Page 27 of Veil of Death and Shadow

Like I said, some things changed after The Undoing, but a lot of things stayed the same.

“Sora has a plate saved for you when you’re ready,” I said.

We did our best to make sure no one in the area went hungry—which meant that we were often at the will and kindness of the local farmers to supply us with ingredients at an affordable price, but we made sure during the slimmer seasons that we at least always had enough for the med center volunteers. It was the least we could do for them after all they’d done for us—and for Frank.

She yawned, nodded, and thanked me, before heading in the direction of the diner. Knowing Jo, she probably hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in a week. And not just because she was balancing her research with caring for her mother. She’d taken to caring for all the patients who showed up at the med center.

Because of Jo and the rest of the volunteers, they never turned anyone away, no matter how understaffed they were, how exhausted she was, or how unclear or strange the symptoms often presented.

When my hand closed over the metal handle of the entrance, my stomach lurched, any ease I’d felt instantly distorting into a sharp, familiar fear.

A chill settled deep in my chest, making it impossible to take a full breath. My vision blurred, the building collapsing and then doubling into a ghost of itself, like a film projected on top of reality. My skin tingled with an electric surge that made my stomach twist into knots.

It had been months since I’d felt this so sharply. I’d almost let myself believe that I’d imagined the other occurrences entirely.

I blinked, willing the panic to subside—half of my brain telling me to go back, to leave this place.

Death.

Death was here.

But so was Frank.

My heartbeat thundered in my ears, reverberating through my skull as I yanked open the door and ran.

The building was quiet, as it often was, though the usual hum I felt buzzing through the walls was conspicuously lulled as well.

“No. Please no. Please be alive. Please.” I muttered the plea, over and over, a mantra to whatever god existed, as I ran up the staircase to the left, counting the doors until I got to Frank’s room.

There were currently fifteen long-term patients in the med center. Frank was one of them.

A little over a year ago, he’d developed a pretty bad cough. It started slow, almost imperceptible at first, but eventually we noticed his dinner service slowing down a bit, and some of the odd jobs around the diner taking a backseat—the corners of the ceilings were covered in cobwebs, the floors were swept every few days instead of being meticulously tidied after each rush, the more time-intensive concoctions replaced by dishes he could whip up in ten minutes or less. Frank had never been a master chef, and the diner may have been in dire need of some upgrades, but he’d always taken the cleanliness of the establishment seriously. He was the sort of guy who welcomed the food inspector twice a year with beaming pride.

At first, we thought it was just the effects of heightened demand. Frank’s had become a bit of a community refuge in the early years after The Undoing.

While he was a lot grumpier about it, like Jo, he never turned anyone away, even if they couldn’t pay or offer something in return.

When he started slowing down, he hired a couple of teens in the neighborhood to tidy up the place between rushes and agreed to let Sora and I split shifts with him. We helped balance where he was falling short, but it became clear soon after that whatever was going on with him was more than him simply being spread too thin.

Sora and I had done everything we could to convince him to see a doctor.

In all honesty, convince was perhaps too tame a word. Sora had threatened to kidnap him and drop him at a compound if he didn’t “buck up and make an appointment at the med center.”

Frank, being Frank, brushed off our concerns, even as his health started to decline more visibly. His clothes fit more loosely, his skin turned sallow, and his breathing became labored after every climb up to his apartment. Eventually, he announced that he was taking a break from the diner altogether.

He let Sora and I take over the placer until he was back on his feet, which we were happy to do—even if our skills in the kitchen left quite a bit to be desired at first. Some days, he seemed to glow with the excitement of watching us struggle, barking orders from our usual booth while we tripped over ourselves trying to get mediocre brunches served up to his patrons.

Sora often joked that his heckling would be the antidote to whatever ailed him.

For a while, it actually seemed like it was.

The diner grew busier as locals came by every day to spend time with and help Frank. We developed the menu, networked with local suppliers, and remodeled the basement so that Sora could have space to take on hair clients during the afternoons.

Each of us carved out a new purpose, one with meaning in a world that often seemed arbitrary and meaningless.

Before taking over Frank’s, I’d spent most of my working hours helping Jo and the others at the med center, teaching swimming lessons to the local kids, and whatever other odd jobs were in need of support. It was fulfilling, but chaotic, and I’d been more than willing to settle down into one line of work I could really sink into—especially if it meant helping out Frank. Grumpy as he was, he was the closest thing Sora and I had to a family besides each other.

The edge of The Undoing was softened as fear bled into purpose, into community.

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