The Advisor's Apprentice

by Karpa, Boris

  - "Thanks!" – Arthur nodded – "Do you know... about Jake?"

  - "That's the naked kid. You'll need to ask around about that. I've not seen here they took him, but I think he's going to need to stay here for a while. Poor kid was hurt all over."

  - "Oh." – Arthur could only nod again – "Well, thanks. I will go look for him." – and with that, he took off down the hall.

  As he did, he could not help but notice that the hospital was surprisingly very similar to the hospitals he remembered from Before. The walls and floor were all cleaned to near-perfection. Medical posters, warning residents about the dangers of pneumonia and the importance of hygiene, hung on the walls. The only thing that seemed strange was that there were fairly few people in the halls. He determined to ask why as soon as he met someone who could answer his question.

  Doctor Infante's office was only a few doors down the hall. The door was open. As Arthur approached he could just barely see Martin sitting on a medical bed, his upper body naked and bound with a broad white bandage. The doctor himself was standing with the back to the door, talking to Martin.

  - "...no, it's not broken. I don't think it is. But just in case, wear this bandage for a few days. It'll hurt quite a bit still – you've gotten yourself quite a pummeling."

  For a moment, Arthur felt somewhat embarrassed. He had always thought of doctor visits as something private – a reflex back from the days he was in school and the school nurse would close the door when dealing with a student. He'd heard of the concept of medical privacy too, and while he was quite fuzzy on the details, he was quite certain he wasn't supposed to intrude on a medical procedure like this. He took a step back, making certain to look away from the door. It seemed to be quite like spotting someone naked – you looked away and pretended nothing had ever happened.

  - "Hey, Arthur." – Martin waved. – "It's okay, Doctor Infante is almost done here."

  The doctor turned. He had long, raven-black hair and a square jaw. He smiled to the young man: "Arthur? Seriously? It's like the old show. You've seen it, right?"

  - "Thank you." – Martin hopped off the bed. His happy manner was instantly betrayed as he winced in pain. "I'm sorry, I need to go." – wincing once more, he began to get dressed. The physician looked at Martin with disappointment, but, a minute later, the advisor had put on a black shirt (Arthur had nor remembered Martin ever wearing that was not black) – grabbed his jacket and vest, and, repeating again – "I'm sorry, Doctor, I must run." – left the office, closing the door behind him.

  - "Quick," – he said to Arthur – "Follow me."

  The advisor took his apprentice down the hall, behind a corner, and half a flight up a staircase before he stopped. There he stopped to put on his jacket and vest, as Arthur looked up at him, trying to comprehend the reason for this startling behavior.

  Martin studied his apprentice for a few seconds, as if trying to understand something, and then laughed.

  - "You must wonder why we rushed out of there! Oh there's nothing much. It's just that Infante can be the most annoying bastard in the world. Doesn't even mean it. Just talks too damn much. If he doesn't have too many people to sew up, he can grab your sleeve and talk to you until your ears wilt. That sort of fellow."

  Arthur shook his head. – "That's why you ran out of his office like your hair was on fire?"

  - "Quite right. Now let's go. I want to visit Mr. Windham before we get on with our business. Up we go."

  *

  Jake Windham was no longer naked. Instead, he was dressed in an off-white hospital gown decorated with pink dancing animals. A glass filled with a bright-orange liquid stood on the night-stand before him. Several Band-Aids decorated his face and head, and white bandages were visible thought gaps in his clothing.

  - "Will you believe that?" – he asked his rescuers – "They've got orange juice here somehow. I wonder where they get it."

  - "I'm quite sure I know where they get it." – Martin smiled – "That's what I do for a living."

  - "Fetch... orange juice?" – with a shaking hand, Jake grasped the glass of juice and brought it up to his lips, taking a long gulp, as if the fact that Martin had fetched it made it somehow more delicious.

  - "He's an advisor," – Arthur explained, knowing the older man was not the type for detailed explanations – "He shoots ghouls and teaches people to shoot them. And he also find things. And I'm his apprentice. We find stuff for people, and then we either get it for them or tell them where to go get it."

  - "There good money in that?" – the injured young man smiled weakly.

   "It's safer to try to get things these days when you know where they are than to try to go through a neighborhood looking for them house to house. There's still fighting the ghouls when you go directly to a place – but you deal with less ghouls this way than if you looked under every nook and cranny. And of course, when you know where you're going, you come prepared. If you know there are more ghouls, you can bring more people, more ammo, more guns." – Arthur continued – "Of course it's better if someone just brings the things to you, but people are willing to pay a guide too." – he didn't mention that Martin often took his payment in crazy, useless things. Like that watch. It felt a bit embarrassing.

   “And you...” – Jake continued – “Are you also an advisor?”

   “Not really.” – Arthur replied. – “I'm Martin's apprentice. It'll take some time for me to learn all the stuff he knows. I've been with him for two weeks – he got me from Serenity Bay.”

   “That's right.” – the injured youth said – “That's right. I remember them taking someone... two weeks ago...”

   “Well,” – Martin said – “Drink your juice.”

   “That's right,” – Jake gulped on the liquid – “You found it... it's delicious. How did it keep?”

   “Excuse me?” – Martin asked, but it was clear he already understood the question.

   “How did it keep for six months? No fridges or anything.”

   “Preservatives.” – the advisor explained – “It's probably from some kind of concentrate. These can keep for a long time if you keep the room cold and don't open the box.”

   “Oh.” – the young man said with a slightly disappointed tone.

   “Preservatives are underrated.” – Martin shook his head – “They're nowhere near as bad for you as people think. And there's still plenty of nutrients there.”

   “Nutrients?” – Jake gulped down the remainder of the juice in one big, long gulp – “It's still tasty, that's for sure. I've not had any orange juice in six months.”

   “Nutrients.” – Martin smiled – “Vitamins.”

   “Oh. Those.” – Jake moved his head slightly on the pillow, as if trying to nod. His eyes closed.

   “Are you okay, Jake?” – both advisor and apprentice asked at once.

   “I'm okay. Just a bit sleepy. They've said I'll be sleepy...” – the young man said.

   “Well.” – Martin nodded – “You just sleep. We'll be back, okay?”

   “We will.” – Arthur nodded. He felt something rising inside him – like a ball in his throat. He bit down on his lip not to break out crying.

   “Let's go, Arthur.”

  They closed the door quietly behind them, trying their best not to disturb Jake. The young man had allowed his body to relax on the bed. He was probably fast asleep before they even left the room.

  For an instant, the pair stood outside the door, looking at each other without a word. Arthur averted his eyes, hoping that the advisor did not see his expression, and pretended to study the walls. “Have you taken the Universal Flu Vaccine?” – asked one of the posters there. It seemed to be the most stunningly irrelevant item imaginable. Certainly a Flu Vaccine wouldn't have helped Jake – or anybody at all Arthur had met After.

   “He's going to die, isn't he?” – Arthur whispered, still looking away from the advisor.

   �
��I don't think so.” – Martin replied – “You see...”

   “Have you two lost your mind?” – a woman's voice rang behind them.

  Arthur spun around – and saw the same doctor who had treated his face. “You will wake him up!” – she whispered – “With all the medication he's on and the injuries he's had, he's going to need more sleep if we're to get him to his feet within the next week. Wouldn't want it to take a month for your friend to get out of the hospital when there's work to be done, would you?”

  They gasped, looking at Cook. She smiled, and then whispered. – “I get it. You were worried for your friend. Come now. You can't stay here, and if you do you need to keep perfectly quiet.”

   “I see, Ma'am.” – Martin replied, his face splitting in a triumphant grin. – “We'll be going, then.”

  *

   “So how do you like this, Arthur?” – Martin smiled, gesturing expansively.

   “It's... beautiful.” – Arthur could not resist. From here, the Florentine Republic looked less like an armed gang and more like a giant fair. Even in this weather – a gray autumn day, with the sky overcast by count – you could not take away the bright nature of the place. Everywhere there were tents – some decorated with bright strips of cloth, others with dream catchers. Clumps of tiny, fragile-looking tubes – Aeolian harps – hung from tree branches overhead, clinking and singing as the wind shook them.

  The people that passed them by looked cheerful as well. Many wore their hair long, down to their very shoulders. Some played music in their tents – in three minutes, Arthur spotted three guitars and at least four flutes.

   “Would you like to buy something to eat, stranger?” – a woman with blazing-blue hair asked Arthur. He couldn't understand how old she was, but she clearly was pretty. He struggled to come up with a reply, but Martin already spoke up:

   “He's got nothing to pay you with, Dolores.”

   “I don't?”- Arthur replied, looking sadly as Dolores slunk away.

   “You've left most of the real valuables you own back at home – and I would prefer if you did not give the nice lady your weapons. Or your knife. Or your flashlight.”

   “Hah, I'm not that dumb.”

   “Maybe. But I saw you look at her.”

   “Whatever.” – Arthur replied and returned to gawking at the Florentine Republic. And there was quite a lot to gawk at.

  Here was a man with a long beard, its tips tied off into dreadlocks and beaded, sitting on a park bench and playing a guitar – almost like a street singer in the old, peaceful world, but with a pistol gleaming at his hip. A hat lay on the bench next to him – and several batteries were already gleaming inside the hat, like coins. There was a pair of women selling sandwiches

  Moreover, the entire place was full of tents – he had already seen them from the window of the doctor's office, but now he realized just how many tents there were. Most of them were ordinary tourist tents – self-unfolding, gleaming with silvery cloth, with vents on top for air. Colorful sleeping bags were visible through openings. There were also two incredible tents – huge, colored in olive-green, made of rough cloth. They could probably fit five dozen people each, Arthur thought to himself.

   “So what is this place?” – he wondered out loud.

   “What, the Florentine Republic?” – Martin replied – “Ah, a most curious place.”

   “What do you mean? You keep keeping everything so short, it's like every word is a super-hard struggle of struggleness for you.”

   “Struggleness? That's not even a word.” – Martin smirked.

   “It's not?” – Arthur winked.

   “Trust me.” – the smirk became a broad, cheerful grin – “Trust me, I have a degree in English Studies.”

   “So, what is this place?” – Arthur reiterated – “You were a teacher, I'm sure you can answer me in more than a sentence.”

   “Very well, walk with me.” – the advisor replied, as he began to move down the park. The broad path that had been once the place to walk a dog or ride bicycle had now been narrowed down, encroached upon by sleeping pads, mattresses, tents, and, in one case, a charcoal grill that Arthur just barely avoided knocking over. – “See, in the days before this all started, this was Florentine Park, which in itself was the center of a city neighborhood called Florentine. And it was full of the sort of people you see here – artists, college students, pub divers, diving instructors, and a thousand other fellows like this – longhair hippies, punks, unrecognized poets, Chinese therapy practitioners, you name it. Seedy or alternative, pick your name for it.”

   “Is that why I can smell weed here?” – the young man bounced back.

   “I don't know how you know the smell of marijuana at your age, Mr. Campbell?” – the former English teacher replied with a mock-stern voice.

   “Some fellows in my class did it.

   “Right. Some fellows in your class. But yes, you're exactly correct in your guess. People here did drugs, and they're going to keep doing them now. And long as the guards don't do them on their shifts, Mayor Jackson won't mind either.”

   “Mayor Jackson?”

   “This is where our story really starts. See, Theodore Jackson used to own a microbrewery here. Used to be very active for the rights of Florentine inhabitants, blah, blah. Anyway, back in the day, he advocated for urban secession.”

   “Urban secession?”

   “Yeah. Had this idea that Florentine should be its own town with its own mayor and city council and everything. Figured out it would save businesses money, make it easier for locals in rent and taxes and probably have the police hassle them less while they were at it. Which was important, what with the sort of fellows that lived here.”

   “So when the ghouls came, they put him in charge.”

   “Eventually. Now, neighborhoods like this, they have more veterans than you'd think. Folks looking to unwind after their service – did too much, seen too much, plain just tired after two or three years working too hard and not sleeping nearly enough and having people twice as dumb as you are ordering you around – and trust me, when people are ordering you around, they're almost always twice as dumb as you are.”

   “That's... I've never thought of it this way.” – Arthur blurted out.

   “Right then. So what happened is that they figured out what was going early. Blocked off some of the streets, and armed themselves – but moreover, they organized. Now, organized people who were not afraid of shamblers and did not panic already had an edge. And then they figured out that something was wrong.”

   “Beyond the dead people walking, you mean?” – Arthur was surprised hearing himself joke about it. But six months into it, it seemed even a bit funny.

   “That anybody who died became a shambler. You get bit by a shambler, you die in a few minutes and become one – that was simple to get, but people who died their own death rising a minute later – that was hard. But they toughed that out, too. There's a reason all the doctors here have a gun under their white coats and another one leaning on their office wall.”

   “I've not seen anybody here without a gun yet.”

   “True. Point is, they figured themselves out. Even got power back. They have power from a portable power plant, the military kind. Nobody knows how long that'll last, but they keep finding fuel. They keep raiding the city for supplies. I help too, of course. They've pulled in refugees – and sometimes they expand.”

   “Expand?”

   “Take back a house here, a house there. Push back the walls. It's slow going. Fighting the shamblers indoors is hard, and it is scary, and people don't want to do it unless they really have to.”

   “Is that why they have so many people living in tents?” – Arthur asked.

   “Quite perceptive of you.” – the advisor replied. It was like a ping-pong player bouncing a ball back to his opponent. – “Mayor J
ackson had another great quality – he'd been a Captain in the Army, so he was the man to lead these veterans when they forged the Florentine Republic. They fought ghouls, and they fought bandits – old-time street criminals that thought the whole thing was an opportunity for them to rob, kill, and people to work for them.”

   “As slaves?”

   “Yes. Like Serenity Bay. Mayor Jackson wiped out three gangs and chased one right into the city center.”

   “Why would you want to run into the city center? It's full of ghouls.”

   “If you're running from Mayor Theodor Jackson, you'd not only run towards a ghoul, you'd hug the ghoul and hide behind him and ask him to protect you.” – once more, the advisor grinned.

   “I believe that you were a teacher, now.”

   “Why's that?”

   “Once you get started talking about something, you start off like you're in a classroom.”

   “Is that a bad thing?” – Martin asked, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

   “No, that's just... strange. But I've asked – so I want to know.”

   “Ah, very well. Happily – for me mostly, but I'd say that it was good news for the Republic as well, I knew Jackson before any of this. And so he started giving me work scouting things out. He saw that I liked the work and that I kept coming back alive. This made me more qualified than many of his men who preferred to stay behind walls and snipe a ghoul or two if they got too close o the main gates.”

   “Why do you like it?”

   “Tell me, do you remember life before? Don't tell me you've never wanted to do something like this. Drive around in a jeep, have adventures, kick ass and chew bubblegum. Everybody wants it.”

   “I've... sure. But there must be another reason.”

   “That's true. There is. And you have already learned about it today. It was our morning lesson.”

   “And you still insist on me guessing it for myself?”

   “I certainly don't have time to tell you about it now. We've arrived.”