Those Who Remain

by Priscila Santa Rosa

  We take weeks to even reach the woods, avoiding the main roads. I’m actually glad to be away from the houses, malls and streets. Mostly, I’m relieved to be away from other people. Weeks of tension lift as I smell the trees, hear chirping birds and feel the wind on my face. Here things are the same as ever, with no sign of monsters, people trying to trick you, destroyed cars, broken windows or burnt houses. It's like nothing ever happened.

  The best thing is Peter knows where he's going here, taking the lead once we step inside the forest. He finds us a lake with clean, refreshing water and plenty of berries to eat. We sit on the grass, below a tree, and gorge ourselves with the fruit. My fingers are red, but sweet.

  “See? I told you the woods was better than staying there.” He licks fingers too, a smile on his lips. “Admit it.”

  I roll my eyes, letting my back rest against the trunk. “We got lucky.”

  He falls down on the grass, hands on his stomach. This the first time he has smiled since the supermarket. His good mood is contagious.

  “You know I'm right,” he says with eyes closed. “You'll see anyway.”

  I finish my berries, and he sleeps. I don't know how he does it. No way my eyes will close here, no matter how safe it feels. I sleep only when my body won't let me stay awake. Still, I have to admit it’s nice to stop being tense all the time.

  While Peter naps, I distract myself by counting our supplies. The food is almost gone, but now we have fruit everywhere, so I'm not too worried. I fill our canteens and plastic bottles with water from the lake, and organize the stuff inside my backpack.

  Without any more tasks to be completed, I walk toward Peter and hit his leg gently. He doesn't move. I do it again, but there’s no sign of him waking up. Sitting on my knees, I poke him in the stomach. He flinches. I poke him one more time, and he holds a laugh in.

  “Come on, Peter. We need to move.”

  His eyes stay closed.

  “Really? I know you're not sleeping. Get up.”

  When I poke him again he grabs my hand and pulls me in. I fall on his body, my cheeks warm from the embarrassment.

  “Are you a robot?” He asks, pressing me against his chest, eyes still stubbornly closed. “Just sleep. You have to be tired.”

  I try to get up, but not for real. “I'm not. Let me go, we need to leave.”

  “Why? It's safe here. Just us and birds flying around. Go to sleep.”

  I want to agree with him, let it go and just sleep, like this, close to him. Maybe if I was Jenny, I could do it. Her whole world revolved around boys, boy bands and kissing: who she was going to kiss, with what music in background, where and how many times. She probably dreamed about this very scene. Peter was just her type: beautiful eyes, a smile to die for, with good taste in music and athletic. I bet anything she wouldn't care if he wasted water, ate three chips instead of two, and preferred to sleep in an open area than somewhere hidden from view.

  The problem is: I'm not Jenny. I'm Laurie Tanaka, and Laurie does care about staying alive more than she cares about kissing boys, no matter how much cute this boy is.

  “Laurie?”

  “We really need to move, if we want to find this town.”

  He doesn't let go of me, and opens his eyes. We stare at each other.

  “Why are you like this?” He asks with a frown. “Why can't you relax for a second? We walked miles. We didn't even rest… And now that we are here, you act like…”

  This time I really do want to get up and manage to get off him. “Like what?”

  He sits, hands on his lifted knees. “Like a crazy paranoid person.”

  I roll my eyes, moving to take my backpack. “You can't be crazy if you are right, Pete. I spent a month running around, barely managing to stay alive. I'm not paranoid; I'm still alive. And we did rest. Like a lot. You can't walk a mile without sitting down. Don't act like we didn't stop every time you wanted.”

  “Yeah, after I almost had to beg,” he spits out, getting up. “Now that we are here, you don't need to be so afraid, okay? Dad said… He said it was safe.”

  “Well, he's dead. Sorry if I don't take his word on that.”

  Peter lunges forward before I can realize what I had just said. He's slow, so I move to the side just in time to avoid his grasp. He trips, falls, and rolls down a slope just behind the tree I was resting on. He disappears from my view, and I yell his name. I run over to the ledge of the slope, eyes running over the bushes for any sign of him.

  The Geek VIII

  December 17th, Thursday, 10 pm

  The cold barrel hurts the back of my neck. Red Star makes us march with our hands raised as we go back inside the Science building. Roger and I trade frowns, and I feel like my heart is clogging my throat.

  I flinch and wince as our group strolls around the corridors and the armed men shoot at anything that comes running toward us. Screams and bullet noises come from inside the barred doors. Red Star kicks and breaks our mismatched barriers and makes way for his followers to get in and kill any zombies. At each room, more soldiers rejoin Red Star, most tired and with some kind of injury. After he cleared all of them, he takes us outside.

  The night is freezing, with strong cold winds and snow falling constantly.

  “Kneel,” Red Star orders us.

  With guns pointed at each of our heads, we don’t have much choice but to obey him. A man with a ninja star tattooed on his neck ties our hands with rope. My wrists hurt, but I don’t think they are open to critique on their knot’s not being comfortable enough.

  “Okay, let’s have a roll call, shall we?” Red Star says in a loud voice, so everyone can hear him. “Let’s see how many of you losers managed to survive.”

  Seven men and women stand in line, guns on their shoulders and backs straight. They all have tattoos of weapons, food and animals, helmets decorated with what I discover is their names.

  Ninja, Applepie, Eagle, Tomahawk, Taco, Lion, and Panther.

  Red Star moves along the line, checking their conditions. He stops at a small tanned man with a smiling taco drawn onto his helmet. He’s sweating and fidgets the closer his leader gets.

  “Show me your arms, Taco. I ain’t got all night and you know the drill.”

  “Boss, please… I’m…”

  Red Star put the gun inside the man’s mouth. “Don’t talk, Taco. Just fucking do what I tell you to do.”

  Nobody moves, nobody even looks at the scene in front of me. They all pretend nothing is happening. Roger and Margaret are too busy trying to break out of the bonds without drawing attention. I don’t even bother. I have no clue how to do it. If I try, I bet I’ll ruin everyone’s chances by being clumsy and obvious.

  Taco pulls up his uniform sleeves and shows it to Red Star. The man laughs and removes the gun from the guy’s mouth. Taco’s left arm is full of lumps and a bite mark. Red Star appears to know what that means.

  “Ah, Taco, you got yourself bitten, haven’t you? Tsk.”

  “I’m sorry, boss. I was trying to save Tortilla.”

  I can’t help it, I let out a laugh. I feel a bit dirty for doing it, but come on: Taco and Tortilla?

  “What’s so funny, nerd?” Red Star turns to me, walking in my direction.

  “Well, they are both named after Mexican food. Is just… A taco trying to save a tortilla. That’s just funny, sorry.”

  “They were married, you punk,” Applepie declares.

  I try everything to stop it, but it’s too late, and I snort loudly. Roger frowns at me, shaking his head slightly. He thinks I’m drawing too much attention to myself. He’s probably right, because Red Star lowers himself to face me directly. He’s smiling.

  “I’m glad you enjoy my choice of names. Not everyone appreciates my humor. I like you little guy.”

  “Enough to let me go?” I force a smile.

  He hits me with the back of his gun. It stings and blood oozes over my right eye.

  “No,” Red Star says. “So shut the fuck up.”
<
br />   The leader moves back to face Taco. The poor guy is still shaking in his boots.

  “Okay, Taco. Here’s the thing. You are going to turn pretty soon. Become a zombie and all that. But don’t worry, I’m not mad at you.”

  “You’re not?”

  He places a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Of course not. We’re family after all. And family takes care of each other.”

  “Thank you, boss.”

  Red Star takes a few steps back. “Ninja, Tomahawk, do me a favor and hold Taco down.”

  There’s a second of hesitation, but in the end they do what he says. Taco shakes his head and fidgets, confused at what’s going to happen. I’m not sure myself.

  Both men force Taco on his knees and hold his arms. Red Star takes Ninja’s samurai sword from his belt and unsheathes the blade. He licks the metal with a smile. Maybe this is some sort of ritual of this crazy guy to give Taco a fitting end. Or something. Decapitation, if quick, isn’t the worse way to go.

  It soon becomes clear that Red Star doesn’t mean to end Taco’s suffering. At all.

  “No, please no—”

  The sword buries itself deep into Taco’s right shoulder. His screams reach my ears as warm blood splatters over my face. The arm is still attached to Taco’s body, so Red Star slices it off again and again. Somewhere between the third slice, yells of mercy, and muscles being ripped apart, Taco loses consciousness. Red Star chops his left shoulder in fewer hits, blood flowing freely from both sides. The arms are discarded over the grass while the body falls on its face. I taste bile coming up my throat.

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