Before The Cure (Book 2): The Infected

by Gould, Deirdre

  “Let me help you. It’ll stop the pain until we treat you,” said the worker after a moment. “Just for a few hours. It’s still gonna hurt like hell when you wake up, but it’ll be manageable. Don’t worry, we dosed it for a Cured’s weight. You’ll wake up in a few hours. Let us help you so we can help the other two.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Neil and another cold bandage slithered around his face, followed by a pinch to his unburned shoulder. It took another few moments of listening to Elijah swear and groan before he drifted into a hazy gray twilight.

  12

  Neil woke in the dark, suddenly chilled. He was staring at the dark green canvas of the truck roof. His hands were thickly bandaged, but the fabric was dry. More crinkled against his cheek as he winced with the pulsing ache that seemed to envelop everything from the waist up. He wriggled his way up to sitting, trying to spare his hands, and was out of breath by the time he managed it. There was a sheet over his chest and legs. He knew it had to be close to seventy degrees in the late summer air, but he was cold anyway. Burns, Neil. You remember how that works. Had enough of them in the restaurant.

  “Don’t do that again,” Elijah’s voice floated out of the dark and echoed against the truck’s metal bed, making it sound hollow and distant.

  “Do what? Sit up? The metal’s freezing,” Neil asked closing his eyes.

  “No. The pit. Don’t run after someone bent on killing themselves. You never stop them, you only follow them into danger.”

  “You followed him.”

  There was a long silence and Neil looked over. Elijah’s hands were mitts of bright bandages, but it seemed those were his only injuries. “Yeah. Stupid. I know better. And I can stand to get a few injuries. I’m not already on the brink. You are. Don’t risk everything for someone who’s willing to do that. If they already decided it’s worth doing that, then your fate’s not going to make ‘em pause.”

  “That doesn’t sound like you, Elijah,” said Neil. “What happened to realizing things aren’t that bad? That all we had to do is hang on for a few weeks?”

  Elijah sighed. “We can’t make you hang on, hard as we try. That man decided not to. He didn’t hesitate at the edge of the pit. He didn’t stop to have a conversation with anyone, to talk it out. His mind was made up.” He stopped, shook his head. “I’m sorry, Neil, I don’t think he’ll survive. They’re still working on him, but… And if he does— he’s just going to try again. Sorry for your hands. And your face.”

  “Maybe he won’t try again. Most people don’t. And I was trying to help you. I thought you were trying to stop him. No offense to the guy, but I don’t know that man from Adam. Maybe he had a good reason to do it. I just know you were upset about it.”

  Elijah tipped his head back against the canvas side of the truck. Neil couldn’t see much in the dark, but he could tell from Elijah’s voice that he wasn’t doing well. “We all have good reasons to do it these days,” he said softly. “But the thing is— people here need us. Is our pain greater than their need? Enough of us give up, and nobody’s going to survive. Not the people still Infected out there. Not the Immunes. Not the kids who come after. The world’s not built for humans when they’re on their own.” He struggled to stand up, managing eventually.

  “Just rest,” Neil told him. “Gotta be as badly burned as me. Think about it tomorrow. Just rest.”

  “Can’t brother. Hurts too much. Everything hurts.” He wriggled over the tailgate, careful not to bang his bandaged hands. “Gonna get someone to help you back into the tent. It’s too cold out here. And you need fluid and calories.”

  It depressed Neil, watching Elijah walk slowly away from the truck. Should have said something, he told himself. Should have— I dunno, told him there are other reasons. That not everything is guilt and misery. There has to be more than that left. For me, there’s Randi. Maybe Joan. Maybe others. Is there anyone left for Elijah? Should have asked.

  Another worker came to take Neil back inside and he saw no sign of Elijah or the man who had run into the fire for the rest of the night. Simon found him in the morning, instead, while a doctor was checking his burns.

  “I heard about the incident yesterday,” said Simon, sitting on the edge of the cot across from him. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m not a fan of being fed by somebody, if that’s what you’re asking. Been putting off going to the bathroom because I don’t want a helper in there, either,” said Neil.

  “Your burns aren’t as severe as we’d expected. You’ll only need help for a few days,” said the doctor.

  Neil looked up at him. “Don’t think I can hold it that long,” he said. The doctor laughed and it made Neil feel better, somehow. Simon did not, and Neil was disappointed. The guy probably died and Simon’s trying to figure out how to tell me. Be nice, he told himself. He thought he’d make it easy and fast. “How is… I don’t know his name. The man who fell in?”

  “I think his name was Sam. And he didn’t fall in, Neil,” said Simon.

  Neil flinched when the doctor smeared a cold gel on his palm.

  “Sorry,” murmured the doctor. “Got to kill the bacteria. The last thing you need is an infection.”

  Neil turned back to Simon. “You said, ‘was’ so that must mean it’s bad news.”

  “I’m— afraid so. But not because of you. You did everything you c—”

  “Did he try again? Or were the burns just too bad?” interrupted Neil. The doctor’s glance at Simon answered for him.

  “There was nothing else you or Elijah could have—”

  “Why?” interrupted Neil.

  “I— I’m not familiar with his story. He was under someone else’s care,” said Simon. “But it isn’t— uncommon here. My concern is you, Neil. That was a reckless action to take for a stranger—”

  “Reckless? What should I have done? Sat in the truck and watched another human being burned alive?”

  “You’re in no condition to be doing something drastic like this.”

  “Right. I’ll just leave it to all the healthy people who were leaping out of the trucks to help next time. There were so very many of you,” he snapped and inwardly cringed at his own anger. Not fair, Neil.

  “We do our best to help you. We take precautions so that something like this is not easily accomplished but if someone is determined enough— there are hundreds of you in every camp. And we have limited resources, including time and— and care. Sometimes it’s best to let some of you go. Some people wake up and everything’s— too much.”

  “That’s bullshit!” cried Neil. The doctor gripped his wrist to keep his hand from flying up while the doctor worked on it. “You’re a— a counselor. You’re supposed to tell us how much there is to live for and how much people will miss us and how we owe it to our families to keep trying—”

  “When any of those things are still true, I do say those things. But the world isn’t the same as it was before you got sick. It just— isn’t. Social structures are just— gone. For someone like you, Neil, there are reasons to go on, good ones. Aside from some malnutrition and some dental troubles, you’re basically healthy. You aren’t facing life with longterm pain and no hope of treatment. You have heard some things that mean some of your family, your child, may be alive out there. You have some hope of finding them and helping them. Most of the memory you’ve recovered has admittedly terrible things in it, but those terrible things involve strangers. I don’t know this man’s story— maybe it’s just as lucky as yours. But lots of the Cured wake up to find that everyone they knew is dead and some, if not all, the Cured killed with their own hands. Some find that there’s no more medicine to treat chronic health problems, either from injuries they had from when they were sick or from before. You feel pain now in a way you didn’t while you were sick. And knowing that’s going to continue, largely without relief every day until… It’s not just the terrible things that will happen or already have. It’s all the good things that’ll never happen again. There ar
e no more daily obligations. No bills. No work. No school. Nothing, except your own hunger. As crushing as our society may have been for those struggling, it kept a lot of people on that daily wheel. We kept going because of what we owed to one another. Not just— not just money, Neil, but labor, friendship, courtesy, love— all those ties are gone for a lot of people. When you’re scraping out a failing garden just to feed yourself and you’re breaking your back to chop enough wood just to keep you warm enough through the winter so you can do it again the next year— when there’s no one but you who’s relying on what you’re doing, you start to wonder what the point is.”

  “But that guy just woke up! He hasn’t seen all that. He doesn’t know if there’ll be more friends, more people to need him.”

  Simon smiled. “The fact that you want there to be more friends, more social ties, is why I say that for people like you, there are good reasons not to jump into a fire. That man, too many of the Cured, they don’t want to make those ties. They think they destroyed the old ones, so why would they want to repeat that? The point is, there are people I can help. Lots of them. And there are some that I can try to help until they give up anyway. The reality is that there aren’t enough counselors and psychiatrists and trauma experts. Not even for the drop in the bucket that each Cure camp is. It seems cold to you, right now, letting someone committed to die go. Some of us see it as a— kindness. Some of us see it as prioritizing other patients who can still benefit from our work.”

  “Elijah doesn’t think either of those things,” said Neil.

  Simon looked grim. “That’s why Elijah’s on the verge of burnout. He’s not going to make another tour. I doubt he’ll even get through the two camps still scheduled before winter. He’ll cycle off and I hope find better work in the City.”

  “He’s a good person. He helps—”

  “Yes, he is. And that’s exactly why he doesn’t belong here. This is all new. Even for us. We don’t know who’s going to be able to handle this until we try. It was a good idea to have Cured workers to meet you when you woke. But it’s not working. It’s not good for them. Maybe, in a few years, if there are Camps left, with some distance, he’ll be able to come back. And for now, he’d be a good match for helping the Cured adjust when they get to the City. When this part of your reawakening is over. The suicide rate drops precipitously by the time you get there. More social ties form. More obligations to meet. More reasons to try. He’ll be happier there. And so will you, which is what I came to check on, after all.”

  “Not going to the City,” said Neil. The doctor finished taping a new bandage to his cheek and moved quietly away.

  “I want to try and help you wherever you end up. Whether you’re in the City or helping another group somewhere else. My social obligations, the things that keep me going, are in helping communities thrive. You’re going to build a society no matter where you go because your first instinct is to find those new ties.”

  Something about that troubled Neil. It sounded deterministic or as if he were hell-bent on repeating mistakes. But it quickly slipped his mind because Simon grasped his elbow and gently lifted him to his feet.

  “Come on, time for lunch,” he said. “Got to get some more calories in you before we talk about remaking the world.”

  13

  Neil went looking for Elijah shortly after dusk. He’d normally have been wandering the Camp on night rounds just after dinner, but with his injuries, Neil guessed he’d been given the night off. At first, Neil had been inclined to leave him alone, respect his time off. But he started to wonder if anyone had checked on Elijah. The way he’d left the truck had troubled Neil, and he hadn’t seen the man since.

  The Cured in the tent were a strange mix. Many still wept on and off or stared blankly for several moments. Others had begun to recover or to push aside their grief, Neil wasn’t sure which. But the small bursts of laughter along with the conversation and occasional card games made a jarring contrast to the heavy silence of the past several days and especially to what they’d all seen at the fire pit. It disturbed Neil, even as he told himself the sounds should make him happy, should give him hope. The pain in his hands was still intense and distracting. The doctor had apologized when Neil had asked for something to dull the searing ache and explained that the camp had very little before handing him an old container of burn gel. There was little to do without the use of his hands except sit and worry about Elijah. Neil gave up after a little while and set off to find him.

  A worker stopped him at the tent flap. “You should stay here,” she told him. “Your burns are still bad and if you get some dirt from the field under those bandages, they might become—”

  “I just wanted to find Elijah.”

  She nodded. “I see. He’s not on tonight. He’ll be off for a few more days while his hands heal. I can help you with whatever you need, though.”

  “It isn’t what I need. Don’t need anything at the moment. I just wanted to see how he was doing. Has anyone talked to him since— since that guy died?”

  The worker looked troubled. “I’m— I’m sure someone must have. There are lots of counselors available if—”

  “I meant someone who knew him. Who doesn’t see him as a job to do. Does he have friends here?”

  “A— a few. I mean, the Cureds mostly stick to themselves but Elijah’s a— a nice guy, I’m sure he’s got a few—”

  “Can I just see him?” interrupted Neil. “I’m not going to harass him or ask him for anything. And if he doesn’t want to talk to me, I’ll leave again, ok? Might be nice for him to have someone to sit with.”

  She hesitated, then waved another worker over. “Take him to the barracks. If Elijah’s up for a visit, he can stay. If not, straight back here.” The worker nodded and led Neil across the dark field and into another tent. There were partitions in this one, small cubes of canvas that rippled as they passed. The worker knocked on a tent pole and called Elijah’s name.

  “Off-shift,” came Elijah’s voice from behind one of the canvas panels.

  The worker lifted it slightly and warm lamplight spilled out over the matted grass. “Got someone who’d like to visit, if you’re feeling like it.”

  “Who? Counselor? I’ve already seen them. Tell them to bother me tomorro—”

  The worker shook his head. “Cured. The one who wrestled the shish kebab with you.”

  “Fuck off, Will,” Elijah snapped. The worker shrugged and turned to Neil.

  “You heard him, back to the tent,” the worker said. Elijah’s face poked through the opening. He was clearly angry.

  “I told you to fuck off, not Neil.” Elijah raised the flap a little higher with his elbow. “Come in.”

  Neil hesitated, then brushed past the irritated worker to duck into the small cubicle. A cot, a camp chair, and a lamp took up most of the space. The only other objects were a hiking pack and a stack of tattered paperbacks. Neil waited until he heard the worker’s footsteps rustling over the trampled grass to fade.

  “I didn’t mean to cause you trouble,” he said.

  “What? Will? That guy has trouble falling out of his asshole most days. It’s not your fault he hates us.” Elijah sat on the edge of the cot and nudged the camp chair toward Neil with his foot. His palms were still blanketed in bandages. “Sit down. What do you need, brother?”

  “Nothing, I didn’t come to ask you anything. I just wanted to see how you were,” said Neil, trying to get comfortable in the awkward canvas chair without using his hands to adjust the fabric.

  Elijah leaned back. “Me? I’m fine, of course.”

  “I have a feeling you’re contractually obligated to say that or something. Or like you think we’ll crack if we don’t see you as some kind of shining example of— I dunno, happiness or contentedness or something.”

  Elijah was quiet a moment. “I didn’t ever mean to lie to you. Or any of the others. It’s not…”

  “I’m not going to have a breakdown if you tell me you hate this
place,” said Neil after waiting for Elijah to find the thread of what he’d meant to say and failing. “Or that the immune people treat us like crap. My eyes work just fine, you know. Thought maybe you’d want to— I dunno, vent a little. But maybe you’ve got friends for that. Really, I’m not asking for anything. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t— lonely.”

  Elijah picked at his bandages, his nails gently teasing out threads from the edges of the tape. “I am. Lonely, I mean. There are only a few Cured who were willing to work in the camps. There’s only one other in this one and she… doesn’t want to be reminded that she’s Cured. She does her best to avoid me. I don’t want to make her life any harder so I— stay away. And the Immunes— even the ones who mean well treat you with pity, like life is this constant burden of guilt and depression. And the ones who don’t mean well, the ones who are doing this work because that’s where they were assigned, at best they think you’re a criminal. Which, I guess, is true. But they act like I’ll snap and go back to that— rage and uncontrollable impulse at any second. As if I wouldn’t save them the trouble and take care of it if I thought that was ever a possibility. There’s no one—” he sighed, shook his head. “There’s no one who just sees you as normal. Shay, maybe. She does. And Mateo. It’s not really their fault, I guess. Most Immunes didn’t spend much time with the Infected. The ones who did are mostly dead. The ones who survived spent most of the past few years fighting people like us. Seeing people they cared about die at our hands. It’s easy for the Immunes to— to think we deserved this somehow. Maybe it’s different in the City. There are more of us. There’s a whole section of the City where only Cured live. I never really gave it much of a chance. I’m out here except for winter, and then I just stick to myself. Go back and forth to planning meetings. That’s all. Maybe if I gave it a real chance, tried to meet my neighbors, maybe it’s better. Not to be constantly reminded of everything I’ve done by the Immunes. But… maybe I should be. Maybe I— we— don’t deserve to forget; to live something like a normal life.”