Before The Cure (Book 2): The Infected Read online

  Contents

  The Infected

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  29

  30

  Thank You!

  Other Books

  The Infected

  Deirdre Gould

  The Infected

  Copyright 2020 Deirdre Gould

  All rights are reserved to the author. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Special thanks to Neil Newton, Randi J., Cody S., Shay V., Harlain T., Thomas S., Hazel-Lea P., Frances B. and Simon C. For letting me use and abuse their names and to Jon F. For lending me “Bunnypop”, Nikki G. for Danica, and Sonja C. For lending me Dante

  And to Mark R., Stacy R., Tracy P., Rachel P., Sonja C., Dee N., Gina P., Melissa P., Kelsey B., Angela W., Aletia M., Rosalina S., Elizabeth P., Donna L., Vicki M., Michael G. and my sister, Siobhan, for taking the shambling corpse of a draft that this story was and helping me to make it what it is.

  1

  It was the taste in his mouth that finally woke Neil. Putrid and salty. Worse because his mouth was so dry. His saliva felt sticky and stringy and tasted of waste. Or what Neil imagined waste would taste like judging from its smell. It took him several seconds to remember that he had likely tasted waste in actuality when— he forced his focus away from that. It was better to concentrate on the foulness of his mouth, bad as it was. It wasn’t that he hadn’t experienced it in all the months before. He’d been there for every tendon crunching between his teeth and the toilet bowls of metallic tasting water he’d lapped up before resorting to the pool. But it hadn’t bothered him. Not until now.

  It wasn’t a shock. More like a gradually increasing awareness of discomfort. Like realizing he’d had terrible breath at some point halfway through the day. That same sense of shame and filth accompanied the taste. Why should it be embarrassing? he wondered. I haven’t seen anyone sane in a long time. Well. None that lived long, anyway. The thought did startle him. Not its content. It was that the thought was clear and coherent. Something more than an impression or impulse immediately acted upon. The wrath that had consumed Neil’s every waking moment was gone. For how long? He forced his eyes open so he didn’t have to think about that. And so he could distract himself from the rancid, clotted mucus in his mouth.

  Cloth rippled above him, tinted a soft orange from a light nearby. He stared at it for a few seconds, trying to remember where he was. He didn’t want to probe his memories too hard, knowing it would be unpleasant. Or worse. Definitely worse. He could remember someplace with only hard, cold surfaces. That was where he’d been. A pool, he realized. A pool in a hospital. But something about the thought was wrong. It had been dark, for the most part, much darker than a hospital should be. Always dark, except where the wind blasted through bullet holes in the walls and windows and—

  “Have you been awake long?” asked a voice. Neil turned his head toward it. A man in a canvas uniform stood beside him.

  “Don’t think so…” he croaked and let the rest of the words die, alarmed at the husky tone of his voice. I screamed. I screamed and screamed, he remembered. His throat ached, but it felt wrong. Outside, as if someone were throttling him instead of rasped raw from within. He touched his neck, his fingers finding thick bandage. It bit. That thing. Woman. It was a woman. She bit me. I wanted to— The man knelt beside the cot.

  “The doctor says the wound’s clean. It should heal well. Even without that particular injury, I would have expected some hoarseness. The Cured losing their voice is normal,” the man said. “It’ll come back in a few days. Among— other things.”

  “The madness? Is that what you mean?” he struggled to sit up, but he quickly grew dizzy and the man helped him lie back onto his cot. “I’m going to lose myself again?”

  “No. It doesn’t work like that. I meant your memory. Your memories are going to return. Sometimes quick, sometimes not. The disease that made you lose control is gone. You’re cured.”

  “How?”

  “What’s your name? Do you recall?” the man asked instead of giving him an answer.

  “Neil Newton.” He lifted himself on his elbow again. “Where am I?”

  “Safe. In a Cure camp. I’m going to get one of the doctors to check in on you in a minute but—”

  “You aren’t one?”

  “Me? No. I’m a— was a guidance counselor. Here to help you with the other stuff. You’ll be seeing a lot of me, I’m afraid.” He smiled and stuck out a hand. “I’m Simon.”

  Neil slowly shook the hand. “Is this some kind of school? Like an emergency shelter sort of thing? Why do they have a guidance counselor here? And what is a Cure camp anyway?”

  Simon took a deep breath. “More like a temporary hospital. Let’s just— let’s get you checked out first. There’s plenty of time to talk about this place and what I’m here for. I’ll go grab a doctor. Do you need anything in the meantime? Bedpan?”

  Neil glanced down at himself. Except for the sore wound on his neck, he didn’t feel any pain beyond a vague impression of achiness. “Am I— can I walk?”

  Simon wrinkled his brow in confusion then looked alarmed as he began to understand. “Oh! I didn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you. I don’t think you’ve had that type of injury, the team that brought you in said you were— well, you were mobile. But the sedative makes you guys wobbly for a while after it starts to wear off.”

  Neil nodded, relieved. “No then, no bedpan. I’ll wait. Some water though, maybe? My mouth is… I can taste— I’m not sure what I can taste, but it’s awful.”

  “Water I can do. And we’ll get you in the shower as soon as the doctor okays it.” Simon fumbled through a nearby cabinet and pulled out a dented bottle of water. The wrapper was gone and the plastic scratched up. Neil was certain it had been used many times before. What kind of hospital gives you a used bottle of water? he wondered, but brushed it off. He was too thirsty to care and if drinking from toilets didn’t kill him, the bottled water likely wouldn’t. Simon helped him sit up and for an instant, Neil resented the other man’s hand pushing him gently upright, but the dizziness that washed over him stopped any idea of complaint. Something rattled above his head and he finally noticed the intravenous line in his arm.

  “Why’m I so weak?” he muttered, clutching the water bottle and tipping it immediately up.

  “You— I don’t think you’ve eaten in a while. We found you almost alone in the old hospital near here. Not much left to— to eat. I’ll get a doctor.” Once he’d made sure Neil wasn’t going to tip over, Simon scurried away, fleeing Neil’s bleary questions. Neil stared after him as he wove between long rows of cots. It took Neil a few seconds to really notice what was on those other cots.

  There had to be several dozen people lying silent around him. They we
re skeletal. Their skin looked too stretched, like over-dried leather. Most of them were motionless thin bundles. They looked tiny even on the narrow beds. Many were covered only with a thin sheet. He was relieved to see the sheets rise and fall slightly as he watched. Alive, anyway. Breathing. But what happened to them? Why are they so thin? Neil flipped back the sheet and looked down at himself. He was the same. Every bone had a shadow. He could see the stark outline of what was left of his thigh muscle underneath his too-taut skin. Unrecognizable. Naked. Why naked? Is it to humiliate me? What is this place? Who are these people? Where’s Joan? He pulled the sheet back over himself, though it seemed to take a great deal of effort to do so.

  Simon returned, glancing at each cot as he wound his way back toward Neil. A woman in the same type of canvas uniform followed closely behind. Her face was grim. Narrow. Neil couldn’t tell if she were angry or just concerned.

  “This is Dr. Gibson,” said Simon when they reached him. “She’s just going to check you over, make sure you’re stable enough to start the process.”

  “Process? What’s the process? What are you going to do to me?” asked Neil. The woman didn’t bother responding, picking up his wrist between her forefinger and thumbs and pressing hard at his pulse point. It ached. Like the touch was too much. Like there was no cushion between his nerves and his skin.

  Simon, though, sat down on the stool at Neil’s other side. “We aren’t going to do anything to you. Just give you a shower. Some food. Talk a little. That’s all.”

  The doctor dropped his wrist. “Then why am I naked? Did something already happen to me? This is— I did something, didn’t I?” he realized, reaching for the last clear memories he could find. “We went to the hospital… we went to the hospital because I was bitten. And then I was trapped in the hospital. Quarantine. That was what happened. I was trying to get to my daughter and there was another woman with me. Shay. That was the name. I scared her. Scared me. And then—” Dr. Gibson and Simon exchanged a glance over his head.

  “He’s going to crash,” murmured the doctor, and pulled a stethoscope to her ears. Simon gripped his shoulder gently.

  “Take a breath.”

  But Neil couldn’t slow down, digging away at what little he could recall. “What did I do? She was fine. She was fine.”

  “I’m sure she is. In fact, I happen to know a Shay.”

  “You do?” asked Neil, feeling a surge of excitement. “I was supposed to get her out, she was going to find Randi. Did she find my daughter? Is she here? I need to talk to her.” He jerked away from the cold stethoscope on his back, tried to swing his legs over the edge of the cot.

  “Whoa, whoa, hang on,” said Simon. The doctor whistled and Simon held up one hand. “Just a second, doc, give me a second.”

  Neil could see other people in the drab canvas uniforms drifting toward them. “Listen,” said Simon, “Even if it’s the same Shay, she doesn’t know you’re here. She doesn’t know we found you yet, okay?”

  “What about my wife— ex-wife? She’d be here. Things might be bad with us, but if I were in the hospital she’d come. And my daughter. Surely, you contacted them. Joan’s number is the emergency contact, should be in any paperwork. Doctor, you must have it, right? I gave Shay my daughter’s picture to find her, but my license should be in my wallet. Wherever you put my clothes…” he looked around the cot, trying to find a bundle of clothing or some bag or bin they might be stored in. The other workers had reached his row of cots and were calmly but steadily approaching.

  “Things aren’t that simple, Neil.”

  “You mean you didn’t contact her?” He began to panic in earnest. “Where are we?”

  “You aren’t in Wing Memorial hospital anymore. You’re here, in a Cure camp. It’s going to take some time to explain everything. If you’ll just remain calm—” Simon’s gaze kept shifting rapidly between him and the doctor. Neil looked up at her to find her filling a syringe.

  “You’re going to drug me?” he cried. He flung his arm out of her grasp, but it was far weaker than he intended. One of the other uniformed workers had reached them and reached for Neil, but backed off when Simon waved him away.

  “If you don’t calm down,” the doctor warned.

  “He’s calm, he’s calming down,” said Simon, “Just confused, right?”

  Neil looked back at him. Simon nodded as if emphasizing the question. “R-right,” stammered Neil.

  “That’s it,” said Simon, “take a deep breath for me.”

  Neil turned to the doctor expecting her to reach for his arm and the iv port again, but she was holding the syringe up, the cap in her other hand. Waiting to see what he’d do. More of the uniformed workers had reached them and watched. Neil took a deep breath to show them he could comply. Whatever this was, he didn’t want to make it worse before he got some information.

  “Good, Neil, that’s good,” said Simon. “You aren’t here because of anything you’ve done. You’re here because you were sick. All the people here were sick. They needed medicine. And they needed it fast. If we stopped to find your family, you might not have made it. This isn’t a prison. There are a lot of things that have changed while you’ve been sick. But I’d really like to take some time to heal your body before we talk about that.”

  The doctor began removing the iv line from his arm once she realized he wasn’t going to snap.

  “But my wi— Joan— why am I like this? Where was she?”

  Simon’s hand on his shoulder squeezed. It hurt, though he knew the counselor was trying to be gentle. Neil didn’t want him to stop. It felt like an anchor to something real. “You’ve been sick for a long time. It wasn’t safe to be near you. And there was nothing she could have done to help you. It’s for the best she stayed away. Now that you’re better— in a week or two we can talk about finding her.”

  Finding her?

  “Could you try standing for me?” asked the doctor, before Neil could concentrate on the thought.

  “I’m not clothed,” he protested.

  “I can try to find you a johnny if you like, but you’re headed to the showers as soon as I can clear you.”

  “Still, all these people—”

  “They’ve seen it before,” said the doctor, coiling up the iv tubing and placing it carefully on the cart.

  “Doc, you don’t have to—” started Simon.

  “But why am I naked?”

  “You Infected come in caked in filth—”

  “Joyce!” snapped Simon. “I’ll go get Mr. Newton a robe.” He focused on Neil. “It’s not because you’re dirty. We’ve found it sometimes makes things feel more real to you. You’ve been through something— well, I would have said traumatic, before everything. I don’t think that even comes close. Part of recovering is accepting what has happened to you. Sometimes it takes a while to convince yourself it wasn’t just a nightmare or hallucination. Not cleaning you, not putting you in new clothing helps the Cured feel like they have less of a blank spot in their memories. You’re left just the way we found you until you wake up. But now we can start fixing some of it. I’ll be right back.” He got up, giving a parting glare to the doctor, and went to find some clothing. The doctor shook her head but only pulled out a small flashlight.

  “Open your mouth please, I need to check your teeth.” She pulled a paisley bandana over her nose and mouth.

  Neil shrank back from the approaching flashlight. It was dingy and dented. “A bandana?” he asked. “Where’s your mask? Where are your gloves?”

  “We ran out of those a year ago. At least. Look, I don’t like it either. Not my favorite task, sticking my bare hand into someone’s mouth who just days ago would have taken a chunk out of it for breakfast. But this isn’t exactly voluntary for either of us. So let’s just get it over, shall we?”

  Neil didn’t know what that meant, but also couldn’t see what choice he had. He opened his mouth as wide as possible and waited while the doctor peered inside. She said nothing, just tu
rned to make a few notes in a small, bent notebook on the rolling cart beside her.

  “You can close now,” she said. “You’ll need to see Graham in the next few weeks, you’ve got two broken ones in there that I can see. But your mouth seems to be in better shape than a lot of Infected I’ve treated.”

  “Cured, Joyce,” said Simon, returning with a thin cotton johnny. He held it up and helped Neil thread his arms through. “Lean on me, you may be fine, but the sedative may still make you unsteady.” He held out a hand to Neil. Neil looked down at the brittle sticks that his legs had become and wondered if they’d hold him up at all.

  Not much left of the rest of me to hold up, anyhow, he thought and grasped Simon’s hand. It was easier to pull himself up than he expected, but the dizzying rush in his head unbalanced him. Both the doctor and Simon reached to steady him. He tried to stand still once he’d regained his footing, but he knew he was swaying somewhat. The concerned look on Simon’s face told him it looked worse than he felt.

  “Take a step for me,” ordered Dr. Gibson.

  “Give him a minute.”

  “I don’t have a minute, Simon. Four hundred other Infected—”

  “Cured.”

  “Four hundred other Cured in this camp need a doctor or will in the next few hours. He’s got to get moving if he’s able. And if not, we need to make a decision. Plenty of others that could use that cot. The team’s got another quarantine station to take today and Taylor’s camp’s not even—”

  “A decision? What decision?” asked Neil.

  Simon shook his head, trying to force an encouraging smile and failing. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. Let’s just— we’ll concentrate on getting to the shower, okay? Bet you’d like to brush your teeth.”

  “Oh God, more than you know,” Neil muttered. He tottered a little but managed a step forward. And then another.

  “Good,” said Simon, glancing back at the doctor. He must have decided she approved because he urged Neil forward another step. “A hundred feet, that’s all.”