by L. H. Tide
Hopeful, he accelerated, murmuring, “Here I come, O Community, O Utopia!”
***
Hidden
In this episode, Red shows her interest for the martial arts, taught by her adoptive mother and her old father.
“As you can see, the Community’s dome not only permits the constant recycling of water along its interior curved walls, but the agricultural zones, in the agro-units around the other buildings, also recycle water.” On the big flat screen, the students were watching the schematics showing the structure of the Community, with its Fuller dome surrounding many buildings, each of these showing the green color of plants, through their large bay windows. A youngster sighed, cutting the silence inside the classroom.
“Ned, what’s the problem?” asked the teacher, a middle-aged woman, becoming stern with him. She was grim-looking, wearing metal-rimmed spectacles.
“Sorry Miss, but… I can’t feel any passion for this umpteenth lesson in agriculture… Aren’t there other subjects we could study?”
“What you desire isn’t of interest to me,” shouted the teacher, adding, “Producing food is, with defense against zombies outside, one of the first of our Community’s objectives for survival.”
She looked at him severely a few seconds, before continuing, “Because of your poor grades, you should accept the idea that you’ll probably be an agricultural technician, in the near future. And when it arrives, you shouldn’t be ashamed. Nourishing your neighbor as much as yourself is something very honorable.”
“OK, OK,” answered the boy, lowering his gaze to avoid the teacher’s.
“You agree with me, Red?” asked the woman, turning around.
She suddenly became tense, opening wide eyes. She was looking at an empty chair. She blinked at it, and then looked at the young chestnut-haired girl sitting beside.
“Where is she, again?” yelled the teacher, furious.
“Don’t look at me like that,” the girl said, making herself small, “it’s not my fault, she didn’t come back after break time!”
Her face beginning to become red because of her anger, the teacher looked through a window at nearby green-looking buildings, their facades covered with trees and vegetation.
Red was hiding behind the corner of the half-open door. Kneeling on the floor, and her head pressing against it, she wasn’t far from the edge of the big mattress called tatami. She was taking a glimpse as the course was running in the Dojo, the classroom where Hiroto trained many young adults and teenagers in Kenjutsu, the Japanese swordsmanship. At that moment, the old man was sitting cross-legged on the tatami and facing in the other direction. He was wearing a kimono and a big black trouser-skirt, his eyes closed. Around him, there were a few very thick and hard reeds, at breast height, which had been vertically planted on wooden planks. He was concentrating, his katana in its sheath on his side, and completely immobile. All eyes were turned toward him, and in the complete silence here, the red-haired girl could sense in the air a kind of public fascination for the old man. Seconds passed by, then minutes, without anything happening. They all had the impression that they were watching a living statue of Buddha.
Suddenly in a flash Hiroto jumped up, drew his sabre, turned quickly around while moving the blade in the air in only one gesture, and finally fell on his knees, while the movement of the weapon finished as it was inserted back in its place, in its beautiful black scabbard.
The young red-headed girl blinked her eyes, surprised by the dashing speed of the old man who had moved so fast that the human eye couldn’t clearly follow what happened. She even briefly had the impression that nothing had happened, that she had dreamt it, because no one reacted in the dojo.
All at once, the upper part of the reeds began to fall all around the old Japanese man, some horizontally cut, others sliced on a bias, falling in various trajectories on the tatami with a bump.
The applause which erupted startled Red. Hiroto, impassive, slowly opened his eyes, watched them, and lifted a hand, making everyone fall into silence. He then said, “This was a demonstration of sabre cut called ’Batto Do’. It’s part of the training of the practitioners of Iaido, that perfectionist’s practice being part of the Kenjutsu. Iaido, pronounced ‘e-aye-do’ by Europeans, is the art of killing or wounding approaching opponents with one, unique movement. In this demonstration, the fighter begins immobile, and finishes immobile. The sabre slices but begins in its place, and finishes in its place.”
He stopped speaking and looked at the group of people wearing kimonos, youngsters and girls. They were hanging on every one of his words, waiting. He continued, “In the far past, before the invention of firearms, the mastership of such an art could very well mean, in war, life and death… Interesting, is it not, Red?”
The surprise had on Red the effect of an electric shock, and involuntarily she pushed the half-opened door with her head.
She fell on the floor, and her head would’ve hit the perfectly waxed wooden floor if she hadn’t had the reflex to catch herself on her hands. She finally stabilized herself through the half-open door, in a crawling position on the floor.
A clamor of surprise went through the crowd that was now watching her. Many of them seemed shocked, others laughed nervously. The girl stopped contemplating the floor and, turning her head toward them, she was embarrassed. She smiled timidly at them and murmured, “Hi!”
Hiroto, who had stood up and turned around to watch her, had a slight smile on his face.
He made a calming gesture with the palm of his hand turned toward the people, ordering them to calm down.
Silence came all of a sudden, and the old Japanese, his smile disappearing to be replaced by his usual impassivity, walked quietly toward Red, and helped her to stand up. Their faces were now at the same level, so much had the teen grown up since she had been saved. Hiroto was always impressed by the growth of the girl, and he told himself, She’s not the only one. They’re all so tall, so soon… Is it something normal? It’s really a new, totally different generation!
Her eyes met the old man’s, and she felt intimidated by his stern look.
“You’re supposed to be at school, young lady.” The harshness in his voice made her lower her gaze toward his naked feet on the tatami, and she answered, “I’m sorry… but I think I won’t learn anything useful down there, and…”
“Education is the most important thing for any human,” the Asian said louder, “and you must be grateful to have the chance to receive some, after all your first years, only occupied by trying to survive!”
She lifted her gaze to look at him, but quickly lowered it again and murmured, “May I, one day, learn Kenjutsu too?”
The old man sighed heavily, and despite his appearance of calm, the little girl feared all at once that he was going to slap her. Instead, he extended his hand and raised her chin to force her to look him in the eye, saying, calmer, “I’m not your father. nor grandfather, even if I’ve officially been your tutor, with my daughter Mei who loves you, all these numerous last months, but…” he stopped, seeming to reflect.
Seconds passed by that Red found to last centuries.
Finally, he continued, “I know how stubborn you are, and despite all the traditional education I tried on you, I know that my efforts, that way, would be useless… so let's make a bargain!"
He stopped speaking, Red visibly impatient to know his proposal, and he continued, "You go to school during the day and, in the evening, you’ll receive courses, at first in Jiu-Jitsu."
The suddenly wincing face of the girl made him feel almost angry, but he controlled himself, continuing, "It's the Japanese self-defense art, where you use only your body as a weapon. After that, if you continue to volunteer for it, you will be admitted to the training course of Kenjutsu. Is this OK with you, Red?”
“Yes, thank you!” Red answered enthusiastically, wanting to jump for joy.
“Don’t thank me until the end,” the old man said, with a stern look at her. "It will b
e hard to become a good Kenjutsu practitioner, and it’s a right that must be earned!”
***
Depressing
Johnny, one of Red's friends, visits his father... Who is slowly transforming into a living dead!
"I made it, Dad! I had my first-degree black belt in Jiu-Jitsu after only 3 years, do you realize?"
No answer.
Only those reddish eyes contemplating him, or seeming to be looking at the void…
The lack of any kind of verbal answer, or reaction, coming from his father, once again, made Johnny somber each time, at each of his visits. But he had so much hoped that, this time, things would be different…
"Speak to him," “Mengele” had said to him many times. "The more you speak to him, the more his brain will react to you, and to all your recollection of family. And then, the greater the chances to see his mind resist the transformation, and for him to remain human."
Johnny should've loved to be with his father, at this very moment.
Well, not with him, precisely, let's say that at least near Harry Jackson. Or was he something... else?
When looking at his father, who was watching him silently, in the darkness of his "bedroom", behind the bars which separated them, he hardly recognized the man. The father who continued to take care of him after the mysterious disappearance of his mother.
Those two red eyes, glowing in the dark, just contemplated him, and he had to avoid any physical contact with him; the danger of one of his arms being pulled inside to be bitten being, he had been warned, very great. And then, he would be contaminated, locked up in a cell too, and become, in his turn, one of the guinea pigs of Professor Mengele, as some people in the Community called him.
Face to face, they looked at each other in silence. Johnny sometimes recognized a glint of his father’s love in the gaze, despite the strange reddish iris and the dilated pupils. But at other moments, like now, when there was that worrisome glimmer in his eye, he sensed a beast there. It was ready to leap toward him, and to tear him apart...
His father became visibly tense, seeming to observe with nervousness Johnny and his surroundings, like a beast driven into a corner, standing on guard. Inside the room, the atmosphere was becoming, at the same time, heavy and electric.
A hit on his right shoulder made him shiver and he gasped, "What?" while rotating his neck and taking a look behind him.
"Are you all right?"
He understood that she had put a hand on his shoulder, and observed that his father was surveying her, seeming ready to counterattack. He was surprised to see his father behave like that. Why is he so afraid of her?
Turning his attention to the ginger teen, he saw that she didn't have her usual mocking attitude, as in the Dojo. In fact, she seemed actually moved by what he could feel inside, and he smiled at her.
"Well, I'm not sure my father's still a human being, but besides that, I'm OK."
Red felt bitterness in the tone of his voice. She looked at his father, who, speechless, observed both of them each in turn – but especially her - with mistrust.
"I'm so sorry for you, Johnny," the teen girl said, swallowing hard with emotion, and sadness visible on her lightly freckled face. She looked at the man - or had he already become one of those things, those creatures? One thing was for sure; his skin was showing precursory signs of decomposition. But, at least, there was still something human in his gaze. Her forced knowledge of how the zombies were told her that.
"Thank you, Red," answered the young man, stopping to look at her, and then returning his attention to his father. "At least, he's perhaps still alive, in that decaying body. Professor Harding says he's going to treat him soon, and reverse the process."
"Let's hope he's right. Is there anything I can do to help you?"
The young man looked straight into her green eyes, and he felt that she was sincere. He continued to feel a kind of animosity towards her, despite his efforts. After all, they had been, during many months, competing for their black belt. But those feelings were mitigated, now, progressively replaced by a frank friendship. He smiled warmly and continued, "The only thing you can do for me, is to pray for my father's return... but after all the horrors you've seen in this mad world, since your childhood, I wouldn't blame you for not trusting in God..."
She looked at him, visibly taken a bit aback by his phrase. She hesitated, and finally answered, "Don't be mistaken, I have trust in God... perhaps because my parents, even confronted with the horrors you described, remained faithful."
"Really?""Yes... Mother often said that her belief in a benevolent God, who would warmly welcome her in Paradise, after her death, was something very comforting..." Red waited a few seconds, before continuing with a half-smile, "Since she repeatedly thought that she was going to be killed, during all those years meandering on the roads, I bet that the perspective of that reception, up there, made things easier."
Her smile broadened and she giggled.
Despite being confused about her kind of joking, about her mother's death, Johnny finally decided to laugh with her. Thanks to her, for the first time in a long time, he felt optimistic.
A growl coming from the other side of the bars made them stop, all of a sudden.
The young colored man stood up, imitated by Red, and he said, "We must go, Dad. I hope you'll feel better, the next time I come."
A new growl was emitted by the colossus, who was standing behind the bars, his arms by his sides, watching them with a kind of voracious appetite, his mouth watering, drooling.
The young man turned around and walked toward the entrance of the room, followed by the girl.
Red stopped just an instant. She had seen a small reflection on one of Harry's cheeks. Am I dreaming, or did I actually see a tear tricklingdown one of his cheeks? Or was it a drop of sweat? She found the room rather warm, so it didn't seem impossible... She looked at him for a few seconds again, trying to see again the powerful, but also very human being, who had taken part in her rescue. She would've loved to know him better, when he was, surely, a human being…
"You come or you stay?"
The voice of Johnny, who was standing in the door frame, with, behind him, the darkness of the nearby corridor, made her quit her thoughts. She looked at him, saying to herself, This one has already abandonedthe idea of seeing his dad again...
Remaining silent, she followed him outside, slowly closing the door behind her, not before glancing a last time at the massive silhouette which was standing, watching her.
She sighed, and then closed the door completely behind her.
***
Test
What is the strange nature of the living dead? A man, the not so voluntary guinea pig of an experience, will discover this too closely...
Cries, growls, and shrieks accompanied the whole path of the group, consisting in part of two armed security guards wearing black uniforms. Rifles in the hand, they were following a man wearing something looking like a crossover between a silvery armor and an astronaut suit. Finally, there was the Professor Theodore Harding, walking behind the rest of the group. They finally arrived in front of a closed metallic door, and, in front of it, the man in the armor stopped. He looked at the cold, smooth surface, which reflected, distorted, his silhouette. He looked at his deformed face, which was visible under the lifted visor, as there was fear in his gaze. His breath became heavier, and he turned around, looking at the eye of the scientist. The latter, seeming cold and concentrated, said, “Well, you know the terms of our agreement: you enter, you stay a few minutes inside, and after that, we free you. And then, thanks to the remission which will then be granted to you, you will be immediately a free man. Think about it.” The man nodded and, swallowing hard, slowly closed his visor.
He asked, his voice distorted by the metallic armor, “You’re sure this armor will protect me?”
“Probably,” Professor Theodore Harding answered, looking at him, boldfaced. “But after all, if it was without any danger, wou
ld the Council be so generous to you? Major dangers, great rewards.”
While watching him through the closed visor, the man stepped back, but was quickly pushed closer to the closed door by the security guards, behind him.
One of their colleagues entered a code on a little keyboard beside the door.
All of a sudden it slid up. It was almost completely dark inside, with only one part of the cell illuminated by the dim light of the corridor. The man shivered, as, pushed by four hands, he entered, hesitantly, the little cell. Nothing was clearly visible.
The guillotine-like door slid down and shut behind him, banging on the metallic floor, making him startle. Outside, the hand of the guard, who had closed the door, pressed another button. This made a little monochrome TV screen switch on, showing the interior of the cell, which remained rather dark. Professor Harding extracted a little microphone out of the side of the screen and said, “Please turn on the headlamp of your armor, we can’t see anything for the moment. The interior lighting of the cell has not been working for a long time.”
His right hand trembling, the man pressed a button on the side of his helmet. A cone of light suddenly illuminated the whole cell, making the man wince because of its intensity. The image on the screen, which was of bad quality and still dark, revealed the interior of the cell, with a table and a chair, and, at the foot of it, a rolled carpet. Professor Harding approached the screen and observed every detail. He frowned, grim-looking, and after many seconds, asked in the microphone, “Where is it? Do you see it?”
“N… no,” the man in the armor answered, his voice coming from a loudspeaker on the side of the screen. On it the scientist and the guards watched the lonesome man turn around nervously, looking everywhere. His noisier and accelerating breath clearly suggested his anxiety. They heard it in his tone when he continued, “I don’t see it, there’s probably an error in your prisoner data. Let me out, please.”
