Those Who Remain (Book 3)

by Priscila Santa Rosa

  Two guards enter the room, hands behind their backs. Olivia addresses us again, “These two will take you three to the West Dormitories. I ask that Dr. Paz takes the briefcase to Dr. Wikus Ade first.”

  Maria stands first, walking toward the door while carrying the briefcase. “Of course. I’m glad to help in any way I can.”

  Olivia nods to the soldiers and turns to us again. “You can go now.”

  Tigh and Roger stand and leave too, but when I pass Olivia, she grabs my wrist, applying a slight, but not insignificant pressure. “Wait a moment. I want to talk to you in private.”

  As Roger turns to see why I’m taking so long, she closes the door in front of me. We stare at each other. And now the other shoe drops.

  Irons lets go of my wrist, extending her hand instead. “As a gesture of good faith, I would like that knife.”

  My body stiffens, and I clench my hands into fists. “What knife?”

  Irons smiles. “The one you sneaked very cleverly inside my otherwise-ultrasecure base. I was impressed, although disappointed in my men.” Her smile closes slowly. “But as you can imagine, I can’t have someone who can’t take orders in my base. So I say this with your best interests at heart: give me the knife.”

  The implicit threat is clear: do it or get thrown out. I glance at the door, then at her. We’re very close, but there’s enough space between us for me to draw the knife and slash her. If I take a step forward while reaching for the knife inside my jacket, I could stab her in the kidney with a hand over her mouth before she can call for help. But what would be the point of that?

  She has Danny. She has the briefcase. Our guns. With so many security checkpoints between us and the exit, we could never make it out of here in one piece.

  I look over Olivia Irons again, this time taking note of the way she stands: straight, hands folded behind her back, balanced legs. She’s calm, but not unprepared. Her guards don’t call her boss or chief. They call her Captain. Cap. I bet she served in the military. Being alone with a stranger hiding a knife doesn’t seem to bother her in the least. Even if I manage to overpower her and take her as a hostage, threats won’t get me anywhere.

  So I have no choice. No leverage. But I don’t move. My body won’t obey my rational brain. This knife is all I have left to keep us safe. I need it. I need it like I need air.

  At my long silence, Irons raises one of her eyebrows, then sighs. “If you’re worried about your friends, don’t be. I have no reason to harm any of you. I understand surviving out there means you can’t trust people, but you’re all safe here. This base is secure.” She extends her hand again, waiting for the knife. “And we need to work together to keep it that way.”

  She thinks I’m this way because of the infected, but I’ve been like this since I was six years old, and I have no idea how to be anything else. Trust is not in my vocabulary.

  Knowing how to pick my battles, on the other hand, is.

  Without taking my eyes off her, I reach for the weapon inside my jacket and give it to her, after hesitating for a second. This feels like a defeat. A failure that might cost our lives.

  “I know this wasn’t easy for you.” She pockets the knife and then offers her hand and, with my jaw set, I shake it. My grip is firm, but hers gets tighter as her smile widens. “Thank you for your cooperation, Lily. And welcome to Akimi Base.”

  THE DOCTOR XII

  January 22nd, Friday, 9 am

  As one of the guards escorts me, I glance back, wary of being away from Tigh—and the others, of course. We’ve spent so much time together, I guess I’ve come to rely on them to feel safe. But things are different now, aren’t they?

  Dr. Wikus meets me at the entrance of the central lab. He’s a short black man with razor-cut hair and an easy smile. Wearing a white lab coat with thin orange stripes, he walks slowly, shoulders hunched.

  We shake hands. “My name is Wikus Ade. I’m glad to meet you, Dr. Paz. It’s great to see survivors. And I must thank you for bringing Spencer’s research to us. This is a game changer.”

  He seems friendly enough, and the first person so far who looks relaxed in here. He has a hint of an accent I can’t quite place, but his tone is warm, and I smile at his words, feeling the weight of weeks of worry and tension disappear. “That’s great to hear. We need this cure before it’s too late.”

  “Of course, of course.” He nods absently, then awkwardly points at the briefcase. “Can I have it?”

  After a brief hesitation, I surrender the metal case to him. My hand feels strangely naked without it, as if missing something vital between its fingers.

  My eyes linger on the briefcase before Wikus’s voice draws my attention again. “You look tired. Let’s get you some proper, clean clothes, shall we?”

  He leads me to a changing room where they keep their uniforms and tells me to pick one before giving me privacy. After a quick shower, I search for clothes that look my size inside the many lockers in the room. A few of the lockers are empty, but most are untouched, uniforms still hanging inside. How many people work here?

  Finally, I change from my dirty, worn, and poorly fitting military uniform to a lab coat and scrubs. It’s like years of grime and grease have evaporated into nothingness, but as my fingers trail the cotton lab coat, I feel possibly moth-made holes along the chest and sleeves. The acrid smell of bleach also stings my nose. I guess I got used to the river-washed, sweat-filled fragrance of the wild.

  I risk a glance at the mirror on the locker’s door. The person who stares back at me looks like a doctor; worn, with dark circles under her eyes, and cracked lips, but still a doctor. Maybe I’ll start being one soon. Because, right now, I feel like I’m wearing a costume.

  “Feeling more comfortable?” Wikus greets me as I step out of changing room.

  I open a smile that might as well be a cringe instead. “Definitely.” My cheeks hurt from the forced grin, so I try to change the subject. “You have a lot of lockers here. How many people work with you in the labs? How big are they?”

  “I’m sure any questions you have will be answered by seeing them yourself.” He grins and signals me to follow him.

  The tour of the facilities takes a good two hours. Once inside, I can only marvel at the facility’s high-tech equipment. This is not my tiny medical bay filled with rat-traps and scarce supplies. No, definitely not. Everything shines bright and new, for starters. Wikus details the security measures in place to avoid breaches and contamination as we move around rooms. I spot one or two scientists looking at samples and monitoring data on high-end computers at their stations. Most of the stations are empty. I ask him about it and he pauses briefly, looking down. He tells me they lost plenty of staff on expeditions to gather resources, then quickly moves along. He continues his enthusiastic speech, pointing out the vast number of samples they have of tissue, muscles, nerves, cells, and known viruses. All of which are being preserved in storage rooms on below-zero temperatures. He plans on adding Spencer’s virus now that they have Danny and Mouse. They also have testing equipment, proper protective gear to handle, and supplies to last years, including mice and even a dozen monkeys.

  I honestly feel like a kid in an amusement park for the first time: wide-eyed with excitement for what’s going to happen next and trying to absorb all of it much too quickly. I keep turning around to check if I’m missing any detail.

  “And this is all powered by solar energy? Twenty-four seven?” I ask as my gaze travels again to the surroundings.

  “Yes. It used to be fueled by diesel, resupplied by ship, but now the base is pretty much self-sufficient. During the winter, we have a system in place that uses any excess heat to melt snow for drinking water, which we recycle afterward. We also recycle waste, but not using the same pipe system, of course.” He chuckles while gesturing me to another room.

  “I can see why you haven’t been affected by what’s happening.”

  “Indeed, we’re very much isolated, which is both a blessing and cur
se. I’m sure the Captain told you about our lack of luck in acquiring subjects?”

  I frown at his choice of words. “Yes, she did.” Although she didn’t make it sound like it was only a minor inconvenience like you did. “But now you have two of them. When can we start analyzing Spencer’s serum?”

  “I’m sorry, we?”

  His reaction stings my pride a little, but I try not to show it. “I was hoping I could participate in some capacity. I’m aware that I’m not a virologist and my expertise with this type of research is limited, but I want to help. And I, unlike you, have seen many infected up close.”

  He nods, still smiling. “I didn’t mean to sound dismissive. It’s just unexpected. Of course you can help us with the research, but I thought you could lend us your medical knowledge instead. We need a doctor to examine our team and treat the wounded.”

  “Wounded? Did something happen?”

  Dr. Wikus shakes his head. “Recently? Nothing life-threatening, but Olivia’s men patrol the perimeter. A few developed hypothermia and sustained some minor injuries.”

  I bite my lip. “I see. Well, if you need me, then of course I’ll do it. But I was hoping to see my patients, examine them from time to time. Will that be possible?”

  “Patients?”

  “Yes, the two infected we brought in.”

  “Oh, the subjects.” He shrugs. “I can’t see why not. They’re being kept in our quarantine labs. Hmm...” He checks his wristwatch. Time still matters to him. Another sign of how different we are. I stopped tracking the hours months ago. “My team is probably taking samples from them right now, but this can all wait. I’ve taken enough of your time. You must be tired, hungry, even.”

  I shake my head. “I am, but considering the situation we’re in, is there anything more important than starting to work on the cure? I can eat later. We should really talk about the notebook first.”

  Wikus blinks at me and then adjusts his coat. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Dr. Paz, but we shouldn’t rush into things. You need your—”

  “Yes, we should! Not everyone is comfortable and safe, hiding inside a secret base like you. Things out there are getting worse by the day. People are dying and killing each other. Killing loved ones. Losing hope. We need to do this fast.”

  He stares at me for a second, then taps his foot on the floor once. “I see.” There’s a long silence between us before he clears his throat. “You’re right, of course. No need to shout. I’m sorry if I sounded dismissive of your concerns.”

  I nod, already regretting yelling at him. Although apparently oblivious to the destruction of the outside world, Wikus seems like a reasonable man. Slow, but reasonable. “I’m sorry. I just got here, and already I’m acting like the chief surgeon barging into someone else’s operation room.”

  He laughs. “That’s okay, it might take a while for you to adapt to our routine. Let’s go see your patients, shall we? You might as well meet my team.”

  A woman and a young man greet us by one of the thickest doors of the lab.

  “This is Artie Kellerman, and Dr. Prudence Miller,” Dr. Wikus says pointing at each person. I nod, memorizing their faces. “Artie is my personal assistant. Dr. Miller is my second-in-command. They work directly with me and will be assisting in this project.”

  Artie Kellerman seems to be in his twenties, tall and lanky, with a long beard and sandy-brown hair. He looks around, knees swinging backward and forward as if wishing to leave quickly. Prudence, on the other hand, is a short, stocky brunette. She has a round face and a permanent smile. Lab coat too tight for her figure, she wears it open, revealing a floral patterned T-shirt akin to something a soccer mom might wear during a tropical vacation.

  Unlike Wikus, who seems to measure each and every word he says, Prudence gets straight to the point. After we shake hands, she asks me, “So, what’s going out there? On a scale of looting to cannibalism, how bad are things? Should we even bother doing this?”

  “Of course we should. Don’t bother Dr. Paz with your jokes, Prudence,” Wikus interferes before I can answer, and then he turns to me with a hasty smile. “She’s being hyperbolic.”

  Prudence finally lets go of my hand and shrugs. “I am. But I want to hear the answer if you could let the nice doctor speak. She can talk, right?”

  Wikus waves at me with a sigh.

  “Should we bother helping people? Yes, we should. There are still many communities out there trying to survive. It’s not surprising that with the chaos, people became violent, but they still deserve our help. We can’t judge them for trying to survive. Maybe after society establishes itself again, but not now.”

  “Nice speech,” she snorts. “I guess you had it easy or you wouldn’t be so quick to forgive people.”

  I stare at her with a frown. “My whole hospital was decimated. Everyone I worked with died. The city I lived in was bombed to the ground. But I suppose it’s easier to judge others while staying safely inside a secret base on an isolated island all this time.” I couldn’t help myself; the harsh words just got out before I had the time to stop them.

  After a few tense seconds, the woman laughs and pats my shoulder. “Okay, we got a live one here. Are you sure you want her on the team, Wikus? You hate people who can think for themselves.”

  Wikus coughs. “Prudence, please, this isn’t the time for jokes.” Wikus gives Prudence a glare before turning back to me with a smile. “Let’s go, then.”

  We all dress in hazmat suits on top of our scrubs and pass by the anticontamination chamber to enter the quarantined rooms where Danny and Mouse are being kept.

  My patients are each secured to their beds by leather straps, with muzzles on their mouths. Besides old marks and wounds, they appear unharmed. A monitor shows their heart rates, blood pressure, and oxygen levels—all far below what a healthy human being needs. Both patients are agitated, thrashing and twisting themselves. We stay a few feet away, just in case, while Artie struggles to collect samples from their tumors, saliva, and skin, without getting hurt in the process. I spot his hands shaking.

  “I’ve found that feeding them meat helps calm them down. In St. Jude, we used antipsychotic drugs to keep them sedated. Perhaps you have some here? Their duration and effectiveness vary, but it can help,” I tell Wikus while he stares at the infected with wide-eyed admiration, apparently oblivious to his assistant’s quiet dread.

  Hard to believe some people haven’t seen the disease up close, much less that they would be happy to do so. I sigh.

  “We might have some in the infirmary. Perhaps after this, we can use that. Thank you.” He calls to Artie, “Don’t forget to take blood samples and schedule an EEG, CT, and MRI scans.”

  Prudence approaches Danny with her hands behind her back. She sniffs him, then wrinkles her nose. “He smells bad, but not rotten. How does he keep his muscles functioning with so little blood pumping? So weird.”

  “I was hoping you would have a theory about that,” I say to her.

  “We’ll know more once the test results arrive. Can you describe their behavior patterns?” Wikus asks me. “Specifically, how much does the virus have in common with rabies?”

  I do my best to tell him everything I’ve observed all these months—not just what was found at St. Jude’s, but also my observations of Victoria and other infected we came across. Both Wikus and Prudence hang on my every word, nodding at some of my comments, generally excited at all the new information.

  Artie finishes collecting the samples and leaves the room as quickly as possible. Neither scientist seems to notice, too absorbed in discussing theories, but his departure puts me on edge. I’m now between two people who clearly can’t see the danger of being around Danny and Mouse. Worse, in an emergency they would probably stand around, too dumbfounded to act in time.

  I’m suddenly very much aware that Tigh is far away, and I have no weapon.

  Wikus places a hand on my shoulder, almost making me jump. “I hope you’re satisfied with your
patients’ conditions?”

  My nod is short, my eyes fixed on Danny. “Yes. I am. Thank you for bringing me here. You’re going to place a guard at the door to keep an eye on them twenty-four seven, right?”

  “We’ll take all necessary security measures to protect them, don’t you worry.”

  And yet, I do. I don’t feel confident Wikus truly understands the danger. The problem is, I know there’s nothing I can do to convince him. Without stepping foot out of this base, Wikus can’t really see how bad things can get when an infected is loose.

  One more reason for the cure to be used sooner, rather than later.

  As we wait for the test results to arrive, all three of us discuss Spencer’s notebook in a briefing room. Bright lights, comfortable chairs from a famous designer, a slim TV on the wall with charts and graphics on the disease, humming of air conditioners, and even the smell of coffee. The cleanness of it all still unnerves me a bit.

  When Prudence offers me a cup of coffee, I feel guilt rise from the pit of my stomach. “Aren’t you guys rationing supplies?”

  She raises her eyebrows and trades a look with Wikus. “Sure, food. But not the coffee. I think if Irons tried to take our coffee we would riot.”

  I reluctantly accept it and take a sip of the hot, deliciously bitter liquid while Wikus and Prudence focus on the notebook. Wikus is fascinated by Spencer’s writings, more than once reading them out loud and praising the man’s intelligence. When we reach the last pages, his mood changes.

  “You know, I followed his career very closely,” Wikus tells me while tracing the words on the notebook. “I still remember one of his lectures vividly. He was brilliant. I remember him saying that the moment humans became self-aware was the moment we, as a species, declared war on death. Once we realized our fate was to die, we were bound by fear. Evolution is the only path for us to win this war. We need to transcend death. Even if it costs us, even if others are left behind, even if we need to bring it about by force. To think that, before receiving support from the Free Republic, his work was entirely unknown. Ignored by everyone in the field. What a strange thing, is it not?”