After the Cure

by Deirdre Gould

It really was one of the worst meals Nella had eaten in a long while. She didn't care. The cafeteria was bright and open after the windowless cell block. A few administrative personnel and infirmary staff were scattered over the area, but for the most part she and Mr. Courtlen were isolated from the quiet conversations of the others.

  Nella looked at the shriveled pile of canned fruit on her plate. She sighed and then laughed.

  "What is it?" asked Frank

  "I was just thinking how much I miss bananas. A peanut butter and banana sandwich. I think I miss bananas more than I missed hot showers."

  "Hmm, I don't know if I would go that far, but a banana would be pretty wonderful. I never would have imagined that I would go almost a decade without fresh tropical fruit. I wonder what parents feed their infants now?"

  Nella poked the shrunken pear with her fork. "Not this I hope. Maybe after the trial I'll buy a boat and sail to New Guinea and start a banana farm."

  "I can think of worse places to retire."

  Nella was trying to keep both of their minds off of the disturbing task still before them. "What do you want to do after this is over?"

  He leaned back in the plastic chair. "I hadn't really thought about it. Everything's moved so fast, I'm still not entirely sure how I got this far," he perked up, "Maybe I'll come with you. I'll start a pineapple plantation next door. It'll be our cover, we'll really be partners in a rum running operation. I'll cook the books, you cook the rum."

  Nella laughed. "Deal. You take the east half of the island, I'll take the west side."

  "Wow," he said, "that was easy." He raised his coffee to his lips and suddenly stopped. "Wait, why the west side?"

  Nella shrugged. "I like to sleep on the left side of the bed."

  Frank coughed on his coffee. He laughed deeply and it was like a warm wind rolled across the world. Nella could count on one hand the times she'd heard anyone laugh so freely in the past several years. For a moment she was bewildered by it. A guard walked up to their table and Nella felt a pang of real regret knowing their break was over. Even the guard looked hesitant to interrupt.

  "Mr. Courtlen, Dr. Rider, the prisoner's ready to begin again."

  Frank straightened up and began tidying up his tray. "Thank you, we'll be right there," he said.

  The guard walked back toward the cell block. Frank looked at Nella. "Are you ready? Are you still in pain? We can stop at the infirmary if you like."

  "No thank you, I'll be okay. Besides, the aspirin makes it hard to concentrate."

  They both stood up from the table. "Listen," Nella touched his wrist to stall him, "Did you know all of this before you saw it on the video?"

  Mr. Courtlen's brow tightened and he looked troubled. "The version he told me was- well, it was highly edited. I'm not a medical professional, so I still don't know if I quite grasp all of it. But I knew it was Ann who was first infected and I knew Dr. Schneider had coerced her into tampering with the experiment. But I didn't know they started with a resistant strain. And I didn't know that it had been kept secret for so long." He rubbed the scar on his cheek with two fingers. "Six weeks. We never even had a chance did we?"

  Nella shook her head. "Maybe a few rural populations wouldn't have been reached by then, but the cities would have been heavily infected. And then as the outbreak began, infected people would have fled to those rural areas without even knowing they were carriers. But you're his lawyer. Why didn't he tell you all of this?"

  "I don't know. He hasn't told anyone this much. The other doctors- he wasn't lying when he said you were the fifth one. He'd string them along with the same version I got until they started asking him personal questions and he'd try to get them to answer personal questions of their own. And when they wouldn't answer, he'd refuse to see them again."

  "What kind of personal questions?"

  "Well, he usually asked them what they did to survive the Plague or what they did to help the Cure."

  "So why hasn't he asked me?"

  Mr. Courtlen shrugged and picked up his tray. "I can only assume it's because your history with the Cure is already well known. It was clear to me that the judges were tired of trying to placate Dr. Pazzo and decided to hire you to work some kind of miracle on Miss Connelly rather than do much with Dr. Pazzo. They are expecting her to tell the whole story. But it looks like Dr. Pazzo decided to start telling it anyway."

  "Mr. Courtlen," she said, and the icy boulder that had lodged in her throat reappeared, "I'm starting to think you were right about Dr. Pazzo."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I think he really has something important to tell us. I don't think it's a bluff anymore. And I don't think it is anything good."

  Mr. Courtlen stared at her. "What do you think he's trying to tell us?"

  She felt sweat spring out on her forehead and tears prickled in the corners of her eyes. She whispered so the scattered occupants of the cafeteria wouldn't overhear. "I don't think we've seen the last of the Plague."

  How It Spread