Limerence: Book Three of The Cure (Omnibus Edition)

by Charlotte McConaghy

  She flashes such a filthy look at Eric that I see him shrink into the ground. “What’s going on?” he asks guiltily. They’re obviously friends.

  “Let her go!” Pace has arrived. She storms over in a fury, metal glinting in her face. “Take those things off her now, Luke.”

  There are a lot of calls of agreement.

  Josi sinks to the floor, crossing her legs and letting her cuffed wrist dangle against the metal.

  Luke turns to the crowd that has formed. He opens his mouth and closes it again, has absolutely no idea what to say. I’m sure he’d much rather keep them from thinking the worst about her.

  So I do it for him. “I caught Josi destroying the gas. There’s no longer a way to kill the Furies.”

  “Bullshit,” Pace snaps amid the panicked chatter. “No way we’re believing a drone over Dual.”

  “It’s true,” Josi says softly. “I did.”

  There’s a horrified silence.

  “Why?” Pace whispers.

  “I told you I would. I’ll say it again: you want to kill them, you go through me.”

  A wall of sound hits. This is clearly the last thing they ever expected her to say, not Josi, the one who’s fought the hardest to get them free of the monsters and kept them held at bay so long. It doesn’t make any sense. I can hear a girl crying somewhere. The anger is rising to shouts and arguments.

  A scuffle has broken out and Luke pushes through to reveal the rough wrestling of several boys. No, not wrestling. There are two of them trying to hurt a third.

  Luke wrenches Coin and Alo off their quarry and I see that it’s Zach. He rises, angrily rubbing his split lip. His eyebrow is bleeding too. He’s older and bigger than the other two boys, but untrained in combat. He’s copped a face full of fist, by the looks of it.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you two?” Luke demands.

  “Get off!” Alo snarls, struggling wildly.

  “He did it on purpose! He hated him!” Coin exclaims.

  “Did what on purpose?”

  “Let Lawrence die!”

  Zach doesn’t say anything, simply looks pale as the accusation lands.

  “He’s probably in on this crazy shit with Josi,” Alo adds. “She didn’t lose it until he got here. Cuff him too.”

  “Zach hasn’t done anything wrong,” Luke says, though it seems to pain him to do so. “No more fighting. Go cool off.”

  He releases Coin and Alo, who both spit on Zach before striding out of the silo.

  “You can go cool off too,” Luke tells Zach.

  “I’m plenty cool.”

  “Go.”

  The boy looks ready to argue bloody murder, but catches sight of someone in the crowd. I follow his gaze to see that Josi has swung up onto the bar and sits there now, shaking her head at Zach.

  He holds his tongue and heads for the exit.

  I am stunned to see people spitting on him as he passes, so many people, more than I ever would have imagined. Sane, smart, kind people. Adults. Their hatred of him is so unfounded. Not one of them witnessed his heroic efforts to save Lawrence last night, none of them saw the way he fought tooth and nail for the boy’s life, on and on and on for hours. They have no idea. They just spit because it feels better to hate the prime minister’s son.

  “Don’t,” Luke tells them. “Don’t start acting like savages now. He’s a boy.”

  When Zach is gone I watch my brother look around. I can see a million thoughts chasing their way through his green, broken eyes. This is a lot to deal with for one person. I wish I could help him somehow, even just to bear the brunt of the betrayal of the person he loves most. But I can’t, I don’t know how.

  “Obviously we won’t be evacuating anymore,” he says. “Therefore I’ll be moving the operation to tomorrow morning. Anyone I’ve previously spoken to will report at six a.m. in the dining hall where I’ll give you your orders. Everyone else is to go about your normal routines. I’ll have a new roster made up to cover the shifts of the thirty who’ll be above ground. I’m leaving Josi here for the moment until we work out what to do about her actions. This will happen together, after proper discussion, and not before. No one will come here during her incarceration, except to deliver food and clothing and anything else she needs. I’ll be posting guards to ensure this. Understood?”

  He’s trying to protect her from their anger, obviously. But I think he’s also probably trying to ensure she doesn’t elicit help to escape.

  “Clear out.”

  They all trickle out with varying degrees of reluctance. I can still hear crying – it must be frightening to think their two leaders have turned on each other. And with such terrible timing, too.

  When they’ve gone it’s just Luke, Pace and me. And Josi.

  “Pace,” Luke warns.

  “You can shove your orders up your ass. I’m not leaving her.”

  “That’s exactly why you have to go – I can’t risk you letting her free.”

  “How?” she demands. “With my superpower strength? I don’t have the key, Einstein.”

  “Pace, it’s fine, just go,” Josi tells her.

  “Like hell—”

  “I don’t want you here.”

  Pace looks as though she’s been hit. Her mouth opens but nothing comes out. Her shoulders sag a little and she spins on her heel, leaves without another word.

  The three of us remaining are quiet. I have no idea what to say, and think I should probably leave too, but before I get the chance Luke is speaking.

  “Until we get back,” he tells Josi softly. “’Cause I got no clue how you’re planning to stuff things up next, kid. When I get back we’ll talk about what’s going on with you, but right now I don’t have time for it. You’re fine here, so sit tight.”

  “I’m not fine,” she says, very calmly. “You can’t leave me inside. The roof.”

  He is ice cold as he leans in to her face. “You wanted me to be the leader of the new world? Make a new life for our people? For all people? Okay. I will. That means keeping threats to our safety detained. So you stay where you are or things are gonna get very ugly.”

  And he goes, he leaves her there to stare after him in shock.

  I stand awkwardly. My eyes catch on the terrible scar around her neck, still sewn through with black, ugly stitches. Why she won’t let Claire or Zach remove the stitches is beyond me, but right now I see a drop of blood slide from the wound’s very edge.

  “You’re bleeding,” I point out stupidly.

  She lifts a hand to carelessly brush the blood away. Then sighs. “Dave. You were right, you got what you wanted, so go.”

  “I didn’t want this.”

  “You wanted to protect your brother. And for that I’m glad. So keep doing what you’re doing.”

  As our eyes meet I realize this is why she never made any plans to come with us: she knew she would destroy the gas and knew that Luke would have to jail her. Maybe she thought she could get away, but she knew she wouldn’t be coming with us to take down the Bloods.

  And as I realize the same I can’t help feeling a wash of true fear.

  I leave and wander the halls. It is quiet as a tomb down here, buried beneath earth and cement. It’s a crypt for all those living here, their heartbeats thumping together as one living organism. But organisms aren’t meant to live so far beneath the earth, so close to the warm heart of the planet, so far from air and sky. I think it must be turning them a little mad. I saw it tonight in their hatred of a blameless boy. They are meant to be righteous and loving and fighting for what’s right, but they’re just people, as capable of hatred as any. Probably more so.

  *

  Here’s a secret:

  I am too.

  Chapter 24

  November 3rd, 2067

  Josephine

  I’m looking for a vehicle when it happens. We’re in another plague-destroyed town, this one along the coast. My plan to turn the Furies south has run into a brick wall. They don’t want to
go back over that long stretch of dusty plane. Understandably. But my plan isn’t done yet – there’s another part to it. One that requires a vehicle of some sort. So I’m rooting through garages to find vehicles that a) still run and b) have fuel.

  It’s late afternoon when I discover the truck. It has an open bed, which is perfect. It also has a full tank of petrol and several extra drums, which is too damn perfect. It has no battery power, but I already have a generator ready for that. I connect the car battery to it and wait for it to recharge itself, and as I’m sitting here in the dusty garage, lost in thought, I’m grabbed from behind.

  “Don’t move,” a voice says. A very human voice.

  “Woah, careful,” I say quickly. “I’m no threat to you.”

  He has a knife at my throat. I can feel the blade already breaking the skin of my neck.

  “We’ve been watching you, girl. You’re with the zombies.”

  There are probably many smart things to say in this situation, and none of them are: “They’re not zombies.” But say this I do. Like a moron.

  He snarls something unintelligible. He smells terrible – there’s something chemical all over him and I recognize it belatedly as gas. He must be trying to disguise his human smell from the Furies. Smart, I suppose, but it seems like a dangerous game to play, in a world where open flame is now the only heat and light we have. Hey, it’s his body.

  “You’re coming with us.”

  “How many of you are there? How have you survived out here? Where do you live?”

  He tightens the knife and I fall quiet.

  Someone else enters the garage by ducking beneath the half-closed roller door. I hear the footsteps, then the female voice. “Hurry up! Bring her!”

  But. I have a plan. And even though, yes, a couple of months ago I would have jumped at the thought of being taken captive by humans instead of Furies – at least humans can be reasoned with – I’ve moved well beyond that point. I don’t belong with the humans, after all. And I have a plan.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” I tell them, fingering the small item in my pocket.

  “Struggle and we’ll kill you. Got no real use for another. Just wanna know how you’re surviving the zombies. Happy to use this knife, little girl. So no struggling.”

  I smile.

  My elbow, which he has left disastrously free, goes straight back into his testicles. He yowls in pain and in a moment of pure outrage he carves his knife through my throat.

  “Don’t!” the woman yells.

  But it’s done. My throat is slit.

  Warm blood spills down the front of me and I choke. My hands scrabble for my neck, seeking to close the gaping hole there. I can’t swallow, can hardly breathe, but I don’t stop. On the ground now, I pull the lighter from my pocket. With trembling, blood-soaked hands I fumble to roll it, and then hold it to the asshole’s body.

  He goes up like a bonfire.

  The woman shrieks – she’s too close to him and alights just as easily.

  Gasoline has gotten on me too – I feel flame bite at my cheek and ear, catching in my hair. I crawl away from the burning, wailing, running bodies and try to bat the agonizing fire out while also keep my throat closed. I’m not dead, which means something is still intact. But I’m losing a lot of blood.

  And my head … it’s not so straight anymore. It feels melted. Warped.

  Sound goes and all I’m left with is the silent flailing of burning limbs. And through the flames and smoke come more figures, a couple of them I recognize.

  The sight of her red eyes is the most immense relief I’ve ever known. Oh, Medusa, I do love you.

  *

  April 7th, 2068

  Josephine

  It’s very difficult to find a way to sit that doesn’t send my arm to sleep. I’ve worked out that basically when it starts to tingle I have to climb up onto the bar and let the blood flow back down again, before returning my bum to the much more comfortable mats on the floor. It’s rather horrid, but not really too bad compared to some of the debacles I’ve been in.

  The main concern, obviously, is my claustrophobia. But I’m trying to develop a means of shutting that out. Such as meditation. Once upon a time it was Luke who taught me how to meditate. Just as he has taught me so many of my skills. It feels like a very long time ago, but wasn’t, really. I take a deep breath through my nose and hold it for eight seconds, then let it out through my mouth. I think of nothing but a single object, I hold it in my mind’s eye as I count my seconds and breathe as slowly and calmly as I can. Only problem is it’s tough to meditate when your arm starts burning from lack of blood every few minutes. Eventually I perch myself on top to try the next round – my bum will probably go dead but I can ignore it more easily.

  The image I hold in my mind is Intirri, the shape of her as she soars through the sky. I hope she’s alright.

  “Hi.”

  I open my eyes to see Shadow standing below. The guards obviously didn’t manage to stop him from getting inside. Good luck to them.

  I swing down onto the mats and cross my legs once more. I’d rather he wasn’t here, but maybe he’ll distract me from the roof.

  “Hi.”

  “Got yourself in a pickle, huh?”

  “Guess so.”

  “Want me to let you out?”

  “Nah.”

  “Got something planned?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thought as much.” He hesitates, then asks, “Can I help?”

  I can’t keep the smile from the edges of my lips. “You already are.”

  Shadow sits with his back to the wall. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him look slightly ill at ease in his body. All the wounds are really stacking up, and there’s a stiffness to his movement that was never there before. I realize abruptly that he’s in his late fifties, and he’s been fighting for his life for the last quarter century. He needs a break from all this madness.

  “When this is over,” I say warmly, “you’re retiring.”

  But he says, “This will never be over.”

  It takes all the warmth from my heart. “What are we bothering about then?”

  “We’re just keeping afloat. That’s all there is.”

  “So why are you here if you don’t think we’re gonna make an end to it?”

  “You.”

  I rest my head on the corrugated plastic of the silo behind me. I don’t know what to say to that.

  We sit in silence for a long time. It reminds me of the nights we used to spend together at the Inferno, sitting quietly on the wall or walking the dead forest in silence.

  “I think it’s time we spoke of your mother.”

  “No. I don’t want to.”

  “Why?”

  “I just don’t.”

  He shakes his head. “Bad luck. We’re doing this. She … your mother …” He clears his throat. “She loved you very much.”

  “Okay. Thank you. That’s enough.”

  “Don’t you have questions?”

  “I used to. Not anymore.”

  “She and I met at university. I was her professor.”

  “Oh, Jesus.”

  “We fell in love immediately. But she wanted to work in politics, and she’d caught the eye of the leader of the opposition party. He married her within a month of having met her.”

  “Why? I mean why did she?”

  “To this day I can’t tell you. In any case I didn’t see her for a few years, and then we crossed paths at an art exhibit.”

  I snort, even though it’s not funny.

  “She was a sculptor. She called it a hobby, I thought it a calling. Her work was on display and it was beautiful. Transcendent. And sad. I worried for her safety. We reunited.”

  “What a way with words you have.”

  “She couldn’t leave Shay.”

  “Why?”

  “Fear. We carried on in secret, and then she got pregnant. I knew if I didn’t get her free of him he’d have a
hold on you, too, and I’d never get either of you free. So we escaped. She finally found the courage to do it, because of you. The plague began wiping out the world. Shay put the wall up. You were born. And a year later Shay found us. Took you both back. The next I heard you were dead. I left.”

  I don’t say anything but I’m thinking very loudly: I was born outside the wall?

  Shadow says, “It’s a funny thing, realizing he probably saved your life. If we’d still been out there when the plague hit we would have been the first to go.”

  “Instead she was.”

  He shakes his head a little. Then he says, even more softly, “I sometimes think I was born for her, and whatever purpose my life held failed in her death.”

  I don’t speak for the sadness of this. To speak would be to let it in, even if I told him I’ve had enough, I can’t bear any more, please, no more.

  But he says, “Shay killed her.”

  Of course he did. It’s part of why I came back.

  Eventually Shadow stands to leave. “Chin up, my girl. Whatever this mess is will sort itself out.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “Then it doesn’t.”

  Classic Shadow.

  *

  My next visitor is Claire Townsend. She brings me a fourth blanket, my toothbrush and toothpaste, a pillow, a cup of tea and my cello. It’s so thoughtful I almost burst into tears. I can’t play it. Not if I want to hold my nerve. Murderers don’t deserve to play an instrument: it’s too joyful. Plus I’m handcuffed to a bar.

  “I already told you how I feel about you, darling girl. I won’t say it again.”

  I nod, thinking this must be the end of it, but alas she goes on.

  “We don’t get to choose the terrors we survive, only that we do survive them. And you, Josephine, are better at this than anyone I know. But I will give you one tiny piece of advice, and you can ignore it as you wish, as I’m sure you will.”

  Claire’s not laughing as she takes my hand. I want to snatch it away but force myself to remain still.

  “Surviving is much easier if we don’t have to do it alone.”

  She leaves and I think: I know this. I already know.

  *