Lucy backed off the porch, glancing around the overgrown yard to the outbuildings. “Doubt it. The garden’s recently watered and the cows aren’t kicking up a fuss, wanting to be milked. She’s in there. She just doesn’t want to talk to us.”
“Better make my point then,” Carter said, and redoubled his efforts, pounding on the door.
Lucy stepped farther out into the yard and glanced up into the second story of the old farmhouse. A curtain hastily slipped back into place. “She’s up there,” she said to Carter. Then, more loudly, “Abigail, it’s Lucy from down by the pond. I need you to come out here and talk to us.”
Carter joined Lucy in the yard and called up at the window. “Abigail—it’s about your son. Get down here or we’ll walk off and you won’t know what’s happened.”
A thin voice crept through the open window. “If he’s dead, I don’t want to know.”
Carter sighed. “He ain’t dead. Now come down.”
They heard shuffling as she walked away from the open window, then nothing for several minutes until the front door creaked open. A small woman with ratted blond hair peered around the corner.
Lucy tried her best smile, one that could melt even Lynn at times. “We need to talk to you about Devon.”
“Thought you said this was about Adam?”
“Him too,” Carter said, stepping toward the porch.
“You stay back there,” Abigail said sharply, her thin voice suddenly strong. “I can hear you fine from the yard.”
“All right then.” He slowly backpedaled to stand next to Lucy. “I think she’s got a gun,” he said to her softly.
“Who doesn’t?” Lucy sighed, then raised her voice toward Abigail. “We came to tell you what’s going on with your man and boy. You can put the rifle down.”
Abigail stepped out onto the porch, rifle pointed at the ground. “Tell me what you like, makes no difference what I’m holding at the time.”
“It’s slightly rude,” Lucy said. Carter shot her a dark look, and she clamped her mouth shut.
“Rude ain’t nothing that I’ve done. Rude is breaking into people’s barns and pulling tricks on them.”
“Lots of people are sick, Abigail,” Carter said quickly. “Devon’s one of ’em.”
A line appeared between Abigail’s eyes as she studied the two teens. “Adam’s the one who’s sick. Devon took him down to your healer to make him well.”
“And she tried, Abigail, she did,” Lucy said, emotion making her voice thick. “But this sickness—it’s not like a normal fever. It’s polio, and Adam . . . he’s okay, but . . . he’s . . .”
“He’s crippled,” Carter said. “No way around it.”
Abigail’s mouth tightened. “What about Devon? What’s wrong with him?”
“Same thing,” Carter answered. “It’s not good, Abigail. You should come down, be with your husband.”
“You think, do you?” Abigail said, her mouth twisting. “So everyone can get a good look at the woman who won’t come down off the hill?”
Lucy glanced at Carter. He grasped her wrist, urging silence.
“You come up here, to tell me my man—who don’t get sick—is sick, and my boy—who was fine yesterday—is a cripple today. I wouldn’t believe either one of you if you told me it was raining and my head was wet with the drops.” She cocked the gun and strode toward them to the edge of the porch.
Carter stepped in front of Lucy. “We came up here to deliver a message,” he said, “and we’ve done it. We’ll be leaving now.”
“You came up here to make a fool of me,” Abigail hissed at them. “Devon ain’t sick with nothing but lust, looking at that woman who calls herself your mother, little girl. You wanna make a laughingstock of me, drag me down the hill so I see what’s really keeping him down there?”
Carter stepped backward, pushing Lucy behind him. “Nobody’s laughing down there, Abigail. I promise you that.”
“Go on then.” She jerked the rifle toward them. “Get on back down there and tell my man to come back to me, and bring my son. I know he’s whole, and I know he’s well, and I know you two are full of shit.”
Her voice cracked on the last word and she retreated back into the house, slamming the door behind her. Carter and Lucy stumbled down the decline of the hill as they headed for the woods, Abigail’s rising sobs breaking on their ears.
“Does she really think we’d make up a story to bring her down the hill for kicks?” Lucy asked.
“Hard to say.” Carter held a tree branch back for her to pass by before letting it snap back. She smiled to herself; a year ago he would’ve let it hit her in the face. “But don’t let what some crackpot thinks of you ruin your day.”
“It’s more likely the dead bodies’ll do that,” Lucy said.
Carter laughed and grabbed her hand suddenly. “Remind me never to come to you for comfort.”
She opened her mouth to apologize, but he waved her off and they walked on, fingers intertwined. They followed the stream downhill toward Vera’s, neither of them commenting on the fact that they were holding hands, or how very normal it felt.
Lucy dropped his hand as they came into the clearing near Vera’s cabin. She could hear Lynn clearly as they approached. “You’d better be damn sure about this,” she was saying. “Once it’s said, there’s no taking it back.”
“Something’s up,” Carter said.
The door was propped open, and through it Lucy could see Vera bent over her notes, exhaustion dimming the usual brightness of her eyes. “I’m sure,” Vera said quietly.
Lucy knocked hesitantly on the open door. “Uh . . . are we interrupting?”
Stebbs shook his head. “No. You need to come in here. Both of you. And shut the door behind you.”
Lucy’s trembling hand struggled with the simple hook-and-eye lock. Stebbs was only serious with her when things were dire.
The three adults looked at one another for a moment, the weight of their silence resting on Lucy’s heart more heavily than any words. “What? What is it?”
“Who’s gonna tell him?” Lynn asked, looking to Vera and Stebbs.
“Tell me what?” Carter asked, his hand finding Lucy’s despite the adults seeing.
Vera cleared her throat. “I’ve been looking at my notes, trying to figure out the source of the outbreak. You remember there was a lull, and then we got slammed by more sick than we had in the first wave.”
“Like the brothers and sisters of people that were first sick,” Lucy said slowly. “They were passing it to each other.”
“Except they weren’t,” Vera said. “I thought so too, but then I realized the incubation period was wrong. If the second wave of patients were catching it from their siblings, they would’ve been symptomatic sooner. Instead they weren’t showing up here until their brothers and sisters were better.”
“Or dead,” Lynn added.
“Incubation period?” Carter looked from Vera to Stebbs. “What’s that mean?”
“It’s the time period from when you’re exposed to the virus to when it actually makes you sick. This second wave was getting sick after they came here.”
“So they caught it here,” Lucy said. “No big surprise, this place was crawling with sick.”
Vera shook her head. “No, sweetheart. We made sure there was no contact between the well and the ill. The first rule of keeping a contagion in hand is quarantine.”
“People break rules, Grandma.”
“If it were an isolated case or two, I would agree,” Vera said. “But every person in the second wave had been here. So it had to have been someone carrying it between the two groups.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Carter said, color draining from his face. “It was me, wasn’t it? I must’ve mixed up which canteen I was using for the sick and for the well.”
Lucy felt his fingers go cold in her own. “You wouldn’t do that,” she said, voice hard. “You wouldn’t make a mistake like that.”
Stebbs walked o
ver from his place beside Vera and put a hand on Carter’s shoulder. “It’s best you sit down, son. There’s more to tell.” Stebbs steered him away from Lucy to the empty chair opposite Vera.
“Lucy,” Lynn said. “You come on over here with me now.”
Her body tensed in rebellion, every muscle wanting to follow Carter, but Lynn’s tone left no room for argument, and Lucy joined her against the wall.
“He wouldn’t have done that,” she said vehemently to Lynn. “He’s smarter than that.”
“It wasn’t the water,” said Vera. “Do you remember me telling everyone about the different kinds of polio, and how they affect people?”
“Yeah. Some people are paralyzed, like Adam. Some people only get a fever, and then feel fine. Some die, like my sister,” said Carter.
“And some don’t even know they have it,” Vera said.
Realization dawned on Lucy, her heart collapsing under the weight of what Vera was saying. “No,” she said, the word barely squeezing past her lips. “He is not sick.” Carter’s gaze jumped from Vera to Lucy, his confusion evident.
Vera reached across the table, clasping his hands in her own. “I’m so sorry. I tried to find another answer, but it fits. Your sister was the first, the people who came in after had all interacted with you at some point. The second wave was so perfectly timed it had to be someone here. You were the one moving between the sick and the well, carrying messages and sharing your water.”
“Can you . . . Is there any way to tell, to be sure?” Carter asked, his voice stronger than his shaking hands.
“Without a way to look at cells in your blood, no. All I’ve got to go on is timelines and crossed paths,” Vera said.
“So you could be wrong,” Lucy said.
“It’s possible,” Vera admitted, still looking at Carter. “But that would put me back at square one, searching for a source. So I need you to tell me—had you not felt well at any point before Maddy got sick?”
Carter shook his head, his throat too constricted for speech. Stebbs stepped behind him, put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “This is important, son. So think hard, and be honest.”
“No fever? No muscle spasms?” Vera continued.
“No, nothing,” Carter said.
“What about headaches?”
Carter stopped shaking his head and closed his eyes. “Shit,” he said, slowly and quietly, the one syllable damning him. “Yeah. The day we went swimming. I had a blinder, but I went anyway.” He opened his eyes and looked at Lucy. “’Cause I wanted to see you.”
A breath slipped from her hitching chest, and a sob followed it. She tried to go to him, but Lynn’s grip on her arm was like an iron band. She couldn’t offer him comfort when he put his head on the table and sobbed for the death he had brought upon his sister, the racking breaths shaking his frame, his tears soaking Vera’s notes. Vera and Stebbs did what they could, the inoculated surrounding the infected, the innocent watching from the shadows.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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Four
“You can’t see him again, Lucy. I’m sorry,” Lynn said.
Lucy sat on her bed in the home she shared with Lynn, her heartbeat a dim echo inside her body. Light flickered across the walls from the oil lamp on Lucy’s nightstand, the flame burning low on the wick. Lynn sat at the foot of the bed.
“I mean it. It’s not games now. I know you’ve snuck out of here once or twice in the past, but you can’t go to him. I won’t let you.”
Lucy nodded absently, her mind still wrapped around the image of Carter sobbing, and Lynn pulling her away from his infected tears.
“What’s going to happen to him?” Lucy asked, her voice thick with hours of crying.
“Can’t say,” Lynn answered. “Your grandma and Stebbs said they’d be by after a while. You can ask your questions then.”
“It’s not fair.”
A wry smile twisted Lynn’s mouth, and she shrugged. “What is?”
Lucy teared up again, fresh salt water burrowing new tracks over her swollen cheeks. Lynn took her hand and squeezed it. “No, it’s not fair, little one. Carter did nothing to deserve getting sick. Knowing that he killed his sister, and brought death and twisted limbs on so many, is a weight to bear.”
“I don’t know if he can take it,” Lucy said, her fear welling into a panic. “What if he—he—”
The specter of suicide, the death her own mother had chosen, wasn’t a stranger in their bleak world.
Lynn shook her head. “I don’t think he’s the type, and I’m not just saying it.”
A heavy knock on the front door reverberated through the house, up to the second floor where they sat. Lynn’s hand shot to her side, and Lucy realized she was wearing her pistol.
“It’s probably your grandma,” Lynn said, her voice tense with other possibilities. “Sit tight.”
Lynn left the room, and Lucy wiped her face on the comforter, scrubbing away the dried salt and fresh tears that had gathered. She heard muffled voices below, recognized Stebbs’ low drone, along with Vera’s comforting tones. Three pairs of footsteps came up the stairs, and Lucy lengthened the wick on the oil lamp. The flame flared and lit Vera’s face as she walked into Lucy’s room, her wrinkles etched more deeply than before, eyes sunk with exhaustion.
“How you doing, honey?” she asked Lucy, gathering her into a hug.
“Okay,” Lucy croaked. “How’s Carter?”
“We had a good long talk,” Stebbs said, leaning against the wall. “He’s sleeping now, back at our place.”
Lynn propped herself against Lucy’s dresser. “Poor bastard. You talk to his mom?”
“Yeah,” Stebbs said uneasily, his gaze shooting to Vera. “Yeah, we did.”
Vera took Lucy’s hand and looked at Lynn. “Girls . . . we need to talk.”
“Why? What’s going to happen to Carter?” Lucy pulled her hand away from Vera. “What’s going on?”
“Carter is a sick boy,” Stebbs said. “He can’t be around other people.”
“For how long?”
“That’s where it gets tricky,” he said. “Your grandma can’t say for sure.”
Vera reached for Lucy’s hand again, but she yanked it back. “What do you mean?”
Vera sighed. “Sweetheart, you’ve got to understand. When I was in medical school, polio was nearly eradicated—that means it hardly existed anymore. It wasn’t something we spent a lot of time learning about.”
“One of the things you didn’t learn was how long somebody carries it. That what you’re saying?” Lynn asked.
“Yes,” Vera said. “He could be a carrier for a week, a month, or forever. I simply don’t know.”
“I fetched his mother,” Stebbs said, “brought her back to our place, and explained the situation. Told her that her son would have to leave.”
Lucy clutched a pillow to her chest, denial tearing a hot path down her insides. “No, you can’t do that. You can’t make him go just because your stupid college didn’t teach you something forty years ago. That’s not fair and you know it.”
“What’s fair then, little one?” Stebbs asked. “Letting him stay? Not telling people he’s sick and having him infect others?”
“Stebbs is right, Lucy,” Vera said. “It’s the only thing I can think to do.”
“But what if it’s only for a week, or a month, like you said? What then? He’s gone and he never comes back because you were wrong.”
“That’s true,” Vera said. “But what if we take the chance, let him come back, and more fall sick? What do we tell them?”
“And then what?” Stebbs continued. “Try again later and tell the next round of sick it’s their bad luck and we were wrong again?” He shook his head. “I know you got feelings for the boy, but we talked it and talked it and this is the only way we can think is best for everyone.”
/> “Except Carter,” Lucy said stiffly.
“What’s best for Carter is if it hadn’t ever happened,” Stebbs said. “But we’re past that.”
“Easy for you to say,” Lucy said, anger clipping her words. “You can’t get sick.”
Stebbs’ face went cold, and his tone matched it. “Kid, there ain’t been nothing easy about this. You don’t know the half of it.”
Lynn perked up at his words. “What’s that mean?” Stebbs looked away from her, and she rounded on Vera. “What aren’t you saying?”
“There is one other possibility I didn’t mention in front of Carter,” Vera said.
Lucy’s heart leapt. Possibilities meant options, and hope. “What is it?”
Vera claimed her hand and wouldn’t give it up. She smiled sadly at her granddaughter before speaking. “It could be you.”
“Me?” she said softly, touching her chest as if the continued beating of her heart stood in denial. “It could be me?”
“It’s not you,” Lynn said through her teeth, and moved toward Vera. “And damn you for saying such a thing to her.”
Stebbs yanked her back by the shoulder. “Easy now. Getting angry ain’t helping.”
“Neither is saying a bunch of bullshit,” Lynn spat.
“I wouldn’t think it, much less say it, if there weren’t a chance it was true,” Vera said. “She was with the sick and the well as much as Carter. She was with Maddy. I can’t condemn him without questioning her.”
Lynn struggled out of Stebbs’ grip and kicked the wall, but held her silence. Vera turned to Lucy.
“Sweetheart, has there been anything, any headache, fever, back pain? Anything at all out of the ordinary you can think of, before Maddy died?”
Lucy shook her head slowly, her mind poring over the hours and days before her friend’s death. “No . . . I . . . I don’t think so.”
Images of Maddy flickered through her brain—her friend in a painful coil under the bedspread, her dead body lying at the bottom of the pit. She took a ragged breath, and Adam’s tiny smile flooded her thoughts along with Carter’s slumped body at Vera’s table as he wept for his fate.