The 40th Day (After the Cure Book 5)

by Gould, Deirdre

  He thumbed the radio’s transmit button again. “I’ll see you tonight, Marnie. Can you find Vincent for me?”

  “Is it time?” she asked.

  “Almost.”

  “He isn’t coming back, is he?” She didn’t pause long enough for him to answer. “I should have come with you, when you both came to the Lodge. Maybe it would be different then.”

  Henry shook his head. “Vincent chose to do what was right. He would have done the same whether you came with us or not. There was no talking him out of it.”

  Rickey was packing a box of plastic suits into the cabin of the sprayer truck. On top, several more canisters of poison were carefully cradled, waiting to be used by hand where the sprayer couldn’t go. The quarantine camp was shuffling and rippling with movement as people prepared to leave. The bonfire where Father Preston’s tent had been was dying down now, Henry could see someone flinging clothing or debris in occasionally, but it was mostly left to smolder. The radio crackled in his hand and Henry looked down.

  “I’m here,” said Vincent, his voice already far away, as if he’d been walking for hours before calling. “Is everything ready?”

  “Yes, we’ve found everything you will need. There are a few hazmat suits to make certain someone will last long enough to complete the— the spraying. There is roughly enough food and clean water for three or four days, though if you pick anyone up on the way— they will have to fend for themselves. I wanted to send more— enough so that— but the fire…”

  “Henry, it’s okay. We don’t need it.”

  Henry slid down the ragged stone wall, his t-shirt catching on the irregular lumps. “I can’t do this, Vincent. I can’t let you do this either. How could we live with ourselves if I did?”

  “We all have our tasks, Henry. It’s always hard to be left behind, I know. But someone has to help these people keep going. Someone’s got to show them there’s some hope left. I don’t know anyone who is better at that than you.”

  “Me? Vincent, I—”

  “You kept us going when we woke up. When we wished we had just stayed sick. You persuaded Rickey to stay with us, even when he wanted to break away, to be responsible for no one but himself. You kept Molly alive after she wanted to give up, after everything that she’d done, after she realized she would probably lose her arm, after all that came crashing down on her, you persuaded her to stay with us. To save us, in the end. Your hope for us made dozens of people follow you out here, without enough supplies, without a secure home, nothing but each other to depend on. You did that, Henry. And now, you must do it again. Don’t feel bad for me. I just have to walk a few more miles, and then my job is done. I’ve got the easy part.”

  “But the others— I know that you know what’s coming, but the others, I’m sending them to die.”

  “You are only sending them home. They were already dying.”

  “Even worse. I should be caring for them, not banishing them.”

  Vincent sighed heavily. “I am caring for them. You must trust me, Henry. You already carry so much. Guilt from the past, worry for the future, let me carry this part. Let me help.” Vincent laughed and then continued, “It’s my turn to save the world, Henry. Let me.”

  “You have been one of my best friends,” said Henry, helplessly.

  “And you have been one of the best human beings I’ve ever met. I spent years among good, religious men. People who spent their entire lives trying to be the best, kindest versions of themselves. I don’t know that a single one of them would have had the strength to let Phil go after what he did to us. You asked me once about how much of what we’d done could ever be forgiven. But you, Henry, have been my example on that front. You give me hope. Now you must give it to others. Goodbye, my friend.”

  “Goodbye, Father,” said Henry, giving Vincent the title he knew he’d wanted most.

  He clicked the radio off and watched Father Preston get into the cab of the sprayer. They’d told the quarantined that the truck was to put out any remaining fires in the City. Only the two priests, Lisa, Nella, and Frank knew what it really was. The lie pinched at Henry’s chest. He watched the small line of stumbling people clustering around the truck and wondered how many of them knew what this really was. Undoubtedly a few must know. The ones that were still sane enough to put it together. Amos sank down next to him, the gas mask long abandoned in the truck. He scrubbed at his face as they watched Vincent hand out packages of food that they carried in packs.

  “He’s going to have to kill at least a dozen on the road. If they don’t all turn at once and overwhelm him,” said Amos. “He’s already had to put over a dozen down since the quarantine started.”

  “He has help.”

  Amos shook his head and Henry heard his breath hitch. He turned his face toward Amos and was startled to see the large man shaking with a suppressed sob.

  “What is it?” he asked, alarmed.

  “I’m not an angel. I’ve done things I’m not proud of in my life. Before the Plague and since. But I always tried to be a good person. I always tried to own my mistakes and make amends. But this— I know Frank Courtlen. I know Dr. Ryder. And most of the others down there. They are decent people. People that tried to make the world better, most of them. They don’t deserve this. Nobody does. And we’re pushing them out. Like they’re garbage. Sending them away to kill each other or choke to death in some lonely corner of that empty City.

  I was able to pretend before this. I was able to pretend I didn’t bear the same load of guilt that the Infected did. I didn’t kill anyone except when I had to. When they were going to kill me. Not even— not even when I should have. I lied to myself. Told myself I was a good soldier, not a barbarian like the Infected. Like some of the Immunes. I pretended you were equal to me, that I believed you couldn’t help yourselves, because of my wife. She was Infected, too. And what she did— I knew she couldn’t have done it if there was anything left of her inside. But— you started coming back. You weren’t supposed to come back, Henry. You weren’t supposed to be human anymore. So deep down, I never—” Amos shook with another sob, covering his face with his hands. He took a deep breath and watched the sprayer truck start up. “I never really believed you were human anymore. Not like me. Not equal. It was just a front.

  My dad was a vet for a city zoo. He used to bring me to work with him when I was little. I loved the big cats. He’d let me touch them when they were sedated. Always warned me, though, they might seem quiet. They might seem like they loved you sometimes. Like they’d make good pets. But underneath, they were just the same wild, hungry beasts they’d always been. ‘They’re just waiting, Amos,’ he’d say, ‘They just bide their time until they think they’ve got you fooled. It’s not the growlers you need to watch out for. There’s nothing so dangerous as a purring lion.’ And that’s what I thought of you. All this time, you were just quiet lions. That you were pleasant enough, but I shouldn’t expect anything but a bite if I trusted you. And I’d only have myself to blame for it.

  But I know better. I’ve always known better. It was easier to pretend. So much easier. Because how could she have hurt our little girl if there’d been anything left? How could I have stopped her the way I did, if she wasn’t just a husk? And it didn’t matter until now. My pretending didn’t hurt anyone. Nobody knew. Even after I came here to help, I reasoned that we don’t let beasts starve. But now— I can’t pretend anymore. How could I watch you day in and day out working yourself to the bone to feed a few dozen strangers and think you weren’t a decent man? And poor, sweet Molly, giving everything to save them from a real monster, all alone fighting to rescue a handful of crops. Or Vincent who walked into that quarantine camp with his eyes wide open to nurse people he owed nothing to, people he’d never met and who’d likely have treated him like scum if they had? How could I think you were less? These people we are turning away, they are real. They had families once. People they loved as much as I loved my girl. They didn’t ask for this and some of
them tried to stop it. And we’re pushing them out, not even hoping they’ll go somewhere else. We’re pushing them out, hoping they’ll die. We’re the bad guys, Henry. We’re the villains. No matter what happens, even if we save the people here, even if there was no other way to stop the disease, we can’t undo this. I’ll never be able to justify it to myself. Not really. I’m bad. Deep down evil.”

  The truck pulled away, trailing its train of stumbling people. Henry saw Vincent raise one long arm and returned the gesture. “Vincent said that we all have our tasks to do. Maybe yours and mine are to accept the roles of villains so that other heroes can save them all. So other stories can survive. What we’re doing— everything we’ve done so far, is to keep going, so that something, someone will survive to make the world better than it was. Better than the world Before, better than the shell-shocked scrabble for survival after the plague, better than us. Because that’s the choice, Amos. We turn them away and the Colony survives. Or we welcome them as part of us and we all die together. If your daughter were here— if she and Marnie could both know the whole story, maybe it wouldn’t matter so much how they remembered us, if it meant that they were still alive to do the remembering. Maybe I’m okay with being evil if it means Marnie won’t be. If it means these people won’t make the same mistakes we did. Or don’t have to make the same choices that we do.”

  They sat watching as the train of people was swallowed by the bright summer grass swaying gold against the blue sky and the rumble of the sprayer truck faded into the distant thunder of a faraway storm.

  Thirty-four

  It was good to be moving at last. Nella felt the old familiar tug of excitement as they packed up, as if they were going on a pleasant day trip rather than the City at the end of the world. She found she didn’t much care, the anxiety of waiting now finally relieved. They were doing something. The morning was warm and fresh after several days of heavy thunderstorms. They’d not discussed Gray or the boat and the countdown kept getting muddled in her head. She knew she was in denial, but she didn’t try to fight it. What good would it do now? It would only distress her and destroy Frank. He kept reaching for her hand, rubbing his finger over the scratch that had already healed, as if it were a magic crystal that could tell him how much time they had left. She let him do it without comment. He made her read aloud to him at night, telling her he was finding his eyesight weaker these days, though she knew he was counting the pronunciation mistakes and unintentional slurring she might be doing as she read. She let that go too, trying to let him accept what she couldn’t yet.

  She watched the other cells empty, the people in various states of clumsiness and exhaustion ambling out of the fence. Every face was etched with terror, hardened with despair. They were all going to die alone, and they knew it. Alone and surrounded by strangers. Her chest tightened and twisted as a wave of gratitude overwhelmed her. Whatever happened, whether it was a few hours away or years, she and Frank didn’t have to worry about being alone at the end. She looked away from the cluster of people emptying out of the quarantine camp toward him as he folded the canvas that had been their tent as tightly as he could, tucking it into a corner of his pack. The deep stain of his scars on his bare arms made him seem frail, and worry had drawn his face thin and taut. Almost a reflection of the misery around them. She knew he was fighting to pretend the days weren’t winding down, the summer wasn’t draining away. Their summer. The one that should have lasted fifty more years. But he’d stopped planning sailing trips the day they’d found Christine. He no longer talked about building a farm or exploring forgotten islands. He didn’t talk about the future at all, unless it was to plan their part in finishing the City. Her chest twisted again, this time with grief. Was it just that he didn’t see a future with her anymore? Or was it that he couldn’t see one for himself either?

  She knelt beside him as he clipped the last buckle on his pack. She brushed her fingers over the edge of the scar on his cheek and he glanced over at her, startled. She kissed him, a reverse of their first kiss. This time, it was her seeking his forgiveness.

  “What was that for?” he asked, smiling.

  “These people— don’t become like them. After. Promise me you’ll find a farm. Let me imagine you on a sunny beach, happy.”

  He brushed the tears from her face but shook his head.

  “I don’t want to leave you, Frank. I’m sorry. Let me go believing you’re going to find something better.”

  He pulled her into his chest. “There’s nothing better than you’ve been,” he said. “If you’re infected then I am too. Whatever happens, it’ll happen together. Just—” he stopped and kissed the top of her head. “Hold on, Nella,” he begged.

  The sprayer truck rumbled to life and they looked up to find themselves almost alone in the camp. He pulled her up with him and slung his pack over his shoulders. A lone woman watched them pass her cell without speaking. Across the way, Marnie offered a weak wave to them.

  “I’m glad you’re staying,” said Frank with a gentle smile.

  Nella nodded and held up her hand as well. “Good luck,” she said, “Remember Christine. She deserves to be remembered well.”

  Marnie nodded. She clung to the fence. They passed out of the gate, closing it gently behind them. Nella gave a last glance toward the people who were watching at the wall. She knew they were all strangers, but still, her gaze clung to them. She hoped they’d thrive, that they’d remake the world someday, into something better. Happier. More just.

  Frank looked back at them as well. His only hope was that they were worthy of the people who were sacrificing everything for them, most of all, the woman at his side and the priest walking somewhere ahead. He reached for her hand and curled his fingers around hers, grateful for the warm pulse in her wrist. Hold on, Nella, he thought, just wait for me.

  They weren’t able to stay together for long. The sprayer truck rumbled along quickly, leaving the group behind relatively early. It waited where Vincent had chosen to camp for the night, but the trek took longer than anyone had calculated. Of the nineteen left of the quarantined, twelve were in the end stages of the disease and had to be helped up from repeated stumbles or redirected as their attention wandered. Only Vincent, Nella, and Frank were willing to extend a hand to help. The others were too frightened to get close and were content to let the stumblers stay where they had fallen. So they reached the camp in two packs, the healthiest arriving first. Vincent kept a nervous eye on the sicker members, but nobody turned that day. The exhaustion from the walk didn’t do them any favors, though, the slurs and clumsiness becoming more and more pronounced as the afternoon drew on. Nella half dragged an older woman into the parking lot of an empty furniture store just after sunset. The sprayer’s form hulked against the remaining gold and purple light and a small fire sparked and popped on the tar several yards from it. She was the last one in and she could already hear raised voices. She helped the woman to sit down near the others.

  “— can’t expect us to sleep like this. We should— we should tie em up or something. Look, that one could barely walk,” yelled one of the men around the fire, pointing toward Nella and the woman she’d been helping. She saw Frank’s thin silhouette straighten suddenly as the man pointed and he darted over to her silently, pulling her away from the group of people sitting on the tar.

  “They’ve done nothing wrong,” rumbled Father Preston’s voice, “you can’t expect us to tie them up when they are just sick—”

  Nella was surprised to hear him speak up for the Infected.

  “It’s not a matter of right or wrong,” broke in someone else, “be practical. What if one or more of them turn overnight, while we’re sleeping? This miracle cure isn’t going to help us if we’ve been eaten alive—”

  Frank whispered a swear. “I thought that story was just for the radio,” he hissed.

  Nella shook her head. “Some part of them must know— Vincent has been taking care of the people that have turned for weeks. They’v
e all seen it. They must know, deep down, he wouldn’t do that if there really was a cure,” she whispered.

  “I don’t like that the Colony didn’t tell them the truth. Even if they ought to know better.”

  Nella sighed. “How else would they have got all these people to just peacefully leave?”

  “And when we get there and they find out for sure?” asked Frank.

  “They must have some kind of plan,” said Nella, “it’s beyond our help anyway. We turn off tomorrow night for the boat. Vincent and Father Preston must have some kind of idea of what they are going to do. They wouldn’t be able to— to fumigate the whole City themselves anyway. Some of the healthier ones must be in on it.”

  “Lock em in the store,” shouted a woman. Her face was half illuminated by the small fire, her anger and the orange glow creating a snarling gargoyle. “We’ll stand guard. If they want to rip each other apart, let them. They won’t get the rest of us.”

  “Surprised atchu Joanne,” muttered a slumped shadow from the tar. “Known you ‘mos ten years. Someday, soon, you’ll be where I am. Soon. Miracle we’ve lasted this long. Should have turned weeks ago with the others. Jus’ luck. Jus’ luck now too. You wan’ me to stay ‘way. Okay. I’ll stay in the store. ‘Cause we’re friends. But soon, you’ll think ‘s not enough. Soon you’ll want to kill me before I turn. Put me out of my misery. Jus’ remember, when you think you’re doing a mercy, jus’ remember you’ll be here too, someday.”

  The woman shook her head. “We’re going to get the Cure before then. We’ll be okay. You aren’t going to make it. You’ll be crazy by then. Sorry George, that’s just how it is. It’s too late for you. I can still make it.”