Poveglia (After the Cure Book 4)

by Deirdre Gould

  Dom had a terrible fight with Wells and Johnson when they got back. Ann was still black and blue. She wouldn’t come out of the far corner of her room anymore. Her guards refused to leave her, they stood in front of her door at all times, even taking shifts to sleep. I felt terrible, but it was too late for that. And we knew had bigger problems by then.

  It was only a few days later that the radio broadcast from the City came through. We knew the soldiers were trapped in the City and we knew the Plague was back. We had a staff meeting. There was a big argument over what to do. Some of us wanted to use the isolation wards on the Infected. Just until the City recovered. Just until the authorities could come tell us what we were supposed to do. The doctor said there weren’t enough rooms. He said we could all be infected. That we wouldn’t even know it until it was too late. And even if we beat the odds, even if a few of us were Immune, how were we going to care for over a hundred people? We were low on supplies, our run to the City was overdue. We had enough food maybe for a week. He said we had to consider other possibilities.”

  “Is he the one who poisoned the food?” asked Nella.

  “No. It was Dom, Martha, Ralph and I. We could see everyone getting worse. We could see them stumbling or hear them slurring. A few of them scratched themselves until they bled— we thought this was kinder. It was only us who weren’t showing symptoms. So, when Dom and I got cooking duty this week, we decided to do it. They just went to sleep. Just dropped off. Then, Dom and Martha— they finished it. There wasn’t enough medicine for the whole thing, so they— they finished it. Not violent, just blocking their airways. Everyone ate at the same time, so nobody had time to panic. The only exceptions were Ann, Wells and Johnson. I still felt bad about Ann, and Wells was already really sick. So I told Johnson what was happening. She agreed to take care of the three of them. I gave her the poison the night before, and that’s the last I saw of any of them. Ralph and I moved the other bodies to the porch. We made sure everyone was there. Then it was time to go.

  Dom and I came back here to fill up our packs with food and water. We were going to go to the Cured colony, but we weren’t sure they’d take us in. Not after the radio broadcast. We wanted to be ready, in case. Ralph and Martha were supposed to get the van. I— I tripped on the rubber mat near the kitchen door. Just caught my foot. Kind of thing that happens every day. But Dom saw it. He accused me of being Infected. He tried to force-feed me a pill. Same medicine we’d used in the oatmeal. But I got away for a few seconds. He chased me around the end of the Line. I shoved everything off the counter that I could and one of the plates that shattered cut him. I slid on the wet floor and he was able to grab me. He was so angry. Like it finally boiled over. He didn’t try to make me take medicine, though. Instead, he started choking me. We struggled until we got to where you are standing, Miss. I was able to duck free for a second, and I slammed the fry cutter down on his hand. Dom and I, we were always friends. We had each other’s back. I never wanted to hurt him. But I had to save myself. His hand got stuck, he couldn’t get the fry cutter back out, but I thought he was going to, so I ran into the refrigerator. I was only supposed to be there a few minutes. Just until Martha and Ralph came back, then we’d straighten it out. But they never did come back. I barred the door with an old mop handle, just in case Dom tried to come in. He yelled and yelled at me. After a while, it wasn’t even words. Just screaming. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt him. Last night he just stopped. And then you got here.”

  Nella gave the woman a small smile of sympathy, though an uneasy ache for Ann’s pain chewed away at her. It wasn’t the woman’s fault. How could she know the director would snap? The woman smiled back.

  “It’s going to be all right now. You’ll take me with you, won’t you? I know I can help at the colony, they need people with medical skills there. Maybe we’ll be able to find Dom on the way there. I’ll apologize and—” her words trailed off and she stared at Frank. Nella glanced over at him to see what she was staring at. Frank had both hands around the knife’s pommel.

  “Frank—” Nella started.

  “I’m healthy!” cried the woman, “I’m not infected! You can have whatever you want. You want food? There’s plenty for three. You want drugs? I’ll show you where we keep them, just—”

  “I’m really sorry,” said Frank.

  “Don’t—” cried Nella at the same time that Frank lunged forward, stabbing the woman in the chest. He pressed his weight into her, and the blade slid in up to the hilt. The woman gasped and Frank yanked the blade out again. The woman slumped to her side, her chest a pulsing fountain of blood, and Nella turned to stare at Frank in shock.

  Thirty-three

  “What is it you want?” asked Henry, staring at the strange figure in the burlap cowl.

  “To give you another way.” Henry could hear a smug, oily tone in the stranger’s voice and his skin rippled with goose bumps. He was glad to see Vincent casually grab the handle of a nearby shovel. There was nothing resembling a weapon in Henry’s reach.

  “And what way is that?” asked Vincent calmly, but Henry could see the priest’s knuckles whiten around the shovel.

  “Why, Brother Vincent, Transubstantiation of course.” The stranger let the burlap fall from around his face and Vincent gasped and the shovel dropped with a clatter onto the barn floor. Even Henry took a step backward as the soft summer light hit the man’s face. Deep scalloped ovals and half circles glowed against the man’s cheeks and ribbons of missing skin still suppurating, ran greenish-yellow and watery from forehead to chest, where they disappeared under the hot, itchy burlap cloak. Henry winced in sympathy even as it made him more convinced that the man was utterly mad. But Vincent wasn’t looking at the scars. At least, that wasn’t what made him drop the shovel.

  “Brother Michael?” he said, “What has happened? Where are the others? Did the Abbott send you to find us?”

  Father Preston tried to smile gently, but the effect was grotesque, each scar rippling up and cracking afresh. “I’m sorry, Brother Vincent. Unless the others that were with you have been spared, we are the last of our brothers. Maybe the last of our entire order. Which makes it all the more fitting that you and I should be chosen to spread this miracle. I was Infected, like you. We’ve both been Cured, you by the good work of doctors, me by the grace of God.”

  Henry crossed his arms. “What do you mean, you were cured ‘by the grace of God?’”

  Father Preston turned his mangled smile toward Henry, who immediately regretted asking the question. “I was not cured by medicine. I was found and cared for by a good woman, along with many other Infected. But I grew dangerously ill with pneumonia. I should have died, but God made a miracle of me. Not only was I cured of both the pneumonia and the December Plague, but seven years later, just a month ago, my own flesh was able to cure other Afflicted. We faced a heavy trial, the faithful and I. The righteous woman who had cared for me, had also gathered several dozen other Afflicted and kept them in an old hospital so they couldn’t harm themselves or those healthy people that remained. She cared for them for years until she became too ill to continue. Then a demon of despair convinced her that it was a kindness to slaughter them all so that after her death they wouldn’t suffer. We battled this demon, the faithful and I. And during the battle, the Infected were loosed upon us. I lost consciousness as they closed in upon me, bent upon consuming my flesh.” He smiled more broadly, the scars bending and shattering even more. The gouges on his cheeks wept clear fluid. Henry tried not to notice. Father Preston pointed to his face. “You can see what has happened to me. But it was a paltry price to pay for the miracle I awoke to. The Afflicted had fallen around me, just as they had been set to devour me. After the first bite, they told me, they fell into a deep sleep. And when they awoke, they were sane. I know there’s a reason that the miracle took until now to reveal itself. I know I was meant to save people from this new Plague. Join me, Brother Vincent, make this a holy place of healing where the Af
flicted can gather for help and renewal.”

  Vincent was silent for a long moment. “Brother Michael— I don’t know what to say. I’ll admit that while I’m overjoyed at your survival, the death of the others was a blow I was unprepared for. I find myself— I find myself bewildered at the moment— if you will give me time to consider, to pray on this matter—”

  “Of course, Brother Vincent,” he glanced at Henry who stared grimly back at the marred priest’s face, “I’m certain it would be a more believable story coming from a familiar friend, for those of— lesser faith. I will return to my followers while you acquaint your settlement with our story.”

  “Thank you for understanding. But do you need supplies? Food, water? We have little here, but we will be glad to share.”

  “I believe Gray is making trades with one of your fellows as we speak, but we will keep your offer of hospitality in mind.” He turned toward Henry. “With your permission, we’ll set up our tents beyond your wall line. We have many strong workers that could help you build it.”

  “It’s a free country. As long as you haven’t— um, healed any refugees from the City in your travels and you promise not to harm our people, you are welcome to set up wherever you like,” Henry tried not to make it sound as curt as he knew it must. He didn’t enjoy turning people away. Better get used to it, fast, he told himself.

  Father Preston nodded his thanks and pulled the rough burlap up over his head again. Henry tried not to wince as he imagined it scraping over the raw skin of the priest’s cheeks. He waited until Father Preston slunk slowly out of the barn and shut the doors behind him before turning to Vincent who sank down on a rough bench and rubbed the patch over his missing eye, as if the socket itched.

  “Look,” said Henry, “I know you’re a man of faith, and that’s— that’s wonderful. It’s gotten you and lots of people here in camp through some terrible things. But— you can’t really— this is— Vincent, that man is a lunatic. If we hadn’t just had news of this new outbreak, I might say he’s harmless and let him do his little medicine show. Heck, I know about the placebo effect too, but this is— it’s dangerous, Vincent. People are going to start coming here. They’re going to be scared. They’re going to be desperate, maybe even violent. If this Father Preston convinces them he has some kind of miracle cure, they’re going to flood the camp whether they are sick or not. A quarantine only works as long as people agree to abide by it. We aren’t soldiers. We don’t have weapons or training, except maybe Amos. We’re too busy pretending we know how to farm to take on defense as well.”

  Vincent was silent, scrubbing his face with his hands. Henry plunked down beside him. “You can’t tell me you honestly believe him. I have the utmost respect for your beliefs, Vincent, but you don’t mean to say that you think our salvation rests with— with that man? Just tell me you don’t believe it.”

  “I don’t believe it,” said Vincent, still not looking at Henry. “I was a priest, certainly, but I’m also a practical person, a product of the modern world. Brother Michael has always used faith as a sort of— grout to smooth over what he doesn’t like about the way things are, to fill in the cracks of his understanding. He can’t accept what has happened. He can’t accept that all those people died for no purpose. He said he was Infected too. Maybe he can’t accept what he did without having this special role he’s dreamed up for himself. Faith is not meant to smooth over the truth. The world is bumpy and full of cracks, especially now. I can’t tell exactly what really happened to him, but his story is one of a madman, not a prophet.”

  “So what do we do about him?”

  Vincent put a hand on Henry’s shoulder and looked at him steadily. “You do nothing. You have other problems to deal with. You and Melissa and Rickey need to get some kind of perimeter set up. Maybe the wall, maybe not. I think it’s clear we’re going to need some sort of quarantine camp for refugees. Unless— unless you intend to shoot them on sight.”

  “I can’t do that. Maybe I should, but I can’t.”

  “Good. I can’t either. It’ll be hard enough making people wait out the quarantine period. The one hopeful piece of news from the radio broadcast that Melissa picked up is that it sounds as if someone has cut off major exit routes from the City. Maybe that will stem the tide a little. Amos and Stephanie and Molly will have their hands full just feeding all of us. Let me handle Brother Michael and his people. He may be more receptive to me and to the language of the church. His followers, at least, we may be able to undeceive. They can help us in the coming months.”

  “And if you can’t persuade him that he’s not healing people?”

  Vincent’s eye narrowed. “Then I have a plan to put his delusion to work for the safety of all.”

  Thirty-four

  Gray let the stale smoke roll around in his mouth. It was sickly sweet peach. “Haven’t tasted a smoke this shitty since grade school,” he said with a laugh.

  Rickey nodded in agreement. “Yeah, they’re pretty bad. But they’re all that’s left these days.” He took a long pull of his own and went back to piling rocks. Gray leaned over and helped for a minute.

  “City’s got to have better stuff than this, though, right? I mean, did you see that place?”

  Rickey shook his head. “You’d think so, but it’s a damn mirage. They seem like they’ve got it all together, don’t they? Electricity’s back on, Lots of people, nice big wall. It’s not really a city. It’s a people zoo. Especially for the Cured. They set you up in your own little section of run down houses, clean you up, dress you up and then put you to work. Always on exhibit. People always asking for ‘your story’ as if it were any different from the dozens of others around. As if your entire history were what you’ve been doing since the Plague. You can practically hear the kids yelling, ‘Come see the zombies, Ma. Can we feed em? Please, Ma?’” He glanced up at Gray and stood up to take another long draw on the stale cigarette. He squinted at Gray. “You might have been okay there, though. Immune and all. Hell, you seem like the kind of guy who lands on his feet wherever he gets dumped.”

  “You going to ask what my story is then?” Gray grinned. The sly smile made Rickey hesitate. A kind of unease slithered through him, like a warning. He bent over and picked up another flat rock.

  “Nah,” he said, plunking the rock down onto the waist-high wall. He picked up a trowel and slathered a thick blob of mortar in the crack. “Whatever you did before, it’s got nothing to do with what you’re going to do tomorrow. ‘Sides, you can’t go to the City anymore. Radio warning came out the other night. Seems they have a new outbreak of the Plague. Worse than before, not as many Immune.”

  Gray flicked some ash from the end of his cigarette. “Guess I’d best get used to these then.”

  Rickey grinned. “Only until my crop comes in. Got my own homegrown in the works. You and your people stick with us. The zombies are going to inherit the earth as your Father Preston would say.”

  Gray had been riding high on Father Preston’s tail for a while, but the news of another outbreak didn’t sit well. The priest had been milking his miracle for all it was worth. It was almost as if he believed it himself. Gray still had the little Cure dart from the hospital in his pocket. He liked it, it was smooth and sharp at the same time. Like the embodiment of the lie itself. But the priest was crazy. Gray wasn’t sure he wouldn’t insist on the miracle even if Gray produced the evidence. Or that the others wouldn’t follow Preston indefinitely. Would they be insane enough to risk exposure to this new outbreak? Father Preston had been talking about setting up shop in the quarantine camp rather than safe behind the wall. Wanted to prove his miracle.

  Thanks but no thanks, thought Gray, I didn’t climb onto this wagon train to become one of THEM.

  “Think you got enough work for us in there?” asked Gray, nodding beyond the wall.

  “Shit, man, we’ve got enough work for an army in there. You any good at construction?”

  “Good enough for a wall anyway.” Manu
al labor wasn’t what Gray had in mind for the long term, but if it got him in the door, it was good enough to start. Just like Rickey. And Father Preston. Good enough to start with, but he’d trade up to bigger and better friends soon. Ones that didn’t have to smoke cigarettes that tasted like a stale candy had taken a shit in the bottom of some old lady’s purse. He blew out a cloud of peachy smoke and grinned at Rickey, handing him another rock.

  Thirty-five

  Vincent hesitated, looking behind him at the small wagon with its load of bread. The flour they’d brought with them from the City wasn’t going to last forever. And with the news, he doubted they’d be trading for more. The colony was going to have to construct its own mill. He sighed. One more thing to add to the list. Amos would kill him if he knew what Vincent had used it for. For a moment, he had his own doubts. Bread wasn’t going to win out over miracles. Whether the miracle was real or not.

  Never regret a charitable deed, he told himself. He’d seen how thin Father Preston’s people were. They couldn’t have had much to eat on their trip and he hadn’t seen them carrying much. Whether they decided to join the colony or not, Vincent couldn’t begrudge them a little bread. He pulled the wagon past the half-constructed wall into the neighboring farm’s field. Small tents were popping up in a half circle around a large fire pit. A large square tent squatted behind the fire, sewn together from large squares of white canvas. The door flaps were pinned open and Vincent could see dozens of wax candles burning inside, though it was bright and sunny outside. A faint flicker of disgust at the waste shot through him, but he put it aside. Who was he to judge these people? If it made them feel more at peace with what they were going through, who was he to criticize?

  A few of Father Preston’s people had seen him and were wandering slowly closer to him. They gathered near the large tent and watched him approach. One of them ducked inside and reemerged with Father Preston. He had been freshly bandaged and was free of the burlap robe. Vincent was relieved. It had reminded him of a hair shirt. He felt guilty for suspecting it was for the world’s mortification instead of Father Preston’s personal faith.