After the Cure - Deirdre Gould (best fantasy books to read txt) 📗

in. Oh, she knew that a great deal of them- something like thirty percent committed suicide and almost half of those remaining had lasting psychological problems like depression and addictions. It was constantly in Sevita’s broadcasts. But Nella didn’t know how or where they lived, if they kept to themselves or mingled with the Immune population. But then, Nella reasoned, she didn’t even know her next door neighbors.

She was late to meet Dr. Pazzo. Nella put herself back together as best she could and headed back down the hallway to the common room.

 

"We're All Villains"

“Good morning, Dr. Rider. I had heard there was some unpleasantness with Miss Connelly this morning. Do you wish to reschedule?” Dr. Pazzo tried to look gentle and sympathetic, but his desiccated skull made him look sinister instead. Nella tried to sit at the plastic picnic table without thumping her wounded hand.

“No, thank you Dr. Pazzo, I’m fine.”

“Good, good. I have all the time in the world of course, but the world- well, the world doesn’t have all that much time left in it. So better to have this over quickly.”

“You keep saying that Dr. Pazzo. Care to tell me why you think the world is in danger?” asked Nella.

“We’ll get to that,” said Dr. Pazzo and Nella swallowed a smirk at his deflection. “As I said, I hate to repeat myself, so we’ll wait for Mr. Courtlen before we go into it. I want to show you both some of the video diaries I made during the onset of the Plague. I requested that they be made available for my defense after I was Cured and taken into custody.”

“So you knew even at the beginning of the Plague that you would be arrested?”

“Come now, Dr. Rider. That’s not really the question you wanted to ask. Drop the therapist facade and have some intestinal fortitude.”

“Very well. Are you saying that you knew how devastating this Plague would be from the very beginning?”

Dr. Pazzo grinned, but it was a bitter, angry grin. His teeth glimmered like fresh boiled bone. “Yes,” he said.

“Yet you warned no one? You just waited to be caught?”

Dr. Pazzo sighed. “What could I have done? The bacteria had already been released. I had even taken Ann to the hospital during the incubation period because the symptoms didn’t match what was expected. When I realized that it was, in fact, our bacteria that caused her aggression and irrationality, the best I could do is isolate us and hope that we hadn’t been infectious to others yet. Of course, I didn’t know Dr. Schneider would be able to break out. I had hoped someone would find my notes, but I never dreamed we’d survive to be put on trial.”

“Would you have fled if you’d known you would end up here?”

Dr. Pazzo frowned and his face was filled with gothic angles, a breathing statue. “No. There was no fleeing from this. Besides, I hate it when the villains get away in the end.”

“Do you think you are a villain Dr. Pazzo?”

“Is anyone who is now living not a villain? Did you really not kill anyone in the past eight years to survive? Or let someone else die so you could escape?”

Nella was silent, watching the guard behind Dr. Pazzo shift self consciously. The prisoner’s voice rose and his face began to blanch. “Oh, but those were just ‘zombies’ you killed, right doctor? Just monsters without compassion, without souls. Wrong!”

Dr. Pazzo slammed his open hand down on the table and bright droplets of spit flew from his frowning mouth. Nella didn’t flinch, but sat calmly, as if she were the calm heart of a storm.

“Those people were ill Dr. Rider. Not only did the Immunes kill sick people, they killed sick people who ultimately could have been cured. People that could have led normal lives again. People with spouses and parents and siblings. People with children. Tell me doctor, do you really think the Immune survivors deserved to live any more than the Infected?”

“Of course not,” answered Nella in a steady, clear voice, but her heart slammed angrily into her rib cage. There wasn’t supposed to be a cure, she thought, they TOLD us they were mindless, relentless. A victim of their own urges. Unnatural and utterly incurable. That’s what the government said from the beginning. How were we supposed to know that was wrong?

Mr. Courtlen walked into the room with the box of books. Nella looked at his open, friendly face, partly shattered with scars, and was stricken with guilt. She did not let it show.

“Don’t mistake me doctor,” continued the prisoner, “I’d have done the same in your place in order to survive. My point was simply that we are all guilty now. Murderers and looters, each of us.”

Dr. Pazzo paused in time to observe Nella watching Mr. Courtlen. He squinted, making his shrunken eyes even smaller and more menacing. “Even Frank here. You wouldn’t think it to see that gentle, honest face, but that’s why he makes such a good criminal defense attorney. Do you know, Dr. Rider, how they found him when he was Cured?”

“Dr. Pazzo, this is neither the time nor the company to discuss my-” Mr. Courtlen began quickly, but the prisoner spoke over him.

“He was covered in infected bites and scratches from the child that originally brought the Plague into his bunker. He had a festering bullet hole through his hand and into his shoulder where his wife, an Immune, had shot him in a desperate attempt to survive and a jagged slice taken out of his face from the same battle. For months his body suffered infection, his flesh rotting around him untreated. For months his brain, that intelligent, articulate mind that he’s always had, was reduced to indiscriminate rage, tormenting hunger and pain. Around him were the clean, gnawed bones of his wife and the child. He ate her alive Dr. Rider. You’ve had just a hint of that this morning. You can’t imagine what a brutal death it must be. I hope he started with her throat so she didn’t have to suffer long.” Mr. Courtlen dropped the box of books on the table and walked out of the room without speaking. “And when he woke up, he was so traumatized he couldn’t speak for months. Who was the villain? Maybe the question should be who are the good guys? Because they don’t seem to be around any more.”

Dr. Pazzo coolly picked through the books. Nella sat in silent shock for a moment.

“You think I’m naive,” she said quietly, “But if you’ve done your research, you know I’ve worked with the Cured for six years now. The conditions they survived in no longer surprise or frighten me, they just make me sad. I realize you are feeling powerless and are frantic to change the dynamic by shocking me or withholding what you seem to think is vital information. And I know you are trying to feel more powerful by exposing Mr. Courtlen, but I’m warning you, it’s going to backfire. It’s in your best interest at this point to be civil toward anyone who is trying to help you. The world isn’t on your side. Mr. Courtlen is.”

Dr. Pazzo stared at her. He turned toward one of the guards. “Would you please fetch my lawyer? I want to have this over with as soon as possible. Thank you.” He smiled sweetly at the officer and Nella felt a stone growing cold and tight in her belly.

When Mr. Courtlen returned, Nella blushed in empathetic embarrassment. He sat next to her without looking at her. Dr. Pazzo sat alone on the far side of the table. Nella stood up abruptly. “You know,” she said, “I think I will postpone this meeting. After everything that’s happened, I don’t think I’m comfortable continuing today. Dr. Pazzo, I will see you tomorrow instead,” she turned to Mr. Courtlen and held out her unbitten hand. “I’m so sorry for wasting your time Mr. Courtlen.” She tried not to flinch as the rough scar tissue in his palm brushed against her. Dr. Pazzo sneered and pretended to ignore them, his face ugly with anger.

Nella was halfway down the hall when Mr. Courtlen caught up. “I would have told you, eventually. Everyone knows the story,” he said, and she stopped and looked at him. “It’s not even that original of a story, I’m sure hundreds of people have a story that’s similar.” He blushed as he met her eyes, “Still, I wish he hadn’t told you that way. I’m sorry.”

Nella was quiet for a long moment. “Are you hungry?” she said at last.

“What?” asked Mr. Courtlen, confused.

“It’s been a pretty awful day. For both of us.” Nella held up her bandaged hand. “I’m done for today. How about you?”

Frank smiled and the tension seemed to slide out of his limbs. “Yeah, I’m done feeling like a punching bag for today too.”

“Come on,” she said, and pulled out the extra dose of aspirin the nurse had given her. “I’ll buy you lunch if you’ll drive.”

 

 

 

The Diner

They ended up at a diner. Nella hadn’t ever been inside before, and it was busy, catering mostly to the electric plant’s workmen and laborers from the Farm. She was surprised and pleased to be surrounded by so many others. Frank worked his way through the crowd to the back and found them a table. Nella sat down, her head a little dizzy.

“Are you okay?” asked Frank, leaning over the table toward her.

Nella grinned in genuine comfort. “Yes, I just haven’t heard this many voices talking at once in- I don’t know, years? Do you eat here a lot?”

Frank shrugged, “Once in a while. They have good food and I know many of the regulars.” He looked around with a smile. “Not the kind of place you’ll be able to talk confidentially though,” he said, raising his voice to be heard. They were late for the lunch rush and the diner soon emptied, but the comfortable bustle of the waitstaff and kitchen still filled it with life and warmth and Nella was happy they had come.

“How’s your hand?” asked Frank. She opened and closed it gently.

“Sore, but not too bad. It should be okay in a few days.”

“Look, I’m sorry for how Dr. Pazzo acted today. He’s not usually like this.”

Nella shook her head. “You’re his lawyer, not his mother. You aren’t responsible for what he says. Besides, he’s just flexing his muscles, trying to make us both uncomfortable.”

An older lady with an eyepatch and a clawmark wriggling down her arm gently laid a cup of grain coffee in front of them. Nella smiled at her and Frank thanked her. He turned back to Nella, absently stirring the cup although there was neither sugar nor milk on the table.

“Aren’t you?” he asked.

“Am I what?”

“Uncomfortable.”

“I worked in the Cure camps for two years.