. The third hut’s doors were all already opened. There was no way that all the people scattered over the camp or in front of the fence were from this one hut. Or even both the first hut and this. There had to have been other tents of some sort. Or perhaps it had happened so quickly that they gave up on confining them. Or only confined those who had already snapped.
Neil walked to the water, no longer expecting to find anyone. There were a few bodies in the water, their skin bloated and partially hiding how emaciated they truly were. He put down the gun and dragged the first one he could reach out of the water. He didn’t like leaving them bobbing there behind the half-submerged fence. For their sake, sure, but also for whoever was still alive downstream. He hated the viscous, chilled feel of their skin, but it was a feeling he’d known well for the past few years. When nothing living had been available, he hadn’t been above fishing long-dead bodies from the hospital pool. He fought off the memory of over-saturated skin bursting between his teeth. He tried not to think about how many more had sunk to the bottom of the dark water next to the pier. He returned for the next body. They were heavy, these corpses. And Neil was already exhausted. His arms shook after only a few moments. A soft moan erupted from beneath a nearby dock ramp and Neil jumped, dropping the body he was carrying with a wet thump. A claw stretched out from the shadow of the dock ramp and fell onto the boards. Neil felt the tight pinch of adrenaline slowly drain away as no one emerged to sprint toward him. He retrieved the gun and slowly walked down the dock
ramp. The withered hand moved a little, its long fingernails scraping against the black grip tape of the dock.
“Almost done, my friend. Almost over,” said Neil, knowing whoever it was couldn’t understand him. A rasping growl was his only response. The hand drooped. Neil stepped off the ramp and bent to look beneath it. The Infected’s face was a collection of caverns. Panting mouth and eyes lost in the shadows of their sockets. The hair was almost gone, thin wisps still waving in the hot air that radiated off the metal decking. The Infected’s skin was baked and shiny, peeling in places. They’d been here a while. Crawled into the shade and waited to die. They stared at him, the muscles of their cheeks trying to tighten into a snarl but giving up after a second. They tried to suck in a breath and it shook their chest and rattled back out. Pure agony and exhaustion, that’s all that Neil saw. “It’s all done now. It’s all done,” said Neil, trying to soothe. It was quicker than the fence. His hand didn’t shake. After, he pulled the body out from under the ramp, intending to put it beside the others so that it wouldn’t flop into the water. The corpse was hot to the touch. Neil wasn’t certain whether it was from some kind of fever or if they’d just been in the sun so long and were too dehydrated to perspire. It was a stark contrast, the dry, sizzling weight after the cold leak of the ones who’d been floating. He got it to the top of the pier and set it gently down.
He looked around, desperately hoping he’d be done. The grass and the waves of the river were all that moved. There was a set of port-a-potties at the far end of the fence and a few parked vehicles. Two jeeps, a bus, two semi-trucks. Just between the port-a-potties and the vehicles lay three large pallets stacked with boxes. Neil was tired and hot and he stank from dragging the bodies. He didn’t believe there was any point to checking the vehicles. Anything still alive would have found him by now. But if there is someone in one of the trucks or the outhouses— there was someone right here. If I’d left a minute earlier or not come close, I’d have missed them. And if anyone’s up there and is too weak to chase me— I’ll be worse than the people who put them here if I leave them now. No one else is going to come. No one else is going to check.
He glanced over at the fence. Elijah was still standing at it, watching him. Neil sighed and pointed toward the trucks. Elijah nodded. Neil trudged past the huts again, circling the back this time, just to be sure. Another tent lay collapsed just to the rear of the third hut, completely shrouded by the weeds until you came close enough to see over them. This one, too, had a regular series of angular lumps and Neil lifted the canvas expecting to see more cots. Instead, he found plastic cafeteria tables. The tent was far too small for the number of Infected he’d seen. They just kept shoving people in here, he realized. They didn’t have enough food. Enough places to house them. Enough sanitary facilities. Probably not enough staff, either. And they just kept shoving them in. They were completely overrun. Why didn’t anyone help? Where are the big trucks? Where’s the army barracks or the National Guard or— whoever you call for this stuff? Where are the doctors? Harlain told us it was better in the other quarantine sites. She told us we didn’t have to worry about the kids. That we were the aberration. Things were bad in the hospital but they were supposed to be better prepared after that. They were supposed to know what was going on. They were supposed to know how to stop this. Just how big is the City? Did everyone go there? Why aren’t there others? Why aren’t there people?
He dropped the tent fabric in disgust and continued toward the port-a-potties. One was tilting dangerously far, its door flung open and tapping slightly as the breeze moved it. Neil was grateful that it was empty. He opened the second, empty as well, only an old, faint smell of urine and sickly-sweet floral fluid. Neil was mildly upset to realize how much comfort he took in the familiar smell. It was— deeply human. Reminded him of summer concerts and Randi’s tee-ball games and frantic rest stops that small children needed on long car rides. It was not a pleasant smell, but it reminded him of being among people who weren’t rotting from gangrene and filth.
He opened the third port-a-potty and reeled back in disgust. The reek of rotting feces and dead animal hit him before he could even look. He released the door and a shower of dead flies floated from it as it swung shut again, puffing out one more blast of broiling, putrid air. It overwhelmed even the sour, sulfuric scent that hung over the camp and had clung to the Infected as they had crammed themselves against the fence. Neil didn’t need to look again to make sure the thing inside was dead. Or things. Has to be more than one, he thought. He was glad there was nothing in his stomach to vomit and spent several seconds curled over his own knees trying to catch a relatively clean breath of air.
When he recovered, he headed toward the bus, desperately hoping the vehicles were all empty. He glanced at the loaded pallets as he passed. It was a mistake. The sight made him pause and turn toward the large stack of boxes. It can’t be, he told himself. They’re empty, Neil. They have to be empty. Don’t check. He ignored his urge to leave it and pulled up the sagging tarp that covered the top of the stacks. The boxes beneath were brittle and crumbling and the edges of the top one ripped away in his hand. The box was full. A neat stack of individually wrapped meals and another stack behind that. There were dozens and dozens of boxes on the pallet. A few thousand meals. Not enough to save all of them, not for two years, but there were the trucks. Was there more in the trucks? What does it matter? What difference does it make? He picked up a few of the packets. We could have saved them. We could have Cured them. There was enough here to feed everyone who was still alive. And there’s probably medical supplies somewhere too. What have we— the thought broke off with a bright burst of pain in his right calf. He shrieked in shock and yanked his leg. He looked down as the pain increased. An Infected man had bitten deep into Neil’s leg, groaning and clutching, half slithered out of the tarp and still on his belly in the grass.
“Let go! Let go!” Neil screamed, some part of him knowing that it was no good to yell. The man was long past understanding anything Neil was saying. Or even to care about the panicked tone of his voice. The man ground his teeth, beginning to pull his head back in order to free a chunk of Neil’s calf muscle. Neil made a desperate kick at the man, forgetting the weapon in his hand and the one in his belt. He toppled into the grass, swearing and kicking out. The man let go after Neil’s foot connected with the side of his face, but only for an instant to wriggle farther up Neil’s leg and he gave Neil’s thigh a nasty, bruising snap of his teeth before Neil managed to push him off and scoot a few feet away. “Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered, dropping the gun to cup his hands over the bleeding crescent in his leg. The man crawled jerkily toward Neil, panting as he did. Blood and saliva dripped from his lips. Neil knew how hungry he was.
“Here, here,” he said, grabbing for one of the packaged meals that he’d dropped and ripping at the foil, though the man was terribly slow. It was only his silence that had allowed him to get close enough to Neil to damage him. “Take it, take it,” Neil shouted, as if it mattered to the man. He managed to rip open the plastic and a half dozen smaller packs slid out, scattering over his lap. The pain in his leg and the heat of the sun was making him light-headed. Don’t pass out, he told himself, even as he tore into one of the smaller packets. Something greasy and beef smelling oozed out and he flung it at the man. He only half expected it to work. The man had a person right in front of him, within reach. Neil knew that it was him the man craved above all, but he scooted back farther, hoping the smell of the beef and having it within reach would sway the man’s attention. He could hear gravel rattling near the trucks. There were more of them. He glanced toward the gun. It lay underneath another of the small packets of food. He reached for it and the man lunged, collapsing far short of Neil’s hand. Neil flinched but kept going once the man lay face first, snuffling in the grass. He grabbed the gun before the man could recover. He had it raised by the time the man lifted his head and sniffed. The man twisted toward the packet of beef. He pulled it
slowly toward him and bit frantically at the plastic. Brown goop leaked out in spurts onto the man’s face and Neil hesitated. A hand reached over his shoulder and grabbed the gun, wrenching it away. Neil yelped.
“It’s okay, just me.” Elijah’s other hand gripped his shoulder.
“Don’t!” cried Neil. “There’s food! There’s food, we can—”
The gun went off and the Infected man fell back into the grass. The food packet went flying, spraying beef chunks in an arc across the other boxes on the pallet. The tarp wriggled, and Elijah stepped forward to yank it off of the pallet.
“Don’t!” yelled Neil. “We can cure them!”
“They’re too far gone. I told you,” said Elijah grimly. He yanked the tarp, exposing two more Infected. They were much more lethargic than the man who had attacked Neil. One of them was missing a large part of her forearm and the wound had gone a dark blue for several inches around it. She barely lifted her head. The other pulled herself across the pallet’s splintery boards and stopped, licking a chunk of beef that had splattered onto one of the boards.
“We can nurse them back. Plenty of food, water—”
Elijah ignored him, muttering an apology to the woman with the rotting arm before shooting. And another to the woman on the other side of the pallet, killing her even as she chewed on the wood where the beef had been an instant before.
“Give me the hatchet,” he said calmly, handing Neil the gun by its grip. He wrapped his hands tightly around the heavily bleeding bite on Neil’s calf.
“No. No. I don’t understand.”
“I know. I know you don’t. And we don’t have time to talk about it again right now. Got to get you out of here and clean this before it gets infected. You need to trust me, brother. Can you do that?”
Before The Cure (Book 2): The Infected Page 25
