The Romero Strain

by Alan, TS

  I shook my head in disappointment and disapproval.

  “And Ryan, what is your excuse?”

  He looked at me. “I agree with the doctor. We need more time. We didn’t find all the people who were hiding with me. There were woman and children. We only found the men. They have to be somewhere hiding. I want to wait and see. You saved my life; at least allow me to try to save someone else’s.”

  “Even at the risk of your own?”

  “Yes. Just like you risked yours to save mine.”

  I couldn’t argue with him on that point.

  “You’re both crazy. Neither of you know how to fix anything or defend yourselves. Dick, you haven’t even learned to use a weapon. And, Ryan, your aim is barely better than mine. But since I’m not the boss of either of you, may your god protect you.”

  * * *

  It had been decided. After an hour of discussion we unanimously decided to go to England. It would be easier on us all. David and Julie were civil engineers and I was a paramedic, skills I’m sure would be needed where we were going. Kermit and Sam also had desirable skills and could remain in the Army if they choose. As for Marisol, she hopefully could go to college and study mathematics like she desired. However, it didn’t occur to me that I couldn’t go until I was washing my hands. A sudden realization hit me. I was a transmute, well partially. If I was able to fool them enough get on the helicopter, I couldn’t hide my condition forever. Once people found out what I was, especially the military, I would most likely be sequestered to some secret military installation where I would become a test subject—poked probed, injected, tissue and blood samples extracted most likely for the remainder of my life. I would become a prisoner, never allowed to see my friends again. I would have to stay and Marisol could never know my intention until it was too late for her to do something about it.

  XI. A Farewell to Arms

  I sat on top of the sandbags that made up the makeshift machine gun nest, peering out to the streets below. Night was the time of the transmutes, coming out of their daytime hiding places to hunt, not having to worry about those that wished them harm during the day.

  I enjoyed the quiet moments alone on the roof, tonight especially, with the beacon lights not having been lit—and at my request only using minimal compound lighting. As I looked down to the street below with Max resting near my feet, the rats and other animals that scampered around bemused me. On occasion I would observe a transmute that would stop at the fencing, looking toward the main door, most likely still distraught over having to flee its home.

  The night sky was beautiful. With the hundreds of thousands of pollutant expelling vehicles no longer churning out their poisons, the haze that usually shrouded the city on those hot, humid summer days had vanished, and the city’s visibility had drastically increased. There was less rain. Though clouds would roll into Manhattan, there were fewer particles that aided in the formation of rain droplets, which was actually a good thing—no more acidic rain and less water accumulation and flooding to contend with.

  There was a noise behind me, but I wasn’t concerned nor did I make an effort to turn my head around to investigate. I knew who it was by the sound; besides, I also knew that it could only be one of us accessing the roof from the inward stairwell. I continued to sip my beer.

  “You can put the gun down, David.”

  Surprised, he asked, “How did you know it was me?”

  “Your walk, amongst other things.”

  “Why you sitting up here in the dark? It’s nearly pitch black.”

  “Oh contraire, mon ami. It’s a beautiful night. Observe the clear sky, the bright moon, the shining stars. It’s anything but pitch black. Besides, you forget—owl eyes.”

  “Why are you up here?” he said as he sat down next to me, observing Max by my feet.

  Max was silent, barely raising his head to acknowledge David’s presence.

  “Beer?” I asked.

  “No Jack?” he asked, then took the beer and twisted off the cap, the bottle making that familiar hiss sound.

  We toasted by tapping bottlenecks together, and then I followed with my response to his unanswered question. “To answer the first question. I’m up here often. It’s mostly quiet. It gives me peace of mind to watch and hear all the activity below.”

  * * *

  Colonel Travis’ last operational report had been very brief. In the early hours of the morning, on the second day of the outbreak, he had ordered seven soldiers who showed no signs of the disease to the roof for air evacuation. A half hour later he wrote that the evac had not happened, and that there was no longer radio contact with HQ. Shortly thereafter he committed suicide.

  Max and I had been the first to access the roof, as I had been curious to see if his men had made it off the roof. As I neared the top of the stairwell, I noticed a blood trail that grew in density the further up the stairs I went. When I reached the top I discovered a massive bloodstain, but no body. There was, however, a remnant of a finger from someone’s left hand with a wedding band still wrapped around it. The piece of flesh appeared to have been bitten off, chewed on, and then spat out.

  The door to the roof had been barred and locked from the inside, which struck me as wrong. In the colonel’s personal journal, he had written that he told his men to secure the roof with any means necessary in order to guarantee their safe evacuation. To me this meant they should have barricaded the door from the roof side. Besides, it was not possible to lock the door from the inside and close it behind them. I surmised that the door had been secured by whomever had been dragged down the stairs, perhaps in an act of self-sacrifice. When I finally made it to the roof I discovered no signs of Travis’ men. I cleaned up the blood and never told the others what Colonel Travis had written.

  * * *

  “Like what? transmutes?” David asked.

  “Sometimes. Sometimes rats, raccoons, the occasional fox.”

  “You ever see Luci?”

  “Yeah, a couple of times. She’s out there now. I can feel her, sense her watching, listening. I know she’s close.”

  He remarked, “It’s awfully quiet up here.”

  “I said that already.”

  “Is this all you do, just watch and listen?” he asked, apparently puzzled at my fascination with the dark, desolate city.

  “Sometimes I think, too. Sometimes too much. So, why tonight did you discover my retreat? It couldn’t have been random, ’cause I leave the door ajar the same amount every time.”

  “Marisol. She was looking for you. She asked if I’d seen you. So I went to find you, felt a breeze, and followed it. And here you are. It is actually a nice night out. The wind feels good.”

  “What was it that Marisol wanted?”

  “She didn’t say but I had a feeling she was missing you. I think she needs some attention, if you get my drift.”

  “Yeah, I understand. I haven’t been taking care of business lately. I’ve just been, too tired. And that girl has a habit of wanting to––”

  “Fuck all night?” he flippantly said, before I could finish my sentence.

  “Yeah. Well I wasn’t going to put it that way.”

  I actually wasn’t being forthright and factual with David. I had straight-out lied. It wasn’t that I was tired; it was I was afraid to have sex with Marisol. That primal urge to have forceful rough sex to satisfy my need to propagate had grown more intense since my last change. I was afraid that I would no longer be able to control myself and I would end up hurting her, or worse.

  “Julie, too. She’s just so…”

  “Different from all those groupies you’ve fucked.”

  “That’s not exactly what I was going to say.”

  “Yes, it was. That’s exactly what it is. Groupie chicks are great fucks. They’ll do anything for you.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I had a groupie once.”

  “You?” he said with disbelief.

  “Yeah me, believe it or not. O
f course she was a complete stalking, psycho-bitch but an amazing fuck. But a fuck is still a fuck, no matter how great it is. Marisol though, she’s… she’s just amazing. Just when I think I know her she does something totally unexpected and wonderful. She’s brave and fierce.”

  “Yeah, Julie too.”

  We raised our bottles and clinked them together.

  “Thanks, David.”

  “For what?”

  “For being my friend. For believing in me. For trusting me with your life. That means a lot to me, and I never told you how much you mean to me. How much your friendship means to me. You’re the best friend I wanted growing up. The brother I wish I had had. Better I guess because we didn’t have any of that sibling rivalry growing up. You’re a good person and I’m proud to call you friend.”

  “I appreciate that man. But why do I get the feeling that you’re telling me this for a different reason?”

  He was correct. In the short time we had known each other, he understood me as well as all the years that Siyab and I had know one another.

  “You’re right. I am. ’Cuz this is probably the last chance I’ll have to tell you, and I need to ask you a favor.”

  “J.D., just ask man.”

  “I need you to watch out for Marisol for me. I need you to make sure she gets on the chopper no matter what.”

  “You’re not going, are you?”

  “No, I can’t. I’m a freak, remember? They’ll lock me up and dissect me if they find out what I am. There’s no way I can go, but Marisol has to. There’s nothing here for her.”

  “There’s you.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment, but Marisol needs to go to England. She wanted to go to college. There may be opportunity for her over there… just like you. At least over there you’d probably be able to be a civil engineer again.”

  “I could stay. I could, well… I like books. I could rescue books and start a library, like… like the old man in Logan’s Run.”

  “DD, that was cats. More like Burgess Meredith in the Twilight Zone, and look what happened to him.”

  He didn’t acknowledge or make comment on my reference. I wasn’t sure if he had seen the episode, “Time Enough At Last”.

  “J.D., none of us have to go. We can all go to Mechanicville.”

  “Go to Mechanicville and do what? Become farmers? I don’t even want to go to Mechanicville. I’d rather be in England being a paramedic, but that can’t happen for me. The rest of you have a chance at some semblance of a normal life. Go to England; enjoy the life you should be having. Make babies, grow old, tell your grandkids stories about what we did to survive. That should be your legacy.”

  “And Marisol? How’s she going to take this? I’m guessing you haven’t told her.”

  “No. And I’m not going to. I can’t give her a life that she deserves and needs here. I’m sure that sounds cliché, the noble lover sacrificing his happiness for hers, but that’s so far from the truth. It’s not nobility; it’s necessity. And I’m not happy about it.”

  “Sounds like stupidity to me.”

  “Yeah, well, that too. But I’ll have hard enough time watching out for Dick and Ryan. I’d be devastated if I couldn’t protect her. Better surrounded and protected by people I trust and love. She’ll be safe with you and the others.”

  “It’ll break her heart. She may never forgive you for this.”

  “Better she hates me and is safe, than in my arms dead.”

  There was a momentary pause, and then David softly said, “‘It is better to be hated for what you are, than to be loved for what you are not.’ Andre Gide.”

  “And I am far from a hero.”

  “Consider it done,” he agreed.

  A handshake bonded his promise. I looked back out to the street below.

  “You keep looking at the north gate. That’s the third time in as many minutes. You see something?”

  “I keep seeing movement, coming this way, bobbing in and out of the shadows.”

  “Transmute?”

  “No, movement is all wrong.”

  Max raised his head and cocked it. Something was approaching the gate.

  “There’s someone here,” I said as I grabbed my machine gun.

  “Hello. Hello?” came a loud voice from below. “Hello! Can you hear me? Hello, anyone there?”

  David answered the voice, “Yes, we can hear you fine. Who are you and what do you want?”

  “I’m Paul Wiese. I’m looking for the colonel.”

  David turned to me. “Colonel?” he asked. “Why would he use that name?”

  I looked down and studied the man.

  “It looks like Piss Pants.”

  “Piss Pants? Why would he be here?”

  I called down. “Is that you, Piss Pants?”

  “Uh. Yeah,” he tentatively responded. “But the name is Paul!” he corrected.

  “Stay right there, Piss Pants. I’ll be right down.”

  I handed David my machine gun, and asked him to keep watch. I needed someone with a high vantage point, just in case, and he was good with an M4.

  The others had already responded to the loud banter. Sam was headed to turn up the lights, but I stopped him. Kermit was armed and unlocking the steel auxiliary door that gave access to the outer locks of the large wooden entrance gates. Ryan, Marisol and Julie joined us as we unlocked the outer doors.

  Hold it,” I said before we swung the doors open. “You two aren’t going anywhere.”

  “Why not?” Julie asked.

  I was quick and blunt in my response. “Because you both have your tits hanging out. Where’s your body armor?” Neither had a response. “I thought so. This is most likely a trap and the minute we step out we’ll probably be fired on. Julie, Marisol. Go get dressed, and take Otter with you. Kermit, Sam. Let me take lead. I can see better.”

  We cautiously exited. I searched the night for movement or any indication there were others lurking in the shadows waiting for a clear shot, but I could see no one.

  “Well, well, well,” I said, greeting our enemy. “If it isn’t our old friend Sponge Slob Piss Pants. Hands up. Let’s go. C’mon, even a caveman can do it.”

  He did what he was instructed; he knew refusing would be terminal to his health, like his previous comrades. I interrogated him about his sudden appearance.

  “What brings you here? Slumming? Spying?”

  “I’m not spying,” he said, appearing to be sincere, but I was leery of anything he could say.

  “Says you, Piss Pants.”

  “It’s Paul. The name is Paul.”

  “Okay, Piss Pants. State your business.”

  “I want sanctuary,” he boldly announced.

  I was highly skeptical.

  “Sanctuary!” I scoffed. “You tried to kill us and now you want us to help you.” I proceeded to insult him by calling him an empty-headed animal food trough wiper. “Now piss off!”

  “What’s with the Python? All I want is your help. Please.”

  He wasn’t as stupid as he appeared, but I was sure he’d prove that assumption wrong. I removed one of my bolo machetes from its sheath.

  “Go back and tell your friends that if they try that shit again, it won’t matter where you go or where you hide. I will hunt you down, and the last thing you see will be my blade.”

  “I wasn’t part of that. I wasn’t with them.”

  “Is that so? Then how did you know we were here?”

  “All of Manhattan knows you’re here with all the bright lights. Then there were those explosions and all the smoke you could see from the other side of the city.”

  I was still suspicious of his intentions. “Why now? That was two weeks ago.”

  “I waited a few days before I decided to come here. Besides, it’s dangerous out here. There are those half-mute things, more and more of them… and Renquist! Most nights it’s too dark to travel. I had to wait for the moon. Can I put my hands down now?”

  “Sure, if you’re
tired of living.” Kermit said.

  “Well? Can I come in?”

  “No, you need to go crawl back into your hole,” I directed.

  “Let him in,” came the doctor’s voice from the entranceway.

  “Doc, go back inside,” I instructed. “It’s too dangerous out here.”

  “No,” he said, as he approached us. “I said let him in. He asked for help, so help him.”

  “Doc, that’s ill-advised. He’s one of those guys that attacked us.”

  “No, I’m not. I swear. I haven’t been with them since that day at the subway.”

  “You heard him. He says he is no longer one of them. Let him in.”

  “And where are your brains?” Kermit asked. France ignored the chide.

  “And you heard me, it’s too dangerous.”

  “Mister Nichols. Where are your paramedic ethics? We have an obligation to help this man.”

  “And I have an obligation to protect this facility.”

  “That will no longer be a concern for any of you, will it? Now let him in.”

  The doctor was sort of right. At least that was what I lead him to believe. Technically I was leaving with the others in the morning; I just wasn’t going to England—and I guess it never occurred to him, or the others, that my plight would stop me from stepping into the evac helicopter. The doctor had also been correct to question my medical ethics. I did have an obligation as an EMT to assist those who were in need of my help, though I believed Piss Pants had an ulterior motive in wanting in. I still protested.

  “Ethics!? You’re a fine one to talk, Dick. Fine, let him in.”

  “What!?” the others questioned, shocked at my yielding to Dick’s will.

  “Let him in,” I repeated. “Whoever has the keys to the gate, let him in. Like the doc said, it no longer concerns us. But if he so much as farts you can shoot him. And keep those hands up!” I warned the man.

  “He is to come with me upstairs,” Dick demanded. “I need to examine him.”

  I halted Piss Pants as he crossed the threshold. “Not so fast. Spread the legs, arms out.”