The 40th Day (After the Cure Book 5)

by Gould, Deirdre

  Frank shook his head. “I don’t want to be protected from you.”

  “Maybe I’m immune. Maybe— I don’t think my hands are cut. I’ll wash them, it’ll be all right.”

  “Of course,” he said with a small smile.

  “Maybe I can help,” offered the man who had come with Marnie.

  “You’re from the Colony?” asked Frank.

  “Yes, my name is Vincent. We have water and food, a place to rest if you like.”

  “Have you— have you had many visitors from the City?”

  “Some. Not as many as we expected.”

  Frank nodded slowly. “We’re too late then.”

  “You mean to stop the disease? No. We knew. Are you ill? Did you come hoping for a cure?”

  “No, we came back to help,” said Nella.

  “Came back? Who are you?” asked Vincent.

  “Frank Courtlen, this is Nella and the girl who met you is Marnie. She says she has a friend here.”

  “Henry,” said Vincent, fumbling with a radio, “He’ll want to know. And you— you’re the people that cured us. I knew you’d come. This changes everything.”

  Nella shook her head, “We’ve been exposed. Marnie and I, certainly. Maybe Frank too. We came to warn you. And to make sure it can’t spread. If we came with you, we’d just infect you.”

  Vincent shook his head. “We have a quarantine camp. I’ve been exposed too. The Colony is free of infection. But I have to tell Henry—” He glanced at them as he fixed the radio. The girl was eager, but the adults were exhausted, hopeless. His mood collapsed. He was grateful to see them, as if Frank and Nella were the help he’d prayed for days before. But to see the people who had saved him, who had resurrected him from hell, to see them so beaten and depressed, made him ache to aid them instead. “We can wait, you need rest. Marnie and I can call Henry after we get you settled. Do you think you can go a little farther? The camp isn’t far.”

  Nella nodded and picked up her pack. She stumbled a little as she pulled it on. Frank steadied her with a frown. She glanced up at him. “Just tired,” she said, “it doesn’t work that fast.”

  “You aren’t infected,” he said.

  Vincent stood for a long moment at the graveside.

  “What are you doing?” asked Marnie.

  “Saying a prayer for her,” he said.

  “But you didn’t know her.”

  Vincent smiled. “I don’t need to. I can see she was important to you and your friends.”

  “Thank you,” said Nella.

  Vincent nodded and then turned toward the Colony. He took care to walk slowly, though the light had softened to a dull gold over the field and the breeze became swift and cool over the grass. There was no need to exhaust them further. He knew he was being irrational. They were just people. His heart made them into fierce angels, ones who would vanquish the delusions of Father Preston, ones who would save them all. But they were just humans who had been in the wrong place at the right time. He wasn’t even certain that they’d cured him out of compassion rather than self-preservation. Still, he sent out a prayer of gratitude for their coming and hoped it was heard.

  Thirteen

  Marnie recoiled as the quarantine camp’s fenced cages came into view. “You want us to stay in there? Locked away?”

  “I know it doesn’t look friendly,” said Vincent, “but we really will take care of you. It’s as much to keep you safe from the others as it is to keep the Colony safe from infection. It’s just for a little while, until we’re sure who is Immune or was unexposed. Then we’ll go up to the Colony together. You can talk to Henry any time over the radio, he’s been looking for you since we left the Lodge. He’ll be happy that you’re safe.”

  “How many are in there?” asked Frank.

  “With you— it will be thirty-three. No, twenty-nine.”

  “They are turning already?” asked Nella.

  “Most of them were exposed weeks ago, in the City. It won’t be long, another week maybe, before we know who is Immune.”

  They approached the wire fence and Vincent unlocked the gate. He rolled the key in his hand and Nella had a dizzying sense of deja vu. “For me, another few weeks. And I’ll pass the keys to someone Immune.”

  He opened the door and motioned them in.

  “And the ones who aren’t Immune?” asked Frank.

  “I— didn’t expect to see you. The message said there was no cure. I did what I had to.”

  Nella gently squeezed his elbow, careful to only touch cloth. “There was never a cure for this one. There is no return this time.”

  “We can’t tell anyone, though. If there are stragglers, we have to persuade them to return to the City or gather them together somehow. We have to convince the Infected that the City has a cure,” said Frank, his voice low.

  “And then?” whispered Vincent.

  Frank looked at him for a long moment. “And then we need to make sure there is nowhere for the bacteria to hide, that it can’t survive to threaten the people who are left.”

  The light in Father Preston’s tent turned on as the last glow of the day evaporated. Vincent didn’t want them to meet yet. “We can discuss this later,” he said, “we have time, and you need rest.”

  Marnie was hesitant to enter her small cage, but relaxed when Vincent promised to return with the radio. He didn’t try to separate Frank and Nella, leaving them in the tent where the mother and boy had been and returning only to bring them water and food. The worry on their faces was too contagious.

  Frank pushed their packs into a corner of the small tent. Nella was staring at her grimy hands, holding them near the lantern. He glanced back at the packs, wondering if either of them would ever pick them up again, or if they’d finally reached their final spot, destined to rot away for years and years. He pulled off his mask, crumpling it in one hand as he walked toward Nella, stooping under the sagging canvas.

  Vincent had left a bucket of water. Frank dragged it over to the lantern and knelt beside it. “Let me see,” he said, and pulled Nella down beside him.

  “Maybe— maybe we can save them for last?” she asked, pulling her hands to her chest.

  He dipped a clean handkerchief into the water. “Close your eyes,” was all he said. She felt the cold cloth smooth over her forehead, break the tight shell of sweat and dirt that smeared her cheeks and the corner of her eyes. Then the soft chiming drip of the cloth being soaked again. He pulled the mask from her nose and mouth and the cool air was fresh and sweet with the smell of the crushed grass beneath them. The water dripped and curled down her neck, leaving a trail of relief behind. He reached for one of her hands and her eyes flew open.

  “Not yet,” she said, pulling back. “Not yet. Let me pretend a little longer.”

  He shook his head, his eyes already red with grief. “Why? What good will it do? Whether you know or not, the outcome is the same.”

  “Because if I’m infected, I’ll go to another cell. We’ll be apart. I just want to wait another minute. I won’t touch you, I just want to wait a minute.”

  “You aren’t leaving. Besides, I kissed you already.”

  “The gloves broke when I was getting the rocks. You aren’t exposed. When I clean my hands, everything will change.”

  He pulled at her hand again. “It won’t, Nella.”

  She let him pull the shredded plastic from her hand. The soft roll of water swallowed her hand as he submerged it in the bucket, gingerly scrubbing with the kerchief. She pulled it from the water and it shone in the lamplight. Her eyes were too full of tears to focus.

  “See?” he said, kissing her palm, “all clean, not a scrape.”

  She sobbed as he moved to the other hand. “Everyone’s gone,” she said, “why would I be different? There’s always a price, Frank. Always. I killed my friend. The world doesn’t let that go for free.”

  “A disease killed Christine. A disease killed Sevita. Not you. Not me. You have to calm down. Whatever happens, it
’s going to be okay.”

  Nella shook her head, but he just pulled the plastic from her hand and pulled it into the water. The sting of her skin told her it was broken. She didn’t even look as he pulled it back into the light.

  She pulled her hand back and slid over toward the packs. “You aren’t leaving,” he said.

  “I have to. You’re safe right now. If I cough, if I touch a cut on your skin, you’ll get it too.”

  “Maybe you’re immune. You couldn’t carry it if you were immune, right?”

  She tugged on one of the straps of her pack. “I don’t think anyone’s immune, Frank. They would have made sure. They would have tried to infect as many people as possible. That was the whole point, remember?”

  “But there have to be some. A few.”

  “Why should I be immune?”

  “Maybe I am then.”

  “We’re not.” She pulled the pack free. He yanked it away.

  “You aren’t leaving.”

  “Stop, Frank.”

  “I told you that it wasn’t me turning that scared me most, it was watching you go through that misery. The worst has already happened. Either you are immune and we’ll both be fine, or you’re already infected and I’ll take care of you as long as I am able. There’s nothing left to be afraid of.”

  “You can still be fine.”

  He shook his head. “No, I can’t be. Nothing will ever be okay without you.”

  “Don’t make this harder—” she started, but he closed his long hands around her arms and kissed her hard enough to be painful. She tried to draw back, but he pulled her even tighter and she tasted salt as his bottom lip split with the pressure. She gasped in pain and he let go.

  “What have you done?” she cried.

  “There was no other way to convince you,” he said, “I told you I didn’t want to be protected from you. If you’re infected, I’m infected. There’s no way I’m reliving the hospital. We stay together until the end.”

  A dark spot of blood welled up where his lip had split. She wiped it away with one finger, still crying.

  “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he said, but she wasn’t certain he really meant it. He pulled her into a hug. “I didn’t mean to. If there’s another reason— if you want to go, I’ll let you. But not to protect me.”

  She shook her head. “It’s a waste of your life. You could have been safe.”

  “Safe for what? Nella, I was waiting to die before I met you. I was just plodding day to day waiting until my time was done. You’re who I was saved for. Whatever is left, whatever time or sanity or life, it was meant to be with you. I’m happy to spend them all. There’s nothing wasted about it.”

  Nella put a hand on his cheek. “Don’t die, Frank,” she said.

  He kissed the scrape on her other hand and then smiled. “Everything dies, Nella. What is it you said? ‘It’s okay. The world will keep going’?”

  “Mine won’t,” she said.

  Fourteen

  “When can I see Henry?” asked Marnie as Vincent closed the fence gate between them.

  “I’m sure he’ll want to at least talk to you as soon as he knows that you’re here. I’m going to radio him right now. But he hasn’t been exposed. So he won’t be able to visit until you are out of quarantine.”

  “How long is that?”

  “A little over a month.”

  “A month? What am I supposed to do for a month?” she asked, flopping onto the small grass patch in front of her tent.

  “I can bring you some books if you like.”

  “Can’t read,” scowled Marnie, “I was in kindergarten when the Plague hit.”

  “But your mom tried to teach you at the Lodge. I heard her reading to you through your window every night for years.”

  Marnie looked up sharply. “How do you know?”

  “I was with Henry at the Lodge. A few of us were. You’ll meet Ricky and Melissa and Molly later.”

  She stood up and came back to the fence, squinting at him. “But you weren’t in the same pen as Henry. You were in the front. I remember you before you lost the eye.”

  Vincent felt his heart sink. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I was in the front pens.”

  “My mother tried to cure the front pens. She walked for days to get the Cure for you. Do you remember her?”

  “I remember,” said Vincent, trying to decide if he should say more.

  “I can’t remember what she looked like anymore.”

  “Very much like you, from what I recall.”

  Marnie was quiet for a moment. “Was it you?” she asked at last. “I— I know you didn’t mean to. I know it was the sickness. But was it you? Did you kill her?”

  “It was me. I’m sorry Marnie.”

  “But you weren’t sorry,” she said. “She was just food to you. I heard her crying for days. She asked my dad to shoot her, but he wouldn’t. I wanted to help her, but she pushed me away.”

  Vincent crouched near the fence so that he could see her face. “She wasn’t pushing you away to hurt you, Marnie. She was trying to protect you. She thought you’d get thrown into the pen with her. I fought it as long as I could. I remember her every day. I know it’s too much to ask, but I hope you will think about forgiving me. For your sake, not mine. I will try to be your friend no matter what you decide to do.”

  Marnie nodded, though she wasn’t certain that she could forgive him. Or that she should. She just wanted the conversation to end. “Can you find Henry for me? I’d really like to talk to him now.”

  “Of course,” said Vincent and retreated to his own tent for the radio. He closed his eyes, fighting the picture of Elizabeth huddled against the splintery wooden palings weeping as she watched him and frantically turning her little girl away from the crack in the walls. She wasn’t the first person he’d killed, but he remembered her best, because of Marnie. And now he had to hope she’d trust him to keep her safe for weeks. He needed Henry and dreaded telling him at the same time.

  Fifteen

  Henry stripped the last of the silk from the cob and dropped it into the fire where it sizzled and drooped. “How many for seed again?” he asked.

  “At least two hundred. But we have to eat something. Remember, we want the biggest and sweetest for next year. No more labs to do it for us,” said Amos, counting the cobs in his barrow. “We don’t have to get it all from this batch though, plenty coming.”

  Molly sighed. “Plenty. That’s a nice, comfortable word. Haven’t heard that much lately.”

  “Wish I could say it was going to be a familiar word. There’s just too many people relying on too small a garden.”

  Henry looked down the hill where the quarantine camp’s lanterns glittered like a strange constellation. “Our numbers will go down, soon enough,” he said.

  “I hate to say it, but I’m glad it’s the disease and not us that is doing the choosing,” said Amos.

  “That’s only because it hasn’t taken anyone we know yet. Vincent’s still— himself, isn’t he?” asked Molly, carefully spreading the husks to dry beside the fire.

  “He’s lost a few people down there. He’s had to— he thinks he’s a murderer. Father Preston apparently excommunicated him. But he’s still Vincent. The longer this goes on, though, the more I regret setting up that quarantine camp to begin with. What if none of them are immune? We would have lost a good man for no reason.” Henry tore at some corn silk.

  “No Henry, don’t regret it. Even if none of them are immune, that quarantine camp is what’s saving the people up here. It gives the refugees some hope. Makes them less desperate. If it didn’t exist, or if someone less kind and careful than Vincent were running it, the people fleeing the City would have attacked us just to be let in. They’re so scared they don’t even realize they brought the thing they were running from with them. They would have fought us and then people up here would have become infected. The whole Colony would have been lost. Vincent’s not just saving the Immunes down in that cam
p, he’s saving us all. The best thing for us to do is to honor that and help these people survive. We don’t have an easy road ahead of us either.”

  The radio on Henry’s belt crackled and startled them all. “Anyone home?” Vincent’s voice was tight and strained. Amos stood up and looked toward the camp, as if expecting attack or fire. Henry held the radio up. “We’re here, Vincent.”

  “The others are with you?”

  “Molly and Amos are, do you want me to find the others?”

  “N— yes, Henry, go find them. The people that cured us are here. They have— news. But give the radio to Amos first.”

  “I’m here,” said Amos, after Henry handed him the set.

  “Oh, good, well, we need to add a few numbers to the food delivery and we’re getting low on lime.”

  Amos frowned. “He’s gone, Vincent. What did you not want to tell him?”

  “I’m not good at this.”

  Amos smiled. “I like you better for it,” he said.

  There was a long silence before Vincent sighed, “It was his Marnie. I’m certain of it. She’s been exposed, the other woman turned just after you left them. What do I tell him?”

  Molly sucked in a startled breath. Amos glanced at her. “Is she showing symptoms?”

  “She’s not sick yet, but the woman, Christine— they’d been in the same shelter for weeks.”

  Amos shook his head and looked at Molly. “If we tell him, he’ll just go running down there. He’ll feel like it’s his obligation even though there’s nothing he can do.”

  “If we don’t tell him,” said Molly, “he’ll never forgive us. He’ll leave anyway.”

  “Amos?” Vincent’s voice stuttered over the radio.

  Amos blew out a sigh and then spoke into the handset. “We have to tell him, Vincent.”

  “It’s a death sentence.”

  “It’s his choice. Maybe we can put him somewhere else to minimize the risk of exposure. Maybe she’s immune. Maybe he’s immune.”

  “But you need him there.”

  Amos nodded, though Vincent couldn’t see him. “I do. We do. But we can’t chain him up and force him to stay. He thinks Marnie is the reason he was cured, that protecting her is his entire purpose. I can’t take that from him.”