Resistant, no. 1

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Resistant, no. 1 Page 11

by Ryan T. Petty


  “How?”

  “Let’s leave it there, Jennifer.” She hesitated. “We had a good planet, but man made some traumatic mistakes. Things were going well, but all you have to know is that the virus took things in the wrong direction.” She forced a smile in my direction, so I decided not to ask more about our past society.

  “So you think the warming of the Earth caused this?”

  “I’m not sure,” she sighed. “When SA8 first got out, the government of course told the people to not worry, and it had been contained with the first patient, who was quarantined, but whether they knew it or not, it wasn’t true. Literally, within a day or two after the first case where the man died, others were coming down with the illness, and then it spread rapidly through the hospitals. When people starting losing their minds or attacking and killing others, the military was called out, but it was only a matter of time before they too began to get infected. Society began to fall apart in all different ways and lawlessness spread. At that point, you were attacked or doing the attacking, infected and uninfected alike. The last we heard of the government was the president giving a speech to say America will prosper once again, but that was almost five years ago.”

  “And we are the survivors of that society,” I muttered.

  “Being an historian, I’m forced to be pessimistic, but we have to keep this going as long as possible. Maybe the future will find this journal and these history books and have something to let them know what happened here. It’s the only thing I know to do until the end.”

  I nodded. “I wish I knew what I was or what I had been good at so that I could help.”

  “Jennifer, you’re helping more than you know. I know most people haven’t given you a chance, but if you survived out there for so long without a mask, it may just mean the virus is dying out. You are a sign of hope we needed, Jennifer, and although people are fearful of it now, I think they will see it in the future. Just give them time.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The male lieutenant, Rodriguez, let me in the Alamo later that evening. The place was empty, but I descended the stairs and crossed over to the weight lifting area, doing a few reps on the machine weights while waiting on any sort of trainer. I figured it would be the female lieutenant, but after thirty minutes, no one showed. Maybe nobody wanted to train me after the fight I had with Clarissa; maybe Michael really meant for me to do this alone.

  A stark feeling of loneliness cut through me. I had to depend on myself because I had no one else while on the road, but here were so many people, and yet most of them didn’t want me here or trust me. My only chance to win them over was maybe to succeed in my own seclusion, to show them I could do my fair share just like everyone else.

  I gave a grunt as I picked up one of the free weights and slid it on the bar. Two thirty-five pound weights clung to each side as I lay down underneath them. The total weight was ninety pounds with the bar, about what I had been using on the machine weights. Pushing the bar upward, I locked my elbows and breathed out slowly as I let it descend to just about my chest; and then I pushed, but nothing happened. I pushed again and the bar only went up a couple of inches before it came back down. The weight bore down on me, and the third attempt to lift it did nothing.

  “Help,” I finally muttered, knowing I was alone. “Please someone, help me!” The pain in my chest increased as I tried to take deeper breaths. The weight was just too much for me to lift alone. “Please!”

  “Jennifer!” I heard a voice and looked up to see Michael, who grabbed the bar and easily pulled it from on top of me, slamming it back onto its holder. I jumped up to a sitting position immediately, gasping, trying to contain the fear of being slowly crushed to death.

  “What were you thinking? Didn’t they tell you to wait for a trainer?”

  “I did,” I snapped back, “but no one showed up for half an hour.”

  Michael sighed. “I was held up doing other work. I told them to let you in and to wait for me. Why didn’t you just wait?”

  I didn’t answer him. I didn’t feel like I needed to, but I could feel the tears well in my eyes, and the breath I was now getting was coming out in small whimpers.

  “Are you hurt?”

  I shook my head, but didn’t answer.

  “Jennifer, look at me.” But I couldn’t. I didn’t want him to see me cry yet again. Still, I felt him sit behind me on the bench press, placing a hand on my shoulder.

  “Look, I know you’ve been through a lot down here, and I probably haven’t made anything easier for you by getting you into this, but I told you before, you are doing really well.”

  “Then why can’t I do anything right?”

  To that there was no response, but I felt him get up. He came around in front of me and held out his hand.

  “I think you’ve had enough weight lifting for the day.”

  * * * *

  The bullet shells rolled across the table in front of me and I nervously placed six in the revolver.

  “Now, this one has a much bigger kick than the last one. Wrap both of your hands around it and ease back on the trigger.”

  “And how many different types of guns do you have down here?”

  Michael smiled as I fired the first round of the forty-five revolver, the kick being tremendous.

  “This is Texas, sweetheart,” he said in a deep voice with a twang, which made me smile. “They basically grew on trees around here and when we were able to, we went out and gathered as many as we could from everywhere. We made a run on an armory a couple of times and got some bigger weapons. The storage unit across from here has everything. Only a couple of us have a key. We don’t want everyone to be able to get their hands on them. Not until we need them anyway.”

  “Well, I guess it’s good you were able to get so many.”

  “It is,” he said as I handed him the revolver, “but it just means the Déracinés have them too.”

  “Yeah, I saw them. Has the compound ever been attacked by them?”

  He raised his hand quickly and smoothly fired the large gun, hitting the target dead center again.

  “Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Michael sighed and looked at the door, like he was waiting for it to open at any moment. He came closer and began to whisper.

  “Déracinés, their minds are taken over by this thing, but they still know they have to survive. Their food is dwindling day by day, and the lower it gets, the farther they come out of the city looking for animals and anything they can devour. We are ten miles out of the city, so we’ve only had a few wander past us, lost or disoriented. We can take them out pretty quickly and our secret is safe, but if one ever gets away and is able to report what they see here, then we will be in for the fight of our lives.”

  “And down here in the Alamo.”

  “One last stand,” he said quietly, the words sounding too true for both of us.

  * * * *

  My training continued for the next three weeks with Michael or with the female lieutenant, Higgins was her name, when he was not able to come. I fought both of them on the mat and was able to protect myself each time against their attacks. My time running the Ditch improved as well, even when I carried the gear that would be taken into the field, and my shooting improved, with each bullet finding their target every time. By the time I was lined up again with the other recruits, we were standing in front of Michael and the other officers as Viceroy Stevenson gave a speech.

  “These ladies and gentlemen here today exemplify the strength of our small compound. We have no name for these walls of brick and mortar. Why? Because we stand resilient in the face of extraordinary odds and tied to the cherished idea that we will all go home safe someday. These men and women standing before us are our line of defense, the ones we will count on when and if we ever see the worst side of humanity. Down in our hearts, we know their tenacity, their downright obstinacy, will be what saves us from evil and will br
ing back society someday. They will be the ones who lead us home.”

  After the speech in the middle of the family unit, everyone gave a long applause. I looked around the open living quarters, up at all the faces that stared down upon me, down on us. Very few had smiles, but why would they? Most of these people had been trapped here since the virus had taken over, fearful of everything on the outside, fearful of me. That might be why there was pity in their eyes or even blatant sorrow.

  I tried to smile as people on the top scaffolding threw small pieces of paper down, like white ash falling upon us. Michael led us out of the hall and back down into the Alamo for more of an informal celebration.

  “Get it while it’s cold,” he said, lifting up a case of drinks in aluminum cans. “We only break this out when we have a celebration, people. You know the rules. One each and save some for those who are on duty this evening.”

  “Speech! Speech!” yelled a recruit, which turned into a chant, where I even joined in. Michael tried to wave us off, but finally relented, jumping up on a table and taking a big swig of the obtuse beverage we were all handed. I was told it was called beer.

  “You want a speech, well here you go. You are more than what Viceroy Stevenson said you are. You are brothers and sisters and you will depend on each other as such. If you go down, you must depend on the others to get you back up.”

  Someone raised a can to Michael. “Sure, we’ll get each other out of a jam.”

  More people cheered and Michael smiled.

  “That’s good, but it’s not what I’m talking about. No, if ever you’re done for, if ever your mask comes off out there, we will depend upon each other to do the right thing. You will put us out of our misery.”

  The laughter, the smiles, the camaraderie all died down. Michael gave a halfhearted salute and jumped off the table, leaving the room as he did. I quickly followed him out the door and found him in his small office.

  “Well, that was one way to welcome us into this,” I said, standing in the doorway. He gave a reluctant smile, but continued looking at some paperwork on his desk.

  “It’s what they needed to hear.”

  “Is it?”

  “It’s what I tell everyone who joins the defense. There’s no beating ‘round the bush, Jennifer. What we have to do is cruel, but it’s the only way we can survive. They need to know the truth. You need to know the truth.”

  “You sound like a Deracine.”

  Michael smiled. “No, I know what I do is cruel. They don’t.”

  “Do you think I don’t know what they are? That I don’t know what I’ll face out there?”

  “Do you?”

  “I’ve been working as hard as I can for this. I’ve known since you put that gun in my hand when I was quarantined. We will all do what has to be done. For everyone out there, for each other, and for you.”

  Michael looked up and smiled again reluctantly. “I hope you’re right.” He took a small, cardboard box off his desk and opened it, pulling out a metal tag and dropping it into my hand. It was in the ∞ symbol.

  “Loop this to your necklace with the other one. You are officially one of us. We can’t stamp your name in it, but if you want a tattoo like mine, we have a few artists who can do that for you.”

  “No, thanks.” I smiled, causing him to as well. I looked closer at the silver tag and symbol cut from metal.

  “May we last forever,” Michael said, giving me a nod.

  I nodded, smiling, but thought the human race may have already seen its better days.

  * * * *

  It felt strange wearing a mask for hours on end, looking through the plastic visor, seeing my breath fog up the shield as I breathed in and out. The rifle was also heavy in my arms, but it had to be carried, just in case something came through the trees or grass and toward my part of the fence. It was a small job and I was sure the towers at either end of me could better observe what was ahead of me. The front gate was also covered with additional guards. Still, I was there, apparently the first line of defense against an assault and probably the first unlucky soldier to get killed if there actually was one.

  For the first week, this is what I did—got up and ate breakfast, did my duty until mid-afternoon, had dinner, entertained myself talking to Sam and Stacey in the late evening, more training and then did the same the next day. It became normal for me, and I felt lucky to have received the day shift, not having to worry about defending anything while standing out in the middle of the dark.

  But it was the noise I heard a week into my duty that sent shivers down my spine. My mind quickly played back my escaping through the woods, my bloody feet, and my empty stomach. I crouched and pointed my rifle across the open field in front of me, unable to see it, but hearing the churning of engines. It was a helicopter. The sound stayed raw in my memory of how they hunted for me for days while I traveled on the interstate.

  “Do you hear that?” I heard through my headset. Stacey, stationed in the tower to my left had spoken.

  “It’s an engine of some sort,” said the corporal in the other tower. I looked up to see him on the balcony, skimming the horizon through his binoculars, trying to find the source of the noise. “I’ll call it in to the captain.”

  Michael showed up with Clarissa just a few minutes later.

  “I know the noise. It is a helicopter,” I said as he walked toward one of the towers.

  “And how would you know that?” spat Clarissa.

  “Because they used them to hunt me,” I shot back.

  “Jennifer,” Michael jumped in before she could say anything, “I know your story, but we haven’t heard one in years. The last time was when there was an unorganized attempt for a rescue operation, when a government still existed.”

  “I know what I heard,” I said, but both of them looked suspicious.

  “We heard something, Captain,” Stacey chimed in through her headset, “we couldn’t see anything, but we heard it. It was definitely an engine.”

  “Maybe it was a Deracine scouting party?” Clarissa said.

  Michael nodded. “We’re going to have to treat it as something like that. Sergeant, double the guard duty for the rest of the day.”

  Clarissa snapped a salute to her brother, before scrabbling off back to the main building.

  “It’s not Déracinés,” I said quietly to Michael.

  “We have to be prepared. Just do your duty and everything will be fine.”

  Sam joined me on line, a little angered we all would have to pull a double shift for no good reason, but the sounds of more engines stirred us again in the early evening. This time though, they continued to get louder and closer.

  “I see something!” transmitted the corporal.

  “Me too!” Stacey added, “Sound the alarm.”

  A blaring noise went off seconds later as Sam and I knelt next to each other, rifles pointed through the chain link fence, trying to be prepared for anything. I tensed up when the first of three white helicopters came over the tree line. It was the same ones I had seen after my escape. How did they find this place? How did they know anyone was here?

  Michael ran to the front gate, rifle in tow, as the helicopters touched down across the field, causing the brownish-green grass to wave in a frenzy.

  “Hold your fire. Hold your fire,” he said calmly through his headset. We all watched as men came out of the helicopters, our troopers pointing their rifles at them. They all carried guns as well, but had them pointed in the air. Other men descended from the helicopters, wearing the same suits from head to toe, the word HAZMAT written upon their chest, with a circle and lightning bolt patch on their arm. They made their way forward toward the gate as the engines of the helicopters died down.

  “Hold your fire,” Michael announced again as they came forward, but even he had his rifle pointed at the men.

  They stopped just shy of the gate and the one in front raised a hand, a solemn gesture that might have gotten him killed if anyone else would have bee
n on the trigger besides Michael. I waited impatiently as they talked, but couldn’t hear anything from my distance. Each movement, each gesture caught my eye as they continued their discussion. Michael finally yielded his weapon, pointing it at the ground. Moments passed before we saw two other individuals walk out of the main building. The gates were opened and they shook hands with the men in white plastic. Eventually, the group, including Michael, walked back into the building.

  “What do you think is going on?” asked Sam.

  “I’m not sure.” I continued to wait, watching their men with rifles as well as the door Michael walked into.

  It felt like forever before someone came out, but instead of running toward the gate, he came toward us.

  “Jennifer?” he asked.

  “Yes?”

  “They want you inside.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Two soldiers escorted me into a conference room in the women’s building. It was set up much like the one I had met the viceroy in when I had first arrived. The room seemed smaller though and felt more cramped even though there were fewer people in it. Michael grabbed my arm at the door and pulled me aside.

  “These are your agents,” he said quickly, before I was pushed ahead to the chair at the end of the table. Viceroy Stevenson sat on one side of the table now, while three men I didn’t know sat at the far end. I looked down at my infinity symbol around my neck.

  “May we last forever,” I whispered to myself.

  “Jennifer has just gone through our training to be a soldier here at the compound, so you will have to excuse her for being so...camouflaged,” Stevenson said.

  The men smiled.

  “That’s quite alright, Viceroy, we understand there must be a constant strain on living out here. Better be safe than sorry.”

 

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