Those Who Remain

by Priscila Santa Rosa

  “You are welcome.”

  I check my arm for bites, but duct tape turns out to be my best friend in the whole world, and today I won’t have to be shot through the head.

  “What about the flaming zombies?” I ask my team, catching my breath.

  “We killed them.”

  “Great work, team. Beers all around when we are done here.”

  We are halfway back to the second floor when the radio in my pocket turns on. “We need backup, Roger. Can you hear me?” A man’s trembling voice comes from it. “Need help. Now!”

  I know this voice; it was Nolan’s. He’s on Ma’s group, but why is he talking on the radio? Only the team leader has a radio.

  No. No. No, no way.

  I’m about to run out of this house and toward my mother, when Paul’s yell fills my ears. “Shit, there are more coming. Five… No, six of them.”

  My whole body freezes. Nolan's voice calls for help again. All the horrible thoughts I should avoid invade my mind. My heart races and I can barely move.

  “Kid, get ready. This is going to be a long night,” Margaret says with a hand on my shoulder.

  I blink at her, then shrug her off, running out of the house, out of my team's assigned zone. I turn corners fast, almost falling over, supporting my body against fences and lampposts. I ignore a man with a golf club in his pajamas, asking me what the hell was going on, and keep running, and running. All the blood on my body goes into my legs, forcing my couch potato self to never stop, never consider being tired, not until I see my Ma.

  Not until I know she's safe.

  Halfway there I realize I should've taken a car. I am an idiot.

  The sound of shots and the smell of burning wood overload my brain. From a distance, I see the barbed wired and the tree line. Trees burn and zombies run, falling one after the other. Two die at the same time. The smoke coming from the forest hides the incoming dead, and I understand Nolan's fear on the radio.

  My throat burns and I cough, before demanding my body to keep moving. I take out my gun, only to remember the clip is empty. I circle around, going back into town to reach Ma's position from a safer side. I can't feel my legs anymore, or at least, they really appear to be made of pure concrete, weighing me down. While running, I take out the ammo from my pocket and fill the clip again with slow unpracticed moves. It's so quick in video games, press a button and done, you reload. Why does it have to be so slow and impractical in real life? Didn't anyone invent a more decent way of reloading? God, years of wars and guns still suck. Good job, inventors of guns, or whoever is responsible for this mess.

  I spot three people in a makeshift barricade made of metal dumpsters. I sigh and smile. Ma's alive and shooting. Please don't be bitten, please don't be bitten.

  My body barely manages to run these last few steps, but the strain is worth it. I fall behind the barricade on Ma's side, checking her arms and neck with my own hands to make sure she’s not infected.

  She’s okay. She’s okay.

  “Danny? Danny, what are you doing here?”

  I hug her. Hard. I don't think I ever hugged her so tight, not even when she gave me a Nintendo 64 when I was ten.

  “Danny, you are worrying me. Are you okay?”

  “Me? Ma! You… Why aren't you speaking on the radio?”

  “Oh, Danny, you know me, I can barely watch TV and knit at the same time. I gave it to Nolan. I can’t focus with all that chatter in my ear.”

  I let go of her, biting my lip and feeling my eyes sting a bit. I hear shuffling and yelling behind me. “Fuck, Ma. Don't do that to me ever again.”

  She cocks her shotgun, gets up, and looks at me. “How many times do I need to tell you not to swear? Also duck, dear.”

  I obey, feeling the heat and smelling gunpowder above my head. Something falls behind me; I turn to find a zombie with its head blown into pieces.

  “You left your team behind?”

  Oh shit. I did, didn't I? I bite my lip again, and that's enough of an answer for her.

  “Danny, what were you thinking? Go back there now!”

  “But, you asked for help… I'm here to help.”

  “Nolan is just scared, we are doing fine. The fire did worry us at first, but it's fine now. Leave, Danny.”

  I stare at her, slime and dirt making her wrinkles more pronounced than ever. She's going to be sixty soon. She's tough, but…

  “They can take care of themselves. I'm staying with you.”

  I was a fool not to go with her in the first place. Margaret could’ve led her own team.

  “Nolan, you go and replace me,” I scream at the man behind a trash bin on our left side. “Go to the east side and backup my team.”

  He leaves with a nod.

  Hours pass, each one more slowly than the last. It is a night that never ends. The wire fence here works better, but the visibility is terrible and the fire spreads. At first glance, it would seem an advantage to us, burning the zombies even before they could reach us, but it didn't happen quite that way. Instead, they bring the flames to us, spreading fire over the white picket fences. The suffocating smoke hides them and confuses us. We climb the trash dumpsters to get better visibility and reach for actual, breathable air.

  The third member of our team, Zack, goes down after midnight. He slips while reloading, falling down off the dumpster, lost in the middle of smoke and ash. Ma calls for him, but his answer comes in the form of screams and crunching sounds. By then, we are left with little ammo. On the radio, nobody talks anymore. There is no sign of Roger.

  We are alone, Ma and I. By three in the morning, they stop coming. For a long time we just wait, frozen by adrenaline. When it seems certain the attack is over, I let out a laugh, like a crazy maniac, and sit on the ground to catch my breath after. I'm drenched in sweat and Ma looks at me with a tired smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. The tension remains while we watch for any more signs of movement between the trees, but after an hour of silence, and almost thirty very dead zombies spread around us, we are safe. I press the radio’s ‘on’ button.

  “North side, clear.”

  Nobody responds. Ma gets up, hand against her back, and another on the wet ground, and walks over to what's left of Zack's body. If he still had a head, I would be concerned about him coming back, but even then, he couldn't do much damage without arms and legs. As soon as I lay eyes on the remains, I turn and barf what little I had for dinner. The bodies around me seem weird and unnatural. I feel like I'm surrounded by bags of sand pretending to be humans, like they were nothing but a practical effect used in old movies to fool people into thinking the villain actually fell from the cliff.

  Yet my mind knows this is all real; these people were alive once, and now they are nothing but empty shells with bullets holes.

  “Are you alright, Danny?”

  I nod at Ma, the emptiness in my chest growing. I'm so glad she's alive. I don't know what I would do if anything happened to my mother; the mere possibility breaks my brain in half. It's like thinking about the universe ending, or the universe beginning, too enormous to even comprehend. My mind just won't dare to consider an existence without her.

  Funny how killing zombies put things in perspective.

  Ma looks around the scene of destruction, horror in her eyes.

  “We'll need masks and gloves to make a pile of bodies to burn,” I tell her, noticing she's a little confused to what comes next. “This will take a long time.”

  “These poor people. And poor Zack. How on Earth will I break the news to his fiancée? She's such a darling. This is horrible, Danny. Truly…Beyond anything I dared to imagine.”

  Between the grime and sweat I catch a few tears under her tired eyes.

  “Ma, we survived it. We made it. It would've been much worse.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Hey, we are a kick ass team. That was epic, Ma. Mother and son working together to fight against all odds? This is the stuff of legends.”

  S
he gives a small smile, and then goes back at looking at Zack's remains.

  “West side, clear,” Roger's voice rings in the radio. “Repeat, west side clear. Team leaders, give me your status.”

  “North side clear too,” I answer. “It's good to know you are alive, buddy.”

  “Danny? Why are you on the north side?”

  “Long story.”

  “Roger, we need help. Paul’s hurt.” Margaret’s voice interrupts our conversation. Oh damn. I forgot about them again. “Hurry.”

  I bite my lip, guilt creeping its way into my chest. Ma and I get in her old Ford Pinto and drive back to my group.

  Their pile of bodies is nowhere near as tall as ours, but it’s still difficult to look at zombies with bullet holes for eyes. Thankfully my stomach is empty by now. The house we used as a base also suffered some damage. I’m glad the Coopers left town, because explaining why their garden was on fire and stank from spilled guts wouldn’t be easy.

  We find Margaret and Paul inside. Around the couple, three zombies and pools of blood litter the wooden floor. Margaret presses two bloodied hands over Paul’s upper left leg. Sweat and blood shines on his pain-twisted face. I can’t see if he’s bitten or not. The question on my lips almost gets out, but Ma’s presence reminds me of the need for diplomacy.

  “What happened?” I ask instead.

  Margaret’s head shoots upwards. Anger marks her face the second she lays eyes on me. “What do you think happened? There were too many. We got cornered.”

  “I sent Nolan.” I know my defense is weak, but what option did I have? Ma needed me.

  “He never came. He probably went back running to his family. So thanks for that!”

  I flinch at her tone. Ma takes the lead, kneeling next to them. “Danny, bring me some water and towels.”

  Glad to be away from Margaret’s judgmental stare, I hurry to the upstairs’ bathroom. When I come back with towels and a bowl of water, Roger’s already there with O’Neil. Apparently, Gutierrez’s side of the town was still suffering zombie attacks.

  They help Margaret lift Paul and place him on the nearest couch. My eyes linger on his pale skin, while I pass Ma the towels. She presses the fabric against the man’s thigh. After telling Margaret to put pressure on the wound, she places a hand on Paul’s forehead. He squirms and twists at her touch.

  Ma’s frown is all I need to confirm he has a fever. If it’s a normal fever from a normal infection or something worse, well, that’s the real question, isn’t it?

  Roger looks at me from the corner of his eyes. I know he wants to know why the hell I abandoned my team. Or maybe he already has a theory, but still disapproves. I don’t care. I don’t regret going for Ma.

  “Margaret.” Roger sighs and places a hand on her shoulder. “You know I have to ask this. Was it a bite?”

  She ignores the Sheriff. Ma tries as well, voice soft. “It’s better for us to know now, dear. Before it gets worse.”

  The woman blinks, shaking her head. She’s a mess. I’m probably no better, I bet I smell like an old wet dog with digestive problems. But she’s worse. Cut, bruises and her clothes are soaked red. Paul’s blood, no doubt. Is this whole thing my fault?

  I shake my head. Maybe, but Ma comes first.

  “Fine. He’s bitten. But….” She trails off, and passes her sleeve against her face. I’m not sure if she’s cleaning sweat or tears. “I’ll do it. Give me a moment. To say goodbye.”

  We move to another room, to give them some form of privacy. Roger keeps an eye on them from the doorway, just to make sure. Minutes pass in awkward silence. I pace around and avoid Ma’s stare. It could’ve been her instead of Paul, if I hadn’t gone to help her.

  We hear a shot. Margaret enters the room, eyes vacant and unfocused at first, then she meets my gaze and her nostrils flare up. She strides toward me. I blink when her punch hits me square in the cheek. I lose balance for a second, feeling the bruise with a hand.

  “That’s for running away. You left us. This is your fault.”

  “Margaret, I had to—”

  Her spit hits me in the eye. She leaves us to take care of Paul’s body. Ma places a hand on my shoulder, and sighs.

  The Girl in the Mall III

  November 31st, Wednesday, 7 am

  I wake up hearing music. No, a theme song. The Star Wars theme song. The huge screen in front of me remains black. The faint music comes from outside the room. I lift myself from the cushioned seat, throwing my backpack over the shoulder and grabbing the flashlight.

  “Luke Skywalker has returned to his home planet of Tatooine in an attempt to rescue his friend Han Solo…”

  The narration guides me through the movie theater’s corridor, passing by most of the double doors of each screening room. Whoever this person is, he chose the V.I.P room to pretend to be seeing Star Wars. The doors are ajar, enough for me to peek in, but it’s too dark to see anything. Only a blue light shines between seats. The Imperial March starts playing.

  “I assure you, Lord Vader, my men are working as fast as they can.”

  Pssh, paw. Pssh, paw. The person imitates Darth Vader’s breathing. I muffle a giggle with my free hand.

  “Perhaps I can find new ways to motivate them.”

  Sounds of fake star-ships then R2D2 beeping. I open the door, figuring someone who memorized the Revenge of the Jedi script can’t be evil. The music stops as I enter.

  “I have a gun,” a boy’s voice stops my advance. “Don’t come any closer.”

  A boy. I can handle a boy.

  “I have a gun too. So what?”

  He stands up, revealing his position in the middle of the cinema’s seats. He’s holding a cell phone, not a gun. I don’t bother taking out my own weapon.

  “I’m going to kill you if you move,” he continues. “So don’t.”

  “I like your Darth Vader’s voice. I came here to see that movie too. I love Star Wars.”

  With each word, I take a step closer, just to test him. He doesn’t even seem to notice. How has he managed to survive until now?

  “Prove it.”

  “Okay. How?”

  He looks around, as if the answer was written on the walls. “What’s the name of the alien that shot Han first in the first movie?”

  “Greedo. And Han was the one who shot first.”

  For a second or so, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Then he nods. The phone stays raised to light our conversation. “Okay, I believe you. What do you want?”

  “I don’t know.”

  We stare at each other.

  “Can I come up?” I ask, going up anyway.

  My flashlight shines brighter and we can see each other better as I get closer. He has jet black hair and huge blue eyes. He looks like a member of a boy band, the kind that I would’ve hated, but would’ve secretly known all song lyrics by heart. His clothes are in much better condition than mine, and I suddenly wish for darkness to hide my dirty and sweaty face.

  “Are you alone?” he says, while looking over my shoulder.

  “Yes. You?”

  He nods. I sit down on the seat next to him, open my backpack and offer him a chocolate bar. He looks at me for a second, then takes it.

  “Did you see it?” He takes a bite of the candy while pointing at the screen. “The 3D version?”

  “Nah. My…” I stop. He didn’t need details. “Things happened.”

  “Yeah. All sorts of things happened to me too.”

  I nod at his phone, the source of the Star War’s music. He turns it off, and then goes back to eating the chocolate. “Still has batteries, huh?”

  He licks his fingers, and I feel a little weird, deciding it is better to focus on the screen in front of us. “I was saving it for when things were better. But things won’t get better, so why not waste them?”

  “Aren’t you worried about the noise?” I keep my eyes on the screen, until I’m sure the licking has stopped. “I mean, those things would end up hearing you.�
�

  “I don’t care. I’m not afraid of them.”

  I think he’s lying. I notice he has a backpack of his own, but much bigger than mine. Adult sized.

  “I’m Peter, by the way.”

  “Laurie.”

  We shake hands. I don’t know why it makes me nervous when they linger together.

  “Who’s your favorite character?” he asks throwing the empty, crumpled candy wrapping against the screen. “Mine is Han.”

  “That’s everyone’s favorite.”

  “So?”

  “So, nothing. Just saying.” I shrug.

  “Let me guess, yours is Luke, because he’s dreamy.”

  I roll my eyes at his attempt of girly voice. He offers me a Cola can, which I take with eagerness. Last time I had one was at Jenny’s party. Mom hated Cola and other sugary drinks, it was always natural fruit juices and weird-flavored waters inside the fridge.

  “I like Leia, of course. She kicks ass.”

  We share other Star Wars trivia. We both have our theories about what would’ve happened next after the trilogy ended. Dad had years of waiting for sequels to come up with ideas, so I share them with Peter.

  “That would be lame.” He rolls his eyes. “The Emperor showing up again would be totally lame.”

  “But he always has a plan and stuff. He would’ve faked his death. Or maybe he made a clone!”

  “My idea is cooler.”

  “Luke falling to the Dark Side? Come on. That’s so obvious.”

  Somehow I’m smiling, then laughing. We stop talking after that. Maybe I’m not the only one feeling guilty and weird for having fun. It seems wrong and dumb. What does it matter if Han and Leia had twins or triplets?

  “Did you loot any of the stores?” He breaks the awful silence.

  “Yeah. A few.” I raise my feet to show my Converse pair. “Needed new shoes.”

  “Nice.”

  I like that he has good taste. It takes me a few seconds to gather courage to say something else. My face feels hot. “I’m thinking of exploring the left wing of the mall, you know? I still need new clothes. Wanna team up?”

  He crushes his empty Cola can and throws it to the front of the room. It hits the screen then falls. His hesitation makes me almost regret my question. I’m such an idiot.