Free Krisis (After the Cure Book 3) by Deirdre Gould Page A

were muddy, like an old mimeograph.
    “What is it?” asked Nella
    “Well, there was someone here after the Plague. Someone organized enough to print and distribute notices anyway.” He held it up so she could read it.
     
    Any persons with electrical skills, medical knowledge, or ham radio operators needed. Please report to 6900 Georgia Ave on Monday, February 3rd. Food dispensation will double this week in case of severe storms. Please plan accordingly.
    Residents are warned about killing protected trees for firewood. Trees in park areas belong to the community. Violators will be shot on sight.
     
    Nella began folding the paper, uninterested in the rest of the announcements. She stopped when she glanced at the date. “Frank, this paper is over three years old now.”
    “Maybe this place was abandoned. There’s nothing terribly useful here. Or maybe they forgot to change the date, or ran out of numbers or something. Dates don’t seem to matter too much any more.”
    “I guess we need to go to Georgia Avenue to find out. What was there?”
    Frank put his pack on the counter and fished out the atlas. “A medical museum. Or an army hospital? I think both.”
    “How long will it take us to get there?”
    “A few hours if we cut through the subway. We have one more battery for the lantern, that should get us there.”
    Nella shuddered at the thought of the blank dark of the tunnels.
    “I’m sorry, I forgot.” said Frank, “We don’t have to go into the subway. We can go through the streets if you’d rather, but we’ll have to camp again.”
    Nella shook her head. “No, I can do it. Every hour we are away from the boat I worry that someone else has found it.”
    “I’ll be with you.”
    Nella smiled. “I know,” she said and kissed him.
     

Chapter 6
    The thick glass door flung open and Ruth heard Father Preston’s ragged flock hurling screams at the man who entered. She leaned forward in her seat and closed her paperback book around her thumb. She tried to peer through the filthy reception window, but she couldn’t make out who it was until he came closer.
    “Nick,” she sighed. He pushed two rolls of toilet paper and a jar of cooking oil into the transaction drawer. “We talked about this. No kids.”
    The man fumbled in his pocket. He pulled out a coppery bit of metal. His hands shook as he placed the bullet on the bottom of the transaction drawer. Both Ruth and the man stared at it, dulled from years of rolling between the man’s fingers. He shoved the transaction drawer closed and it popped open on Ruth’s side of the window with a bang. She looked up again at the man. His nose slid sideways from a recent break. A filthy band-aid curled up from the stubble on his cheek and flapped with every ragged breath. His eyes were two reverse suns, weariness radiating from the creases in his skin.
    “I don’t do kids, Nick. Why do we have to go through this every week?”
    “It’s Emma’s birthday today,” said Nick and his lips split into a slow smile of relief, “she’s eighteen today.”
    “I don’t believe you,” said Ruth pushing the transaction drawer closed. It opened with a squeal on his side of the window. Nick’s face flooded with color and the creases in his skin deepened as a flash of rage passed over him. But then the slow smile came back and he reached into his back pocket. Ruth’s stomach felt as if it were being sucked up by toilet plunger. Nick pulled out a dogeared, yellowing envelope. He threw it into the transaction drawer.
    “I thought you might say that,” he said, and closed the drawer again. Ruth picked up the envelope. “Emma Jean Fowler” was penciled lightly across the front, the marks so faded that she was almost reading the indents instead. Inside was a birth certificate. She put it back in the drawer.
    “Are you sure?” she asked, “What about taking her to Juliana’s hospital?”
    Nick raised a fist and banged once on the glass. He leaned his face into