Those Who Remain

by Priscila Santa Rosa

  “Hello, my friends. I mean you no harm,” he speaks with a clear British accent. “I am not armed or dangerous.”

  “I'll be the judge of that. Put the briefcase down.” The British guy obeys. “Now, turn around and empty your pockets slowly.”

  He does what Roger orders.

  “Who are you and what do you want?” I ask, now that the official search is over. “How did you find us?”

  “That’s a lot of questions, friend. Let me start with my name. I am Professor Spencer, formally part of the New London University's staff. The why and how for my visit is a bit of bad news, I am afraid.”

  Roger raises his gun again.

  “Wait, let me clarify. I am the bearer of bad news, not the cause,” he explains with arms raised.

  “What bad news?” I cross my arms.

  “The reason why I know of your little safe haven here is because another man does too. A dangerous man. The Red Star.”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, please. What kind of name is “The” Red Star? Are we in a bad sci-fi movie?”

  Roger’s lack of reaction to my joke worries me. He frowns then speaks to the Professor. “I know him. We made a deal a month back. Are you here to tell me he won't sell me the guns?”

  My surprise is plastered all over my face. “Wait a minute… Who is this Red Star? How do you know him?”

  Roger ignores my questions and keeps talking to the bald man. “Tell him I will send the money only after he delivers the guns.”

  “Oh, I am truly sorry, my friend, but it is a bit too late for that. You see, Red Star and his gang are not interested in your money. At least, not only your money. One of his members came here, did she not? She saw how well the place is hidden, the supplies you gathered, and told her leader. He plans to attack the town, rob you of your supplies and force able-bodied people to join his little cult. Almost thirty heavily armed men are coming here, and coming soon.”

  My eyes are open wide, my mouth too. “Wait a minute… Are you saying that a guerrilla force is coming to attack my town? And they know we are defenseless because Roger wanted to buy guns from them?”

  “Yes, I suppose that is the gist of it.”

  “Fuck.”

  “An appropriate response. May I ask to come inside the town? I would feel much safer. My dog as well, if you don’t mind. Do not worry, he is very well behaved.”

  Roger and I trade looks. Can we really trust a weird British bald guy coming out of nowhere? The fact that he knows the same person Roger does might mean he’s telling the truth, but I still think he’s fishy.

  “All right, you can come in, but keep your hands where I can see them,” Roger says, signaling me to get down the truck’s roof.

  We meet Spencer at the bottom. He holds the dog on his left hand and a steel briefcase in the other while Roger pats him down for any weapons. Now that we are closer I notice blood stains on his face and hands. He has thin eyebrows, small eyes and a pointy nose. Apart from the dirt and grime, I could see him teaching ancient Greek to bored college students. Which makes it even stranger he's the one bringing us news of a small army ready to obliterate us. A prissy British professor surviving the Zombie Apocalypse and traveling with a little puppy? Only in a parody movie.

  “So, tell me again, how the hell do you know this Red Star person?” I ask the Professor, but that’s a question that I intend to repeat to Roger when we are alone again. “And how did you escape him if he's so powerful?”

  “He… Well, I paid him to get me to Ontario. He did not wish to hold up his end of the bargain. As for how I escaped, I can only explain as blind luck.”

  He's hiding something, like the explanation for his bruised knuckles and bloodied shirt. Of course, not many men would risk confessing violent crimes to strangers looking for a reason to shoot them in the head. If he wants to pretend he's just a harmless Professor, let him think he's fooling us. The sooner he feels safe, the sooner he will show us his true, probably violent, self. My hope is that he's more like John McClain's Die Hard badass, instead of Game of Crowns' crazy, cruel, and violent psychopaths.

  “So, you decided to come here instead of going to Canada to help us?” Roger asks, holstering his gun. “Mighty generous of you.”

  Spencer laughs a little as we walk across the Main Street to reach the school, where we can inform Ma and the rest of the town's council of the bad news.

  “I assure you, my friend, this is a purely self-serving decision. Before I give you more details, I want a few favors.”

  At least he's honest about that. Gotta give him credit for admitting his real intentions.

  “Oh? What kind of favors?” Roger continues. “We don't have much to spare.”

  “Nothing much. A compass, a map, some supplies for a trip, and maybe someone to accompany me for a few days? Not for long, of course, just until I reach Canada's border.”

  Roger and I trade frowns. Canada, huh? Good luck, pal. The journey involves passing by dozens of quarantines blockades, probably full of zombies after being abandoned by the Army. And who in their right mind would risk going up there in December? No way anyone wants to leave with him.

  “We'll present your request to the town's council and vote on it,” Roger answers after a brief silence. “You can understand if we have to delay fulfilling your request until after the invasion? If there is one, we'll need to focus on preparing our town first and won't be able to spare anyone to accompany you.”

  I give Roger a satisfied smile. He can be a sneaky bastard when he wants. Nice way of testing the waters to see if this whole story holds any truth. By the fading smile on the Professor's face, he's pretty disappointed with Roger's answer.

  “Of course. Perfectly understandable, but perhaps just a map and a compass could suffice. I really do not wish to be a burden.”

  “Like I said, we'll wait until the council votes on it.”

  We reach the school in time for lunch. People started eating together in the cafeteria since we restricted gas and power usage to communal buildings. It helped build the notion of everyone being a cohesive group, and it did break the ice between old feuds. Even Linda Fords decided to keep Frank company after Louis' death. We did lunch in three different rounds, to make room for everyone. This was the first round; the lucky bastards had the first dibs on the chicken pie.

  As soon we set foot in the cafeteria, Ma raises her hand to invite us to sit next to her. As always, her table is surrounded by piles of paper. Roger whispers he's going to call people in and starts moving around the tables, leaving me, Ma, and the weird bald guy alone.

  “Ma, we need to gather the council. This guy has bad news for us.”

  Ma's hawk eyes analyze the man from toes to bald head. “What a lovely dog. Does he have a name?” she asks, getting up and offering her hand. “I'm Lorraine.”

  “Name? I’m not quite sure.” The Professor looks down on the animal, finding a little plate on its collar. “Apparently his name is Fluffy. I rescued him from a couple of infected.”

  They shake hands. “How nice of you. I'm glad there are still people like you out there, willing to do the right thing.”

  Why is she being so friendly with this guy? I don't like it.

  “Well, thank you, ma’am. It is nice to find such a lovely lady still quite healthy and with her brain still functioning.”

  She laughs, a hand on her chest. Oh God. Is he trying, badly, to flirt with her? And she's liking it? What the hell?

  Not on my watch. “Okay, enough of this. We need to call everyone in. This is urgent.”

  She raises her eyebrow at me, to tell me I'm being rude again.

  “Your son is quite right, ma’am. Although it is hard to believe he is, indeed, your son. You look too young.”

  Another laugh. Can I punch him?

  “You're quite the charmer, aren't you? And with that accent!”

  “You humble me. But I am being rude. I did not introduce myself properly—”

  “His name is Spencer, and t
hat's blood on his shirt. He probably killed a guy. Or more. Can we get a move on?”

  They look at me like I just ruined a good joke by saying the punchline first.

  “Hello? Imminent danger? The council's meeting?”

  We finally move. The Professor does a ridiculous bow as Ma passes next him, and then moves to walk next to her, but I don't let him, positioning myself between them.

  “Danny, you're being rude,” she whispers to me. “I taught you better than that.”

  “And you… You…” I clench my teeth, with a low tone so he can't hear me. “You are flirting with him. Come on.”

  “F-Flirting? I never…”

  “You were making googly eyes at him! You can't! He's a killer and a liar.”

  “How can you be so sure? Do you know him at all? And I didn't make googly eyes at him, don't be silly. That’s not even a proper word.”

  I can't argue anymore—it's too crazy to even think about this. “Just don't… Don't talk to him. Like ever.”

  She gives me a roll of eyes and a smile. “Honey, if he has information that can help us, then we must be diplomatic. Don’t antagonize him.”

  I have no time to argue, because we leave the cafeteria behind and reach the empty classroom we use for meetings. After the first zombie attack, people figured they needed to actually know things, instead of pretending everything was going to be normal. Sadly, that new awareness meant involvement in the decisions as well. While Roger and Ma had veto powers over most stuff, having a council helped people to better accept the new leadership. Of course, they thought I had no veto powers at all, but since Roger and Ma ask my opinion anyway, I'm the true power behind it all. I'm Emperor Palpatine, pulling the puppet strings from the shadows. I'm that awesome.

  The council consists of seven people, most of them already part of the original council. Margaret was voted in after Mrs. Cohen decided step down, saying zombies were the devil's work, and she wanted to focus her energies into praying to God or something like that. Margaret still resents me for that night Paul died, but as long we avoid each other, we manage to control ourselves from spouting petty accusations every second.

  So we find Roger, Margaret, Frank, Antonio the drugstore owner, Felicity the school nurse, and Linda Fords, the original picket fence law supporter, all sitting in chairs, waiting for us. Ma and I sit while Roger asks the Professor to tell the council the same thing he told us back at the town's entrance.

  “So you are saying we made ourselves the target of this crazy person?” Margaret speaks first, turning to Roger. “Because you thought it was a good idea to trust this guerrilla? Aren't you a police officer? How on Earth could you think they were trustworthy? They are criminals.”

  I'm about to jump in to defend Roger, but he stops me with a hand. He knows I'm just looking for an excuse to argue with the woman.

  “Yes, that's why I had to turn to them. The new gun laws are very hard to break without drawing attention, or they were, before all of this. The only way to get guns without getting myself or Danny arrested was trusting them. Their connections with warlords and drug cartels meant they would access things I never would in a million years. I had no other choice.”

  This time I'm the one with an accusation on the tip of my tongue. He had another choice and blew it. He had Lily, but in the name of our friendship I say nothing.

  “Okay, let's focus on the future, shall we?” Ma interjects before Margaret has time to argue some more. “Spencer, how many are there? What type of weapons do they have?”

  “Please, call me Alexander.”

  “Oh, may I?”

  Oh God, not this again.

  “He won't say anything else unless we give him stuff,” I say quickly, a smug smile on my face. “Won't you, Alexander?”

  Ma's expression goes from delighted to annoyed in a blink of an eye. Knowing my Ma better than most, I'm sure the annoyance is directed at the Professor. Ma hates when people hold on to important knowledge to gain something in return.

  “Yes, well… I am not so uncooperative, but I do need some sort of guarantee you will help me. I am on my way to Canada, and need supplies. Nothing fancy—”

  “Enough. Tell us or don't. We don't like blackmail, Mr. Spencer. We do not like it at all.” Ma's voice is now the firm, scary version. “So give us the information first. Then we will see how we can help you.”

  I almost laugh out loud at his bewildered expression. The whole council nods at her, leaving him without any other choice.

  “I am sorry if I gave you the impression I was blackmailing you, madam. I assure you, it was not my intention.”

  “Good. Then prove it by telling us all we need to know.”

  Ha! Take that, Mr. Flirty McBaldy.

  “Do you really think it is so unreasonable to ask for some sort of proof you will aid me? I am alone in this country; I do not know the land. I only ask for a compass, a map and some food. You have so much here…”

  “You want proof? Okay. Wait a moment.”

  Ma gets ups, goes out, her shoes pounding against the floor, echoing over the corridor. We wait a few minutes.

  “Quite the woman, your mother,” the Professor says to me. “Quite the woman.”

  I want to punch him in the face, but from the looks of things, Ma herself will do the deed. She comes back with her shotgun in one hand, and the other hid from view.

  “W-wait, madam… Please, let us talk about this, give me another chance to prove my good intentions,” he babbles, moving away from her.

  She smiles, places the weapon on her chair then offers him a plastic bag she was holding out of view.

  “Here, food for two days. If you want to go to Canada, you'll need food for a week, maybe more. So, I recommend your start talking if you want the rest of it.”

  He smiles, then laughs, placing the dog on the floor and taking the bag off her hands. Fluffy barks at him, as if asking to be picked up again.

  “You are quite the woman.”

  “Thank you. Now give us what we need.”

  He does. He tells us Red Star has three military-grade trucks with twenty-four people in them. They all carry multiple weapons: rifles, handguns and melee weapons. They are strong and well-trained, but their leader is arrogant and overconfident of his own power and, thus, sloppy in terms of strategic thinking. He favors offensive tactics over defensive ones and can be impatient. His followers are loyal to a fault but blind to his true nature. The Professor says Red Star has no qualms in killing his own to prove a point, so we are talking about a cruel, sadistic bastard.

  The Professor speculates they will attack in a few days, perhaps less. He suggests we scout the main roads for signs of them or nearby farms they could’ve taken already without us noticing. It’s a good idea.

  The problem is what to do if we find them. Fifteen armed, but barely trained citizens are hardly a strike team. Stay and wait until they attack is out of the question too, our defensive tactics work against zombies, but the fence won't last a second against real live people.

  “This sucks a lot. Damn,” I say, after we all fall into a sober silence. “We need a miracle.”

  Margaret gets ups from her chair. “No. What we need is Jacob and his guns. And I know how to get them.”

  The Doctor V

  December 18th, Friday, 9 am

  “Do you think this will work?”

  Tom gives me a smile, one that lights up his face. “Trust me, I lived in an old apartment where they nested inside the walls. I know how to catch rats.”

  “It’s just that we’ve been waiting here for two hours now and…”

  “Don’t like my company?”

  I give him a smirk, then a gentle elbow against his side. “You know it’s not that. It’s just that I don’t like leaving the patient alone with the father, he’s…”

  “Why don’t you call her by her name?”

  Because I don’t want to form attachments that might make my job difficult, but you can’t know that.
/>   “I don’t know.”

  Our trap snaps shut; Tom points at it with triumph. He lifts the cage, turning around to show me the rat trapped inside. “See? Told ya.”

  “Great. Now we just need ten more.”

  I laugh at his agape mouth. We make quite the comedy duo, searching around for clues of rodent activity around the base, waiting for the slight hint of a tail.

  My work at isolating the disease hasn’t progressed for four days now. We keep testing the girl for more data, but I have yet to find the missing piece of the puzzle: what’s keeping her body alive, when it should be dead. Testing a vaccine is the only thing I can actually do right now, and that requires rats, lots of rats.

  I try to ignore the looks coming from the soldiers while Tom and I go back to the sick bay. Their anger at me grows as each day passes. I suspect Tigh’s orders are the only thing holding them back from throwing me, and the family, out.

  As for Tigh, I haven’t seen him since he let me bring the little girl inside. It’s understandable, but bothers me nevertheless. I suppose I can make it up to him with a vaccine, if I ever manage to do at least that.

  Our little rat makes my test subject excited. The second we go in she starts twisting herself, mouth open and foaming. Her eyes are red, and her lips are almost white from dehydration. She should be dead. Why isn't she? Something is slowing the body’s natural reactions on a molecular level.

  Her father gets up from the chair to greet us. His name is Aaron, he was a car salesman before everything, but now the only thing holding him together is the lie I told him: the belief that his daughter would transform back into the beautiful warm child he knew.

  I’m his only hope, something he insists on reminding me every time he sees me.

  “Good morning, Dr. Paz,” he greets me with a barely open smile. “She’s doing better, don’t you think?”

  My wince goes unnoticed as I place the cage on the counter, my back to him. “Please call me Maria. Did anything happen while we were out?”