After the Cure, Deirdre Gould [the beach read TXT] 📗

“Nella? Nella are you okay?” Frank’s voice seeped through the wooden door like sunshine, like warm water. Nella slid down it in relief.

“I thought the Infected got in,” she called. She crawled away from the door and he opened it. “Why don’t you have a flashlight?” she asked.

“I was- it’s cold and starting to rain. I couldn’t leave them out there like that. I brought the people on the porch inside. They are still asleep and I couldn’t carry them and the light at the same time. I should have grabbed one when I heard you, but I was worried you would fall- which you did. Sorry.”

“I’m okay. Are they all inside now?”

“Yes, I just pulled the last one into the living room. There’s a fireplace there and the woodbox is full.”

“Have you slept at all?”

“It’s early still. The sun only went down about an hour ago.” He groped in the dark and found her, lifting her to her feet. “Do you think you can get down the stairs if I help? You need to eat and you must be freezing. A fire will make you feel better.”

“You need to sleep too Frank.”

“I will, when you are taken care of.”

She slid her good arm around his back and tried not to wince as his fingers curled around her waist, brushing the streaking comet that ran down her side. “It’s not your fault,” she said as they moved slowly toward the stairs, “If he hadn’t jumped me, it would have been you.”

“But if I was ready, like you are, I could have acted faster. Maybe you wouldn’t be hurt. Maybe I wouldn’t have had to kill him.”

Nella’s knees felt shaky as they walked down the dark stairway. The rain made a harsh hiss on the porch in front of them. “I wasn’t ready Frank, or I could have thrown him off easily. He was clumsy and weak, if I’d been ready neither of us would have been hurt. It isn’t your fault.”

Nella felt with her foot for the edge of the stair, and at last realized they had reached the bottom. Frank held a hand in front of him, looking for the hallway. The light from Frank’s lantern hit her as she found the living room doorway. The Infected lay in a long row across the floor. Frank had covered them with blankets.

“I should probably try to clean them up,” he said, noticing her watching the sleeping figures.

“They are going to need food and water more than a bath,” she said. “I’ll help you in the morning. We can leave them supplies and a letter so they know what has happened.”

He lowered Nella gently onto the couch. “They will already know what happened,” he said grimly, wrapping her in a quilt, “but at least we can tell them where to go next.”

He slid the grate from the front of the fireplace. In a few moments they were sitting in front of a blazing orange fire. “The curtains!” said Nella suddenly.

Frank held up a hand, “It’s okay, I already thought of that.” He grabbed his pack and sat next to her, sighing with relief. He closed his eyes for a second in the pulsing gold heat. She thought he looked ten years older than he had that morning and realized with a pang how tired he must be.

She brushed the side of his face lightly with one hand, surprised to feel the bristle of stubble. He smiled and laid a hand over hers without opening his eyes. “You need to sleep,” she said.

“Soon,” he said, “but we both need food. You especially. And I want to check your cuts. We have to keep them clean.” He opened the pack.

“Let’s eat first,” she said, “I don’t want to look at the raw hamburger my shoulder’s become and then try to eat after that.”

Nella felt odd and criminal eating even a simple meal in the midst of the sleeping skeletons that surrounded them, and promised herself that they would either find ample supplies in the house or leave their own for the Cured before they woke up. Her wounds were clean and the puffiness had subsided from the scratch on her side. The fire made her drowsy, but something felt distinctly creepy about falling asleep in the living room, something that just wasn’t the same as falling asleep in a Cure tent surrounded by lights and soldiers along with the Infected. She felt exposed, unprotected, as if the sleeping man beside the couch would suddenly reach up out of the dark and claw at her throat.

“Frank,” she said, gently shaking him from a comfortable doze.

“Hmm?”

“I’m really sorry, but I can’t- I won’t be able to sleep here. Can you help me get back upstairs?”

He sat up rubbing his eyes. “Oh sure, of course. Just let me add a few more pieces of wood so everyone will stay warm.”

They took the lantern with them up to the dark bedroom. Nella was exhausted and shaky by the time they made it back. Frank closed the bedroom door tightly and shoved the dresser in front of it without comment. He placed the lantern on top and collapsed like a wooden doll into the chair next to the bed.

“I thought you were going to sleep Frank,” she said gently, stretching flat on the bed.

“I a-” his yawn cut off the rest of the word.

“Come to bed.”

“I don’t want to hit your cuts and hurt you.”

She gently pulled on his arm. “It’s okay, you won’t hurt me. You need to sleep.” He tugged his shoes off and began to get undressed. “We’ll never get anywhere tomorrow if you are exhausted,” she continued and he stopped, startled.

“Tomorrow? We can’t go tomorrow, the lab is still four or five miles. You can’t travel that far, you lost a lot of blood today.”

“We have to. We don’t have that much time.”

“Then I’ll go. You stay and rest.” He yawned again and crawled into the bed next to her.

“No way,” she said, “what if something happens? I can’t let you go alone.”

He scrubbed his stubbly cheeks with both hands. “Nella, what are you going to be able to do if something does happen? I don’t think you are going to be able to run. Or shoot the gun without causing more damage to your shoulder.”

“I could if I had to,” she knew it was a weak argument. “Besides,” she continued, finding his sore point, “what if something happens while you are gone?”

“What’s going to happen? This place is remote and safe from Looters. It’s well stocked with food and water and medicine. All you need to do is rest until I come back.”

“What if the Infected wake up before they are Cured? What if I get a fever and can’t take care of myself?”

Frank groaned and rubbed his hand over his smooth skull. He rolled onto his side and looked at her. “I don’t want to fight now. Let’s fight in the morning when I can think.”

She laughed gently. “Okay, we’ll fight in the morning.”

He leaned over and kissed her. They fell asleep as the rain made the swelling joints of the house creak around them.

The Bullet or the Cure

It was still raining, cold and misty when she woke in the morning. Nella had slept only lightly, afraid Frank was stubborn enough to slip away in the middle of the night. Still, she felt much stronger than she had the evening before.

Still clothed only in her underwear, she looked around for her pack before remembering it was sitting at the bottom of the stairs where she had dropped it. But the dresser was wedged against the door and too heavy for her to move with one arm. Nella stifled a frustrated sigh.

She stood shivering in front of the dusty dresser. She hesitated, feeling slightly cannibalistic, as if she meant to wear someone else’s skin instead of their clothes, but the chill won out. She wiggled the swollen drawers open, ready to leap backward if a rat scuttered out. But the clothes were undisturbed. They were neatly folded as if they had just come down from the clothesline yesterday. They were men’s clothes, far too large, but perfect for her wounded arm and side. She pulled out a sweater that still breathed a faint trace of the wood fire it had dried over. She eased it over the bandages on her arm, holding her breath expecting pain as the thick cloth brushed over the aching flesh of her shoulder. She got it on without too much wincing and then rolled up the cuffs of an old pair of jeans. They were patched and faded and all the stiffness already worn out of them. She got an eerie feeling again, as the fabric bunched and pooled around her waist, as if she had stepped into someone else’s memories. A half-formed hope bloomed in her chest that these people were alive somewhere, not Infected. She grabbed a thick belt from the top of the dresser and threaded it with difficulty through the large pants. Her mind wandered to the Infected sleeping below.

Nella raked her hand over her snarled hair in frustration. She would be able to find supplies, the house seemed well stocked, and even if it wasn’t, she and Frank had more than enough to spare for the people downstairs.

But they couldn’t wait for the Infected to wake up. There wasn’t enough time left before Judge Hawkins sent the military after them. How would the people downstairs react with no one to counsel them when they woke up? A note was no substitute, no matter how eloquent. Nella knew the prospects even for those who underwent years of therapy through Cure programs wasn’t very good. The current suicide statistics were something like thirty percent for the Cured, and not very much less for the Immunes.

They would remember the Plague, everything that had happened and what they had done after their infection. But they would only understand the events of the past eight years as they had happened for themselves. Without someone to explain, they could have no real idea what had happened to the rest of the world. Nella had seen it before, even after the Cured had been shown news footage, had seen communities of survivors, even after they had found some remaining family members- some of them refused to believe it. They would blame themselves, convince themselves that they were inherently evil somehow, instead of just ill. Nella picked up the pistol that Frank had laid on top of the dresser. They will probably all be suicides, she thought, isn’t it kinder to spare them the agony of realizing what they’ve done? She looked at Frank,his skin outlined in silver rain-light. He kept going. Some of them did. Some of us do, she thought. She put the pistol down and walked slowly to the window. The City was invisible in the fog.