“No. Don’t think that way,” said Ruth, wiping her hands on a damp cloth. “A hundred people weren’t meant to be kept alive for this long by a dying woman and a handful of casual volunteers. It’s an impossible task. You can’t clean them, groom them, feed them, nurse them when they are sick, maintain their shelter and raise all their food. It’s astonishing how much you’ve managed for so long. It’s time for all of it to change. Do you know what a krìsis is, Juliana? It’s where we get the word ‘crisis.’ It’s the point in an illness where every option has been exhausted. It’s the point where the patient either succumbs and dies or their body rallies and fights off the infection. The city is at its krìsis. And we are at ours. The Infected will either free us to finally begin rebuilding a world of a decent, kind, helpful society, or Father Preston and Gray will win and people like us will pass away, and human civilization will at last be over. Either way, the interminable stagnation is done. You’ve done your duty, Juliana. More than. Now allow your kindness to be repaid and, I hope, pass on to all the people who are hiding, terrified of the Congregation and people like them.” Ruth peeked out of the kitchen window at the group on the lawn. The woman on the third cross writhed and struggled and the tense Congregation were like cats watching their victim.
“I should go now. Before they have a chance to find someone else.” Her heart cried for mercy for the woman, but she had no bullets left. At least she could use the distraction to slip away and warn whomever she could find.
Juliana stood up and pulled a scrap of coffee filter from her pocket. She’d scribbled a list on the ragged leftovers. “We need more than the poppies. We can’t just put them out there the way they are. They need clothes and boots.”
“I don’t know if I can find a hundred sets of clothing Juliana, let alone shoes.”
“We have to give them the best chance that we can. Bernard can help. He and that dog know all the unlooted places.”
Ruth shook her head but took the list. “I’ll do my best. Don’t expect me until late.” She stared intently at Juliana. She was pale and swayed a little. Even Ruth was a little dizzy in the heat of the kitchen. “Maybe I should get you to bed. You have time to rest. Don’t push yourself too hard.”
Juliana nodded, too exhausted to argue. Ruth made certain the doors were well blocked and secure before helping her up the stairs. The attic rooms were cooler but the open windows carried the agony of the yard into the room. Ruth started to close the window when the wails abruptly stopped. A few seconds later a fierce, joyous hymn took its place. Ruth slammed the window shut in disgust. Juliana cried for the dead woman, but she was already dozing by the time Ruth crept down the stairs and into the abandoned wing.
She eased along the length of the hall, avoiding the large, brightly lit collapse she had slid down that morning. She could see the Congregation milling around through the thinning tops of the hedges and knew she’d either have to hurry or wait until they dispersed completely. Fearing she wouldn’t reach Bernard first, she tried to speed up without making too much noise. She came to the end of the hallway; the front of the building crumbled away, the remaining jagged outline like an empty socket where the tooth had splintered away. Orange and red Indian Paintbrush pushed up through the tumbled stones and a large snake lay sunning itself on the dusty cobble. Ruth crouched to make herself as small as possible, but she knew she was still plainly visible to anyone who turned her way. She slunk to the edge of the broken wall and peered out.
The day was warm and a light breeze blew over the brush and long grasses toward the other side of the hospital, but Ruth could still smell the older bodies beginning to rot. They were bloated and blackened against their shining beams. Ruth felt only sorrow and pity, but she promised herself she’d take them down and burn them with the hospital once Gray and Father Preston had been run off.
The Congregation had diminished, at least temporarily. There were only about fifty circling the third corpse. They had stopped singing and Ruth could see Father Preston standing before them, his hands wild and emphatic, his face a deep, hot red. His flock, however, seemed more interested in picnicking than in listening, lounging on blankets and passing bowls of food to each other in the shadow of their latest victim. Ruth found the scene nauseating. She turned away and ran quickly to the thin fringe of trees that separated the hospital from the highway. She took one more quick glance back at the hospital hoping Juliana was asleep and would be all right until she returned. Then she threaded her way through the dry, brittle branches of the pine trees at the edge of the field and out onto the baking highway.
The city was barren once she left the hospital. Everything was waiting, even the birds were mostly silent. It felt to Ruth more like the breathless afternoons in July that ended in terrific thunderstorms, rather than a mild morning in mid-June. Though it had hardly changed in eight years, the silence felt suddenly oppressive and filled with predatory ears. Even the gardens seemed ominous as she approached, the sun glittering off the greenhouse like signal fires to someone she couldn’t see.
Her pulse doubled as the screech of metal rubbing against itself reached her from the vegetable patch. There was nowhere really, to hide. Bernard enjoyed clipping the grass with the push mower, so it was one of the only places without even any bracken to duck into. She had no real weapon either, just a bulletless gun that she might be able to bluff with if pressed. There wasn’t really a better approach than the one she was on; she was still below the crest of a hill and not visible to whatever was up there. There was another screech and Ruth froze. I have to at least try to help him, she told herself and pulled the empty gun out of its holster, hoping she looked calmer than she felt.
The sun prickled on her back, seeping through her thin shirt. Her breath was deep and rasping as if she’d sprinted from the hospital instead of walking briskly and carefully. She licked the salt from her lips without realizing it. She was at the top. Bernard was standing there, his back to her. A rusty barrow filled with dark soil sat beside him. A dirty shovel leaned against it.
“Oh no,” Ruth cried, “I’m too late.”
Bernard was startled and spun around. But he wasn’t holding his dog. It was just a sack of carrots. Ruth sighed with relief. Bernard flung down the sack and grabbed her arm. He pulled her into the cottage and shut the door. The dog lay in the sun pooling under the window, he thumped his tail halfheartedly as they entered and then fell back asleep.
“What—” began Ruth, but Bernard put a large, dirty hand over her mouth and shook his head. He pointed out the back window toward the greenhouses. A shadow flickered behind the glass of the closest structure.
“They’re already here?” she asked, “but how? They were busy at the hospital when I left.”
Bernard shrugged.
“We have to stop them. They’ll steal all the food. They want to poison your dog.”
The gardener held up a hand to make her wait. He pushed the small bed aside and pulled up a board. Ruth leaned over and peered in. The hollows for as far as the light reached were filled with food, everything that was even close to ripe from the garden. He gently placed the board back and pushed the bed back into place. Then he pulled her to the small attached tool shed. There were trays of seedlings on every surface, all the plants twisting their faces to the bright slit of window above.
“You knew to do all this? But how?”
He pointed to an ear.
“You heard? Oh, of course. You would have come to check on Juliana after her fainting spell.”
He looked anxiously at her.
“Juliana is okay,” said Ruth, “but we have to make sure she rests more.”
The crash of breaking glass interrupted them. Ruth darted back to the window. The closest greenhouse was black with soot and a sheet of flame billowed and snapped in a light breeze as it poured from the broken panes. She could see one of the willows inside glow from the ends of its leaves to the trunk as its vines curled and twisted in the heat before dropping away.
She hadn’t expected them to hurt the greenhouses. They held no food. Medicinal herbs, astringent plants, but nothing most people would recognize or know how to use. There was no reason to destroy them, except spite.
A small knot of people were already heading for the other greenhouse while a larger group drew closer to the cottage and Juliana’s garden.
“The rest of the poppies,” Ruth cried and leapt for the door. Bernard grabbed her and shook his head.
“You don’t understand, they’ll destroy everything. We need those, I have to stop them.” Ruth pushed back, but he refused to move and shook his head again. He held up his hands and made a cross with his two forefingers. Then he pointed at Ruth.
“I’ll die anyway if they burn everything. We all will.”
Bernard shook his head and pointed to the floor where the food was hidden. There was a banging on the cottage door. The dog sprang up from where he had been napping and snarled deep in his throat. Bernard’s eyes grew wide and he grabbed her by the shoulders. He put a hand over her mouth again and then pointed under the bed. Ruth shook her head. Bernard pushed her down to her knees next to the bed. She struggled silently. There was another bang at the door.
“Open up if you aren’t in league with that she-devil!”
The dog began barking and his back bunched and rose. Bernard shoved her again and she relented, sliding herself under the low bed frame. Bernard kicked a pile of dirty clothes gently into the crack. Ruth pushed them around so she could see without being discovered. Bernard gave the dog a soothing pat and then opened the door.
“Where is it? Where’s the food?” came an angry voice.
Bernard shrugged and then staggered backward as he was struck.
“Don’t play dumb.” There was a snicker from someone else and Ruth’s face went hot with anger and embarrassment. “You take care of the place, you must know where it’s gone.” Bernard pointed in the direction of the hospital.
“No, now I thought you might say that. I know the food’s not at the hospital, because we’ve had the place surrounded for days. Try again, Joe.” Ruth recognized Gray’s sneering tone.
Chapter 20
“What’s wrong with him, Boss?” asked the other man.
“Joe? He and I were buddies, a long time ago. We used to… well, we used to keep the streets safe, didn’t we Joe?”
Bernard had turned slightly and Ruth could see Gray was hitting him gently in the shoulder with the flat of the ax he carried. “And people would pay us to keep it safe for their families. Lots of looters in those days. And Afflicted without people to care for them. Joe here heard there was a woman who would pay us really well down at the police station. So I went to have a chat. But it turned out to be that she-devil. She almost broke my arm, didn’t she Joe? I guess he didn’t hear so well, cause she wasn’t interested in paying. But his tongue worked well enough back then. We became reformed men after that. Brought the Afflicted to places that could care for ‘em. Places where they could do good. A long way to the south, isn’t that right Joe?”
Bernard was shaking his head, his face perplexed. Ruth wondered if he could remember any of this, if it was all lost in the severe beating he had taken, or if Gray was just lying for his audience. Gray continued. “There’s a city to the south. Another one. Smaller than this, but lots more people. They have it made there. Electricity, military, there’s even a rumor of a cure for the Plague. Poor Joe. He was always such a sucker. He believed the rumor. Wanted to take the Afflicted there, to be cured. So he tells me this whole story of the cure and the city and how we could live there as heroes. ‘Joe,’ I told him, ‘There isn’t any cure. If there was, and this military that the city has is real, don’t you think they would be out delivering this cure to people? Starting up the government again, getting folks organized?’ These people were just sitting behind a cement wall, taller than a three-story building. They just cowered in there, scraping by. So I said, ‘Don’t you understand, Joe? They are persuading people there’s a cure so they’ll bring their sick relatives. That way they don’t have to go out and round them up. And when they get to the city, they probably get taken to a hospital, just for show. But they’re just taken out back and shot. No more zom— Afflicted.’ But Joe wants to find out for sure. ‘Just go ask,’ he says. I told him no, even a hint of what we were doing could put the operation— the Afflicted in trouble. Like I said, he didn’t hear so well then.
“Good old Joe Mackey, just had to go his own way, no matter what anyone else thought. So he brought a soldier into our camp on our way by. Did it really casually, when we were packing up to move on. Well, the soldier would have killed everyone in that camp. We had to defend ourselves and the people in our charge. And Joe— well, let’s just say his tongue doesn’t flap so free anymore.” Gray reached up with surprising speed and pinched Bernard’s cheeks, forcing his mouth open. The other man gasped at the stump Ruth knew he saw there.
Her head was whirling. Bernard was the man that had sent Gray to see her in the first place. Without him, none of it would have happened. And there were rumors of a cure? How could there be a cure? Her mind rejected it almost immediately, though she didn’t believe Gray’s version either. He was right though. If there were a cure, word would have spread, even over a great distance and even given the scarcity of people. Wouldn’t it? It was like the Holy Grail. How many rumors of cures had she heard in the past eight years? How many old wives’ tales? All false, all mirage.
“Now tell me where the food is,” Gray growled and he pushed Bernard backwards toward the bed. Bernard simply shook his head, his face pale and stony. “Get the dog,” Gray snapped. Bernard grabbed for his dog with a loud groan, but Gray was too quick. He brought the flat of the ax blade down on Bernard’s shoulder. It hit with a meaty thunk that Ruth could feel in her teeth and she guessed that at least one bone had broken. Bernard howled in pain and staggered back a step as the dog leapt at Gray, snarling and biting. His teeth closed around the hand holding the ax and Gray swore loudly.
“Get it off, you fools!” he roared, and two men hurried forward to pull the dog off. Bernard had recovered and punched Gray in the jaw with a massive fist. He barreled through the other men. The dog let go and sprinted after him. There were too many people waiting outside. The dog escaped but they dragged Bernard back in to the cottage and forced him into a chair near the plain wood table. He was smiling as Gray fumed about the dog.
“I want that mutt found,” shouted Gray. “Whoever kills it gets to take it home to their family. Must be enough meat on that thing to eat for a week.”
The chorus of cheers that erupted at this announcement made Ruth both nauseous and profoundly sad. Even Bernard’s smile dissolved into a look of deep pity, and she knew he was wavering about giving them the food. So was she.
“In the meantime,” Gray said, walking over to Bernard, “You’re going to tell us where the food went.”
Bernard took a deep breath. He pointed again to the hospital. Gray shrugged.
“If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off. You’re lying Joe. Or your hand is. Hold him down.”
But it didn’t take much to pin his broken arm to the table.
“I’m going to give you one more chance to redeem yourself and tell the truth. Where is the food?”
Ruth held her breath, but Bernard didn’t even betray her with a glance. He pointed immediately back to the hospital. Gray raised the ax over his head. Bernard shut his eyes.
“Brother Gray,” said a nearby man, nervously, “If you cut off his hand, he’ll die. Even if he doesn’t bleed to death, he won’t be able to work. You’ve broken his arm. The only doctor in town is that heathen who is bent on killing people. It’ll never set right on it’s own. He’s already going to have a hard time plowing. He’ll starve if you take it completely.”
“Better he should die than continue to lie for that murderess. Better he should starve than your children. He knows where the food is. Don’t you want it?”
&nbs
p; “Well— well, yes,” stuttered the man and the others around him nodded. “But surely we should be merciful and give him a chance to repent. Take him to Father Preston. I’m sure he can help this man see the light.”
Ruth watched Gray’s eyes narrow with hate when Father Preston was mentioned. He kept his voice smooth, in control. “Father Preston has already spoken on this. He’s said that anyone in league with that devil-woman was to be cast out of our company, unworthy of being in our presence.”
The others still looked doubtful and there was an uneasy shuffling in the small cottage. Gray realized it, too. He twisted the blade around as he spoke. “My brothers are right. We should always strive to be merciful. Still, I think the path to righteousness sometimes needs a little prod.” He grasped Bernard’s broken arm and brought the blunt side of the ax down on Bernard’s hand. It hit with a wet crunch and Bernard screamed, his uninjured arm flailing even with two men holding it down. Ruth tasted the coppery salt of blood and realized she’d bitten her own lip.
“I’ve heard the pinkie finger isn’t really good for much, but it seemed to prove useful this time. Now, where is the food from the garden?”
Bernard raised his good hand. He was shaking, but he pointed to the hospital.
Gray shrugged. “Well, you’ve got four more chances anyway. Plenty of time to change your mind.” He smashed the ax down again. Bernard whimpered this time.
“Where’s the food? Careful now Joe, or you’re going to start losing fingers that matter.”
Bernard just shook his head. Gray grinned. Ruth realized that he didn’t really care where the food was. Maybe he didn’t even care where she was. The longer he was in control, the more he could hurt people, the happier he’d be. It sent a spiny shard of fear through her limbs.
“Which finger should be next? After all, we want to be as merciful as possible. The thumb should be last of course. But should we take the middle finger next? It would only make a foul sign if it were left alone. Or should we take the forefinger, since its twin keeps pointing to a lie? What do you think brothers?” He spun halfway around to see the others.Most of them were pale and uncomfortable.
Krisis (After the Cure Book 3) Page 16
