Krisis (After the Cure Book 3)

by Deirdre Gould

  She moved quickly, more concerned with getting it done than making noise. Throwing the tablecloth over Charlie’s head, she wrapped one arm around the boy and pinned his arms. He stumbled and struggled against the cloth, but Ruth just held him tightly. She pressed gently on the back of his knees with her foot. He collapsed into a kneeling position and Ruth held him there. She pulled one thin arm out of the cloth and patiently waited for his struggling to pause. She was ready when he stopped to catch a breath through the thick cloth. He struggled so hard and he was so warm from the pounding and screaming, his veins weren’t hard to find. Ruth injected the sedative and then carefully pulled the cloth down from his face. He tried to snap at her, but she was ready. Ruth rocked back and forth on the floor with the shrieking boy tight in her arms. The back of his head pressed hard into her chest and she could feel the wet warmth of sweat and blood seeping into her shirt. “I’m sorry Charlie,” she said and closed her eyes while they sat there.

  “I remember the first time I got to hold you,” she said, though she knew he couldn’t hear her. “You smelled like soap and talcum powder and the social worker pretended like she had the most normal job in the world. Like it was just another night at work for her. But it was actually the best night in all of human existence. And your daddy wanted to hold you, but I didn’t want to let you go. It was so hard to let you go when you were so warm and soft. I thought it was the hardest thing I ever had to do. Until now. I can’t let you go Charlie. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but I can’t do it.”

  The boy’s ragged breathing slowed into a smooth wave and his shoulders drooped. His head rolled slightly to the side and his cries became a sad, shrill, keening that made Ruth cry. She called for Bill, and he stumbled in through the door and collapsed beside them. He ran a gentle hand over Charlie’s sleeping face and kissed his head. They sat that way a few more moments until Ruth picked up her son, who was sleeping deeply now, and started down to the lab.

  “I’ll come back and get you in a few minutes,” she said over her shoulder, “I just want to get him cleaned up and safe first.”

  Bill got up with a groan and followed her. “I can walk,” he said.

  Ruth laid Charlie on the gurney she’d scavenged from the clinic and began finding her tools. Bill stood in front of the open cabinet, staring at the vials of sedative.

  “You lied to me? Why didn’t you tell me you had it?”

  Ruth shrugged and moved to another drawer, not wanting to discuss it.

  “How long have you had it?”

  “Only a day or two,” she lied.

  “Why do you keep putting this off? You know what we have to do. This is cruel, keeping him this way. You know that.” Bill’s face began to get red and she could see his fist holding the cloth tighter and tighter against his side.

  “What you are asking me to do is unnatural. It goes against every better judgment—”

  “The whole world is unnatural Ruth!” Bill shouted. Ruth blinked hard and began tweezing shards of pottery out of Charlie’s hair.

  “I couldn’t live knowing I’d killed my own child.”

  “Then don’t,” said Bill softly. Ruth looked up from Charlie’s head and gaped at her husband. He was crying. He swiped his free hand over his face and continued, “None of us should have survived. Things are shit and they are only going to get worse. You have enough. We’ll do it together. No more suffering for any of us.”

  “It’s wrong.”

  “So give me something to do that’s right. Because what we’re already doing sure isn’t it.”

  “Do you really want today to be your very last day? The day you had to injure your child?” Ruth asked, gently washing the gash in Charlie’s head.

  “Every extra day that I’m alive I’ll only relive it and know terrible guilt. And every extra day is another where I may have to hurt him again to save you or someone else. This is as good as life is going to get now. But things are starting to run out. Soon, whoever is left will be killing each other for the scraps. We’re already out of most useful medicine and if we are around next winter, we’ll freeze because there is nothing left to burn. That’s saying nothing of food. Whatever gas is left is turning into turpentine so the generator and any running vehicles will be useless soon. The world’s not going to go back the way it was, Ruth. There’s nothing better coming.” He watched her for a long minute as if expecting an answer. Ruth nodded and wiped her eyes.

  “Tomorrow,” she said, wrapping a soft bandage around Charlie’s head, “I promised to do something tonight.”

  “Ruth—”

  “I swear, I’m not stalling. I promised to help a group of people who are ill tonight. I’ll bandage you both up and get Charlie to his room first.”

  “After what just happened? You’re leaving to help some stranger? The world is over and you’re still putting work before us? At the moment we need you most—”

  “Please, Bill, let’s not argue more. I’ll make sure you’re okay before I go. Let me do this one last thing. We’ve stolen food and supplies that other people, people who will be alive for years, could have used. We’ve killed neighbors to stay alive for this long. I just had to restrain and drug my own child because I’m too selfish to let him rest. Let me do one selfless act, let me make up for the time we stole from everybody else. It will help with— it will help me tomorrow.”

  Bill’s face was still hardened into a scowl. “It’s almost dark.”

  “I know. I’ll be back in the morning.”

  “But you could get lost. You’ll freeze to death out there.”

  “Considering what we’re discussing,” said Ruth, “does it really make much difference?”

  Bill shrugged and for a second, Ruth truly hated him for it.

  Chapter 3

  By the time Ruth left the house, the sun had set and her flashlight’s thin beam was all she had to travel by. She hoped Juliana hadn’t given up on her and left the conservatory. Despite what she’d said to Bill, Ruth didn’t want to freeze in the street. She wanted to hold her boy one more time before… the thought was so overwhelming that she struggled to breathe.

  She tried to stop thinking about it. She concentrated on stepping in her own footprints from that morning so she didn’t have to risk breaking a new path in the dark. The conservatory was dimly glowing from solar stakes scattered along the paths. It had been so long since Ruth had seen a light other than the one she or Bill made, it frightened her. She was hesitant to approach the greenhouse. What if the light drew others? But hers were the only prints in the snow. Juliana must come in another way. Ruth switched off the flashlight and stumbled through the doors. “Juliana, are you here?” she whispered. Something rustled in the brittle plants a few beds off.

  “I’m here,” Juliana’s voice floated gently through the dark air between them.

  “Sorry I’m late,” said Ruth slowly. Juliana laughed as she appeared on the path.

  “I don’t think there is such a thing as ‘late’ any more.”

  “I don’t have much in the way of medicine, I’m sorry. Most of it is gone now, and I didn’t keep very much at my own clinic, just formula and the common vaccinations. I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

  “You don’t need to worry, these people will be grateful— I’ll be grateful if you just tell me what I need to do to keep them healthy and what is likely to happen when they do get sick.” Juliana clicked on a light and swung a backpack over her shoulder. “It’s not far and it’s warmer than here anyway.”

  “Where is the rest of your group? You don’t come out here at night alone do you?” Ruth glanced around expecting more people to appear on the dim path.

  “Why not? You did. No one will be out tonight. It’s too cold for the looters. And the Infected— I’m afraid any that were out there must have frozen to death.”

  Juliana led her back out into the snow and Ruth felt a sudden jolt of panic. She didn’t know this woman, had no idea if what she was saying was true. She tried t
o reason with herself. In a few more hours, nothing that happened now would matter much anymore. But deep down she knew she wasn’t ready to die. It was like an appointment penciled in that she never meant to keep. She knew that what Bill said was true: the world and Charlie were only going to get worse. But something in her still rejected suicide.

  Juliana led her down alleys that she’d never recognize, even in daylight, though she’d lived nearby for years. The unplowed drifts of snow squeezed in and choked the narrow side streets. No one on this side of town was taking care of bodies either. Ruth shrieked as the gray beam of her flashlight strobed over a corpse lying on the side of the alley. Juliana stopped and turned around.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I try to keep up with them, but I already have so much to do. I just cleared this street before the last storm. Poor man. It must have been one of the sick ones. Lots of them seem to be wandering up from the subway stations. They’re flooding, you know.”

  Ruth shuddered and moved her flashlight as if she were averting her eyes. “It’s okay. It’s not like I’ve never seen a dead body before. It just surprised me.”

  “We’re almost to the hospital. Do you need a minute?”

  Ruth shook her head. “The hospital? We’re nowhere near the hospital.”

  “Sorry, I meant the psychiatric hospital. It’s where we’ve set up.”

  “I thought that place was falling down. Why’d you choose there?”

  “Most of it is intact. Our wing is fine. And there is a wood burning furnace that heats the whole place and the kitchen is original, so it has a hand pump for the well.”

  “How many of you are there?”

  Juliana was silent for a few minutes and Ruth began to be nervous that she’d asked the wrong question or that Juliana was trying to think up a plausible lie. They came out of the alley onto a large street that dead-ended in a massive lawn punctuated by a sprawling concrete building. The windows were bright but the light was broken into barred slats that stretched over the snow.

  “Look,” said Juliana, “I haven’t been completely honest with you about— about my group.”

  Ruth froze and tensed, her eyes darted back toward the alleyway.

  “It’s not what you think,” said Juliana quickly, “I didn’t bring you out here to rob and kill you. I meant it when I said I needed a doctor’s help. But the people I’m with— I’m the only healthy one. The rest of them have the December Plague. I found them. Some here, some on the road, some were brought to me by relatives who couldn’t care for them anymore. I take care of them. Well, I try to. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, I thought you’d think I was crazy or refuse to come.”

  Ruth shook her head. “I wish I could help you, I truly do. I’ve looked for a year for a cure. I’ve tested every drug I could still find. Nothing works. There’s no cure. My own son has it.”

  “I know the Plague can’t be cured. I need help with everything else. One of them had a broken arm when I found him, another one has bed sores because her mother strapped her to the bed not knowing what to do. One of the others has some kind of flu or something. That’s what I need help with.”

  Ruth nodded and they head toward the large building.

  “I’m sorry about your son,” Juliana continued, “but I’m grateful that I don’t have to explain to you why I care for them. Other people ask why I don’t just let them die or put them out of their misery, but you understand.”

  “I’d like to hear what you tell them though,” said Ruth, trying to keep her voice casual.

  “I tell them that we don’t know what the Infected are feeling or thinking. Maybe they are asking for our help. Maybe they feel terrible about what their bodies force them to do. They are human beings just like us. I’ve heard some people call them zombies or undead. Can you imagine? They’re just sick. We don’t let people starve or freeze because they caught the flu do we? Why should this be any different? The human body is an amazing thing. Some of them may fight it off and recover. But only if they live to do so. What if they remember what we did to them? Some days it seems like all the kindness is gone from the world.”

  Ruth’s eyes blurred and her voice was unsteady. “What if it’s kinder to let them die?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have you heard them? They are constantly in pain. They never stop screaming and scrabbling— and if they ever do get better and remember, like you said, what about the things that they did to their loved ones? Do you think they’ll want to remember that? What if, by keeping them alive all this time, instead of letting nature take its course and the population of Infected die out due to exposure or starvation or combat, what if we are the ones being cruel?”

  Juliana shook her head. “If you really believed that, your son would already be gone.” She put her hand on a thick iron bar that lay across the door. “I have to believe that their lives have some value, that their personalities or souls or whatever are still in there, hoping to wake up. Millions of people are dead, just in this city alone. A handful of us survived, including the Infected that have been cared for. Am I supposed to believe we’re only here because of dumb luck? There must be a reason we’re still here. All of us.” She lifted the bar slowly upright until it clanked into place.

  A chorus of howls and shrieks cascaded from the rooms near the entrance and traveled like a wave down the building until the whole place echoed with torment. Ruth thought she might be walking into hell itself. Juliana didn’t even seem to notice. “They’re all in separate rooms, you don’t need to worry. And I do have their movements restricted, so you’ll be safe. They’re just hungry, it’s past dinner time.”

  Feeding time, Ruth thought and then was ashamed. Juliana led her through the large entry that was dimly lit with gas lamps. The building was very old and Juliana seemed to be using all of its pre-electric advantages. But she would run out of gas soon, Ruth knew. And then what? They passed at least twenty rooms and Ruth wondered how on earth she was finding food to feed them all. Or water to bathe them. Or if she really was. Maybe Juliana was the world’s new version of an animal hoarder. Maybe she thought she was helping but was really just starving them slower. Something scraped against a metal door next to Ruth, making her shudder. She couldn’t be certain, but she imagined it was somebody’s teeth. “How many do you have Juliana?” she had to shout to be heard, even though the walls and doors were thick and muffled a good deal of the noise.

  “A few dozen right now,” said Juliana, “but people bring me more from time to time.” They passed most of the occupied rooms and left the growls and wails behind them. Juliana pushed through some swinging doors at the end of the hall and passed into a large stone floored kitchen. A large woodstove sat in the center, and Ruth had the feeling of stepping into some older, better time.

  “I need to start dinner. You can join me or you can start inspecting the patients if you like. You will be safe, but I’d also like to learn what to do, you know, in case you can’t be here.”

  Ruth looked around the empty kitchen. “How do you feed them all?” she asked, thinking of all the days she and Charlie and Bill had gone hungry when she couldn’t find any cans to scavenge.

  “The first winter was something of a trick,” said Juliana moving toward another set of doors, “but there were only three of us then, so I managed. I won’t lie, some days we were all hungry. But in the spring I remembered the botanic gardens had a victory garden patch and I— well, I’m not proud of it, but I stole some vegetables and some seeds. Next year I’ll replant some things and expand it a little, but I needed those things to feed these people. I found a tiller there too and a little gas. I was measuring a plot when I found you this morning. Next year will be harder, but I’ll get someone with a horse to come and rig up the tiller. Mostly since then, people have donated things. Food, time, medicine. I pretty much run this place, but when I take someone in, I ask for help. Most people are happy to give it. They come visit their loved one and spend some time weeding the garden or b
athing the Infected or just drop off scavenged goods. They are relieved that they aren’t having to do it every day anymore. Or maybe they just feel guilty. Either way, I need the help.”

  She opened the doors and they stepped into a pantry with more canned food than Ruth had seen in over a year. What before would have simply seemed like an average stocked kitchen to Ruth, now seemed mythic. She touched the paper labels on some soup cans. “Those apples, for example, came from the Park. One of the families brought me those this fall. Who knew apple trees grew in all this concrete?” Ruth glanced over where Juliana had waved her hand. There were bins of fresh potatoes and apples and carrots. Ruth’s mouth started to water. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. She shook her head and turned to leave the pantry.

  “No way. This is a death trap. I’m leaving right now.” Her legs shook underneath her.

  “What? What are you talking about? This isn’t a trap. Have I done anything to threaten you?” Juliana held out her hands to stop Ruth.

  “No, this is some kind of sick joke. Nobody has this stuff. Fresh fruit? Are you crazy? What’s the deal? Do you bring people here, show them the huge bounty of food they could have and then trap them and let the Infected get them? That’s how you feed them, isn’t it? You just throw innocent people to them as if they were wolves. You’re sick.” Ruth pushed Juliana aside.