“What’s wrong?” asked Nella.
“Just— She hurt Gray, pretty badly. But if he doesn’t die— I hope they are ready.”
“It’s beyond our help, Frank. We don’t get to see that part of the story. Believe in the happy ending and be at peace with it.”
He turned to face her. “That’s the hardest part, isn’t it? Never getting to find out how it turns out. We try all our lives to make it better, to make sure the ending is happy, but we’ll never know for sure.”
“That’s why they call it ‘having faith’,” interrupted Father Preston as he approached their cell.
Frank tried to push Nella gently behind him, as if he could shield her from him. She held his arm, but stayed close to the fence.
“I have to talk to you,” said Father Preston.
Nella sighed. “I’m sorry for what I said yesterday. It was— unkind.”
“I can’t say it wasn’t deserved,” said Father Preston, looking at his feet.
Frank was surprised at the change in the man. His confidence was utterly gone. Had someone convinced him at last, that he was not a miracle worker?
“It was unfair, regardless. I was angry and I took it out on you. What is it that you wanted to tell me?” asked Nella. Her face had reddened with discomfort and Frank was certain she wasn’t entirely over her dislike of the man.
“It’s about Gray. He came to me, a few nights ago. After he’d been kicked out. He sat outside the fence and listened to you making plans. He— he knew about the boat. Wanted me to get its location from you. I— he said we’d start over, go somewhere more worthy.”
“What did you do?” snapped Frank. The scar on his cheek pulsed and he took a step toward the fence, towering over the older man.
“I refused!” cried Father Preston, holding up his arms as if Frank were going to strike him. “I refused. I knew better. I’ve been a fool. I know. I’ve— I’ve ruined so much. I know I can’t heal them. I know now. But I’m trying to help. I refused and he attacked the Colony to find it instead. Did you tell the others where the boat was? Did he find out from— from her? He choked her a long time.”
Nella bit back a groan. “He could have,” said Frank, “but he’ll never make it. I saw his wound. It’s days away, he’ll die of an infection or blood loss before then. And even if he gets there, we’ve got the keys, he won’t be able to make it out of the bay without the engine.”
“He could destroy it,” said Nella.
Frank nodded. “He could. But we’d have the lifeboat we came in on, if we had to.”
“All these people are not going to fit on the lifeboat, Frank!”
He took a deep breath, hoping she’d mirror him. He squeezed her hand. “All these people aren’t going to make it to the lifeboat. Most won’t even make it to the City. We aren’t planning a big trip, Nella. You understand? We don’t have to come back. We don’t have to save anything for later. We just have to make it to the finish line.”
Father Preston sobbed and sank onto his knees outside the fence. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. I was meant to save them. Every life is sacred. That’s the rule. And now I’m expected to walk them all to their deaths. As if they are nothing. As if— as if I were Ruth. Vincent says I was cured to get a second chance. A second chance at what? I can’t save them. Any of them. Can’t change them. Can’t even ease the ones that don’t already believe. What was the point?”
Nella exchanged a glance with Frank and then knelt on her side of the fence. She pushed her hand through a gap in the wire to clasp Father Preston’s shoulder. “We aren’t saving the Infected. We can’t. Not even ourselves. That’s out of our hands. We can’t do what Juliana did. The Plague would spread until there was no one left to take care of the Infected and then they would die anyway. But we can save the others. That’s the point. That’s the happy ending that we don’t get to see. We’re protecting this place, so it can go on. Whatever happens in the next few weeks— whether we make it to the City or turn before then, whether Gray steals the boat and we have to build a raft to sleep on until the poison is finished, you have to believe it’s going to go on. Without us seeing it. Without us having a hand in it. You told Frank that was what having faith was about. We do what we can, and then we must let go. Like Juliana. And Sevita. And all the others that have died to get us this far. Like Molly.”
Vincent cleared his throat as he walked back toward them. He was covered in dust and the ominous yellow light of the storm clouds made him seem more like an old, worn photo than a man. “Lisa is preparing the body,” he said stiffly to Father Preston, “Can I trust you to watch the camp during the service?”
Father Preston stood up. Vincent pulled a long blade from his belt, the same one Father Preston had watched him use on Colin. He offered it to the other priest. Father Preston hesitated.
“I’ll do it,” said Frank heavily.
Vincent began unlocking the cell.
“No,” said Father Preston. “I said I wanted to help. I meant it. In whatever form. God forgive me for making you bear the whole burden until now.” He held his hand out. It was shaking. Vincent handed him the blade.
“Thank you,” said Vincent.
Thirty-two
Gray came to with a groan. The wood under him was sticky with drying blood. It took him a moment to remember that it was from his leg. He’d let himself go without stitching it. Now he was in trouble. He gathered himself for a moment, knowing he’d be dizzy as soon as he moved. He turned his head. There was a table a few steps from him, a ball of fishing twine lay on it. There was no way he’d get that lucky with a needle. He sighed and resigned himself to using an ornament hook. He heaved himself up halfway, his upper body swaying. His head almost cleared, except for an insistent buzzing sound. The wound ripped open again as he peeled his legs from the pool of blood that had dried underneath him. The pain seared up his leg and back and he shouted, but he was more conscious than he had been a moment before. Hobbling to the table, he reached up and yanked an ornament from above. The fine glass shattered into little more than glitter between his fingers but he caught the thick wire hanger. He sat heavily down at the table, fighting nausea as the room dipped and rolled around him. He straightened the hook as well as he could, pulling the back into a small loop. It still looked massive and thick. Don’t be a pussy, he told himself. You want to die to save a little bit of pain? Fucking coward. He reached for the ball of fishing line and cut a generous piece with his knife. His fingers were shaking as he squinted at the homemade needle. He swiped at a trickle of sweat to clear his eyes and then swore as the fishing line missed the needle’s head. And again. He took a deep breath, threading it on the third attempt.
He leaned over. The world grew clearer. He poked the wire into the puffy red skin at the edge of the wound in his calf. It wasn’t as awful as he thought. A sting and then a dull throb. He took a deep breath and pulled the fishing line through. And screamed. He had to stop. Tears streamed from his eyes without him even realizing it. He panted for a moment. Two. Best get it over quick, he told himself. Nobody’s going to come do it for you. Got to rescue yourself. He plunged the needle into the other side of the wound and vomited as he pulled the stitch tight.
It didn’t get better, but he had nothing left to vomit and the agony kept him from drifting off again. The biggest problem was his shaking hand. He stabbed himself a half dozen times in the wrong spot before he was finished. But finish, he did, tying off the last stitch and throwing the wire needle across the room. He rolled himself into the hammock and let the dizziness take him. He’d deal with the infection tomorrow. If it comes, he told himself.
Rickey cleared the last of the massive nest from the top of the radio tower and tightened the bolt holding the last dish. He looked out over the top of the mountain and swore as a dark shadow lumbered at the edge of the field. He climbed down toward the ranger station’s roof.
“Bear’s back, Mel,” he called. She was
already locking the door as he tumbled through the skylight onto the table.
“Probably won’t come up all these stairs anyway,” she said.
“Better safe than sorry,” said Rickey. “The tower’s cleaned up, should send a clearer signal now. One of the dishes was twisted and hanging by a thread. Did you get everything in here working?”
“I think so, but I can’t tell. I’m not receiving anything. I don’t know if something’s broken or there’s just nobody broadcasting.” She shrugged and then sighed. “It also means that maybe nobody’s listening.”
Rickey scratched his head. “We all knew it was a long shot. This whole thing. Even if it’s working and there are people listening we don’t know if they’ll believe us. Or if they’ll think they’re healthy and not go anyway. We’re doing what we said we would. We just have to hope for the best. And try not to get eaten…” he glanced out the window trying to spot the bear but the sky was beginning to darken with thunderclouds and the field, dappled with shifting shadows ate up any definite shapes below. They’d found a few cans of bear spray in the supplies at the station but neither of them was certain if the stuff had an expiration date and Rickey wasn’t comfortable relying on it if he didn’t have to. He wasn’t looking forward to the trip back.
“Looks like there’s a storm coming. We’ll have to stay here tonight anyway.”
Melissa tinkered with the transmitter a little. “It’s okay, I really haven’t figured out what I’m going to say yet anyway. I need some time to figure it out.”
Rickey nodded. “Will they hear us at the Colony when you do?”
“The Colony and much further I hope. This station is connected to a few others, I’m hoping it will just pick up like the emergency broadcast from the City did. At least, that way, healthy people will know to be cautious, even if I can’t convince the Infected to turn around.”
“Feels weird to be on this side of it,” said Rickey, “making these decisions about who is okay and who’s not.”
“You still wish you’d never been cured?”
He shook his head. “Never really meant that. I mean, it would be easier. No big moral dilemmas. Infected don’t worry about lying or about hurting innocent people or about what happens tomorrow. But there was no joy in it. It was misery and rage for years and years. It’s not that I didn’t want to be cured. It’s more that maybe it’d be better if it had just— ended. No more pain, no more guilt, no worry to wake up to. Just done. These Infected will have that comfort at any rate. They never have to wake up and see what they’ve done. Never have to wake up and decide whether to keep on going or not.”
“Is it really a hard decision for you?” she asked.
He sat down on the sagging couch. “Some days it’s a harder decision than others. But not since I decided to go with Vincent. Now I’ve got a purpose.”
“Go with Vincent? Are you mad? Why would you go with Vincent? I love him too, but he’s got people with him. He doesn’t need to take you too.”
Rickey snorted. “Who? Father Preston? I don’t trust him. And the others will have turned by the time he gets there.”
“He’s got the people that cured us. They won’t turn before then. And why you?”
“Why not me? I hardly have a handful of survival skills. Hell, I don’t even know what to do about a bear. I certainly didn’t think to scream at it and try to eat it.” He grinned, trying to sidetrack her, but Melissa was angry.
“You’re the only one who knows how to fix the electrical stuff. What are we going to do without a mechanic?”
Rickey blushed but then looked serious. “Amos didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“We’re down to our last few gallons of gas. No more vehicles, no more generators. What good is a mechanic?”
“We’ll get more, we’ll make more. Maybe we can figure out how to get the electric plant back online and running out that far. Or we’ll take solar panels from places like this. It’s not a reason to give up. None of us were equipped for this when we woke up, but we’re learning. You don’t have to stay what you were.”
Rickey shook his head. “Aw Mel, I’m never going to be a good farmer like Molly’s turned out to be. And I don’t have the guts to be a serious soldier like Henry and Amos. I’ll just be deadweight. If I go with Vincent, I can do some good, maybe. Make you all safe.”
“We’re going to need more than soldiers and farmers to survive, Rickey. We’re going to need plumbers and electricians and artists and even a mechanic or two.”
He snorted. “What I know could be learned in a month or two by anyone else.”
“Maybe, in the world Before. When it didn’t really cost anything to learn. But everything is irreplaceable now. It’s expensive to experiment. You could teach people without destroying things. We’re going to need you.” She was quiet for a moment. “We would— I would miss you.”
He looked startled, as if he hadn’t considered it before. He shook it off. “Nah. I’m just a guy that woke up with you. An extra. The ex-con comic relief. Disposable for the greater good. Like Pam and Vincent.”
“Pam made her choice,” said Melissa sadly, “We understood it. Vincent too. I love him. I’ll miss him, but he had to do what he thought was right. I still hope he’ll make it through somehow. That he’ll come back when this is done. But neither of them were disposable. And Vincent chose to do what he is doing because nobody else did. Because somebody had to and so none of the rest of us would. You included. And you aren’t the comic relief. This group would be lost without you. We might drift along in Henry’s wake for a while, but it wasn’t him that led us out to the Colony. Or Vincent. Wasn’t him that started the wall or decided we would welcome anyone that decided they wanted to join us. Henry took care of our past. Righted the wrongs done to us. He’s a good protector. He has a strong sense of justice. But he’s not a planner. His whole life’s going to be about fixing what happened. To us or by us. And Amos is a great leader. He sees what has to be done for us to survive. There’s so much, though, and so many people, he’ll never get us past our basic needs. It’s people like you and me and Molly, we’re the ones who will get the lights turned back on and the water running. We’re the ones who are going to finally bring us from survival back to civilization. If you go— it might be another twenty years before someone else comes along or grows up with a knack for machinery and knows how to work with other people—”
A crack of thunder shattered over them and she jumped.
“You really think I’m that important?” Rickey asked after a moment.
Melissa smirked. “Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”
Rickey shook his head. “I shouldn’t have doubted you. Whatever you broadcast, you’ll definitely convince them.”
Melissa laughed but her smile faded. “I really would miss you, Rickey.”
He avoided her gaze, blinking back his own tears. “Why?”
“Because you’re funny and smart, although you try really hard to hide it. Because you’re kind and passionate about justice where other people give up and accept the way things are. Because I— I like you.”
Rickey’s face snapped back to look at her, to see if she was teasing. “I like you too,” he said at last.
So you’ll stay?” she asked.
“If you protect me from the bear,” he said.
Thirty-three
“Am I going to be down here alone?” Marnie’s voice was worried, stripped of its complexity, as if she were terribly young. Which, she was, Henry realized.
“No, of course not,” he said, keeping his voice light. “You see that truck they’re putting chemicals in?”
“Sure.”
“When it’s full, or in the morning if it gets too late, Vincent and anyone who feels sick will go. After they are gone, I’ll come down there to be with you until it’s time to come back to camp.”
“What if I’m sick too?”
“Do you feel sick?”
�
��No— but nobody else did either, until the end. Even the doctor, she says she feels fine, but she knows she’s dying anyway. I was with Christine a lot longer than the doctor was. I’m going to get sick too, and— and you’ll chain me to a pole.” The transmit cut out, but Henry knew she was crying.
“No Marnie, never. I’ll never do that to you. I promised your mom I would take care of you. I promised you I’d take care of you. I’ll never chain you up. You’re going to be okay. You’re immune, I know it. Like you said, you were with Christine a lot longer. You’d be starting to show signs now. We’re just going to play cards and be bored for a few more weeks, then we’ll come back up here, you’ll see.”
“What if you get sick? From touching things? From being where they were?”
“Vincent is burning the empty tents. The only things that will be left will be what you or anyone else that isn’t sick has touched.”
“There’s only one other woman. She’s the only one not going. She’s not stumbling or anything. She wants to go with Vincent, but he won’t let her. She wants to get the miracle cure, but he says she isn’t sick, she’s just scared.”
Two out of thirty-five, Henry thought to himself, his heart sinking. He hoped the radio broadcast worked. They had to keep this plague out of the Colony.
“The others— could Christine have gone with them? Could she have turned back?”
Henry closed his eyes, the realization of what they were doing stabbing at his chest, not for the first time. “No, Marnie. There was nothing that could be done for Christine.” Or any of the rest, he thought, sending them on a death march. With Vincent at their lead. How can we do this? What kind of people have we become?
The top of the water truck closed with a bang as Amos climbed down with the last empty cannister, his face hidden by the thick gas mask. Henry watched as the larger man’s shoulders sagged and he brought one hand to his forehead. And for a moment, Henry let the despair overwhelm him. This was no better than simply shooting them. It was worse. It was lying. How was he better than Phil? Even Gray would have given them a better chance at surviving. It was no use arguing that he wasn’t making them miserable while they were alive. Dead was dead. And he was driving them there. He watched Amos lift his head and the mask turned toward him, a rubber death’s head looking to him, to Henry, for comfort he didn’t have to give.
The 40th Day (After the Cure Book 5) Page 19
