Those Who Remain (Book 3)

by Priscila Santa Rosa

  I remove her hand and move back. “Good thing I’m leaving, then.”

  She lets her hand linger in the air for a second with a pained expression. As if she has any right to act wounded after all this time. “Lily...”

  “Just stop. Every time we talk, you make everything worse.” I take a step forward and raise my voice, “Stop acting like you have any right to get involved in my life. Because you don’t.”

  Mercifully, she doesn’t answer but instead shakes her head. I spin around, marching to the front door. She should get used to my back because that’s all she’s getting from me.

  Her voice is urgent now. “I wonder how long it’ll take before you two start disagreeing on what’s the right thing to do. Roger’s like me, Lily. Just as I got tired of your father’s demons, he’ll get tired of fighting invisible battles. My advice? Stop fighting them before that happens.”

  I hesitate with fingers around the door knob. I want to argue with her, make it clear my relationship is nothing like their failed marriage, but that would be a waste of time. I have more important things to do, like go on a crusade to save the world.

  THE DOCTOR XI

  January 19th, Tuesday, 8 pm

  His footsteps are uneven, slow, and uncoordinated. I tried my best to fix his sprained ankle, but the infection that saved his life now impedes the mending of tendons. His teeth are black now. Lumps cover his once-youthful face and not a single hair remains on his head.

  I’m Doctor Frankenstein, and he’s my monster.

  We had to leave Lily’s truck behind to move on foot as the woods got denser and the roads ended. We’re all tired from carrying our supplies. Danny and Mouse, the other infected Lily ironically named for his immense size, are herded and tied together with climbing ropes. They walk in line with their hands and mouths covered by duct tape.

  During the night, I can hear their snarls as they try to free themselves. During the day, I’m in charge of feeding them and taking care of their injuries.

  I’m not doing this just because I’m a doctor. I do this because Danny’s friends can’t look at him anymore—with his disfigured features and black nails and fingers. I do this because I let the girl free and suggested infecting Danny. He’s my responsibility now, and I won’t let him die.

  Roger’s narrowed gaze follows me everywhere. He can’t look at Danny but freely stares at me with a mixture of resentment and pain. They are all afraid of me being wrong. This is no longer about a hope for a cure. This is about their friend’s life and if I’m wrong... if I can’t cure him, everything will crumble away.

  I need to be right. I need to keep him intact, so when we cure him, he’ll be the same person he was. All fixed. All normal again. Cured and healthy. And there’s no way to do that other than staying near the infected.

  Tigh helps me: he holds them down and watches me carefully as I finish my examination. He ties them up, and I feel safe knowing his knots are perfect and secure. I can trust him to keep us safe.

  These days, he’s my rock. Somehow, he manages to be calm, always finding a way to help me. Maybe it’s because he’s the only one in the group who isn’t emotionally invested in this crazy mission. Or, at least, the only one capable of hiding his feelings and remaining in control. I’m starting to admire his unwavering professionalism. More than that, I rely on it. Without it, I don’t think I’ve would managed to keep going as long as I have.

  Both Lily and the sheriff expect so much from me. I used to be okay with that. A doctor learns how to deal with the guilt, with the pressure, but how many doctors have experience in infecting someone with such a horrible disease on purpose? How many risk condemning them to a half-life without their consent, promising their patient’s loved ones it can be reversible, all the while doubting the cure is possible?

  “Any reason for all the staring?” Tigh asks with half a smile, interrupting my thoughts.

  To think that a few months back, we were strangers who fought more than we agreed. Now he jokes with me.

  “A few, yes,” I answer with a smirk.

  We huddle together in front of a tiny fire, sitting on a fallen log and sharing one of the two blankets the group has. Danny and his companion stay tied to a tree, bodies always struggling to reach us or maybe reach the few scraps of crisp rabbit still hanging from a stick. Roger stares at the flames with a vacant expression. Lily is still out, patrolling the perimeter around our little camp. Injured or not, she insisted on it, claiming to need something to do at least. Most of the time, the two Redwood citizens are silent, so it’s up to Tigh and me to keep the mood as light as it can be in this type of situation.

  “Let me guess: you’re looking for any signs of dehydration? Sleep deprivation? Stress?”

  I shake my head at his guesses. “No. Well, yes, I did all that. But... not right now.”

  Tigh raises one of his eyebrows, seeming genuinely confused, but doesn’t ask for an explanation. Yet I offer one anyway.

  “I don’t think I ever thanked you. About everything.”

  “You didn’t.” He smiles. “You can do it now.”

  “Okay, then.” I chuckle, rolling my eyes. “Thank you.”

  Tigh nods as Lily emerges from the bushes with her usual frown in place. She sits opposite from us, flexing her right arm. That’s my cue.

  After lightly touching Tigh’s shoulder, I get up and sit next to her. While she places her gun against the log, I observe her movements, hoping to get a clear view of her injury.

  After much insistence we convinced Lily to let Tigh hunt instead. I argued her shoulder was too damaged to sustain the heavy lifting required to use a hunting rifle. In the end, she begrudgingly taught him how to track game and prepare traps.

  “Time for your meds,” I finally say while taking out a bottle of antibiotics from my backpack. “How are you feeling?”

  She takes the bottle, uncorks it, and in one swoop swallows two pills with no water. “Fine.”

  The word “fine” is one of the worst words a patient can use. It can mean anything. Most of the time, it means the person is unwilling to receive proper treatment. Anyone else would’ve listed their grievances readily and eagerly to get help, but from what little I know of her, it seems Lily’s not the type who likes help.

  “Can you let your arm hang at your side and swing it slowly in circles?”

  Lily looks at me with narrowed eyes. “Why?”

  “So I can see how you’re recovering, that’s why.” I give her a smile. “You are a very suspicious person, did anyone ever tell you that?”

  “Only to compliment me,” comes her answer, but she does relax her arm and perform the movement.

  Unsure if she’s kidding, I watch her facial features to catch any clue of how much pain she’s in. She winces, but nothing like before. Next, I ask her to open her jacket for me to see the wolf bite. She’s still recovering from her second-degree burns, and the animal’s teeth broke her scabs and skin, but, fortunately, my stitches are withstanding the strain of her constant movements. The antibiotics also stopped the wound from getting infected. Overall, it could be worse. I change the dressing and close the jacket again.

  “You’re doing great considering the circumstances,” I tell her while placing a hand on her forehead to take her temperature. “No fever. But if you start to feel pain, please tell me. I can make you a snow compress to help ease the discomfort.”

  She barely nods, staring at the fire like it’s a snake ready to strike. “When can I hunt again?”

  “Give it a few days. Shoulder injuries are no joke. You could lose some movement permanently.” I point at our dinner. “Besides, look—Tigh got us a rabbit. He’s doing okay.”

  “The further north we get, the fewer animals there are to hunt. We need to grab a deer while we can, or our food supplies might not last the whole trip. Never mind the trip back.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. Going back never entered my mind, since there’s no place for me to go back to, but she’s right to p
lan ahead. “I see. Still, a couple more days of rest will make the difference in the long run for your recovery.”

  “Fine.”

  I’m about to get up and return to Tigh’s side when Lily holds my wrist gently. She looks up to me, cold making her breath visible. “What about him?”

  My eyes travel to Danny’s form, still fighting against his bonds. At her pained expression, I force a smile. “I know he looks bad, but if he’s cured, the lumps will disappear. Don’t worry.”

  From her pained expression, neither of us draw any comfort from my words. “If” feels too far away.

  I go back to Tigh’s side, receiving a raised eyebrow from him.

  “She’s doing fine,” I tell him, sitting down.

  “I’m not worried.” He throws a stick into the fire, the flames burning brightly for a second before settling down again. “About that, anyway.”

  I frown, unsure what he means. I’m too grateful for her help and guidance to wonder if she’s dangerous, but as always, Tigh is one step ahead.

  The fire dies down, and we set up our tents. We are lucky that Redwood had plenty of camping equipment to spare, and each of us gets one tent. I enter mine, carrying the briefcase with me while Roger takes the first watch. The tent provides some protection, shielding me from the chilly air outside, but sleep doesn’t come.

  Every night Danny and Mouse keep me awake with their constant noise. They remind me of Victoria, of the base, and everything else I wish to forget. The sounds they make are strangely human, yet alien. They spit, salivate, contort, all the while moaning and laughing. I can almost picture their smiles in the dark. There’s no humor or joy in their facial features. My mind goes back to biology class and animal behavior studies. Chimpanzees smile when intimidated; other animals smile to show teeth in a sign of aggressive intent. There’s no doubt about what they want to do with us if we let them loose.

  Instead of trying to sleep, I open the briefcase and stare at Spencer’s notebook. His messy, scrawny handwriting gets easier to decipher the more I read it. I pass my fingers over elaborate drawings of dozens of different viruses, unable to recognize most of them, then turn the pages searching for more clues. Spencer’s ramblings feel almost purposely coded, as if written in his own personal language. Even his chemical formulas don’t make sense to me.

  Information starts to take shape in the last pages, where it becomes evident that Spenser realized his work needed to be comprehensible to others, after his plans of outwitting the dictator of the Free Republic country backfired.

  He describes his experiments to transform the human species into something more. It’s not clear what his real goals were, but Murabai forced him to focus on warfare application. Spencer doesn’t show much concern for that, only regrets losing control of the project, which ended up in the hands of people he thought incompetent. The original plan was to spread the disease only after manufacturing the cure in large scale so Murabai’s country could thrive while his enemies were destroyed. But someone betrayed Murabai’s forces, and the disease was out of control in a matter of days. Spencer seems convinced Murabai died in the chaos. I guess Tigh can take comfort in that, at least.

  Spencer also reveals the process of creating the virus. The various behaviors and symptoms from rabies, but controlled, repurposed, and remixed with other viruses. Somehow, he found a way to use rabies as a carrier for other DNA changes, modifying the human body to survive the destruction wrought by the original disease in order to give it more time to be transmitted to another person. This is science-fiction territory for me, beyond my ability to fix. Without the blueprint for this man-made virus, a cure is probably impossible. Hopefully, that blueprint is in my hands.

  The temperature is now freezing cold and not even the tent stops the chilly air from giving me shivers, but exhaustion finally wins, and I fall asleep with the notebook pressed against my chest. I wake up in the middle of the night, body tense, heart racing. It takes a few seconds to realize what my body has picked up already: the silence. No growls, no snarls, just total silence. Unsure of what time it is, I grab a flashlight and crawl toward the entrance of my tent to peek at the darkness outside.

  Shadows, stars, and nothing else. I hold my breath, trying to gather enough courage to turn the flashlight on. And then I hear footsteps. The crackle of fire starts again. A form is revealed by the rekindled flames: it’s Tigh.

  He sits down after our eyes meet. “You okay?”

  I smile and nod. “Everything was so quiet; I woke up.”

  “I needed wood for the fire,” he says as if apologizing for scaring me. “You can go back to sleep.”

  And I do, with the knowledge that he’s watching over me, over all of us.

  THE GIRL IN THE FOREST VIII

  January 10th, Sunday, 1 am

  Jacob, unlike Mrs. Patterson and Peter, doesn’t talk much. The first night, he starts a fire in a clearing so I can recover before moving on. I sit on a fallen log nearby to stay warm, arms folded and feet planted in the snow. The only time he speaks is to tell me I should eat the deer he’s cooking by the fire.

  I look at the thing with disgust. It’s weird eating an animal I saw jumping around a few hours ago. Or maybe the dull pain in my stomach stops me from biting into what looks like very tough meat. Either way, I shake my head and stay silent, not risking opening my mouth.

  Jacob frowns at me. He takes out a plastic bottle and tosses it in my direction. “Fine, don’t eat. But you need to stay hydrated.”

  I drink every last drop, happy to water my dry mouth and sore throat. It isn’t enough to get rid of the taste of vomit, but at least it’s a start.

  “Thanks,” I finally say, placing the bottle on the ground. “I feel better.”

  He nods, poking the fire. For a few minutes, I expect him to ask something, anything. My hands still smell of gunpowder, so I rub them against my coat. It doesn’t help, because the coat stinks of vomit. Uncomfortable, I stare from the ground to the fire and adjust my sitting position. I sniff and close my eyes to force a few tears out quickly. My head stays down, as if by avoiding looking at him the pain in my chest will disappear.

  Jacob doesn’t ask anything. Or talk at all. Maybe if he would talk, I would stop thinking about what happened in the town.

  I killed someone. I shot him. Mrs. Patterson... She asked me to do it. That guy back at the school? He was just talking to me. Maybe he was a bad person, maybe he wasn’t. It was an accident, but who would believe me? I ran away. Only guilty people run away. Would Jacob help me if he knew what I did? Should I tell him that people from the town might be searching for me? Can I trust him?

  The woods are quiet and the sound of wood crackling almost puts me to sleep, but I force myself to stay awake, trying to keep my heavy eyelids open and jumping scared each time I close them for too long.

  Each time I wake up with a jolt, I search for Jacob. I’m afraid he moved, that he left or that he stayed, I’m not sure which.

  While I fight against sleep, he quietly finishes his dinner, feeds the fire with twigs, and then gets up. With care, Jacob places his hunting rifle away from where he was sitting, walks in my direction, and offers me a huge knife. I stare at him directly for the first time since he found me.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  “Sleep,” he answers with a smile. “I’m a heavy sleeper. You have a knife right in your hands, but my rifle is over there.” He points at it. “So, get some sleep.”

  I bite my lip and look at the weapon. “I want my gun back instead.”

  Jacob shakes his head. “Not before you learn proper trigger discipline. That’s tomorrow.”

  “It’s still mine. I want it.” My voice is firm, or at least, I hope it is because that’s a huge lie. He can’t know that I found it lying around back at the school.

  With swift movements, he takes all the bullets out of my silver gun, dismantling the thing that holds them. “There. You keep this part. I stay with the magazine. Sound fair
?”

  Having the gun back in my hands doesn’t make me feel safer, but it’s better than him holding it.

  “Okay.”

  Still, I only close my eyes an hour later, when his snores start to sound real.

  The next day, he offers me more water and an orange. After a whole night with an empty stomach, I devour the fruit. This time, I don’t feel cramps or nausea. In silence, I help him cover the remains of our campfire. Part of me is happy he doesn’t want to leave behind traces because that makes it harder for anyone in Redwood to find me. The other part is suspicious. What if he’s also hiding something or running away? Maybe I shouldn’t go with him.

  Not that I have any choice. I can’t go back to the town, and living in the woods alone isn’t an option anymore. If I want to survive, I need to follow him while keeping an eye out for another way. The only thing I can think of is leaving for a new town, somewhere abandoned, where I can loot and live alone, but safe.

  We walk for about one hour in complete silence. He leads and I trail behind, focused on my steps. Once or twice, I glance at his tall form and broad back. He reminds me of my first gym teacher, Bob. Everyone liked Bob because Bob didn’t actually teach anything. “Here, take the ball and have fun,” he would say and then leave for coffee. Some parents complained — the ones who wanted their kids to be star athletes in the future — so Bob was fired. Gym classes sucked after that.

  “We don’t have all day.” Jacob brings me back to the present. “Move it.”

  I guess the only thing they have in common is their appearance.

  Jacob takes me to a car. A yellow Smart car that looks far too small to hold dead animals in it. Not exactly something a hunter would drive. He opens the trunk, places his rifle in a case, and takes from one of his pockets the magazine for my gun.

  “Come here.” He points at me. “Time to learn how to use a gun and not shoot yourself in the foot.”

  I already used a gun and my foot is intact, but telling him that is risky. Instead, I move closer and give him the weapon. He slides the top part of it open, revealing its black metallic insides.