After the Cure

by Deirdre Gould

The packet of meal records slid from Nella's limp hand as she dozed in Frank's office. It slumped white on the dark carpet and the slight breeze on her legs woke her up. She leaned over and scooped up the papers. She started to straighten them into a neat pile and then gave up, tossing them haphazardly into her open briefcase beside her. She'd finished with them anyway. Nothing pure enough to revive the samples had been served in the past six weeks. All she had to show for her trouble was the return of a thumping headache. Nella switched off the light and walked carefully into the bedroom, trying not to bump anything in the unfamiliar dark. Frank's back was a dark mountain range gently eroded by the blankets into softer lines. She undressed and stretched her wounded shoulder carefully. She was relieved to be free of the sling and decided not to wear it again. It just caused more questions than she wanted to answer. The sheets were cold as she slid onto them, but she didn't want to wake him, so she left the space between them open. Her eyes slowly adjusted and she could make out the tired lines on Frank's face. He remained sad and exhausted, even asleep.

  She resisted the urge to smooth the worry from his face with her hand. Surely, he had to have defended people he knew had committed a crime before. He may not like to lie, but she'd seen him do it without too much trouble before. Admittedly, there had probably never been this much at stake before. Nella closed her eyes. She ought to be worried about whether she would blow it herself, rather than whether he would. Her thoughts fluttered like gray moths. Sadness for Frank, the strange visit of the jeweler, Wells's worried face. One by one they made their circuits and floated away.

  A thunk and a chiming crash woke her with a start. She froze and sucked in a panicked breath. Frank's was already sitting up on one elbow. He brushed his fingers across her back, looking for glass. "Are you all right? Did it hit you?" he asked.

  Nella was still disoriented. "What? I don't think so. What is it?"

  "Fucking zombie!" floated up from the street, "Don't even have the decency to shoot the bastard when you're with him." The voice was oily and uneven.

  "Drunk. Great, it's starting early." Frank stood up looking for his clothing in the dark. Nella sat up. "No," he whispered, "stay there. There's probably glass on your side. And this guy might have a gun or friends or something."

  Nella grabbed his wrist. "Don't go," she hissed, "Just let them go away."

  "I have to. I have to at least see who it is."

  "No, why? They're all the same. What if there's more than one?"

  "What if they want to burn the house down?"

  "No Frank, don't-"

  He leaned over and hugged her. "I have to. I'll be careful. Stay here, don't let them see you." He pulled his wrist gently out of her hand and padded into the hallway in only his shorts. Nella scrambled to find her clothes. She crept down the stairs after him as he closed the front door behind him. The pack from their trip was still sitting beside overstuffed chair in the living room. She felt around in the pockets and found one of the guns. She thought it was the pistol but couldn't be sure even by touch. She pulled the thick curtain an inch or two from the window and peered out into the dark street. The man was still yelling and the lights in the neighborhood were beginning to turn on, casting light onto the street in long, thick teeth of pallid gold. She could see the man half tilted over and holding a bottle by its neck. She couldn't see his face. Frank must have sensed she was there, because he moved in front of the window, blocking the man from her sight.

  "Terry? Go home. I won't tell anyone you were here. Just go home and sleep it off." She heard Frank's voice as if it were far away, through water. Terry? Wasn't that the new guard's name at the prison? She tried to peer around Frank's back, pulling the curtain a little farther from the window.

  "You're a piece of work you know 'at? Your neighbors know what you done?" Terry stumbled in a half circle, facing the growing pool of window lights. His arm flailed upward with the almost empty bottle. Nella watched as Frank walked calmly toward him.

  "'Ese your friends? Nah. Zombies ain't got no friends. You eats each other 'stead."

  Nella paced to the door and opened it just a crack so that she could hear as Frank told him firmly and quietly to get lost.

  "HE ATE HIS WIFE. AND A KID. A KID," Terry yelled. A baby down the street began to squall and Nella watched as a few men emerged from their front doors. Most were half dressed, their scars twisting like vines on their faces and legs and arms. Some were missing limbs. A few were carrying weapons. Bats, hockey sticks, golf clubs, tire irons, all shining like teeth in the light from the windows. She watched Terry recoil, their presence reaching through the thick haze of drunk and hate. "I see," he said, nodding conspiratorially, "You're all zombies." He stumbled and Frank caught him before his face could hit the pavement. Terry shoved him off. "Ge' off monser. James Grant tole me whatchu done. I know whatchu are. 'ID YOU KNOW HE'S THE LAWYER FOR PATS- PAAAAZ- FOR THE GUY WHAT DID THIS TO YOU? 'ID YOU KNOW HE'S GOING TO HELP THE GUY GO FREE. ALL OUR LIVES IS RUINT BUT THOSE THAT DID IT, THEY GETS TO GO FREE. AN' THIS ZOMBIE PROLLY GETS A SHITLOAD OF MONEY FOR IT. YOU BELIE' THAT?"

  The neighbors began descending from their stoops. Almost at the same time. Some hobbling, some smoothly sauntering, but all closing in on Frank and Terry. Nella held her breath and she checked the gun in the light filtering through the crack in the door. Ten or a dozen men formed a half circle around the two. Nella could see Frank's posture change. He grew bigger, lengthening as his muscles tensed and straightened and his long hands clenched.

  "Oh shit," said Terry.

  One very large man in the group of neighbors growled, "You're awfully lost Immune. This is our home. You aren't welcome here."

  "Can go where I want," said Terry, puffing his chest out in false bravado.

  Another man slapped a tire iron on his open palm as he closed the distance between the crowd and Terry. "Yeah? You know what we do to Immunes here?"

  Terry shook his head. A reedy man circled around behind Terry while the one with the tire iron kept talking. Nella felt like shrinking away from the door to hide, but she remained still. "Well," said the man with the tire iron, "When we get tired of taking chunks out of each other and an Immune wanders in . . ."

  "We eats 'em!" said the reedy man in a falsetto shriek and snapped his teeth together with a sharp click that even Nella could hear. Terry screeched and scrambled away from the group. He dropped the bottle as he ran back toward the City's center, not even bothering to stop and pick it up. Nella heard the men erupt in low chuckles and the lights in the windows slowly began winking out. But Frank still looked ready for a fight and she couldn't bring herself to quite relax. He turned toward the collapsing circle of neighbors and she could see the stress lines on his brow even in the half light. His scar pulsed and jittered as if he were grinding his teeth. She half opened the door, but the large man said easily, "You okay Frank?" and the reedy man clapped him on the shoulder.

  "Yeah," said Frank and she watched him relax and uncoil. She decided not to move and stayed in the shadow of the open door. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring trouble to anyone but myself. I don't even know why I chose to do this anymore."

  "No one could think ill of you if you decided to drop the case Frank," said the man with the tire iron, "God knows you've as much or more cause to hate Pazzo as the rest of us."

  Frank glanced uneasily back at her. Me? She thought, he's worried that I'll be upset if he drops the case? "Even people we hate deserve to have their say. We've all done things we aren't happy about. Wouldn't we all want the same?" Frank asked, as if someone had argued with him. Nella suspected this had been a long and frequent discussion in the neighborhood.

  "We know why you're doing it Frank," said the large man, "No one here's going to harass you about it."

  "Thanks." She could hear the relief in his tone of voice.

  "C'mon guys, it's late," yawned a neighbor.
The others split gently, each shaking Frank's hand or slapping his back and calling "goodnight" over their shoulders.

  "Go on," said the reedy man, pushing Frank back towards the house, "Your girl must be out-of-her-mind worried. And tell her I didn't mean any harm." He clicked his teeth together again, grinning.

  "You shouldn't keep her cooped up like that Frank," said the big man, "It's not polite you know. My wife said she was a good Doc. Helped her a lot in the Cure camp."

  Frank laughed, embarrassed, and Nella blushed behind the door. "Okay, we'll have a block party or something. We'll be more social I promise."

  He padded easily back to the door and flipped on the light. "See, I told you they gossiped," he said, without commenting on the gun in her hand. She replaced it in the pack without apologizing for it.

  "Are you okay?" she asked as he caught her around the waist.

  "I'm okay. Are you?"

  She nodded and blew out a shaky breath in relief.

  "It won't be the last time you know," he brushed a loose length of hair from her forehead. "It won't be Terry, I think I can safely guarantee that. But it'll be someone. Maybe not drunk next time. Maybe mean and sober."

  "I know."

  "Maybe I should take you home. You'll be safer there until the trial is over."

  "Don't you dare. You want me to lie awake every night worrying that you got killed? I'll just drive down here and sleep in the car every night." She pulled him up the stairs so he wouldn't think of it any longer. They carefully cleaned the glass up together and Frank pushed the desk over to cover the broken pane.

  Nella was exhausted. She had barely fallen asleep when Terry had thrown the rock through the window, and it had already been very late. She pressed her cheek against his chest. Her breath fell on him in a warm, curling mist. "Frank," she said, already more than half asleep, "I won't be upset if you want to give up the trial. I'll understand if you can't do it, knowing what you know now."

  "I can do it. It's just going to be harder." Frank's voice was bitter and slow.

  "We could find a boat. We could just disappear."

  He stroked her hair with his fingertips. "Nella, would you really disappear with me? We might never come back."

  Nella yawned. "I know."

  "After the trial."

  "Stan said we should go see the jeweler tomorrow. Say we're finding a ring. I think he knows I love you Frank . . ." She murmured, trailing off into sleep.

  "What jeweler?" asked Frank, but she didn't hear him.

  The Jeweler