Those Who Remain

by Priscila Santa Rosa

  “That’s why we made the fence.”

  This town isn’t exactly a military fortress with veteran soldiers. Roger’s barbed wired fence still isn’t ready, but pointing out all of that seems mean. Besides, that’s not even the biggest problem.

  “Yeah, a fence works fine against a few dumb zombies. It won’t be enough against smart people. Alive people, I mean. And, in a few months, only people who are smart will be left alive.”

  Roger nods, a hand on his chin.

  “This brings me to the gun issue.” I point at his holster. “Fifteen handguns, really? That’s the best you could do?’

  As soon as the words are out, I wish I could take them back. Roger doesn’t deserve me being an ass. He’s the only person who believed me from the get go. Not even Ma did at first. Thankfully, he only frowns, proving why we’re still friends even after twenty years of me being an idiot.

  “I’m afraid so. You said not to raise questions. With these new laws, more guns meant more questions. A whole town arming itself isn’t exactly subtle.”

  “I know, sorry.” I run a few fingers through my hair. “I just… I was counting on Lily’s guns. But she didn’t show up to the town meeting. I thought she was going to help us.”

  The mention of her makes Roger all stiff; his eyes wander around the room to avoid mine. Why people fall in love is a mystery to me. Especially when it involves just one person suffering, while the other has no idea anything is happening.

  “She isn’t.”

  “I’m sure if we talk to her again…”

  “They left for good.” Roger’s firm tone leaves no room for hope.

  My mouth opens, and then closes. “What? When? Why?”

  I’m being insensitive of my friend’s feelings. This bit of bad news affects him more than it does me. Jacob and Lily are like family to Roger. If this weren’t about the town’s safety, I would’ve invited him to drink beer and watch old 80’s movies. Sadly, now isn’t the time for buddy cop comedies, and I really need those guns.

  “What the hell happened? Didn’t you tell her? You said you would.”

  He looks at the miniature town, then to the blackboard. He looks at nothing. “I told Jacob about our plan.”

  I want to shake him very hard. Yes, let’s tell the crazy paranoid weird-o about the oncoming apocalypse, so he can take away all those awesome guns we could have used to protect the town. Genius, Roger, genius!

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he says. “But I owed him that, at least.”

  I let my head fall backwards and groan. “You like his daughter, so what? That doesn’t mean you owe him.”

  He turns to the map, crossing his arms. He’s out of his uniform, white shirt and old jeans, yet still the perfect image of justice. Fair, but blind.

  “I gave him a choice. Just like we gave everyone else.”

  “What about Lily? Did she choose to leave too?”

  “She did. The house is empty.”

  “The guns?”

  “Gone too.”

  I hate Roger a lot right now. He knows Jacob better than anyone, even Lily, yet it’s even obvious to me the guy manipulated his daughter into leaving. My teenage years were spent playing video games and watching her blast away targets on the shooting range. I know Lily. I don’t think she knows me all that well, but I’m pretty sure she would stay in town if she really knew about the plan.

  “You should’ve talked to her first.”

  “Maybe. What’s done is done.” He rubs his eyes. “I’ll get your guns, Danny. Don’t worry about that.”

  This time, it’s my hand on his shoulder. We stay silent for a minute, each processing the news in our own way. Lily was an asset to me, nothing more. It sucks losing those awesome guns, but to Roger this must feel like a failure. He worked hard to help crazy Jacob be accepted by this town, and the bastard bolts at the first opportunity to repay the favor.

  It’s not really surprising that Jacob would choose to leave town. Working together with other people wasn’t exactly his forté. Lily, on the other hand, was a badass with a heart of gold. I’m going to miss her.

  “What about her mother?” I break the silence. “Did she leave too?”

  Roger shakes his head.

  “Maybe she has a few spare guns in her closet?”

  I receive a small smile for my efforts. Ma walks in the classroom, a notebook in hand. My body tenses up when I notice her deep frown. “Boys, we have a problem.”

  “What is it, Mrs. Terrence?”

  “Louis, Frank’s son?” We nod. I know that loser. “He just came back from that McCarthy's factory. He’s not feeling very well.”

  Well, there goes the neighborhood.

  We find Louis locked up in one of town’s two jail cells. Gutierrez and O’Neil watch him. “Watching” being a strong word. Gutierrez bites his nails, feet up on the metal table. O’Neil plays with the jail’s keys, bent forward on a plastic chair. They both stand when Roger walks in. Their attempt at acting professional doesn’t work on me; I’m surprised they even managed to bring Louis inside.

  Roger approaches the bars to interrogate Louis. Ma and I keep our distance, halting next to the cops.

  Louis paces around the cell like a caged animal. Big wet spots under his arms stain his McCarthy’s uniform. He winces, grunts and bites his lip. There are dark red blotches on his shoes and his left hand is kept inside a pocket.

  “You can’t keep me here, man. What about my rights? This is bullshit.”

  “I’m sorry, Louis, but this is a necessary precaution,” Roger says to him, hands on his sides.

  “For what? I didn’t do anything wrong, all right? Let me out, man, come on.”

  Back when I was fifteen, I spent much of my free time surfing the web, looking for the darkest secrets of my enemies—or at least what they shared via the old and badly designed webpages of the 90’s. I had humiliating details on each and every bully; things teens were deadly afraid of their friends finding out. I never had the courage to use it, but it gave me some satisfaction to at least have the info. Anyway, that’s how I knew Louis wrote dark Gothic poems in French, fantasized about reciting them to our English teacher, Miss Anderson, and experimented with drugs.

  Under normal circumstances, I would think his fidgeting meant he was scared to get caught with some weird drug in his pocket. Now I’m afraid he’s hiding something far more dangerous.

  “Did you guys search him?” I turn to the wonder team, back at their seats. They stare at me. “Well?”

  “No way,” Gutierrez says, a finger inside his ear. “He’s sick, I’m not touching him.”

  “Yeah, didn’t you say this disease is dangerous?” O'Neil adds his great wisdom. “We’re not stupid.”

  I open my mouth, and then close it. Roger turns to us.

  “How did you get him inside?” he asks his subordinates.

  “I did,” Ma answers instead, showing her, thankfully protected, gloved hand. “By the ear.”

  Of course she did. Back when she was still the school’s principal, Ma instilled fear even in the worst bullies, a group that included Louis, Gutierrez and O’Neil. Her lectures were only half the danger of crossing her. Too bad the minute she turned her back, everyone gave me the stink eye. Being the nerd of the class, as well as the principal’s son, made my life hell on Earth.

  “It’s still red, see? That’s abuse,” Louis says holding his ear with the right hand. “I can sue you, Mrs. Terrence.”

  “You can try, dear.”

  Roger comes towards me, and whispers, “His father will find out he’s here pretty soon. I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep him without proof.”

  I nod. He’s right. This situation would quickly divide the town. I turn to Ma, but she’s already ahead of me.

  “I’ll go and delay Frank, don’t worry.” She turns to the dynamic duo, “Boys, come with me. You can act intimidating, if nothing else.”

  They leave.

  Roger moves to grab t
he key on the table. “I’m going inside to search him. He still seems pretty lucid, I don’t think he’ll bite me.”

  I stop him with my hand. “No way, Roger, don’t. It’s too risky, what if he scratches you? What if that’s enough?”

  “You said it wasn’t.”

  Not me, the Internet, I want to say, but stop myself. I’m the expert, time to act like it. I can’t panic the first time something like this happens.

  “Let’s just interrogate him first. It’s safer,” I say instead.

  “Okay. You’re right.”

  I take a few steps forward, staying just out of Louis’ reach. Roger positions himself at my side. It’s hard to believe we’re about to play good cop, bad cop.

  “We want to let you out, Louis, but you need to cooperate with us. Tell us what happened at the factory,” Roger is the first one to speak, with a calm tone.

  So I’m the bad cop then. A smile forms on my lips.

  “Nothing. Nothing happened. I felt sick, so my supervisor let me leave early. That’s it. That’s all.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, drawing inspiration from all the cop movies in my extensive library. Far from my favorite genre, they still had their appeal. What nerd kid doesn’t enjoy outsmarting criminals with words and manipulation?

  “Stop with the bullshit. If you were that sick then you wouldn’t have left your house in the first place.”

  Louis scoffs at me, right hand on his sweaty forehead.

  “What the hell do you know, Terrence? Why are you even here?” He turns to Roger, pointing at me. His rant reveals more clues: while talking and gesticulating furiously, his left hand still stays inside his pocket. “Why is he even here?”

  Roger takes over. “He’s here to help you.”

  “Yeah, right. Danny Terrence only helps himself to a nice juicy cheeseburger and some fries on the side.”

  I recoil a little, a lump forming in my throat. My twelve-year-old self wants to run to the bathroom and hide. This isn’t the first time Louis tried to humiliate me with fat jokes. I thought it would be over now that I lost weight, but apparently I can’t escape high school. Bullies like Louis won’t let me.

  “You want to leave? Talk,” Roger says, hands on his belt. “There’s no other way out.”

  “Bullshit. I just need to wait for Dad, he’ll call a lawyer, then you’re done.” Louis sneers. “You and fat Danny.”

  You know what? Nobody calls me fat to my face anymore, not with some kind of payback. I take a step closer to the bars. “Thing is, Louis, the only lawyer in town is Linda Fords. And she hates your dad. Well, she hates everyone, but especially your dad. Something about him raising a drug addict French-sympathizer son?”

  He stares directly at me, jaw clenched. I’m happy that my words affected him. I hope they hurt too.

  “Someone else, then, from another city.” He looks at the floor.

  “There isn’t anyone else. There is nothing else out there. If there is, it won’t last. And you know this, because you keep hiding the bite on your left hand.” I point at it.

  “Who do you think you are, Terrence, huh? Some kind of detective? Are you playing pretend or something?” He walks near the bars, supporting himself with the right hand on the metal. “Grow the fuck up, man. You still live in your mama's basement. Talk about a cliché.”

  He’s trying to make me mad so I’ll forget the fact his left hand still remains safely out of view. Won’t work, pal.

  “It’s called role-playing, actually. If you want to talk about clichés, how about the loser pothead with daddy issues? The guy whose daddy had to call in some favors just to get him hired to do the most dumb and brainless job ever. A pothead plucking feathers off chickens—how about that for a cliché?”

  He’s very close to us now. The dark lumps on his neck are easier to see. His eyes are red and every breath he takes seems to be painful. More than once, he flinches at the light hovering above us. He looks half-dead already. I don’t care. After years of him tormenting me, why should I care about him?

  “I guess it’s fitting you’re turning into a zombie, Louis.”

  “It’s going to be even more fitting when I fucking eat you alive, fatty. Don’t the fat ones always die first?”

  Before I can respond, Roger intervenes. “Okay, guys. Let’s just take a minute here and calm down,” he says with a hand on my shoulder.

  He wants me to step back, but I can’t now. I hate that loser inside the cell, trying to get under my skin. He has to know I’m the one in control.

  “I’m not fat anymore, Louis. I’m healthy. Unlike you.” I keep going, pointing my finger at him. “I don’t eat the crappy McCarthy’s leftovers you bring home because you don’t have a single penny to your name.”

  It works. He lunges forward, trying to grab me through the bars—with both hands. Roger quickly realizes and catches Louis’ left hand by the wrist, locking it with a handcuff around the cell bar.

  The hand is wrapped by a bloodied piece of ripped clothing. We unfold it, exposing a mess of blood and skin. He has no nails anymore and black pus oozes from raw flesh.

  I stare at the opposite wall, before I have time to traumatize myself more by cataloging all the gory details forever into my mind. Unfortunately, I can still hear blood dripping onto the cold floor.

  I have no problem with exploding heads and innards spilling all over the floor during a Tarantino movie. Hollywood gore was fun. This… This is not.

  “I had an accident with the meat machine, okay? That’s it. It’s not some crazy zombie bite, okay? Let me go. Please.” The lunge forward clearly took its toll. Louis’ voice cracks, and his body falls against the cell bars. His eyes are barely open.

  Roger gives me a look, one easy to interpret. He’s not sure if keeping someone that hurt locked up is a good idea. He wants to take the guy to a doctor.

  “He’s still lying, Roger. Trust me. A doctor won’t help.”

  “This guy is crazy. Come on, Roger. He’s talking about zombies and shit.”

  Roger sighs, wrapping the wound again, probably to avoid infections and help with the bleeding. I’m glad that thing is out of view again.

  “Look, he has the lumps on his neck. See?” I say, determined to convince him. “If he had an accident, then why the hell did he come driving by himself? Nobody at the factory called an ambulance? Does that even make sense?”

  Roger raises his hand. “It’s okay, Danny, I believe you.”

  I have no time to feel relieved; Ma’s voice comes from outside the room.

  “Don’t worry, Frank, the boys know what they’re doing,” she says, purposefully high so we can notice her approach and Frank’s.

  Frank’s a tall, burly man who could easily grab Roger by the collar and shake him until he’s unconscious. I don’t even want to think about what he could do to me, so when he enters the room, my whole body tenses up. I’m glad Roger has a gun on his belt.

  “What are you doing with my boy, Roger? Let him out. Now,” he says, firm steps toward the Sheriff.

  Roger stands his ground. He’s a few inches smaller, but maintains his hands on his sides, feet spread. “We have a situation here, Frank. It’s not that easy.”

  The father ignores him, going straight to the bars after noticing Louis’ injured hand. The guy looks even worse now: the only thing keeping him standing is the handcuff. A yellow tone covers his entire body; beads of sweat run down his face.

  “It hurts like hell, Dad. My hand… They…”

  “Stay quiet, Louis,” Frank interrupts his own son. “We need to take you to a hospital.”

  Ma and I trade looks.

  Frank faces Roger once more. “Give me the keys.”

  I move away, making sure there’s ample space between me and the potential clusterfuck. Roger stays still, arms crossed, while Frank leaves his hand out, waiting for the key.

  “Frank, be reasonable. The boy is bitten.” Ma places a hand on the man’s arm. “A hospital won’t fix this.�
�

  “You don’t know that.” His voice cracks a little, but Frank doesn’t move. “But one thing is for sure: If you leave him here, he will bleed out.”

  “No, he won’t. His bite, and it is a bite, I saw enough animal attacks to know, won’t bleed for long.” Roger starts, with a frown and sigh. “Well, not long enough. The infection will spread faster. And there’s no cure for that.”

  Roger never doubted me. He knew all along, although he’d perhaps have preferred if we were wrong.

  “You aren’t a doctor, how the fuck do you know this? What if you are wrong?”

  “You read Danny’s guide to this disease, you saw the videos. You know what we’re risking here. Let’s wait a few more hours, okay? He can have some antibiotics. That will buy us some time. If he’s not infected, then I will personally escort him to a hospital. But we need to be sure, for the sake of the town,” Roger says.

  “He’s my son. I can’t just watch…”

  “I know this is hard, and I’m sorry you’re the first one to face this. I pray you’ll be the last.” Roger steps forward and places a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Say your goodbyes, Frank. Use whatever time you two have left to be with your son, not to fight us.”

  Franks nods. “C-Can I stay with him? Alone?”

  Before my mouth forms an argument against it, Roger shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I can’t allow that. If he is, indeed, infected, he might bite you if you get too close.”

  If you’re stupid enough to get close. I guess Roger decided to be diplomatic on that one.

  We stand around the father and wait for the inevitable. An hour passes. Frank tries to calm his son, pleading for us to make Louis comfortable when the guy complains about the pain. Roger and Ma try their best at providing support: she brings water to the son, he reasons with the father.

  Eventually, Louis stops responding, eyes unfocused and breath uneven. His face becomes deformed by gross lumps. His last words are pleading, demanding, but nobody moves.

  He stops breathing all together. We wait.