Those Who Remain (Book 3)

by Priscila Santa Rosa

  Compared to Wikus’s main facilities and my own office, Prudence’s workspace is cluttered, small, and unprofessional. Piles of paper, crumpled plastic cups, and even socks litter her floors and counters, leaving little room for the lab equipment. Just walking seems hazardous here. I try to avoid the cages, but end up hitting my butt against the workstation.

  “That’s Berlin.” Prudence points at one of the monkeys as it hurls itself against bars, rattling the cage. The small macaque’s teeth are rotten and not a single hair remains on its body.

  The bald, skinny monkey isn’t the only one in Prudence’s lab. A line of ten cages greets us when she ushers me inside. Half of them are empty. Dead subjects, no doubt. The monkeys that survived aren’t much different from alien creatures out of a horror movie. Covered by black spots, they scream, then bite their own long tails and feet to the bones. Scarred and bruised, they’re hurting themselves instead of others, a behavior no other infected I have seen so far has shown. The rat I infected back at Tigh’s base didn’t live long enough to show this. Could it be a result of them being stuck in cages? Their aggressive behavior needing an outlet?

  “She’s the last monkey I infected. She’s still half-sane. The others are too far gone. Spencer’s virus does its work fast.”

  For the first time since I met her, Prudence actually sounds sad. “Yes, it can spread very quickly. Did you bring me here to administer sedatives? I’m not sure it’s possible—”

  She dismisses me with a wave of her chubby hand. “No, nothing like that. After months talking to the same dull guys, it’s nice to have another woman to share data with.” Prudence tilts her head and the corners of her mouth twitch upwards for an instant. “And I was... curious about you. Ready for the surprise?”

  I nod and sit on one of the few stools available—most are occupied by books and notebooks. Prudence goes under her main desk and brings out a small container, placing it near me. She opens it and takes a small syringe from the ice. The tube is filled with a slightly blue liquid.

  With her free hand, Prudence opens Berlin’s cage and sticks her right hand inside. I gasp, waiting for the inevitable attack, but the monkey screams and cowers in the furthest corner of the cage, whimpering. Finally, she reaches for it, grabbing the frightened animal by the belly and dragging it out of the cage. Yet it doesn’t bite her.

  She injects the syringe into Berlin’s tiny behind and puts it back inside. Berlin skitters to the other end of the cage, immediately biting and scratching herself again.

  Prudence pats Berlin’s cage fondly. “Now we wait and see if the little gal recovers.” Personally, I’m just happy Berlin’s still alive, unlike my rat. She takes the gloves out and tosses them in a nearby trash bin. “Shall we open a bottle of champagne to celebrate?”

  I open my mouth, then close it as she lowers herself and opens a drawer below the workstation, taking out a bottle and two mugs. “I thought it would take much longer.”

  “We’re very efficient here in the ultrasecret CDC base.” She laughs loudly and offers a coffee mug. “Top-of-the-line equipment also helps.”

  “Isn’t drinking alcohol a risk of contamination or something?” I ask her, but with a smile on my face.

  She shrugs and fills my mug. “I don’t hear any loud alarms. So, a toast to the joys of science!”

  This is it. What looked to be so impossible is actually happening in front of my eyes. Danny and Mouse, and everyone else infected, are a step closer to becoming human again. If everything works out. Everything will work out, right?

  We raise our mugs and drink. It’s been so long since I had any alcohol since even before the world had went crazy I avoided it—but the champagne slides nicely down my throat.

  As I watch the monkey scurry away from Prudence’s shadow, I ask, “Why didn’t it attack you?”

  She finishes her drink. “Who?”

  I bite my lip. “The base of Spencer’s virus was rabies, so the monkey should attack you, right? That’s what vectors do.”

  Prudence seems unfazed by the observation, simply filling her mug with more champagne. “You’re right, she didn’t attack me.”

  “But they bite themselves instead. Why is that?”

  She takes another sip while gazing at the cages. “My opinion? They do it because they’re itchy. The bulbs and tumors are itchy as hell, which in turn makes them stressed and neurotic.”

  I get up and move closer to the cages. “So, the virus hasn’t modified their behavior patterns. Doesn’t that mean they’re affected differently from humans? This could make animal tests useless.” And my fears confirmed.

  Prudence gives me a sly smile while finishing her drink. “Now you’re getting it.”

  I raise an eyebrow at her. “Actually, no. I don’t get it at all. What’s going on?”

  She returns the gesture with a grin. “A better question would be: why does our illustrious Dr. Ade have me doing pointless tests? Personally, I think he just enjoys wasting my time.”

  “But does he even know? About the differences?”

  “Pfft, of course he does. I sent him all my notes during these cold months. He really doesn’t care.”

  “That can’t be right.” I place my own empty mug on the nearest free spot on the counter. “He must know how important—”

  Prudence shakes her head and interrupts me. “Trust me, I’ve known the guy longer than you. Too long.” She finishes the drink in one single gulp. “Sure, testing the serum is important since even if the monkeys are asymptomatic, it’s the same virus attacking their bodies. This could provide interesting and relevant data. Maybe. But Artie’s more than capable of doing this and I have far more to offer in other areas, yet Wikus exiled me to the Planet of the Apes.” She sighs and then shrugs. “But, what’re you gonna do, right? We’re all doing our part so we can save the human race together. As long as he can take all the credit for any breakthrough, of course.”

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes. While I was worried about wasting resources on a dead end, all Prudence cares about is a more prestigious role. It seems in here, office politics are still very much alive. They know the stakes, but they can’t actually feel the stakes. It’s all theoretical for Wikus and Prudence. I don’t know if I envy them or want to shake them furiously. They have no idea what Tigh and I had to go through.

  In attempt to avoid voicing my real opinions on Prudence’s little ego battle, I stand to leave. “Thanks for showing me this, but I better go. There’s still a lot to organize in the infirmary.” And if something happens to Tigh, I need to be alert and ready to help. “You’ll let me know if Berlin recovers, right?”

  “If she does, yes.”

  After I return to my office, the taste of alcohol fades away, but the bitterness doesn’t. Of all the people left in the world, why would the cure end up in the hands of these ones? I shake my head. I know the answer: it could only be these people. Only a place so untouched could still have the resources to do this. I only hope they can deliver results even with internal squabbles.

  A gentle hand on my shoulder jerks me from my musings. I spin around in my chair and find Tigh looking down at me with a raised eyebrow.

  “Seems like you hate paperwork more than I do.”

  “No. I was just—never mind. You’re back.” I smile.

  Tigh sits and I immediately straighten myself in the chair, ignoring the crack of my back, and start a quick examination.

  Red nose, broken skin from the cold, slumped shoulders, and half-open eyes. I roll my chair toward him and place my hand on his cool forehead. No fever. I race my eyes over the rest of his body: no rips in his clothing, no blood stains or dirt. Just a thin layer of damp.

  “Are you done checking me out?” He’s smiling and the tone’s playful. Good. That’s a good sign.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No.”

  “The other soldiers?”

  “Cold, but fine.”

  I nod and relax, exhaling deeply. “I’m glad. W
ell, no. I’m not glad they’re cold. You know what I mean. Was it terrible? To be honest, I’m thinking of forbidding these patrols. Nothing justifies the health risk. The temperature alone, but with this weather? Irons will have to see reason.” So, I’m babbling for some reason and he’s just smiling at me like the cat that ate the canary. I stop, gulp, and shake my head, cheeks far too hot for my age. “Anyway. Wikus’s team managed to reproduce Spencer’s formula. I just saw Dr. Miller administer a serum to one of her monkeys.”

  Tigh rolls his chair closer. “You don’t sound very happy. Isn’t this good news?”

  After a deep breath, I nod. “It is. I’m just worried.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know. That it won’t work.”

  He looks at the charts on my table, perhaps noticing the names. “It will work.” I open my mouth to argue, but he shakes his head. “No. Stop. It’ll work because I didn’t drag our asses all over in this hellish weather for nothing. And that’s the end of it.”

  I roll my eyes but crack a small smile. “Fine, you win. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  He smirks. “There you go, then. Stop worrying so much, for once. It must be tiring keeping that big head of yours upright.”

  Immediately my hands go to each side of my voluminous hair. “Hey! You don’t need to insult my hair.”

  Tigh laughs at my reaction. “I wasn’t. I’m talking about how you think you’re responsible for everything. It’s a bit pretentious, let’s be honest.”

  Still, I force my hair down a little, self-conscious of its size. “Well, I guess it comes with the territory. Doctor, remember?”

  “It did slip my mind for, like, a second.” I chuckle as he reaches for my hands. His large palms cover my tiny ones completely. “Look, we did our best with what we had. Now we let the scientists do their part. Okay?”

  Our eyes meet. I nod. “Okay.”

  “Now, are you hungry? Because I’m starving,” he says with a smile, standing and offering me his arm.

  I allow myself to link our arms together. “I could eat.”

  “Then let’s eat.”

  THE HUNTRESS XV

  January 23rd, Saturday, 7 am

  The very next day, after my visit to Irons’s office, Simon shows all four of us to the cafeteria. Roger avoids my eyes for most of the trip while Maria and Tigh talk about him going on patrol outside at dawn. Apparently, Irons wasn’t lying about that. I wonder if she showered him with fake praise too.

  Breakfast is served in an ample room with various tables and benches. My stomach betrays me at the smell of fresh bread. Even the echo of forks against plates has my insides rumbling with hunger. After filling my tray with the bread and grayish soup, I search for an empty table that gives me a good view of the place—always keep your back to the wall and eyes on the exits. Three people in lab coats sit at the back of the room, eating and sharing drinks between talking easily in what sounds like French. A few guards wait in line for a woman in white to serve them food. Our arrival is met with furtive glances, but nothing else.

  All four of us eat in silence at first. With Roger and me fighting again, there’s a palpable tension in the air. I notice Maria looking at her food with a visible grimace while Tigh focus on keeping himself well fed. I guess I should follow his example, I’ll need my strength if things go south. My gun is below my jacket, safely held in a brand-new chest holster. Nobody seems to notice, even if it feels like I’m wearing a big red sign on my chest saying “Armed and Dangerous.”

  Eventually, Maria tells us what she learned about the disease after talking with the research team, but I don’t listen to any of it. I don’t want to understand the virus. I want Danny cured, and so far Dr. Paz hasn’t touched on that subject. Yes, she said they let her see him, and he was being treated well, but nothing else.

  “How about us? When can we see him?” Roger asks.

  “I’m not sure.” She shakes her head. “I’ll ask.”

  Roger nods. Somehow I doubt she will.

  And then breakfast is over, and I haven’t told anyone about Irons’s mission. The idea of admitting I’m doing her bidding burns my insides. As I leave to meet Simon in the dormitories, Roger catches up with me, a hand on my wrist. Dread rising from the pit of my stomach, I stop and face him.

  “What?”

  There’s hurt in his eyes, but he doesn’t give up. “What you said yesterday, about us not working out, I disagree.”

  “Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like we can’t agree on anything anymore.”

  “Lily, I don’t want to give up on us. I already lost Danny—”

  “He’s not lost.” I cross my arms over my chest. “He’s right here, and we’ll force these people to cure him if that’s what it takes.”

  I can see he wants to argue with that statement but knows it’ll only make me angrier, so instead he says, “I understand why you act like that. I understand, Lily. I swear. Do you think I don’t want to make things right too? That I wouldn’t give anything to go back in time before we… God, so much went wrong that I don’t even know which point in time traveling back to would help make things right. Danny would. He would reference a movie or explain a theory and—”

  Roger sighs. We look at each other, but I don’t know what to say. Danny’s absence looms over us silently. It finally hits me: we’re mourning Danny, each in our own way. While I want to stay angry, want to fight this reality where Danny is gone with every fiber of my being, Roger is paralyzed by the fear of losing him. He’s still standing in that high school hallway, watching a pool of blood spread around his best friend’s body. Roger can’t move from that spot, not until Danny is truly dead or truly alive.

  Danny always called the infected zombies. Perhaps he should’ve called them undead instead. He’s here with us, but not really and we don’t know if he’s coming back. That uncertainty is what’s poisoning my relationship with Roger. It’s not lack of trust; it’s the fact we don’t know how to comfort each other. I can’t give him what he needs, and Roger can’t help me either. So what’s left? Two very different people with nothing to offer to each other.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt, Lily. I do trust you, but yours isn’t the only way to do things. We need to work together to keep Danny safe. We need to focus on fixing our mistake.”

  “Mistake? You think it was a mistake to save him from dying?”

  He says nothing, and that’s answer enough.

  “We’re done talking, Roger.”

  I’m tired of arguing, so I leave to meet Simon without even saying goodbye. Let someone else tell him that I left. That way we can spare each other from another fight.

  I follow Simon back to the garage where we entered the base. There, I put on the protective gear: thick winter clothing with camouflage, goggles, gloves, and hiking boots. It isn’t a tight fit, with me being considerably smaller than the average male guard, but it works.

  Geared up, I meet with the engineer Irons wants me to escort. Simon almost has to push the guy forward off the elevator. He staggers in my direction, head downcast. He doesn’t seem too eager to leave the base, but most of all, he doesn’t look like he even fits inside either. Everyone I’ve seen so far dresses with clean, new clothes devoid of any personality. This guy’s different. His pants and sleeves have oil and grease spots. He’s very thin, almost just skin and bones. His straw-blond hair is disheveled and greasy, and there’s a hint of a beard growing.

  Hunched, he meekly approaches the truck. At my direct stare, he quickly pretends to be very interested in the front tires and lowers his gaze.

  I offer my hand. “So you’re the engineer. What’s your name?”

  “Lancaster, Jeremy Lancaster.” Jeremy shakes my hand slowly. Like Simon, he has an accent I can’t quite place. Maybe all Canadians sound this way? “Actually, I’m a technician.”

  I shrug. “Okay. Hop in the passenger side and let’s go. I don’t want to waste daylight. Don’t bother with sea
t belts either. If we go down, we’ll need to jump out fast.”

  Lancaster barely nods, but does what I asked.

  “I loaded the back of your truck with a few supplies for a two-day journey,” Simon says. “Ammo, food, water, blankets. The usual.”

  “Thanks.”

  As I climb to the driver’s side, Simon adds a last advice before leaving, “Don’t let the polar bears eat you alive.”

  With my GPS sitting on the panel in front of me and a map safely in the glove compartment, I start the truck and leave the dark garage for the whiteness outside. As the island disappears in my rearview window, the reality of going away hits me.

  I’m out. I’m armed, but everyone else stayed behind. After a slight shake of my head, I focus on the way ahead. Irons marked the ice roads usually used for transportation during winter while the bay stayed frozen. If I stray from them, the thinner ice might not hold the weight of the truck. But there’s no guarantee the same path will be as thick as needed either. Nobody is around to measure it. So the only thing behind me I should be worried about is the ice, not the base, not Roger, not Danny.

  Visibility is better than what I expected, but the shore can disappear in a blur of white at any moment. Miles of white on white are ahead, and I can’t move faster than twenty-two miles per hour.

  It would be boring if it weren’t for the constant danger of dying horribly.

  “So was it awful?”

  It takes me a moment to register Lancaster’s voice on my right. For the past ten minutes, I had completely forgotten about him. “What?”

  “You know. The whole apocalypse thing. You were out there when it happened. Was it awful?”

  I look at him briefly, then go back to watching my front before answering, “I wasn’t exactly in the middle of things. Got away pretty quickly. Went into the woods and stayed there for the most part. So, I didn’t see much. It looked shitty from the news, though.”

  I hear Lancaster shifting in his seat. “How many have died, you think? Half of the population?” I really don’t know how answer that but Lancaster isn’t bothered, continuing his speech as if speaking to no one in particular. “Sometimes I wonder if we’re the lucky ones or not. We’re doomed to watch everything slowly go to shit.”