by L. H. Tide
A laughter erupted from around him, and he gazed unhappily at his comrades near him, who found his situation funny. The group accompanying the little red-haired girl laughed too, and even she smiled. "Help me to get rid of this junk off me, instead of laughing like idiots!" he pointed an index finger at the headless body lying on him, now completely immobile. The men stopped laughing but continued to smile, while they lifted together the skeleton-like remains a few centimeters higher, freeing Antonio. He then wiped his face with a handkerchief, wincing. Suddenly, the two bony arms of the beheaded creature extended and were agitated, moving randomly in front of the thing. This surprised the man, who gasped and dropped the handkerchief when he was touched by the pointed ends of the phalanges. The cold hands took the man’s wrists, and he struggled to free himself again, while what remained of the bottom part of the skull, with its jaws, opened and plunged toward his neck. A boot kicked the side of the visible rib cage of the creature, and it fell beside Antonio, who crawled quickly further away. He looked at the man who had saved him, who was one of his bearded comrades. The torso without a pelvis rolled on its back, and its bony arms had spasmodic movements in every direction, trying to grab any human prey in its surroundings. It seized the leg of the bearded man who now put his boot on its sternum, and the jaws opened, ready to bite, despite its lack of upper skull and eyes. "Come off it!!" shouted the smirking guard. He forced, with the barrel of his rifle, what remained of the jaws and head to turn on the side, pressed onto the dirty soil, and pulled the trigger. The powerful gunshot made the creature free the leg and the remains of the jaw literally exploded in a myriad of pieces, leaving the now neatly beheaded zombie with only its cervical vertebrates. Nevertheless, the thing continued to move its arms randomly in all the directions, while the bearded man in uniform scowled at it, and finally grinned. The one who seemed to be the chief of the guards approached him and said, "You’ve wasted valuable ammunition. Stop. It’s over!" The rough-looking man looked back at his superior with disgust, his hatred for the zombies clearly visible on his face, but said nothing. While the living dead uselessly continued to wiggle on the ground, he approached Antonio who was wiping his face with his hands, and gave him a clean handkerchief. The dirty Hispanic guy murmured a little ‘thank you’, and cleaned his face with it. The bearded man chuckled and said, "Well, you’ve had your baptism!" The other men laughed again. Anger appeared on Antonio's face and he threw the now dirty piece of paper toward the bearded man's face, who dodged it easily, provoking even more laughter. The group with the little girl laughed again. "Well, he can be glad it finished almost as if he was the victim of a practical joke," the young driver said, "he may have been wounded and infected and... ouch!" An elbow of the Asiatic man near him had hit some of his ribs, and the blond guy looked surprised at him. That was before he had remarked that the young black guy was scowling at him. His impressive father was looking at the ground, his moral clearly as low as his rifle which was now also pointing toward the ground. "So... sorry..." murmured the young man, finally falling silent, angry gazes at him telling him he should not say anything more. The little girl saw the young colored man put a sympathetic hand on one of his dad's shoulders, who responded by giving him a little smile. "Dad!" This female voice surprised the child, who, turning her head, looked toward where it had come from. An elegant silhouette had come out of one of the nearest buildings, having a smooth and light gait. A few seconds later, she was able to better see the approaching person, who was now illuminated by the feeble glow of an urban lighting, using low energy LED lamps. She then saw a beautiful young Asian woman arriving. Further away under the dim light, they saw a group of persons exit another building, while pushing something, a group which ran toward them. "You're OK, Dad?” the soft voice of the young woman, which didn’t have any foreign accent, grabbed the attention of the little girl. The woman continued, “I heard someone at the CB saying that someone had been wounded, or something like that." "Harry was bitten, he has a bad wound on one of his calves" "Bitten?" The cervical vertebrae of the woman almost cracked, because of her rapidly turning her head toward the big black man. He was now sweating more than ever, his eyes were looking down toward the ground, and he had to be supported by his son, who was unstable because of the weight.
A rolling noise was suddenly heard, and a gurney for patients borne by castors arrived. It was pushed by the upcoming group which was composed of three male nurses, who stopped near the newly arrived group. "Everything's OK, we'll take care of him now," said one of the three, a strong chestnut-haired man, to the young black guy. He took Harry’s free arm on his shoulders and, helping the son to support his father, they helped him to lie on the bed. The impressive man sighed with relief when he was installed and fastened on the bed. The nurses then immediately ran away, pushing it toward the building fruther in front of them. The little girl guessed it was probably the Community's hospital. Watching them disappear in the building through double automatic swing doors, the little red-haired girl felt extremely worried for Harry, as if he was a member of her late family. She was surprised by her feelings, but told herself that, despite the fact that he was a complete stranger to her, he had taken many risks, like the others, in order to save her... She suddenly felt a kind hand on one of her shoulders. Happy to see that it wasn't the bony hand of a zombie, but one of a human, complete, with its skin, flesh and blood, she raised her head. She then saw the wonderful smiling face of the Asiatic man's daughter, and smiled back. This young woman, who had a dark and soft look, and was crouched near her, had her sweet face at the same level as the girl’s. She was beautiful and friendly at the same time, and the child knew, all of a sudden, that she already loved her, the kind of love one feels for one’s mother. "You've finally arrived at your new home, honey." The little girl looked at her intensely without answering. Many seconds passed... And all of a sudden, she burst into tears, falling into the woman's arms, crying. Not that she felt safe; all those horrors, all that terrible loss of her family, all those emotions pervaded her mind and her heart. The young blond guy, touched, said, "Don't cry, everything's OK, and..." He shut up when he saw the Asiatic man put a finger in front of his own lips while glaring at him. "Yes, cry, honey, it will do you some good, after everything you’ve endured," the Asiatic woman said, and she let the child continue to cry against her for many minutes. The Asiatic man and the driver walked away, while two mechanics, who had appeared seemingly from nowhere, drove the van inside a nearby garage. Finally, the little red-haired girl stopped crying and, wiping her green eyes with the back of her hands, she and the woman glanced at each other. The Asiatic woman smiled again at her and asked, "What's your name? Your first name? Mine is Mei." The little red-haired girl looked at her in a strange way, and then took a peek at the sleeve of her dress, stained with her mother’s blood. Then, without any further hesitation, she exclaimed, "My name is Red!" On her face, traces of emotion instantly disappeared, and she became as emotionless as Mei’s father. Surprised, the woman’s grin faded away.
***
Discovery
Red, who has begun to live with two Japanese people, discovers the universe of the martial arts.
Red awakened brutally, in a kind of shock. Vague images of her nightmare rose, at the bounds of her consciousness. Images bathed in bloody colors, the family car burning, with her father shouting inside it, her mother falling toward the ground while shrieking, her arms stretched toward her daughter. She sat up in her bed, looking at the wall of the bedroom which was in front of her, and sighed. It wasn't a bad dream, it was the plain, the terrible reality... The yellow curtains of the unique window of the small, but comfortable bedroom, bathed it in a golden light. It also proved that it was day. She got out of her bed, a comfortable futon, and pulled on Japanese flip-flops. She then stood up, wearing pajamas that were a bit too big which had been offered to her, like the flip-flops. Hesitant, she opened the bedroom's door, going into the apartment's corridor. It was an illuminated corridor. This stressed
her, making her heart beat faster... This apartment, located on the first floor of the building had its windows and curtains open, something she felt as being strange. Strange and, for her, viscerally speaking, dangerous. During the last three years, she had only lived in places, with her parents, where windows and curtains had to be closed. That way, day or night, they could not be seen by wandering living dead, which were attracted like mosquitos by every source of artificial light. They were conscious, as far as their distorted and messed up minds could be conscious about anything, that where there was such a light, there were humans to consume. And God knows... or since he clearly had forgotten people, Satan knows, that during these hard times, the zombies had stolen from the mosquitos their title. Mosquitos had, during centuries, the title of being the most dangerous animals in the world, since they killed millions of people, each year, by transmitting diseases from one human to another. During half of her childhood, she had been hiding, with her parents, in many abandoned apartments and houses. They never stayed in these places for very long durations, because, sooner or later, two things forced them to move: the lack of food, and the living dead. The quantity of food her father had found, while exploring, a shotgun in hand, abandoned apartments and houses, determined the duration of their residence. Almost everything they found was stale, often years beyond its best, but for the moment, it wasn’t a problem; it was because – or thanks to – of all the chemical additives that the food manufacturers put in the tin cans. The food remained edible and, generally, didn’t make them sick. And even when they had found decaying meat, sometimes, she had, like her parents, been able to forget the rotten smell and taste. She preferred that to going hungry. They had then become used to closing the curtains or, if they couldn’t find any in some rare cases, they taped bedspreads or old blankets on the windows. That way, zombies couldn’t see them inside, and especially couldn’t be attracted by lights of human origin. That way, they were quiet… at least for a little while… Sooner or later, these creatures, which had an avid and never-ending interest in living flesh, came wandering around their location. It was as if, even without seeing them, they were attracted. There were only a few the first days, but progressively, entire populations of these marauders arrived. And then arrived a moment when they understood that they had to flee, and flee fast! Then, they gathered all the food they could and watched their car. When they observed an important decline of the density of zombie groups around the vehicle, they ran to it with bags containing food. Red stopped walking in the corridor, bad memories flooding her mind: her parents, especially her mother, had become excellent marksmen: they had become experts in the art of exploding a head with a minimum of precious bullets… and of driving economically, gas, when I could been found, becoming more and more scarce… Too young to bear any weapon, the little girl had become a great sprinter. In the course of time, habits becoming natural, it had almost become a game for her to zigzag between zombies, while running to the car. After both her parents had strategically disposed of the nearest ones, they entered the vehicle in a rush. Then, always, her parents had to drive through a mass of living dead, which were hustled like big, ugly rag dolls. The difference with real dolls was that, afterwards, when her family looked back, the things always got back on their feet, beginning to pursue them again. And the living dead were always, always beaten at this game… Until… until… until what had happened… the burning car and the shriek of her mother, all this obscured her mind, immersing it in dark thoughts. She shook her head violently, chasing the painful memories. She felt that her breath was almost blocked. She sighed heavily, trying to catch her breath. After a few minutes in the deserted corridor, she became quiet again, silence coming back. Not complete silence… there was something… She listened, and recognized shouting in the distance, along with strange sounds. She continued to walk and reached the end of the corridor. She recognized the entrance hall and, nearby, the kitchen. She smiled; she had been given a wonderful meal there, the previous night, before being brought to the bedroom. But there was also a closed door, to which she had not given sufficient attention, having been so tired. Had the shouting come from behind this door? Or did it come from outside? No shouts anymore, but faint sounds of wood being hit. She was beginning to ask questions; Am I going mad? A sudden shriek made her shiver. Again the strange wood sounds, but this time, she was sure, it had come up from behind the mysterious door. She pushed the door and it didn’t move. Looking more closely, she understood that it was a sliding door. She slid it… and entered another world. Two people were violently fighting on a huge carpet, beating each other with thick, strange sticks. She saw that they were wearing some kind of helmet with a grid that protected their faces. They suddenly stopped fighting and became immobile. They were standing in front of each other, with not a trace of movement, like a couple of statues, taking cover behind their sticks. These seemed to be extending from big handles, held with both hands. They slowly turned around each other, observing each other. They were playing cat and mouse, but she was unable to guess who was the cat. They were wearing a kind of long, thick, and black dress, clearly a protective suit. Only their bare feet were visible on the carpet, but barely seen, because the protagonists were wearing big trouser-skirts. Their feet moved slowly, while they continued to observe each other. Red was fascinated by their slow, feline movements. These two fighters, the big one and the other, smaller and thinner one, were really like two black panthers. They were measuring each other, ready to exploit any of their opponent’s weakness, or lack of attention… The biggest emitted a male shout and hit the top of the mask of the other, who reacted simultaneously. The smaller hit the taller in the stomach with a slicing movement while shouting with a female voice. The biggest fighter, who was facing Red, shouted something in Japanese, and they both stopped again. They brought back their sticks in front of them, in a protective guard, and then remained immobile. They then bowed almost in unison, and the big one facing Red lifted his helmet with one hand. She recognized the Asiatic man with the shy smile who had saved her, and remembered that he had said, last night, that his first name was Hiroto. The smaller fighter who was facing him turned around and lifted the mask too, and Red recognized Mei, whose smile was much warmer. The little red-haired girl already loved the young Japanese woman and her father, despite the fact that he was more reserved… but finally affectionate. She felt the gaze of many eyes and, turning her head, had a shock: dozens of people were watching her. Young adults, teenagers, children, of both sexes, of all races. They were all wearing kimonos, and were sitting on the right side of the room, illuminated by fluorescent lights on the ceiling. They were sitting, legs crossed, on the huge carpet, which, she now understood, was made up from many much smaller carpets. And all these people were scrutinizing her, making her feel uncomfortable. “Red,” Mei said while walking toward her in her strange garment, “you’re awake. Good morning. Did you sleep well?” “Yes, thank you, I slept well on the fu… what do you call it again?” “A futon. It’s a Japanese bed.” “Oh, yes. Very practical with those big storage drawers under the bed.” “Yes, you’re right,” the young woman answered, her smile becoming even larger. Red had the impression that this woman, who seemed to be in her twenties, perhaps thirties, was really very happy to see her, and she felt the same about her. “Mei, the salute!” the rude voice of her father made Red shiver. “Just a minute,” Mei said, and turning around she joined her father, who had faced the group, and stood near him. They both removed their protection covers and deposited them on the mattress, with their helmets, before kneeling. And then, after Hiroto had said something in Japanese, he leaned forward, putting his hands on the mattress and touching the surface with his forefront. He was imitated by Mei and the whole group. Hiroto stood up, and everyone imitated him once again, and answered to his last bow, after which he walked with Mei toward Red. “Good morning… Red.” He had said, with a kind of hesitation, the only name she had agreed to tell them, almost in a disgusted way. Ever since he ha
d discovered her when he had arrived to save her, he had been intrigued by the strange behavior of the child. But he also had admitted to his daughter that, after the nightmare she had gone through, it was normal for her to be in a shock, and they both hoped that, one day, she would tell them her real first and last names. He knew that no identity card survived the flames of her family’s car, and that those on her mother’s body had been torn in pieces like her clothes during the horrible feast. But was it so important to know who she was? What was important was that she was a living human being, who deserved protection, like all the others who had come to the Community. After all, when she wasn’t in one of her strange, introvert moods, she was a very cheerful and affectionate little girl, who delighted his daughter. And, last but not least, she had awakened the goodness which was within him, carefully hidden under his seemingly indestructible carapace of samurai. “Until we find her a family in the Community, she can live in our house,” he had said to Mei, who was actually thrilled. But if she was allowed to live with them, she would have to follow their household rules… He cleared his throat and, looking at the group of students, said to them, “The special attack-defense demonstration is finished. We will go into more detail during our next course.” He said a Japanese word and leaned forward to salute them, making them all bend in return. The practitioners then quit the room, not without having a look at the small red-haired girl - she who remained standing, clearly intrigued. When the child was at last alone with the father and daughter, he continued with a harsh voice, “Red, you must ask permission before being permitted to enter the dojo during training… and follow its regulations.” Red nodded yes with enthusiasm, and remained silent, remaining attentive. Keeping a straight face, the old man smiled to himself and continued, “First thing, you must be bare foot when you’re on the tatami.” “The ta… ta-mi?” the child asked, watching her own feet in the flip-flops. “Yes… the mattress, if you wish to call it that,” intervened Mei with a softer tone. Now that Red was conscious that flip-flaps she was wearing were messing up the tatami, she blushed with shame and stuttered, “Excuse me.” “You don’t have to excuse yourself, since I hadn’t warned you,” answered the Asiatic man, nodding. He had appreciated the authentic regret showed by the child, and that even made him smile a little. He continued, “We thought you wouldn’t get up so early, especially after last night…” He stopped speaking, his great warrior’s peripheral vision having permitted him to sense Mei watching him reproachfully. And he well understood why: with these words, he risked bringing back bad memories in Red’s mind. He decided to remain silent now. Mei asked Red, wanting to bring her out of her worries, “Would you want to visit the Community with me?” “I’d love that,” the girl answered, cheering up, “but before we do, could you explain to me what you were both doing?” “We were practicing Kenjutsu,” Mei answered, a much warmer smile on her face than on her father’s. “Ken… jutsu?” “Yes,” intervened Hiroto, “an ancestral Martial Art, which was passed on to me by my father, who learned it from his father, and so on, since medieval Japan… I come from a family of Samurais.” He stopped speaking a few seconds, seeing that the girl was hanging on every one of his words, fascination apparent in her big green eyes. An amused smile on his lips, he resumed, “Some people in the Community say that, compared to guns, it’s an outdated fighting art, and that I should stop wasting my time, and the precious time of my students.” “I love it!” answered Red, clearly thrilled. “It’s taught to students who deserve it… If you want to practice it one day, you must study before, in my school, Jiu-Jitsu; it’s a Martial Art which is practiced with bare hands and barefoot.” Watching him intensely while having heard these words, the red-haired girl remained silent, a strong willingness visible in her gaze.
