by L. H. Tide
"That's enough!" Harding shouted, freeing his throat from the young man's grip, and rejecting his hand violently with both of his, pushing him in turn backwards. "I don’t allow you to rush my staff!" The scientist's face was purple with rage, while he recovered, putting himself in a more stable position against the wall.
"What did you do to him?" cried Johnny, pointing with an index finger at his father, who was kneeling on the floor, behind the bars of the door of the cell, looking haggard. A mix of coffee and sugar was trickling down the corners of his mouth, the liquid staining brown his white T-shirt. The electrodes, connected by wires to the taser, were still sunk into his neck. Dark blood was slowly pouring from the wounds in which the electrodes were planted.
The professor cleared his throat and, sighing deeply while looking the young man in the eyes, he shouted, "We're trying to heal your father while avoiding being killed by him, trying to survive during the process... Now get out of here!"
The scientist had pointed a finger, peremptorily, at the open entrance behind Johnny.
The young man looked at the index finger, and then chuckled, looking defiantly Harding in the eye. The latter was clearly surprised, and he lowered his hand, but remained calm.
Professor Harding sighed a bit and, looking right in the eye of the colored man, he added, "You show a clear lack of self-discipline, when you react like that... I wonder what Hiroto, your beloved Sensei, would think about that…"
The name of his Master had a sudden effect on Johnny, who was baffled. But he snapped, "My father is becoming a monster, and you're not helping him in any way... he's only your guinea pig!"
A tear began to flow down one of the young man's cheeks as he watched his father, who looked at him with his red eyes... as if he was his son... or his prey?
Observing him quietly, Harding calmed down and said, with a soft voice now, "Turn back home... and be assured that, despite the appearances, we're doing everything we can to help your dad." Having said that, the scientist put a friendly hand on one of the young man's shoulders, and murmured, "Go... Johnny… Please."
He withstood the scrutiny of Harding a few seconds more, but the latter remained tough, despite his thinner, more delicate build. Finally, Johnny lowered his gaze. His glimpsed at his father, saw that one of the two aides was freeing the electrodes, after having switched off the taser. The second electrode, reddened by blood, was as easy as the previous one to extract from the sweaty, dark skin of his father.
The latter roared as soon as the second electrode had quit his skin. He reached out with a big hand, making the aide jump back, just avoiding being caught. The man's back hit a nearby wall, the back of his head striking the concrete surface. Simultaneously, his colleague aimed at the colored colossus with his own taser, having been ready to shoot, just in case. Harry uttered a terrifying howling, which had nothing human about it. He extended his long arm even further between the bars, the fingers of his big hand opened as a claw, trying to touch the aide who was still standing in front of the wall. The latter, wavering against it, seemed to be recovering. Having been half knocked out, he was, fortunately for him, out of reach.
"Mister Johnny Jackson, you should go," said Professor Harding, looking at him with a severe gaze.
"Ye... yes..." the young man stuttered, taking his eyes off the depressing scene of his father, or at least what remained of him. Johnny put his attention back on the man he had previously pushed aside, and who was now up again, and was looking at him hard. The young black man murmured, "Sorry," and wiping a tear trickling down one of his cheeks, he ran out of the room.
Just as he was beginning to run into the nearby hallway, he almost bumped into Red, who had been standing near the door. Surprised, Johnny murmured an excuse. Averting her gaze, his eyes now red because of the tears, he continued his stroke in the corridor, without a backward glance or saying another word. The young red-haired girl looked at him as he was going away, and then turned her attention toward Harding, who was watching the scene in the doorway. Their eyes met, and he looked at her coolly. The gray eyes encircled by the metal of his spectacles challenged the coldness of her own green eyes.
He finally closed the door in her face. She was left blustering, while standing in front of it.
The scientist then looked back in the cell, behind Harry who was still kneeling. Harding had a look at the floor, which was littered with thousands of pieces of ceramic, being picked up by his men. That beautiful tea set that I inherited from Mom!
A grimace emerged on his face.
***
Democracy
Joshua Adams, couch potato extraordinaire, was sitting at a magnificent oak table, watching with delight the Community's only television channel - his channel... Couch potato he was, yes, but he was also a lavish gourmet, having begun to eat a delicious spicy marinated chicken, cooked following the purest Louisiana tradition. It was served with sautéed potatoes in Cajun sauce, potatoes melting in the mouth, but also with an exquisite rosé from his personal cellar, originating from Anjou. He chewed with delight, while he gladly watched democracy at work – in the manner of the Community...
"Ladies and gentlemen, good evening," said a young news presenter with a flawless tie and smile, continuing, "We are here to talk about the forthcoming elections to elect the next Administrator, who will lead the Community during the four coming years. Let's indeed applaud the fact that we are a democratic society - in fact, the only known remaining human society!"
An audience sitting behind him applauded slightly. They sounded unconvinced, and they all seemed resigned to the situation, their dull faces denoting even less excitement than the light, unconvinced hand clapping of their applause.
The presenter continued, "For twelve years already, the Community has grown and even prospered, thriving under the aegis of Joshua Adams, the current Administrator." This sentence made Adams smile, while he was chewing a piece of heavily peppered chicken. He had a few sips of his glass of rosé, enjoying its fruity taste which was softening his mouth, while the presenter, clearly totally on his side, continued, "Facing such effectiveness, it's not clear who will dare challenge him and... "
"He will do it!"
That voice that Adams recognized startled him, making him half-choke on the rosé, coughing now, as he watched the camera leave the presenter to point to Larry Lafayette, in another part of the studio. The audience sitting, surprised, was looking at him, standing in front of them and turned toward the young presenter. Disconcerted, the latter walked up to the old agronomist with a warm smile and asked, "Him? Uh ... You, do you mean? Am I to understand that you are officially going to run in the election, against Joshua Adams? "
"Not me," said the old black man, still smiling, and as he spoke, he pulled away to show, focusing with a hand, Hiroto, who had been standing behind him. The Asian, wearing his usual modest smile, leaned slightly forward, in a rather shy Japanese salute, but remained silent.
The presenter smirked and, as he aimed a wireless microphone toward the old man's face, he asked, "What is your political agenda?" "
"My program?" the old Japanese man said quietly, obviously intimidated, before his smile disappeared and he resumed his impassive face.
"My program can be summed up into one, unique word: Clarity. "
"Clarity?" asked the young man, with a bit of mockery, which could be discerned in the tone of his voice.
"Yes, clarity," retorted Hiroto. "Clarity about the actual resources of the Community, about the sharing of these... Many poor people are obliged to tighten their belts, while some others seem to be strangely favored... I would, wholeheartedly, like to put an end to all of this. "
Always seated in front of the screen, Adams swallowed the rest of his glass of wine and looked at the screen in a dirty way.
He suddenly threw his glass on the floor.
The sound of the breaking glass disturbed the silence in which the old Master had buried himself, now watching the presenter coldly, without saying a
nything more.
"These are really serious charges you are laying, Mr. Hiroto Miyasaki," said the young presenter, looking stern. "You are a teacher of martial arts unanimously known and respected in the Community, more known for your silence and discretion and, above all, more modest than many... "
"Yes," Larry said, interrupting the young man, seeing his old Japanese friend hesitating to speak again. "He IS modest, SO modest, that he didn't want to apply by himself. Knowing his popularity here, and sharing his views on the sometimes oddly made shares, I pushed him to introduce himself. He has the wisdom and the experience of life necessary to bring new breath to the last survivors of humanity that we are!"
Several people sitting on the benches near them applauded, smiling, as the presenter turned to them, surprised as much as Hiroto when Larry grasped one of his hands and lifted it up in the air, as though he were already the winner by knockout of the forthcoming democratic boxing match.
Adams looked at the screen in bewilderment as the young presenter, near them, looked toward the camera, aghast, as if he wanted to ask him directly which procedure he had to follow.
"This is definitely a scoop," said the presenter, as he turned his attention away from the camera, before adding, "Democracy within the Community remains clearly alive, and today, offers us many surprises during this election year which... "
"TV, turn off!" thundered Adams' voice, his face now red with anger.
The 3D TV switched off, and the image of the presenter, of the public, and Larry with Hiroto, who was embarrassed with a raised arm, disappeared.
But before the image had disappeared, the Administrator saw on the old Japanese man's face the sketching of another, modest smile, full of human warmth.
Silence had returned inside the old Administrator's luxurious dining-room, who, leaning his head downward, uttered a curse.
The rosé had left a slight pink trace on the top of his impeccable white shirt, hitherto immaculate. The trace was clearly visible above his enormous belly that could not hide the bottom of the shirt, a belly making him looking pregnant.
"You saw, like me, what happened on TV, right now?" a voice boomed, obviously electronically distorted, a voice that made the old politician flinch in his comfortable seat.
The old man replied, trying to clean up the pink spot with a towel, "Yes, I saw!", as he was at the same time glancing at the intercom on the table.
"It's embarrassing," continued the distorted voice, grave and profound, as if coming from beyond the grave. "Troubling and annoying."
"Admittedly," Adams replied, whose puffy face grew less red, and even picked up colors, as a wicked smile began to cross his face while he continued, "Regarding embarrassment, and annoyance in general, believe me, I'll always be able to get rid of them, after decades of survival in the political arena... But I'll need your help in order for us to continue to do business together."
"I am listening, Administrator Adams," replied the disembodied voice, an air of perceptible interest in the words.
As he spoke, Adams' smile widened, and wickedness sparkled in his little pig-like eyes.
***
Surprise
It was dark in this cramped place, where one could hear, from time to time, groans and complaints, alternating with roars and tears.
Glowing eyes could be discerned in the darkness, which was total...
A deafening squeak was heard as a kind of semi-darkness settled, making the previous total obscurity recede.
A dim light coming from the backlight lamps of the adjoining corridor further illuminated the room, as the only door, which had been closed for many years, now opened wide, squeaking more than ever, sounding like a complaint.
Silence finally returned as the door remained open, and skeletal, staggering figures began to move in its direction.
***
"Where are the other members of the staff?" asked a young Afro-American man, as he ate lettuce with small cherry tomatoes. The table his plate was on surrounded by the many beautiful shrubs of this part of the Community's agro-building.
"I don't know," Larry replied, in front of him, as he finished his meal, sitting at the same table. He was cleaning his plate with a squeezed piece of bread. Saucing one's plate, in order to make the most of every ounce of food, had become a habit for all the members of the Community, even those who originated from wealthy classes, or even very well off. There was a limited amount of food allocated per person, given the restrictions Administrator Adams had imposed, because of despair concerning the future.
He chewed the piece of bread while watching with suspicion, on the edge of his almost empty plate, a last pellet of fake meat. It was made with mealworm flour mixed with vegetables and peppers, to add to the taste. He pouted and, finally, planting his fork in it, shoved the meat ball in his mouth, chewing quickly.
The taste of chilies camouflaged the possible taste of the worms, he had to admit, but at his age, the old black man had difficulties eating anything other than red or white meat. That said, he accepted the idea that insects were a much higher source of protein than sheep and cows, and required, to be bred, far less precious agricultural and water products. But he definitely preferred fish rather than this ersatz of a meat. It was too bad that they had to take up a small amount of fish, because of their importance in the aquaponic cycle…
Having swallowed while pouting once again, as he was hardly convinced, he continued, "I don't know where the agro-technicians of this part of the agro-building went. I told them, the other day, that we had to prepare the apple harvest this week. "
Larry looked at one of the apple trees behind him and continued, "I think the time to reap the fruits has come, they're ripe." Then he turned back, smiling at his young colleague.
Larry's smile disappeared as he opened his eyes wide.
The agro-technician in front of him looked at him, bewildered by his attitude.
"Warning!" Larry exclaimed while suddenly getting up, his warning coming too late.
A zombie was already biting one of the surprised young man's shoulders, through the tissue of his work gear. The creature snatched a piece of bloody flesh as the young black man cried out in pain, and other undead gathered around him as he was still sitting, tetanized by pain.
Further on, several other zombies arrived from all sides through the room's only open door.
"Jack, no!" cried the old agronomic engineer, backing towards a wall while he saw the creatures gather in numbers around his young colleague. They were reminded Larry of a bunch of vultures. While the young man was crying out loud, some of them plunged their rotten teeth into his throat.
Blood flowed profusely along his neck, soiling their victim's working gear.
Others put their bony hands with their sharpened phalanxes into his belly, removing the viscera. The things bit into the bloody organs, blood and pieces falling this time in Jack's plate. The latter now had his eyes enlarged by the excruciating pain.
Larry could not help feeling a mix of horror and relief for Jack, as he saw life disappear from his eyes, when his jugular veins were torn out.
A rustle in his back caused Larry to turn around, seeing that other zombies had moved behind him, and spread bony hands mingled with rottenness towards him. The creatures, skeletal, their flesh like their strongly decomposed clothes, closed their emaciated arms on him.
They caught nothing but a vacuum, for the little man, light and supple despite his age, slipped between them and ran toward another part of the large room, which was illuminated by large bay windows. Lafayette rushed towards the open door through which the creatures had passed, heart beating, full of hope.
The door slammed shut on his face, knocking his nose and stopping him dead in his tracks.
Luckily still standing, as blood was now flowing from his nose because of the impact, he saw the creatures he had escaped, heading toward him with excitement.
Surprised, Larry found that the creatures were staggering less, as if they were ga
lvanized…
And he understood!
They were galvanized by the smell of fresh blood, the young man's and his...
He slipped between shrubs and some tall trees, trying to hide between low branches.
Wasted effort, he thought to himself, while, horrified, he saw the undead who weren't busy finishing chipping away what was left of his poor colleague, heading toward him, their red eyes reflecting hunger and greed .
***
Hiroto, with his saber in his hands, was demonstrating a series of movements of attack and parry when the bell almost made him jump.
" What's that?" Mei asked. Further away in the dojo, she was also wearing a traditional kimono, with large black skirt-pants. She was making a little blonde in a kimono do rehearsals of attack and defense movements, with a small wooden saber.
Her father stopped and was opening his mouth to speak when Johnny, sitting cross-legged beside them, shouted, "I think it's the invasion alarm! "
"What?” asked his old Japanese master, imperceptibly frowning.
"It's the sound alarm, in case of an invasion by the Community’s undead detainees used for Mengeles’s research. He's right, I heard it in an educational program on security, on the Community TV channel!" cried a young girl.
Suddenly she was almost hysterical in her attitude, seated cross-legged until then, she rose, imitated by all the other pupils.
Hiroto and his daughter, who rarely watched TV broadcasting these programs, did not prefer to contradict them. The old man sheathed his saber and, keeping himself on his guard, went to the only closed door of the dojo saying, "Stay calm. I will go and find out if this is the case..."