The 40th Day (After the Cure Book 5) by Deirdre Gould Page A

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