They should have known almost immediately, though, that the capitol had been abandoned. It hadn’t struck Nella as odd that nobody met them on the little back roads, that was why they had chosen the little hotel dock on the edge of farmland. A few days later, they reached a four-lane highway, and still met no one.
The highway was breaking up, saplings shooting up through the edges of the tar, charred rings dotted the roadway where refugees had lit campfires along the way. Stray cars had been moved into the median, sprouting grass in the cracks of the hoods and trunks, puffing angry balls of mosquitos from the wells of the flat tires. All the signs of people were there, but nobody moved along the road. There were no new signs or markets along the way, something common on the roads leading to Frank and Nella’s city. Frank was just ahead of her, his body a cool blade of shadow against the hazy setting sun. He whistled as he crested a slight hill and turned back toward her.
“You’ve got to see this, it’s incredible.”
She hurried up the hill and looked down into a low plain. It was obviously marsh most of the year, the thick odor of decaying leaves still strong in the dry heat of the early summer. A herd of deer jostled and crowded each other, their brown backs like a heat shimmer over the long grass. More than a hundred of them wandering over eight crumbling lanes where thousands of cars had zipped through just a decade before.
“I haven’t seen a deer in years,” said Nella, “I thought they were all eaten. I thought the Infected got them.”
Frank shaded his eyes with one hand. “It’s the capitol, maybe the Infected were better contained here. I heard on the radio in the shelter that the President issued an executive order to shoot on sight. They would have protected the capitol before everything else.”
Nella tore her gaze from the animals and scanned the horizon, looking for some sign of the large buildings of the capitol, buildings that should have been visible by then. “What about survivors? What are they eating? Wouldn’t they hunt any game in the area?”
She saw a frown flash over his face, but he glanced at her and quickly exchanged it for a grin. “C’mon Nella, when have you ever heard of a politician performing actual manual labor?”
She smiled back, but when she took his hand, he squeezed it a little too tightly. Joking aside, what about the refugees? People who had camped on the road before them had almost certainly been hungry and used to providing for themselves. A herd of deer like this would feed hundreds of people. Unease began to rumble through her. She tried to shake it off. “Do you think we should go around them?”
He shook his head. “No, we can go through, they’ll probably scatter when we get closer.”
They walked down the slope, heavy hiking boots clumping against the road, the boxes of Cure darts jingling in Nella’s pack. A few of the deer looked up at them, chewing lazily. None of them moved. Frank waved his long arms at them, but the few that had looked up went back to grazing and ignored him.
They were within reach of the outskirts of the herd. For a moment Nella forgot her worry in the thrill of touching a sleek, furry pelt in front of her. The doe she touched looked up at her and snuffled Nella’s outstretched hand.
“Maybe they were petting zoo deer,” offered Frank quietly. The doe’s ears twitched but it didn’t bolt.
“Or maybe they’ve never seen a human before,” Nella responded.
Frank frowned. “That’s impossible. The capitol is huge, there must be people that pass by here every day, even after the Plague.”
Nella bent over and ripped up a bundle of grass. She offered it to the doe. The animal pulled it gently from her grip. “We haven’t seen anyone.”
“Maybe they blocked off this side for some reason.”
“Maybe.”
Frank began gently pushing his way through the herd. “Careful,” said Nella softly, “if they get spooked we might be trampled.” She followed him through the warm, shifting mass of beasts. “Are we going to make it before nightfall?”
Once they made it up the next hill and had left the deer behind, he pulled out a battered road atlas from his pack and spread it open on the warm tar, crouching beside it. “We only have about a mile left. We should start seeing lights soon anyway, even if my measurement is off. Want to keep going or are you nervous about getting there in the dark?”
Nella knelt beside him, her hand fiddling with the handle of a heavy folded knife. “I was nervous about bands of looters or desperate refugees. I was even nervous about what a new government might be like when we reached the city. But now I’m scared that there won’t be anyone. We should have seen rooftops by now. Monuments, spires, something. We should have seen new farms to feed the people in the capitol out here.”
Frank reached around her shoulder and pulled her into a hug. “The trees are taller now, maybe they’re just blocking the view a little farther than they used to. Maybe they’ve turned their parks into farms like we did. There are a lot more parks here than there are behind our Barrier.”
Nella nodded. “I hope so. I think I’m more afraid of finding nothing than I am of finding hostile people.”
Frank shook his head. “There were millions of people living here. Probably thousands more that must have come here over the past few years looking for help. There must be somebody. Or messages for another safe place, or something. We’ll find someone.”
He folded up the atlas and tucked it back into his pack. They turned onto the freeway exit and walked toward the dark line of toll booths. Squat and whistling where the breeze blew through the broken glass, they reminded Nella of gargoyles. Glass and coins flashed in the low light. She gripped the knife, scanning each booth quickly. It was a perfect ambush point. But they were here to find people, not avoid them. She took a deep breath and Frank slowed down to walk beside her. They passed between two booths and nothing happened. Frank glanced back as they walked away from the splintered remains of the gate-arm, but nothing was there.
The exit ramp dumped them into a bedroom community just a few miles outside the northern edge of the capitol. Walking in twilight through overgrown lawns in front of brick colonial buildings, the flash of early fireflies disoriented Nella. She looked for steadier sources of light, but there were none. The large houses pressed together, shrinking the grass between them, and at last fell behind them as shopping centers and gas stations took over. It was very dark now, no street lights, no glow from any window or fire. Nella strained to hear any sound, any voice, but only her own footsteps echoing Frank’s met her ear.
“I can barely see my hand in front of my face, Frank.”
Frank sighed heavily. He rubbed his hand over his head, and Nella patted his arm. “We’ll find someone,” she reassured him. “There must be someone. Maybe there’s no water on this side of town. Or maybe there was a barricade and nobody has bothered to dismantle it and expand this way yet. Remember, they don’t have thousands of Cured to make room for. Even with thousands of refugees there is probably still far more space than people. But we can’t do anything in the dark.”
Frank looked relieved. “You’re right,” he said, “I had it in my head that there would be all these people, just like home, but of course there couldn’t be. The whole point was to bring them the Cure. And moving resources like water and fuel is difficult now.” He squinted into the dark and then pointed across the street. “There’s a pawn shop over there, the security gate is halfway up but I bet we can secure it.”
They found the door unlocked. “Hello?” Nella called as Frank rolled the gate down behind them. Nobody answered. Nella pulled the camping lantern from her pack and set it near the gate. It didn’t give off much more than a dull glow. Frank looked at the lock and shook his head.
“It’s broken. But I don’t have the key anyway. We can lock the glass door and sleep in the back where there aren’t any windows.” He picked up the lantern and closed the door. “I think it’s almost out of batteries Nella.”
“Maybe we can find some here,” she said feeling her
way toward the interior. They slept on a pile of fur coats that had been hanging on the back wall.
Nella woke to a grid of gray light struggling through the security gate. She pushed the gate up and let the bright summer sun shine into the shop. It seemed intact. Nothing had been looted. It made sense, she guessed, what would anyone want old jewelry and electronics for now? She checked behind the counter for batteries. A few old ones rolled around the bottom of the cash drawer. She pocketed them but figured they were probably no good now. A large flashlight was tucked under the jewelry counter and Nella tried flipping it on. No good. She unscrewed the back, but the batteries had corroded the inside to a foamy white mess.
Frank emerged from the back holding a ragged sheet of newspaper. It was printed only on one side and the letters were muddy, like an old mimeograph.
“What is it?” asked Nella
“Well, there was someone here after the Plague. Someone organized enough to print and distribute notices anyway.” He held it up so she could read it.
Any persons with electrical skills, medical knowledge, or ham radio operators needed. Please report to 6900 Georgia Ave on Monday, February 3rd. Food dispensation will double this week in case of severe storms. Please plan accordingly.
Residents are warned about killing protected trees for firewood. Trees in park areas belong to the community. Violators will be shot on sight.
Nella began folding the paper, uninterested in the rest of the announcements. She stopped when she glanced at the date. “Frank, this paper is over three years old now.”
“Maybe this place was abandoned. There’s nothing terribly useful here. Or maybe they forgot to change the date, or ran out of numbers or something. Dates don’t seem to matter too much any more.”
“I guess we need to go to Georgia Avenue to find out. What was there?”
Frank put his pack on the counter and fished out the atlas. “A medical museum. Or an army hospital? I think both.”
“How long will it take us to get there?”
“A few hours if we cut through the subway. We have one more battery for the lantern, that should get us there.”
Nella shuddered at the thought of the blank dark of the tunnels.
“I’m sorry, I forgot.” said Frank, “We don’t have to go into the subway. We can go through the streets if you’d rather, but we’ll have to camp again.”
Nella shook her head. “No, I can do it. Every hour we are away from the boat I worry that someone else has found it.”
“I’ll be with you.”
Nella smiled. “I know,” she said and kissed him.
Chapter 6
The thick glass door flung open and Ruth heard Father Preston’s ragged flock hurling screams at the man who entered. She leaned forward in her seat and closed her paperback book around her thumb. She tried to peer through the filthy reception window, but she couldn’t make out who it was until he came closer.
“Nick,” she sighed. He pushed two rolls of toilet paper and a jar of cooking oil into the transaction drawer. “We talked about this. No kids.”
The man fumbled in his pocket. He pulled out a coppery bit of metal. His hands shook as he placed the bullet on the bottom of the transaction drawer. Both Ruth and the man stared at it, dulled from years of rolling between the man’s fingers. He shoved the transaction drawer closed and it popped open on Ruth’s side of the window with a bang. She looked up again at the man. His nose slid sideways from a recent break. A filthy band-aid curled up from the stubble on his cheek and flapped with every ragged breath. His eyes were two reverse suns, weariness radiating from the creases in his skin.
“I don’t do kids, Nick. Why do we have to go through this every week?”
“It’s Emma’s birthday today,” said Nick and his lips split into a slow smile of relief, “she’s eighteen today.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Ruth pushing the transaction drawer closed. It opened with a squeal on his side of the window. Nick’s face flooded with color and the creases in his skin deepened as a flash of rage passed over him. But then the slow smile came back and he reached into his back pocket. Ruth’s stomach felt as if it were being sucked up by toilet plunger. Nick pulled out a dogeared, yellowing envelope. He threw it into the transaction drawer.
“I thought you might say that,” he said, and closed the drawer again. Ruth picked up the envelope. “Emma Jean Fowler” was penciled lightly across the front, the marks so faded that she was almost reading the indents instead. Inside was a birth certificate. She put it back in the drawer.
“Are you sure?” she asked, “What about taking her to Juliana’s hospital?”
Nick raised a fist and banged once on the glass. He leaned his face into his arm and looked at her through the smears. “Every week. I’ve come here every week since I heard about you six years ago, Ruth. I’ve begged and begged. You’ve turned me away every week. You tell me you won’t do it for a child, but does she suffer any less than an adult? You think she doesn’t feel as bad as the others? Or worse? She’s confused. Scared maybe. All this time—”
“I won’t do children because I can’t, Nick. I’ve tried. I know, as well as you, how bad it is for them. I just can’t.”
Nick nodded against his arm. “I know,” he sighed, “I’m not angry. I know why. But she isn’t a child any more. And I can’t watch her— consume herself any more. She screams, God, the screams! I haven’t slept in eight years. I’ve given her the best care I could. The very best. Emma’s wrists have permanent scars from the straps. I remove the straps every day. I clean them. I clean her. I replace the padding. Sometimes I can’t bear to tighten them again when I put them back on, and she gets loose. She bites me, or claws me,” Nick gestured to the loose band-aid on his cheek, “someday, she’ll get loose and kill someone. I hope it’s me and not someone else’s baby. Nothing helps. She’s still in pain. I take care of her mess, every hour or two. I put her in clean clothes every day. Wash the old ones in water I drag from the hydrant down the block. Wash her diapers, too. Brush her teeth and her hair, even though she tries to chew my hand off. Who else is going to do that for her? Juliana may be a good woman, but people say she’s got more than a hundred of ’em penned up in there. Just her and that Father Preston, who yells at me every week when I walk through these doors. You think he’s going to change my girl’s diapers? He’s not got a speck of mercy in him. And Juliana— it’s a miracle she can get enough out of that little garden to feed them every day. She doesn’t have time to bandage Emma’s arms or untangle her hair. No one’s going to give her what I have,” a tear slithered down through the stubble on his cheek. “But it doesn’t matter. It never gets better. She’s in pain now, and she’d be in more pain at the hospital. I can’t think of her like that.” He stood up straight and cleared his throat. He jammed one hand in his pocket and pointed at Ruth with the other. “So you’re going to give us her birthday present.”
Ruth hesitated and the flush came back to Nick’s skin. “What?” he cried, “Is this not enough? It’s all I could scrape together. I’d hoped to get enough for you to do both of us—”
“I don’t do healthy people either.”
“I know. I can handle myself. But I need to know Emma’s seen to first. I’ll get more somehow. What do you want? Matches? Baby formula? Batteries? I’ll find them, I swear. Just— just don’t make us wait anymore.”
Ruth shook her head. “I don’t need more. I just needed to be sure that you were ready. I wasn’t, when it came to it.” She picked up the bullet.
Nick’s eyes widened. “But I thought that you did this because of your own.”
“I do. Nobody should have to kill their own child.”
“Who did it for you?”
Ruth stacked the toilet paper and cooking oil in the empty supply cabinet and locked the door. She pocketed the bullet. “My husband,” she said, “but he couldn’t live with it either.”
“I’m sorry,” said Nick.
Ruth ignored him a
nd walked out of the reception room, locking the door behind her. He looked even worse without the glass between them.
“Now?” he asked.
She put a hand on his shoulder. “If you want to take some time, say goodbye or— or get her dressed in something special, I can come tomorrow.”
Nick shook his head. “No, now. No more waiting. Not another second of pain.”
Ruth walk.ed toward the glass door. “Should I— should I wait here?” he called after her.
She turned around. “If you are comfortable here, it’s as good a place as any.”
He nodded.
“Don’t come home before sunset,” she said, “that’s when the crazy priest leaves.” She opened the door. The asphalt panted with heat. Father Preston’s filthy black shirt clung to his chest and sweat matted his dark hair. His face hooked into a snarl as Ruth emerged from the police department. He looked almost as vicious as he had when he was Infected. She still felt the ache of her arms from compressing the ambubag every time she saw him. And all for what? So he and his rabid Congregation could hound her every time she tried to help someone?
“Murderess!” he shrieked, “Faithless, craven monster! Is she all nice and tied up for you? Waiting to be sacrificed on the altar you built for yourself? How many children, Ruth?” He smacked the community board behind him with the back of his hand. Ruth’s eyes snapped to the photos.
“Don’t you touch those,” she hissed, “those are not for you.”
The priest looked surprised and turned toward the board. Behind the plastic shield, dozens of faces smiled out. He turned back toward her. “Don’t want me to ruin your trophies? You’re sick. You were a doctor. How can you do this? You have to be stopped,” he raised his arms toward the small group of people around him, “She’s going to murder another innocent victim of the Plague. To bathe in the blood of a child whose only crime was falling ill. She was a mother too, she killed her own child and now she murders others. Heartless, unnatural, wicked harlot! Will no one stop her? Will no one be a warrior for God?”
Krisis (After the Cure Book 3) Page 6