Neil glanced up at the window.
“Please, brother. Another house. For my sake,” added Elijah.
“Of course. Of course we’ll find another one.” He trudged back through the yard, skirting the animal bones this time, and hoping he wasn’t agreeing to search house after house before giving his body a rest. Let the next house be the one. Or I’ll collapse. Because there’s no way I’m going to stop him from finding someplace he won’t panic and think about his infant. Gotta stop being a shitty friend.
“I’m sorry,” said Elijah as Neil stumbled out of the fence.
“Nothing to be sorry for.” He patted Elijah’s shoulder. “Keep on keeping us safe. You know what’s out here a lot better than I do.” He picked up his bike and smiled. “Not going to lie though, I’m glad we’re headed downhill for the next one.”
It took two more tries to find the right one. Down at the base of the hill where the row of houses began to spread out and sprawl and the road began to branch. A little house, this one without a fence. A letter was tacked to the door, slid inside an old photo album page to protect it from rain, the writing beginning to fade to a soft blue in the sun. Neil read it before trying the door handle.
Carl,
I tried to wait for you. More than that. I tried to get you out of that place. A bunch of times. Jackie came with me the last time. The soldiers at the checkpoint shot her. Guess they probably told you that already. If you aren’t sick. The power’s been gone for over a month now. It’s very cold. Running out of stuff to burn and the fireplace doesn’t do much except look pretty. Stole from the neighbor’s woodpile. I don’t think they’re coming back. Don’t know if you are, either. I’m out of water and almost out of food. The only store that still has any is Keyes’s, and there are sick people inside. Or there were last night. Maybe they took care of each other by now, but I’ve got a bad bite on my thigh. It’s not looking so hot. I need to find help. I waited, baby. I did. There’s no one left except Lonnie and me. Nobody sane, anyway. He says that Shaker village up near Raymond probably still has a hand pump well and woodstoves. Probably food, too. Neither of us is going to make it on our own, so I’m taking him up there tomorrow. I’m sorry. If you really are sick, like they say, and you get past it, come find me anyway. Still love you, no matter what happens in the meantime. I took Barney with me. This is no place for a pup. And I worry about who’d take care of him. I love you, no matter what you did.
Peggy
Neil left the letter where it hung and tried the door. It opened easily. “Hello?” he called, knowing there’d be no one inside. The air was stuffy. Too still and too stale to be lived in. Thick plastic was still stapled over the windows, likely an attempt to keep this Peggy warm as long as possible. He walked inside. The small living room was clean, only a large couch and television sitting in one corner. The carpet felt odd under Neil’s shoes. Unfamiliar. A wooden chair missing its legs sat next to the fireplace. He could see the dining room table through the doorway. There were no chairs left around it. No end tables near the couch or bookshelves or cabinets. Framed pictures and small stacks of books piled neatly along one wall told him they’d been there at some point. He walked quickly through to the dining room, then the kitchen. Everything was still tidy. The counters were clean, the cupboards closed, mugs hanging over the empty sink in a row. There’d been no looters here. He checked the other rooms anyway. A bedroom with the bed made, dusty but smooth. A bathroom that still smelled faintly floral from the collection of tiny candle stubs sitting by the mirror. Nothing else, really. He came back to the front door and trundled his bike up the porch steps and into the living room, calling Elijah to do the same.
Elijah hesitated in the doorway, diminishing what little light was able to fall through the doorway. Neil opened a few of the curtains, resisting the urge to push. “No bodies?” asked Elijah.
“Looks like she packed up and left with one of the neighbors a long time ago. It’s all clear.”
Elijah’s bike clicked softly as he wheeled it in. He set it against the wall and looked back out the doorway for a few minutes before apparently deciding it was good enough. He shut the door and turned the lock. “This the only entrance?”
“The only one. All the windows are whole.”
Elijah nodded. “Help me move this couch across the door,” he said.
“Elijah, nobody knows we’re here. There’s no one out there—”
“It won’t take long. Then we can relax. Just in case.”
Don’t be a shitty friend, Neil told himself, then shrugged and walked to the far end of the couch. The couch was heavier than Neil expected— or maybe he was just more exhausted than he’d realized, but he was reduced to scraping it across the floor and it squealed on the wood of the foyer, leaving a gouge.
“Damn,” he whispered, eyeing it. He went back to the gouge after they got the couch in place. “This floor’s like three months’ salary. Maybe they’ve got some wax or something to fix…”
“Nobody’s going to scold you for scratching the floor anymore,” said Elijah. “There are enough other things to worry about without feeling guilty for that.”
“But she expected him to come back.” He waved vaguely toward the door. “She left it clean in case he came looking.”
Elijah glanced at the door. “He’s not coming back. He was sick, that’s what she was talking about with the checkpoint. They took him because he was symptomatic. Don’t you remember?”
Neil shook his head. “I knew they put my daughter in quarantine. Anyone who’d had contact with us at the parade or the hospital I was in. But I didn’t know it got this far.”
“It got everywhere. Took some time to figure out what was causing the illness, but once they did, there were quarantine stations everywhere. Started swabbing kids in school and people at work. No symptoms meant they had to check everyone. And if you tested positive, they took you to one of the quarantine spots. Kept you under guard for a few weeks. But then the soldiers started getting sick, too. Or getting attacked by their charges. By the time I got sick— there was no one left in the quarantine stations near me. This Carl is probably dead. If not, he’s wandering around his quarantine station starving. Just like you were. And this Peggy? She’s not coming back either. That letter is a goodbye. Even if one of them did, they aren’t going to care about the floor. None of this— stuff matters anymore. If they wanted to live in a mansion they could just walk up to one and decide to plop down their packs. It’s all just sitting out there. You have to stop thinking of money like you used to. Like every object is something you just have to work off. Put in the time and get the good. You want stuff, you have to decide how much you’re willing to risk to get it. Everything, everything takes planning and heartache now. Your mind and your time are your biggest assets out here, and you have to make decisions about how to use both. Bikes, food, water— those are worth worrying about because they help us get through another day. Floors? Couches? Just— stuff. It’s not worth your brain power or your blood pressure. Rest. Don’t think about the floor. Or the house.” He sank onto the couch and rubbed his calves. Neil sat down on the other side of the couch and pulled off his hot shoes. His feet seemed to pulse. He watched Elijah for a minute.
“Why’d you agree to do this?” Neil asked suddenly. “If everything is harder out here, why’d you come with me? I mean, besides my constant pestering. I have people worth the risk out here. But your friends and— and family are back in the City. Why come with me?”
“You aren’t my friend?” asked Elijah, avoiding the question.
“I hope I am. But you have friends who’ve known you longer. Who appreciate you more. I’m not a great—”
Elijah laughed. “Relax. You don’t have to prove anything. I’m out here to help you, sure. And glad to do it. But I’m also out here looking for the only thing other than survival that’s worth the risk. Other people. Infected, Immunes— anyone who can be helped. We do better with each other. Not so great alone.”
They’d seen no one since leaving Shay’s camp. Hadn’t heard anything that sounded human either. Immune or Infected. There’d been no real signs of life at all. “What if we don’t find anyone? What if the City is all there is?”
“It’s not. People still trickle in. And we found you just two months ago, didn’t we? Your family is out there, somewhere. Along with the people that set off with them. Even if we just find your wife and daughter, that’s still a start. It’s still worth it. Your little girl’s going to need people around. Not just you and her mom. You’ll find people or you’ll bring her back to the City. There are Infected out there who still need the Cure. We’ll find them whether we’re ready for them or not. If I need to, I’ll come back to the City with news about where people are caring for them or where there’s a large pocket of surviving Infected. Bring the Cure camps with me to them. We’re an endangered species now, Neil. Every one of us is irreplaceable. And a lot more worthy of worry than a scratched floor. I wouldn’t have had the courage to come out here by myself and I’m still concerned about what happens with my friends in the camps and in the City, but now that we’re out here together— I’m glad. It’s worth the risk to me. Don’t ever think it’s not, no matter what happens.”
20
Elijah persuaded Neil to sleep first, picking through the small stack of paperbacks while there was still some light left and pushing Neil toward the bedroom after they’d eaten. “Gonna read a while,” he told Neil. “I haven’t had a chance to since we left the camp. And it’s too dangerous to have a light tonight. So no reading after the sun’s down. Not until we’re safe again.”
Neil suspected it was only an excuse. A kind one, because Neil was half-slipping into a doze even as they ate. He didn’t put up much of a fight except to extract a promise that Elijah would wake him and take his turn on watch at some point. Otherwise, Neil feared the man would never sleep at all. He hesitated in the bedroom doorway, wondering if he should take the time to find different sheets. The bed was clean and the covers smoothed, but he wondered if it was wrong to use it anyway. He tried to tell himself that it was like a hotel. Just a bed. But it felt different. As if there was something profane about sleeping in a bed made for someone else. Someone who was probably dead. It’s just stuff, he reminded himself. He slept on top of the blankets as a weak sort of compromise to his unease. He dreamed about Randi. About those first few mornings after Joan had moved out. About groggily rising after a late shift to help her get ready for school. Too tired to do more than pour her a bowl of cereal and braid her hair while she ate. That was all, just braiding her hair in the quiet and the early morning sun.
It took Elijah several shakes to wake him up. The half-moon through the window was the only source of light. “Sorry,” he whispered to Elijah’s shadow.
“Don’t be sorry. I would have let you sleep through, but I promised. Maybe we should just both sleep. I’m being— paranoid. There’ve been no sounds out there, nothing but the breeze.”
Neil wanted to let sleep win, just sink back into the bed. But he knew Elijah wouldn’t be able to sleep properly if he did. He’d pretend and doze, but Elijah would be too nervous to really rest. Neil sat up. “No, I’m good, just took me a minute to remember where I was. You sleep.” He patted Elijah’s arm and stood up, hissing with pain as his tired muscles tried to adjust.
“Take a minute and stretch out,” Elijah told him. “It’s going to hurt like hell for a minute or two but you’ll feel so much better once you do. It’ll help you not be stiff in the morning.”
“Not much else to do in the dark, anyway,” Neil said. He hobbled out toward the front of the house.
The time seemed to crawl. Not so much because of the dark or the pain in his legs; after two years of pacing a pitch-black hospital, he was still accustomed to it. It was more the boredom. The consciousness of time passing. While he was infected, there hadn’t been any train of thought that led to boredom. Or any other type of emotion, except anger. There’d been no guilt. No sorrow. No joy. Nothing to differentiate one day from another. Or even day from night, really, except a little more light leaking through the splintering boards over the windows. It had been simply a stream of sensation. Hunger. Pain. Cold. Rage. Satisfaction when he found someone to fight and when he found something— someone— to eat. In the Cure camp, he’d either been too overwhelmed or too tired or too distracted to truly think about any one thing for long. There’d been the horror and the memories and then the panic and planning how to find his daughter. But stuck in the silent shadows of a stranger’s house, all he had to do was think. So he let himself believe he was bored because it was easier than thinking about how he’d arrived here or about what would happen next. He tried to take Elijah’s advice, to think out a mundane project step by step. More to fight off sleep than to calm himself. An oven. They’d need a wood-fired oven. He wondered what Joan was feeding Randi. Campfire-burned canned beans? No, he’d have to fix their cooking and food situation first thing. Brick oven. Near the well. Just in case. He’d need bricks and mortar. There was that little hardware store a mile or two from the cabin, but how’d he get it back without a car? He let his mind drift into the idea of bike carts or wheelbarrows when the howling started.
He thought he’d dozed off for a minute, dropped into a bad dream of the hospital. He pushed himself up off the couch and stretched his legs, his calf muscles convincing him that if he’d been asleep for a second, he wasn’t any longer. It took several seconds for the sound to repeat. He’d almost convinced himself he’d been startled by his own imagination when another howl erupted outside. It wasn’t close. He was certain of that. It had a faded quality to it. Sound travels farther now, he reminded himself, thinking of the engine they’d heard on their way to Shay’s camp. Don’t panic. Let Elijah sleep. Besides, it doesn’t even know we’re here. Probably just looking for a mate or something. Door’s locked, you’re fine. He paced the living room a few more times to warm his legs up and be certain he was fully awake, listening to the repeated baying outside. He’d sat down again and was watching out the window for any sign of either the dogs or dawn when Elijah stumbled into the living room.
“They’re feral. We need to find a weapon,” he muttered. “I thought you were going to wake me up if anything got close.”
“I would have,” said Neil. “They aren’t close. Go back to bed.”
Elijah just shook his head, fumbling near the fireplace. “They’ll get closer. Maybe they smelled us.” When he turned around, Neil could make out a hatchet and a poker in his hands. He offered the handle of the hatchet to Neil.
“It’s not us, Elijah. They’re just doing what dogs do. Looking for each other, looking for food— they’ll be gone in the morning.”
“They won’t, not if they’ve caught wind of us. As terrible as it is to say, it would have been better if we saw a couple of Infected out in the town today. Or corpses. The dogs wouldn’t bother with us if there was something easier to catch. There’s nothing out there though. Don’t know if everyone packed up and left or they got sent to this quarantine like the man in the letter or if they just died in their houses, but there’s nothing out there for the dogs to eat. Except maybe cats or rodents— things that hid from us as we passed through. They’re hungry and they’re dangerous. One or two, we can probably handle if we’re careful. But if they gather in a pack the way it sounds like they are, we’re going to have a hard time getting out of here.”
“What do you want to do about it? Hunt down the dogs? Don’t you think that’s—”
“Leave. We need to leave. Outrun them before they get close.”
“It’s pitch black out there—”
“Moon’s still up.”
“Not for long. And how long between when it goes down and the sun comes up? You want to ride an unfamiliar road in the dark? The dogs aren’t the only things that can hurt us.” He slapped the door behind the couch. “Besides, they aren’t going to be able to break in. They’re dogs,
even big ones aren’t going to be able to get in unless we let them.”
“The sound’s probably drawing Infected.”
“And? You said that it’d be better if there were Infected, they’d fight each other and leave us alone.”
“Doesn’t mean I want to witness it, Neil. And there’s a chance they’ll turn on us as soon as we walk out the door.”
“There’s also a chance— better chance that we run into either the dogs or the Infected or some— who knows, washout or collapsed bridge in the dark. If we stay here and stay quiet, the whole pack might just pass on by. If not, we’ll fight them in the doorway one at a time until we can escape. And at least we’ll have some light to see what’s coming. They’re just dogs. Even if they’re feral. Maybe they’ll sleep if they don’t find us before dawn and we just slip away.”
Elijah thrust the hatchet handle toward him again. “At least be ready. Please, Neil.”
Neil took the hatchet. “What’s wrong? Why are you so terrified?”
“I’ve dealt with dogs before,” said Elijah darting to the window as a long series of barks rippled through the air. “They found something. Or someone.” He pulled the curtain farther aside. Neil wished he could make out more of his expression. He wasn’t certain if Elijah was panicked or just grimly ready. “When I was sick, I fought a couple of starving dogs over some scraps. Most of this—” he waved a hand toward the web of raised scars on his cheeks, “is from that, not the other Infected. And then when I was with the scav team about a year ago, Lucia and I got caught near an old landfill. We had to outrun an entire pack. They almost killed me. Would have if Lucia hadn’t found the rest of the team in time and driven them off. They don’t give up easily. Neither do Infected. A starving pet is bad. Any starving animal is. But these ones have been out here at least two years. Survived on their own. I’m not even sure they remember they once belonged to people.”
Before The Cure (Book 2): The Infected Page 19