Krisis (After the Cure Book 3) by Deirdre Gould

good a place as any.”
    He nodded.
    “Don’t come home before sunset,” she said, “that’s when the crazy priest leaves.” She opened the door. The asphalt panted with heat. Father Preston’s filthy black shirt clung to his chest and sweat matted his dark hair. His face hooked into a snarl as Ruth emerged from the police department. He looked almost as vicious as he had when he was Infected. She still felt the ache of her arms from compressing the ambubag every time she saw him. And all for what? So he and his rabid Congregation could hound her every time she tried to help someone?
    “Murderess!” he shrieked, “Faithless, craven monster! Is she all nice and tied up for you? Waiting to be sacrificed on the altar you built for yourself? How many children, Ruth?” He smacked the community board behind him with the back of his hand. Ruth’s eyes snapped to the photos.
    “Don’t you touch those,” she hissed, “those are not for you.”
    The priest looked surprised and turned toward the board. Behind the plastic shield, dozens of faces smiled out. He turned back toward her. “Don’t want me to ruin your trophies? You’re sick. You were a doctor . How can you do this? You have to be stopped,” he raised his arms toward the small group of people around him, “She’s going to murder another innocent victim of the Plague. To bathe in the blood of a child whose only crime was falling ill. She was a mother too, she killed her own child and now she murders others. Heartless, unnatural, wicked harlot! Will no one stop her? Will no one be a warrior for God?”
    Ruth just kept walking. She’d made the mistake of retorting before. One of the men took a step toward her, but stopped as the afternoon light sparked from the metal edge of the pistol hanging at her waist. An elderly woman farther up the street shuffled toward her with a broad smile. The gray braid that circled her head was fuzzy with fly-aways that caught the sunlight and made a white-hot halo around her. She held a great black bible in her thin arms and stretched it out toward Ruth. She hadn’t been with the protesters before, she was new. Ruth sighed and slowed down.
    “This isn’t something I enjoy,” Ruth offered, “The girl is in terrible pain. It never ends. And it never will—”
    Father Preston began shouting over her. “Through suffering we are cleansed! If the girl and her father repent and pray, she will be cured. Nothing is beyond God! I was cured—”
    Ruth whirled around to look at him. “You stupid, arrogant man. What makes you think you are better or holier than all the people who have succumbed to this? You think you’re more guiltless than children? Than my child?” She was so angry she didn’t notice the massive bible raised over the smiling old woman’s head until the leather cracked with a loud thud into her back. Ruth stumbled forward a step and watched the other protesters begin closing in around her. She swung around and knocked the book out of the old woman’s hand. It skidded across the baking tar and the thin leaves fluttered, their words floating on the translucent paper. Ruth fumbled with her holster and pulled out the gun.
    “Back up!” she shouted, swinging in an arc, “All of you back up.”
    “You see?” yelled Father Preston pointing a crooked finger at her, “The monster shows her true nature.”
    The others looked uncertain as Ruth changed focus between each of them. She didn’t waste her breath arguing. She backed out of the circle of people.
    “I wouldn’t waste the blood of the faithful on someone like you, Ruth,” sneered the priest.
    Ruth turned her back on them and walked into the silent city, passing into the cool shadow of the rusting buildings. After a block, she put the gun back in its holster and began the long walk to Emma’s house.
    The heat was muted between intersections, the sun had given up the battle and partially fallen behind the tall buildings, still blasting through the