Those Who Remain (Book 3)

by Priscila Santa Rosa

  I quickly move him out of the way to check it myself. He’s right, there’s a glint of red on the metal. I silently curse and rush to the bathroom for alcohol wipes from a small emergency kit so I can clean it.

  “Are you okay?” Tigh repeats the question as I scrub the handle. “Hey, are you hurt?”

  I nod absently while throwing the wipe away in the nearest trash bin. “I’m not hurt.”

  He gently grabs me by the shoulder and forces me to look at him. “What the hell happened, then? Paper cut from filling out charts?”

  My laugh doesn’t quite ring true. I feel the sting of incoming tears. “No—I—It’s a long story. And...”

  “Tell me.”

  The words come out slow at first, with the news of Mouse being cured dropping out of nowhere, my shock, and Wikus’s decision to start the process without bothering to tell me. When it’s time to tell about the operation and what happened next, I sit down on the bed and stare at my hands while speaking fast, perhaps too fast for Tigh to even grasp half of what I said.

  “I checked his bonds, I really did. I double-checked them, I pulled it with all my strength. I don’t...” I fiddle with my fingers, still red from rigorous scrubbing. “I really don’t understand how it happened, but next thing we knew, Mouse grabbed Artie and everything went to hell.”

  “Did he die?”

  I shake my head and sigh. “No, thankfully. But I had to kill Mouse before he could kill Artie. We brought him all this way, we keep him safe all this time, for this? And Artie...” I press my lips together to contain the overwhelming guilt rising in my throat. “In the end, he was bitten anyway. Irons just—she didn’t hesitate, she amputated his foot right there. I didn’t even have the time to prepare him, to give him a choice...”

  It’s all too much. I bury my head in my hands, shutting my eyes tight to stop the tears. I feel Tigh’s hands on my knees. Slowly, I open my eyes and raise my head to meet his. He’s kneeling in front of me and the softness in his expression calms me down.

  “I’m just really tired, Tigh.” As the words slip out, so do the tears. “This night has been a nightmare. And I’m not even sure morning is going to be any better. What if the same thing happens with Danny? What if when it’s his turn, the cure won’t work either?”

  “If it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t. We leave this frozen hellhole and move on with our lives. We adapt. Survive. We accept this reality and get tough.” He reaches for my cheek. “And no matter what, we stick together.”

  It’s impossible to know who leans forward first, I just know that the tip of our noses are brushing against one another softly, mouths half-open in expectation, when a voice comes from Tigh’s radio. I jump up from the bed and pretend nothing almost happened by twirling a towel around my neck and looking anywhere but at him. Meanwhile, Tigh answers the radio.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m coming. Over and out.” I reluctantly look at him as he stands with a frown. “I have to—”

  I nod promptly. “Yes, of course. Go ahead and...” I look up and down, then finally at him again. “Be safe.”

  He leaves after giving me a small smile that has my heart racing. I don’t want to admit it, but it’s getting harder and harder to see him leave like this.

  With Tigh’s reassurance in my mind, I march to the infirmary with renewed determination, only to be greeted by armed guards. They block the entrance, wearing stern expressions and rifles close to their chests. I stop in front of them and cross my arms over my chest.

  “Excuse me, I need to get inside.”

  They shake their heads almost in unison.

  “I’m the doctor in charge, I need to see my patient.”

  Again, no response. I’m too tired for this nonsense. Daring them to stop me, I march forward and open the door, quickly turning and locking it before they can follow me inside.

  “You told it me it would work, Wikus. Promises were made.” It’s Irons’s voice.

  The door pounds a few times. They also try the handle with no success.

  “The serum worked. It did. I swear. The damage to the brain was the culprit. His brain deteriorated too fast for the serum to take effect. I’m certain there’s nothing wrong with our formula.”

  Irons and Wikus’s voices come from my office. I almost go to them, but Irons’s next comment freezes me on the spot. “How long until you can repeat the process with the other one they brought? I need results. Fast.”

  They’re talking about Danny. Once again, they’re planning to do a dangerous procedure without telling me about it. Despite an urge to interrupt them and demand they include me in the conversation, I stay still. If I’m being honest with myself, I’ve always suspected they were keeping me at arm’s length and this might be my only chance of glimpsing their true intentions.

  “Twelve at most. The replicating process is fairly easy now that we have Spencer’s notes. Poor Kellerman. I don’t understand what came over him to untie the patient like that. We’ve worked together for years back at—”

  He stops talking abruptly. I hear radio static and Irons whispers something. I guess the guards are warning her that I’m here.

  “Dr. Ade?” I call out, knowing full well there’s no point in hiding anymore. “Is that you? I came to examine Artie.”

  After a few seconds, they come out of the office to greet me. Irons stares with open hostility, her hands firmly behind her back as always. It’s only the dark circles under her eyes that tell me a different story. The cold Captain isn’t so infallible, I suppose.

  “Hello, Dr. Paz. I hope you’re feeling better after taking a shower?” Wikus asks, with what seems to me a very forced smile. “I took one myself and now I feel very refreshed. Ready to get back to work!”

  “Refreshed or not, we don’t have a choice, do we?” I don’t look at him. I’m too busy returning Irons’s stare. Whatever her problem with me is, I don’t care. I’m not intimidated. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you’re going to use Danny to test the cure.”

  At least Wikus has the courtesy of clearing his throat in embarrassment. “He’s the logical choice. Any other—”

  Irons interrupts him, “There’s no choice at all. He’s the last test subject we have.”

  I glare at her, blood rising in anger. “Even more reason to be careful this time. This means doing full examinations and tests. Informing his loved ones of the danger and preparing them for the worst. Also, getting the staff ready for the danger. We’ll need a plan for emergency situations so that the patient can be contained in case of an escape. What we shouldn’t do is decide everything in secret and perform a botched operation in the middle of the night after the damage that’s been done.”

  Wikus coughs and tries to defuse the tension. “I understand you care very much about his fate, Maria. Mistakes were made, I admit. They were all mine, and I assure you, this time you’ll be part of the process from start to finish.”

  “Good. Now will you excuse me? I need to check Artie’s vitals.”

  Wikus nods enthusiastically while gesturing for me to pass. I feel Irons’s gaze following me from behind as I open the curtain that separates Artie’s bed from the rest of the infirmary. I wait until I’m sure they’re gone before examining him.

  Artie is heavily medicated now and sleeping. His heartbeat and pressure are within expected levels. I sit next to him and take a closer look at the stump to see how much dead skin I need to remove to prevent infection. Under the circumstances, at least Irons’s blow was clean. Still, it takes the whole morning to peel, remove, and cut the dead skin, then suture the wound and dress it properly.

  After the procedure is done, I stay at his bedside since I don’t have nurses to monitor his vitals and take his temperature to check for a fever. As I watch his sickly grimace, I recall what Wikus said: why did Artie let Mouse free by himself? It makes no sense. He was always so nervous around infected, I can’t see a reason for him to be near Mouse on his own.

  The hours pass slowly and it bec
omes difficult to stay awake. I fight sleep as much as I can, but eventually I drift off in the chair. I jerk awake with a light pressure on my right shoulder. Expecting Tigh, I turn in the chair with a smile on my face, only to find Roger instead.

  “Sorry if I woke you up, Maria.” His shoulders are slumped and his face is marked by worry lines and lack of sleep.

  I shake my head and stand to grab medicine for him. “That’s okay. I shouldn’t have dozed off. What can I do for you? Do you need sleeping pills?”

  “I slept enough already. I need your advice.” He rubs the nape of his neck. “It’s about Danny.”

  “Go on.”

  “Dr. Wikus came to see me. He wants me to... He told me what happened with the other infected we brought with us. The one Lily found.” I nod for him to continue. He presses his lips into a grimace, then swallows hard. “He asked if I was okay with Danny taking the serum too. He explained over and over that what happened with the other guy wasn’t his team’s fault and that this, the serum would most likely work.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “That I’m not sure yet. That I wanted to talk to you first.” He sighs while running his hand through his already-disheveled hair. “We came all this way to fix him. Lily... Lily’s not here, but she wanted him cured and so do I. After everything that happened, not doing it seems wrong. You know what I mean?”

  I place a hand on his shoulder. “I do. Of course I do. And I’ll try my best to help him.”

  “But what if he goes crazy like Mouse? What if he’s not Danny anymore? He’s all I’ve got, Maria. He’s family, and I made mistake after mistake. Danny and I grew up together. He has his faults and I have mine, but we’re brothers. We were always there for each other. When I was afraid of messing things up, he was always so sure of himself. Like Lily, I guess… Me? I’m not like them. Everything I thought was right was thrown out of the window and now I don’t know what to do. If he comes back different, wrong, then it’s over.”

  Being a doctor sometimes means playing the part of someone far more confident and sure than I really am. I have to bury all my fears, doubts, and own mistakes to provide support and reassurance when it’s needed. Especially when there are no real options.

  “If he’s not cured, it doesn’t mean he’ll be killed. What happened to Mouse was...” My fault. “...unfortunate. Terrible. But it was avoidable. Now the team will be better prepared. Okay? We need Danny. He’s the only infected we have left. Whatever the result, you’ll be doing the right thing. Helping everyone.”

  He nods. We smile, giving each other some encouragement. I hope I’m doing the right thing.

  ***

  The next day, during the early hours of the morning and after a full physical checkup, Roger and I stand shoulder to shoulder, eyes glued to the glass that separates us from Danny. My chest is about to burst open. My shoulder and neck feel stiff like an old door with rust in its hinges. I’m holding my breath as if water fills the small room. I’m not the only one nervous about this: Roger has his jaw set, his shoulders tense, and a deep frown marking his young face.

  The double doors swing open and two guards roll in the bed where Danny lies. He looks worse, way worse. Pitch-black spots and bumps cover his neck, face, bald head, hands, and exposed arms. The few patches of exposed skin are bruised and he foams from the mouth. The guards carry his body to the slab in the middle of the laboratory and then fasten leather straps over his him, handcuffing him to the metal rails. After making sure he’s secured, they allow the scientists to hook him to life support and monitors.

  “They’ll sedate him now,” I tell Roger in a low voice after noticing his discomfort at Danny’s resistance. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Wikus approaches Danny and with the help of two guards manages to keep Danny still enough to inject the sedative into his right arm. It takes a high dosage, but Danny slowly stops moving and closes his eyes, body finally relaxing.

  With the patient sedated, Wikus and Prudence collect samples. They scrape the tumors and epidermis, pluck hair, and collect saliva with a cotton swab. Finally, Wikus takes a syringe out of a container, its tube filled with the same blue substance I saw Prudence use on her monkeys, and jabs it into Danny’s neck. His body convulses once, but his eyes stay closed.

  And that’s it. It’s done. After all the blood and tears shed, it’s done. Now we can only hope it works.

  ***

  Six hours later, Wikus decides to stop pumping him full of sedatives and rushes back to the room. Roger and I stand next to the glass, silently sharing our anxiety every time Danny’s chest rises and falls.

  Suddenly, Danny opens his eyes. He opens his bright green eyes and thrashes against his bonds. My heart sinks at the violent reaction and I swallow hard, trying to keep my fears at bay, but then he stops and shakes his head. More than that, Wikus talks to Danny, and Danny responds. They unstrap him from the table and Danny sits up and looks at the people around him as if he actually recognizes them as human beings.

  He answers Wikus with what sounds like actual, real words, not grunts. Without even noticing what I’m doing, I walk toward the glass, perhaps hoping to catch their conversation. He vomits thick black blood onto the floor, but doesn’t attack anyone. It’s hard to believe the scene in front of us is real. It’s hard to believe this is happening, but Danny actually recovered. This... Maybe we can come back from this. Maybe the world can be fixed after all.

  “He’s back,” Roger whispers with widened eyes. “He’s all right.”

  “Yeah...” I laugh little, a rush of adrenaline forming a smile. “Yeah, he is.”

  They take Danny to a cell after finishing the initial checkup. The second he’s out of my sight, my worries rush back. I need to examine him myself. See this miracle up close.

  When Wikus enters our room, Roger moves faster than me, approaching the man with such urgency, the scientist shakes his head and takes a few steps backs, hitting his back against the wall. “Can I see him? I want to talk to him.”

  “I’m sorry, but he’s in a very vulnerable state right now. I can’t permit any visits until we’re sure he’s not a safety risk.”

  “I don’t care about the risk,” Roger tries. “Danny doesn’t know where he is or what’s happening. I need to talk to him. Make him understand. He’s probably afraid. He doesn’t know why he’s like this.”

  “I understand, Mr. Gilmore, but if you would let me speak, I’m here to tell you Danny is fine. He spoke with us and recognized his surroundings. These are all good signs—”

  Roger points at the glass, breathing rapidly. “He was vomiting black goo.” His tone has an edge of anger now. “I want to see him. Now.”

  Wikus winces, but doesn’t back down. “You need to be patient.”

  Before Roger can protest again, I place a hand on his shoulder, but face Wikus as I talk. “Considering the situation, I think Roger’s request is more than fair. I’m sure there’s a safe way to talk to Danny.”

  Without Irons around, the good doctor has no will to fight. He nods and then sighs. “Fine. We’ll make preparations. The room he’s staying in has an intercom.”

  “Thank you,” Roger whispers, all his anger deflating with a deep breath. “Thanks.”

  “See? Everything is going to be fine. The worst is over; now rest a little while they prepare things, okay?”

  Roger’s chest rises and falls rapidly at first, but his eyes fix on my face and slowly, he calms down and nods slightly. The sheriff gives me a small smile as he leaves the room. Wikus and I are left alone.

  “Moody fellow, isn’t he?” Wikus breaks the silence with a nervous laugh. I’m not amused.

  “He has been through a lot. We all have.” I cross my arms. “I think it’s time I examine Danny myself.”

  He smiles and takes out a yellow envelope from inside his coat. “I thought you would ask for that, so I brought you his test results: heart rate, blood pressure, red and white cell count, brain scans, everything.” />
  I accept the envelope, opening it to see a thick stack of pages inside. “I appreciate it.”

  “But before you delve into these, you should rest, Dr. Paz. There’s no need to tire yourself out. Your patient is heavily monitored. Any change and you’ll be the first one to know. I promise you, everything is fine.”

  I give him a restrained smile, but go back to watching the glass and the patient on the other side. “Yes. Let’s make sure it stays that way.”

  THE TRAVELER III

  Summer

  I leave the strange trio and their pack of dogs behind. They seem as relieved as I am to part ways. My little chat with the zombies freaked them out and I wasn’t really into the whole “let’s lock tons of people in tiny cells” scenario. Okay, they’re outnumbered and following someone else’s plan, which is fair enough, I guess. Either way, I’ll leave Bedford out of my next road trip. Depressing place.

  On my way back to Gail’s ranch, I think a lot. Walking around the country by my lonesome, one would presume I became a Zen master, an illuminated being who achieved the nirvana of self-realization after spending all my time inside my own head. Nobody to talk to, nothing to see, so I must’ve considered the hard questions, right?

  Well, I mostly brooded and hated myself. Any self-respecting therapist will tell you that if you don’t get things off of your chest, you’ll be stuck in a cycle of self-hatred. Sometimes our brain is like a maze and we spend a lot of time wandering in circles, falling for the same traps and pitfalls. Though our bodies can turn lazy and weak, our minds can stay stuck in the same routine, like a bad computer in need of a reboot. Without it, it can be pretty hard to stop blaming yourself for stuff.

  All these months cross-countrying alone didn’t make me smarter. While I picked up a lot of survival skills and learned that eating some types of seemingly harmless berries will give you diarrhea from hell, my self-loathing is still very much in place. As it should be. I made a lot of mistakes.

  So my thoughts as I approach the ranch are more on what I’m going to say to Gail. How much should I reveal? She’s already said false hope is off the table.