Krisis (After the Cure Book 3) (23 page)

BOOK: Krisis (After the Cure Book 3)
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“I’m sorry,” Ruth sobbed and brought the shovel down on his neck once more. She dropped the shovel and ran to the door. She looked through the open crack but didn’t see anyone. She slid out of the door and shut it behind her, hoping nobody would check on the guard until she and Bernard were long gone. Where had they taken him? There was a low whine from behind her. Ruth whirled around thinking the guard was still alive, trying to reach her. But the door was still closed. The soft whine came again and Ruth crouched down and tried to see into the crawlspace beneath the cottage. Bernard’s dog crept forward and thumped its tail.

“Good boy,” she said quietly, stroking the dog’s muzzle, “find Bernard. Good dog. Find him.” The dog was a mutt, probably a stray long before the Plague. But it knew Bernard, and even if it couldn’t understand Ruth, it naturally sought him out. She followed the dog as it snuffled its way over the muddy patch that used to be the garden. She crouched and kept glancing around, but there was no one in sight, no sounds of anyone else. Ruth ached to be well past the open park land, even though the grass was high enough in most places beyond the vegetable patch to hide her if she stayed low. But the dog took its time, untangling Bernard’s old, familiar footsteps with the recent ones. They came to a wide opening where the grass had been heavily trampled. It lay, gold and green in a matted path, the sweet smell of the broken blades at odds with the grief and fear that grasped at Ruth’s chest when she saw it. It was something that belonged to an earlier time. A smell for sports fields and late summer evenings. It made her even sadder. She hurried down the path the men had made, leaving the dog to follow behind her. She stumbled out of the grass onto the blank flatness of the street. She took a quick glance around and then darted into the shade of a bus shelter. The dog followed her and stood in front of the bench. She pressed herself into a peeling ad on the wall and took a long look around.

The building across from her, an old glass case that used to be offices leaned against an adobe church nearby, closing the alleyway to a sliver. On the other side was a lot, a construction site with a naked metal frame of a building. Saplings grew in its center and weeds covered most of the gravel. Bird nests clung to the beams. It looked almost undisturbed. But there was a tarp that had been thrown back from a pile of steel beams. The metal gleamed too brightly, it flashed in the summer sun unlike the rusting beams of the structure.

Nearby, a few telephone poles were stacked, the bottom two dark and rotting. The top pole had been freshly sawn, sections of it strewn over the lot. It had to be where the Congregation was getting their materials. Ruth was surprised it was so close to the garden.

How long had they been planning this whole thing?
Just Gray,
she told herself,
the others are going along. Even Father Preston, though he doesn’t know it. He’s not in control. Gray is. And he’s probably been planning something since I threw his ear trophy back in his face and humiliated him years ago.
She knew she should be frightened, overwhelmed at the forethought that had gone into it, but a bright flare of rage flickered in her head instead. Bernard had to be near the construction site. She had to find him.

She didn’t see anyone guarding the site, and she had followed too quickly for them to have picked up the beam and the section of pole and taken off already. She didn’t like running across the open road, but she hadn’t been on this side of the gardens for a long time. The roads around the site might be blocked with debris or buildings like the one across from her. She didn’t have time to make a lot of detours. She took a deep breath and then raced across the road, careful to stay clear of the broken glass that had fallen from the windows above her. The dog padded after her, his tongue hanging out in the heat of the afternoon.

She made it to the construction site and threaded her way through the debris and rusting tools. There was still no sign of anyone. On the far side of the site was a squat brick building with a blacked out door. It hid between the other buildings, once it was a squalid little mole at the base of shining towers and bright, clean sidewalks. Now it was the survivor, a great swollen mushroom thriving as the others toppled and shrank. Ruth could hear voices inside as she got closer. They rose and fell, but they were garbled and confused behind the brick. Ruth snuck around the building, trying to find a window to peer through.

She didn’t see the dog’s hackles rise until she heard it growling beside her. She tried to calm it but the animal pulled away and continued its low snarl. It was facing the rear of the building. Ruth slowly leaned out to look around the corner. There was Bernard. He was lying in the back of a police car, unconscious. He was shut in the car’s cage, but the front half was missing, shorn away in some accident, jagged, rusty edges left of the roof. Someone had welded a kind of metal yoke to the sides and its two stalls were occupied by two restless people. They were bound to the metal, their arms lashed to their sides and a football helmet jammed down onto each head. Only their legs were free. The car was anchored to the building with a thick tow cable so that even when the people in front pulled, it stayed put. Ruth didn’t have to get close to know the two were Infected.

How could Father Preston not see how badly things had twisted out of control? How could he possibly justify what Ruth saw as pure slavery? The Infected had heard the dog. They were trying to twist in their harnesses. She could hear their teeth snapping and grinding in a futile effort to feed. They began to moan with anticipation and Ruth knew she didn’t have much time. She ran to the car and opened the door. Bernard opened his eyes as cooler outside air hit him. He was covered with sweat and drying blood. Ruth helped him scoot forward out of the car.

“Can you walk? Just a little way, we have to get out of here.”

He nodded but swayed as he stood. Ruth supported him. The Infecteds’ cries were growing. She gave one glance at them, wishing there was something she could do, but she knew there was no time. She pulled Bernard down the alley as quickly as she could. The dog bounded after them. The Infected began shrieking as Ruth helped Bernard into the only dark place she could find.

 

Chapter 21

The subway was pitch black and the smell of sewage mixed with seawater was overpowering even after almost a decade. The dog whimpered beside them. Ruth scratched him gently behind the ears. “Don’t worry boy, we aren’t staying long.” She could hear shouts above them and decided the mouth of the stairwell wasn’t the best position. If they were in luck, the guard station might still have its emergency med kit and she could treat Bernard while they waited out their pursuers.

“Stay awake Bernard, we’ll have you feeling better soon. We have to move now, but not far.” She fished the music player out of her pocket, thankful she’d remembered to hook it to her little solar panel days before. The screen lit and a cast a dull gray circle around them. The tiled floor was damp but free of standing water. Ruth felt better until she heard a stealthy scrabbling from a distant wall. She flashed the player toward the sound, but it was far too weak to light up anything at a distance. She wondered what else had taken refuge in the subway station. She looked down at the dog, but its hair lay flat and it thumped its tail gently. Trusting the dog’s instincts more than her own, she pulled Bernard down the slippery tunnel.

The gray circle began reflecting in shimmery waves a few feet farther in and she felt cold water seeping in through a hole in her shoe. She struggled to keep her footing as rubble and debris cropped up in little piles below the water. Bernard was slow, but he seemed steady enough. By the time they reached the bank of turnstiles, the dog was swimming in the muck and Ruth was wet past her knees. The garbage and weeds turned it into a kind of pulpy rot instead of water and she made sure to keep Bernard’s injured hand far above the surface.

They followed the line of turnstiles toward one wall. The dog began to growl and swam frantically wide of the metal posts. There was a bang and a howl close to Ruth and she jumped. Bernard perked up and tried to back away. Ruth lifted the music player. The feeble beam showed her a bone-thin arm laced with old scars and then a hand with long jagged nails, three inches of filthy, cracked claw. There was another howl and the arm was replaced by a naked chest, so emaciated that Ruth couldn’t tell if it was male or female. It smashed against the other side of the turnstile, stopped by the locked metal bar. The Infected leaned forward, its mouth gaping with want. The weak light got lost in the hollows of its face and made it seem a skull with a thin covering of vellum or plastic. Its mouth was bloody with the last prey it had caught and its skin peeled and puckered with old bites and infections. Ruth wondered what it had been eating. Rats, she supposed. It was too weak to push through the bars and not intelligent enough to go under, but she still didn’t like it being there. It might attract other, worse things.

She nudged the dog up some shallow steps and away from the Infected. The water sank away to ankle level as they reached the guard station’s roll up door. In the first few chaotic days of the Plague there had been several attacks in the subway. The government assumed that was where the Plague started or that the subway’s dark tunnels attracted the Infected for some reason. In reality, it had only been more noticeable on the subway because of the number of people crammed into the trains and waiting on platforms. But rumor and panic had won, and the police had shut down the stations very early. The guard station’s security gate had been closed and locked. That it was still intact gave Ruth some hope that the emergency kit was still inside and whole. But how was she supposed to get the gate open?

She let Bernard lean against the wall. He was pale and beginning to sweat even in the cold dark of the subway. Ruth knew he was going into shock. She had to stop the bleeding. The little music player’s light flicked around the metal gate, the dirty tile wall, the turnstiles and screaming Infected. She turned to the other side of the gate. The light shone on an old, greasy fire extinguisher that still hung on the wall.

“I need you to hold this, Bernard. We’re almost there. Just hold this so I can see the lock.” She handed the player to him and fumbled in the dark for the extinguisher. It was heavier than she expected, but she had adrenaline on her side. She swung it as hard as she could, and missed. It shattered a few of the tiles on the wall with a loud crunch, but that was it. She pulled back and tried again. It slammed into the metal slats, making a dent. She was swinging too hard to keep it up too many more times. Her arms shook, but she swung it again anyway. Another miss. Bernard’s hand wavered and he slumped slowly into the wall. The dog whined and the Infected kept shrieking. She couldn’t concentrate.

“Shut up,” she muttered through clenched teeth. But the starving creature went into a long wail instead. “Shut up,” she said turning towards it. The Infected couldn’t understand. She knew that. But panic and anger and sorrow made a bomb in Ruth’s chest. “Shut up!” she screamed back and sloshed down the steps, the extinguisher still in her hands. Bernard slowly rolled himself towards her and followed her with the light. The Infected scrabbled at the metal post, trying to crawl up it and reaching for her with its driftwood arms. Its voice was a terrible drill in the echoing station. Ruth stood in front of it. “Shut up,” she said once more, “I can’t take it anymore. You can’t take it anymore. I don’t know who your family is. I don’t know who you are. I’m sorry. But you’re in pain and I’m in pain. No more.” She waited until the creature reached for her again. She grabbed its arm, half hauling it over the stile. She let go and it dangled there for a second. Using both hands, Ruth brought the extinguisher up and swung it back, crushing the Infected’s head between the heavy tool and the metal side of the turnstile.

It was easier than it should have been. The screaming stopped instantaneously. The Infected dropped into the sludge and Ruth set the extinguisher down beside her. She bent and held the body underwater for a few minutes in case she hadn’t finished it as completely as she thought. She let her heaving breath calm, and then fished out the extinguisher she had dropped in the water. The light sparkled as it hit her and she was surprised to find it was because she was crying.

She trudged up the steps. The dog backed away from her. “I’m sorry,” she offered. Bernard folded the player into his hand and curled his good arm around her in a tight embrace.

“C’mon,” she mumbled, “we have to get you fixed up. We’ve got a long night ahead.” He let her go and she backed up again. One more time she swung the extinguisher and it popped the lock with a clunk. She pulled off the pieces and then slowly pushed up the heavy rolling gate. The floor was flooded and the walls were damp with mildew, but Ruth found the medical kit without much trouble. It was still sealed in its plastic container and she almost laughed with relief to see the contents untouched by the damp or the filth.

She helped Bernard sit in one of the decaying office chairs and helped the dog jump up onto the other and out of the water. “You, my friend, are going to have better medical care from this little package than anyone’s had in almost five years.”

Bernard offered her a weak smile. She pulled a flashlight from its spot in the cabinet. The batteries were still good. She put it on the counter and began her work, relieved to be concentrating on something she felt competent at.

“Are you really Joe Mackey?” she asked quietly.

Bernard nodded and hung his head. She finished cleaning the dried blood off of the wounds and began opening splint packets and gauze pads. When she was all set up she asked as casually as she could, “Is there really a cure?”

BOOK: Krisis (After the Cure Book 3)
13.47Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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