Those Who Remain (Book 2)

by Priscila Santa Rosa

  What I find now is nowhere near normal. After parking the truck by the edge of the forest, away from the main road, I make my way on foot. The campus’s meticulously cut grass is ruined by tire marks. A few bodies are scattered over the snow fields. Guts, bones, meat days exposed to the sun and bad weather. Bloated, rotten and wet from brownish snow, their smell disgusts me. But I need to keep going. I know that because of Danny’s plan to attack the mercenaries from a month ago, the community college is the best place to find infected people. With luck, I’ll find one or at least tracks that lead to one.

  Crouched below the glass windows of one the buildings, I scout the area. Everything seems quiet, a thin layer of snow above the grass. There’s movement between the tall bushes in the middle of the central quad. I narrow my eyes. A form runs from one bush to another, staying out of view. Another follows it. They’re too quick and too small to be a human.

  Then comes the howl. Wolves. Probably here to hunt, just like I am. Attracted by the noise, an infected man comes running out from the building next to me. He’s wearing the same uniform Red Star and his soldiers were. Four wolves jump from the bushes, circling the infected with bared teeth. They are skinny and look famished.

  I need to save that man before he gets eaten alive. Then I need to capture him to fix Danny.

  A wolf jumps on the man, biting his left arm. He responds by lifting it and sinking his black teeth on the animal’s fur. While they struggle, I aim at the sky and pull the trigger three times. The sound echoes around the campus and scares off the other wolves quickly enough, with the exception of the one still dangling from the man’s arm.

  I have a few minutes before they gather enough courage to come back. Hungry wolves desperate enough to hunt humans aren’t going to stay away for long.

  Now I also have the attention of the infected, who’s ignoring the biting wolf. He tosses the wolf on the ground and runs at me, crackling a hoarse laugh. A few steps from me, he jumps in my direction. I roll to the side, recover and aim my gun at his head.

  No. I need him alive. I lower the gun.

  He gets up and sprints toward me again. This time I stay put and wait. Before he can bite me, I sidestep and grab him by the right arm, forcing it against his back. He tries to reach me with his left hand, twisting his body with no concern for the pain. I reach my pocket for the rope and use it to bind his two wrists on his back.

  With a push, I force him to the ground. That’s when the wolf jumps at me, teeth sinking into my scarred shoulder. I scream and lose balance, falling on the snow.

  Eyes watering and deep pain clouding my vision, I hit the animal in its eyes with my gun. The wolf whines and lets go of my ripped flesh. I blink away tears, feeling my whole body go up in flames with pain. The wolf circles me, waiting.

  I can’t raise my arm with my mangled right shoulder. I can’t even use my knife. I’m going to die. Danny’s going to die.

  “Ten seconds, Lily. You can raise your arms for ten seconds. Do it.” Father’s voice rings in my mind.

  I raise my hand, arm shaking and jolts of pain making me groan. “One… Two… Three….”

  The wolf growls, pacing around me. I hear howling nearby.

  “Four… Five…” I narrow my eyes, waiting for the right moment. “Six… Seven… Eight….”

  “Nine…” He runs at me. “Ten.”

  He jumps. I aim and shoot. The animal falls down on the snow, a black hole in his chest. He whines while trying to get up. I limp in his direction, pain making difficult to move without screaming.

  I put the wolf out of its misery with a shot to the head. Next, I tie the man’s feet and drag him by the rope. He’s heavy and his kicks don’t help, but somehow I reach the truck without passing out. I’m going home with this zombie sitting next to me, even if it kills me.

  Out of breath, exhausted and still bleeding from shoulder, I pull him up and push the man inside my truck, on the passenger side. While he cracks madly and tries to bite me, I use the rest of the rope I have to bind him to the seat, placing my driving gloves inside his mouth.

  I close the door. Before I can circle around to the driver side of the car, from the corner of my eye, I see them: three wolves running between the trees, coming straight at me.

  My hands stumble for the gun in my back, but I’m too slow.

  A shot rings. Then another. And another. The wolves fall one by one.

  Silence. I breathe in and on, searching for the person who just saved my life, unsure if I’m the next one to get a bullet to the head.

  Nothing. Nothing, but the sound of my own beating heart. I blink and move. Was it…? Maybe… I shake my head. Danny’s out of time, I can’t stand around.

  Wincing, but trying hard to ignore the pain in my shoulder, I turn the pickup around and drive back to Redwood. To Danny and Roger.

  I hope it’s not too late.

  INTERLUDES

  Daniel Terrence

  March 27th, 2006.

  The breakfast table is empty. I can’t smell bacon grease mixed with eggs. A used and unwashed pan lies in the sink. There’s not even orange juice in the fridge. Ma forgot to buy it. It’s almost seven o’clock and she hasn’t woken up yet. Yesterday’s visit to the cemetery wasn’t a good idea. It’s the second anniversary of Dad’s death and I thought, maybe we both thought, she was better enough to go visit his grave.

  She isn’t.

  Ask the neighbors and they will tell Lorraine Terrence is the bravest woman on the face of the Earth. A saint. An illuminated being with boundless energy and courage. She smiles at everyone, listens to their idiotic problems and offers advice that’s right every time. She has time to volunteer in Whitefield’s soup kitchen even after spending the day watching someone’s baby. Every day she helps Mrs. Cohen do the dishes and feed her pets. She tolerates Linda Fords babbling and hosts parties for everyone’s happy occasions—a birthday, someone’s newborn, a wedding reception. She can’t stand still for a second.

  Because when she does, she breaks down. Nobody knows this. Nobody sees it except me. She does her best to hide it from me, no doubt. She only cries while I’m at school, unaware I’m skipping classes and sitting below the kitchen’s window and hearing her try to contain sobs. The happy song playing on the radio can’t hide the worse of it. Her eyes are red every morning. It has been two years, but my Ma still grieves like Dad died yesterday. She got better for a little while, but since my senior year started, she’s back at it again.

  I don’t know what to do. She told me a few months after the funeral that the best I could do was to be with her and make her proud. That’s all she wanted from me. So I stay with her almost every day, even when she can’t see me there. I suck at saying the right thing, of knowing what she needs, but whatever she asks me, I do it.

  She doesn’t need to ask, but I know she needs breakfast more than my empty stomach.

  Out of my sock drawer I take some money and get out of the house. I buy milk, orange juice, bacon, eggs and bread. No crusts. I’ll probably burn breakfast, but the disaster will amuse her anyway, and I could do anything to see her smile today.

  When I reach home, the mailman is opening the box on our porch. He greets me and rummages his bag in search of our letters. Bills, bills, stupid ads, coupons… And a letter from the University of Southern California.

  “I bet you got accepted,” the man tells me with a smile and a slap on my back. “Your mother will be proud.”

  I shrug and get inside without another word. After a brief look at the white envelope, I throw it in the kitchen’s thrash. Ma made me apply, but I’m pretty sure I would never get in anyway. No point in opening it.

  As expected, my eggs taste like shit, the bacon is impossible to bite, but at least I’m able to pour orange juice into a cup without destroying anything in the process. I place everything neatly on a tray and head upstairs. After knocking once on her door, I get in. She’s not in bed, of course. The curtains are drawn out and I hear water running from the b
athroom. I know she decided to get up after hearing me leave the house. It’s not the first time she tries to pretend she just overslept and is dreadfully sorry for it.

  I leave the tray on the bed when the bathroom door opens.

  “Oh, Danny, you shouldn’t have.” Ma walks out the room completely dressed and hair combed in a neat bun.

  “Figured you would be hungry.”

  She sits on the bed and eats a piece of egg pretending it’s the best thing she ever tasted. “Sit with me. I can’t possibly eat all of this alone.” I’m disappointed at her lack of amusement. She can’t even do that anymore.

  I shake my head, but sit on the bed anyway. “I ate earlier.”

  “What? A piece of bread? Danny, you’re thin enough. You can have some bacon by now.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Shouldn’t you get ready for school?”

  I look at myself: dirty jeans and smelly geek T-shirt. “I’m ready.”

  Her normal reaction would’ve been to scold me for being a slouch and not even combing my hair, but not anymore. “Oh… Good. You can’t be late.”

  She swallows the horrible egg and ignores the bacon. I wait in silence for her to finish. For a second or two, I almost start the conversation I’ve been dreading for months now. Asking her if she was okay isn’t enough anymore, since she always denies feeling sad. I want to really talk to her about Dad’s death, but don’t have the courage. Maybe I’m scared of seeing her crumble in front of me for real. What am I supposed to do if she does that?

  “Did the mail arrive yet? Maybe your letter finally got here. Oh, I’m so anxious for you, Danny. Imagine, going to Hollywood! Your dream.”

  There’s nothing to do, but avoid her eyes. “It got here already. I threw it in the thrash.”

  She places a hand on my shoulder. “Why would you do that?”

  “No way I’ll be accepted anyway, Ma. Why bother?”

  I’m almost glad when she gives me a pout and a frown. That’s the most genuine reaction I got out of her in days. “Daniel Terrence, don’t be a coward. If you don’t get in, then we’ll deal with it. There’s no shame in it. But if you don’t even open it, then I’m going to be very disappointed in you. So you go down there and bring it here. We’ll open it together.”

  I roll my eyes, but do what she wants. I’m too happy to see her scold me to bother arguing with her. I go back to the kitchen then bring back the letter with me to her bedroom.

  “Well, go ahead. Open it,” she says, waving her hands.

  My fingers rip the envelope and catch the letter inside. I unfold it and race my eyes over first words, and they’re enough to stop me.

  Congratulations! We are delighted to...

  The words mix and blur after that.

  I only applied to the thing after she insisted for months. After Dad’s death, I couldn’t see myself going away to California. How could I? The plan was always me leaving for college and the two of them starting to travel the world, just like Ma dreamed in her youth. She never had even left our state. I could get a job at a film studio or at some retail store somewhere to support myself financially, so they could save money to fix the house, build Dad a proper garage and a pool. I was going to become famous and rich, sending them plane tickets to my movie premieres. After a few years, I would buy them a house in Paris or something really cool like that, so they could spend their retirement in style.

  Now going to college, a proper college, meant leaving Ma alone in the house, staring at Dad’s pictures, sobbing to herself.

  I can’t do this to her. I can’t leave her behind. I promised Dad I would take care of her. She needs me here.

  “So… What does it say? Come on, don’t leave your poor Ma hanging!”

  The letter goes back inside the envelope. I open my mouth, then close it. Finally, I sigh. “Sorry Ma. I didn’t get in.”

  She hugs me tightly. And the funny thing is, it doesn’t feel like she’s trying to console me. Instead, it seems like she’s happy at the news. Happy that I’m going to stay. Perhaps she forced me to apply because of guilt. Maybe she really wants me to stay, but felt like was her duty to give her son a chance for a better future. Either way, I decide we are both happy to stay together and that’s fine.

  “It’s okay, honey. There’s always next year.”

  “Yeah… Next year definitely.”

  But there never is a next year. I never apply for college again. I start a small online business and don’t look back. People talk, of course. They assume I was too dumb to get in any college, and now live in my Ma’s basement, doing nothing but playing children’s games and being an overall annoyance to poor Saint Lorraine.

  Truth is, I play canasta with Ma every night. I make her laugh once a day, some days even more. We watch movies together every Friday night and, as time goes by, Ma gets better. She’s her old self now.

  Some days I see regret in her eyes. Maybe she knew I got in, but decided to believe in my lie and now feels guilty. Maybe she felt it’s her fault I’m stuck in Redwood for the rest of my life.

  Some days I catch myself wondering if I really stayed for her, and not because life freaks me out. Everyone is moving on around me. Lily starts community college, Roger is the town’s Sheriff. Cousin Ted gets married. Even George Lucas is planning to continue the Star Wars trilogy. And what do I have?

  Lots of money. More money than anyone in this shitty town. And my Ma.

  I guess that’s all I need.

  Alexander Spencer

  October 10th, Sunday, 1986.

  Before the African War

  Picket signs, grand banners and thousands sitting upon the campus’s grass. The sight had become normal. Every day, be it under rain or sunlight, the protesters refused to leave. They are here to demand peace. Yet, I can’t help but feel irritated by their insistence on causing havoc in my daily routine.

  I pass them early in the morning, avoiding their attempts at having me join them and careful not to step on any signs lying around. On them the same messages are scribed with righteous indignation: “No more violence.” “Free Murabai.” and “We stand with our Free Republic brothers and sisters”. Their naïveté is only surpassed by their youthful enthusiasm. I, on the other hand, am far too old to see any point in these protests.

  A dictator is a dictator, be he elected by the majority of his countrymen or by a military coup. I have long abandoned the illusion that democracy guarantees people’s best interests will be upheld. One million people can be just as blind as one.

  Either way, it does not affect me in any shape or form. If Murabai is freed by his communist and soviet allies, or if the United States has any success in keeping him away from power, makes little difference for a Virology professor.

  I walk to my office, briefcase in hands. The amount of papers to grade will occupy me for the better part of the morning. As I get in, I spot my brother, sitting in my chair at my desk. He wears the same smug smile I grew accustomed to. Even after years of not seeing it, I do not miss it. He looks older, with not a single hair left on his bald head. That is a glimpse at my future, right there.

  “Brother, how quaint of you to drop by unannounced and unwanted,” I say, rolling my eyes while placing my briefcase on the guest chair in front of the desk.

  “If I had told you I was coming, you would have changed names and address as fast as an in-debt poker player fleeing the sharks.”

  “True.” I sigh, and sit on the only free chair remaining. “What brings you to my office, dear brother? I hope you remember that our dead parents’ money is all gone by now. You took everything the last time you dropped in without warning.”

  He waves dismissively at me. “Yes, yes. I realise that. I didn’t come here to ask for money, little brother. No. Quite the opposite. Instead, I have come to offer you money. A fortune to be exact.”

  The laugh that escapes my lips is a hearty one. I even feel tears coming out of my eyes. The very idea of Alistair giving me anything, but headache
and trouble, is hilarious, I must confess. “Are you ill? Or is this a convoluted plan to get me to give you money… Perhaps an investment with a promise of long term results. Long term as in centuries?”

  He gets up from the chair and strolls towards me, showing once more the self-satisfied smile. “Nothing like that at all.” Alistair takes out of his pocket a mass of money and places on my desk. “This is payment for your share of the inheritance I took.”

  I stare at the money with narrowed eyes. “Who did you rob or cheat to get this? And why should I accept it?”

  “I’m truly offended, little brother. I may have convinced you in the past to help me out of pity, but I do not extend my begging to strangers. You know my pride.”

  Besides the roll of my eyes, I believe him. He is quite a prideful prat. “So someone paid you this money. For what service?”

  Alistair’s face lights up, having a long laugh before explaining himself. “I got an investor, Alex. A truly rich and interested investor. He believes in my vision and is willing to pay a fortune to help me realise it.”

  Suspicion only grows inside me. Alistair’s vision usually went against what most people would call “common sense”. Unlike me, he still clings to old ideologies and concepts of social engineering that are far too narrow-minded for a respectful scientist to hold. It is no wonder he has spent most of his adult life trying to convince people to invest in him, only to have doors shut in his face.

  No one respectful or proper would agree with Alistair’s visions or desire to make them real.

  “Who is this investor, Alistair?”

  “I can’t say. Unless….” He smiles. “Unless you agree to work with me. Imagine, brother, everything we always wanted to do now in our grasp. Make a better world. Fix everything wrong with the human race.”

  I place a hand on my face and sigh again. “Dear brother, we are no longer teenagers. This talk is ridiculous.”

  “It’s only ridiculous because it seems so far away. But it no longer is. Alex… I’ll fix the world. Science is here to improve our lives, not to cower at the will of ignorance.”