Those Who Remain

by Priscila Santa Rosa

  “What about Anna? What about Victoria? Are they…”

  Tom doesn’t answer again. With no other choice, I force my body to get up and move to the bed. The towel on my left side is soaked red. If this keeps it up I’m going into shock pretty soon. I can’t.

  I restrain Victoria's left hand with a handcuff and tie the holding strap against her chest. She’s too busy biting her own mother to notice. The girl eats Anna’s throat, blood flowing freely around her mouth. Her teeth are still new and barely doing deep damage to the skin, but it’s too late. The saliva has done its part.

  Anna has a big lump on the back of her head, and I conclude one of the soldiers hit her with a gun. I check her pulse: faint, but still there.

  “Tom, help me pull Anna. I can’t… I’m too weak.”

  Please don’t make me walk over there.

  Slowly, he comes to his senses and takes the mother off the child. My eyes linger on Tom’s form as he does it. A thin stream of red flows from his ear to his neck.

  With eyes wide, I grab his face and turn it to the side. “What happened?”

  He takes my hands off. “Nothing.”

  My throat closes. My chest hurts. “Come here. I have to examine you for injuries.” I try to focus my blurry vision on Tom’s face. My feet stumble back, and I almost fall down.

  Tom catches me, my cold arm clashing against his warm hand. Too warm. “Careful.”

  I shake my head, a hand reaching his forehead. “Tom. What happened? How did you get hurt? Please tell me.” His silence brings tears to my eyes. My lungs are out of breath. “Tom, answer me.”

  “She bit my ear when I grabbed her the second time. She…She just wanted to get to her daughter.”

  “Was…” I take a deep breath. “Was Anna bitten already?”

  “Yes.”

  I feel nauseous. I want to vomit. I want to lay down and never wake up.

  “It’s okay, Doc. It’s okay.”

  No. No. I can’t let this happen. I can’t.

  My body releases itself from Tom’s grasp. It takes all the strength I have left to limp back to the counter. With only one hand free, I use my mouth to hold a syringe while preparing a solution. If I inject him with my second attempt at a vaccine, maybe Tom has a chance to build his immunity before the incubation period ends. Anything else means…

  This has to work. It has to.

  “Doc… Maria. What are you doing?”

  His voice is muffled and far away, and I have no time to argue. The liquid goes inside the syringe and carry myself over to him. He steps back.

  “Trust me. Please.”

  He nods. Somehow, I have enough force to jam the needle against his arm.

  The sick bay door swings open. Charlie and Sergeant Tigh barge in. We lock eyes; there is so much anger inside his that a chill runs through my spine. Or maybe my body is going into shock after the heavy blood loss.

  “Shit. What happened here?” The pilot says, while Tigh surveys the damage.

  I hear Tom’s distant voice explaining the situation. I hope he doesn’t tell them about being bitten. Halfway through his speech I lose consciousness and by the time I open my eyes again, Tigh is leading me to a chair and forcing me to sit.

  Charlie’s gone. I don’t hear Victoria’s usual yells. He killed her. He destroyed our only hope for a vaccine. I spot Anna’s body on the floor. There’s a hole in the middle of her lifeless eyes.

  Where’s Tom?

  I blink; vision blurred. My heartbeat still lingers enough to accelerate. “No. Tigh…Don’t shoot him. I vaccinated him…”

  His blue eyes are like cold stones. “I know.”

  “Then… Where is he? Did it…Did it work?”

  “No, it didn’t.”

  The Hunter's Daughter IV

  December 17th, Thursday, 2 pm

  Days go by. I train. Father hunts. We go on patrol together, arming traps around the cabin. My arm and shoulder are sore, but better. The blisters are mostly gone, leaving only raw skin. On the upside, I'm going to end up with a nice scar to go with my reputation of gun crazy revolutionary. I finish Pride and Prejudice, wishing it had at least one action scene. Although Lizzie and Darcy were cute, someone could've at least punched Wickham in the face.

  We cut trees to stock logs for the winter. We ration our gas and eat canned food instead of cooking. Soon, it'll be impossible to find game without walking for miles, so we decide to stock the meat for the hard days. We do all of this without much talking. I'm used to the silence between us; we both dislike chit-chat, but my lack of words now is calculated, forced. No matter how much he's right, the sting of his manipulation hurts me more than I care to admit.

  Mom was the one with the secrets, half-truths and broken promises. Not Father. He trusted me; I trusted him; that was how it was supposed to go. We were a team. How many times did he tell me that after Mom left? I hid nothing from him, nothing. I told him about how people talked in whispers, pointing their fingers at me, always scared, always distant. The girl who could kill anyone that dared to talk to her. The violent crazy girl who even her own mother was afraid of. I pretended it didn't bother me, but it did. So much. In return, he never hid his dark days, the days he wanted to drink himself to oblivion or punch a wall.

  He got clean three years after Mom left. It’s something we accomplished together. He shared his theories with me, his strategies and warnings, no matter how crazy. We traded secrets. Or at least, I thought we did. Our trust in each other was the only happy certainty in my life.

  How easy it had been for him to manipulate me to prove a point? He never pretended to be anything but a strict teacher, but this was the first time he used a trick to get what he wanted.

  I guess I'm more scared than mad, scared of what else he might be hiding from me.

  We complete a month inside the cabin. Four weeks since we left Redwood and my mother behind. It's the first snow of the year, and we decide to spend the day inside the cabin. Father prepares two cups of hot chocolate with marshmallows, which we enjoy together by the fireplace. A rare luxury. He must be in a good mood.

  “How's the shoulder?”

  “Better.”

  I hold the cup with both hands to warm my fingers. Father blows the steam coming off his drink.

  “Seems pretty quiet out there. No more crazy people wandering about,” I say after tasting the hot liquid. “I guess going full offensive on the factory was worth it.”

  Father's gaze lingers on the fireplace.

  I keep talking, in hopes of filling the silence. “Maybe after the winter, we could go back to town. Scavenge for supplies.”

  “No.” He jerks his head up. “Not a good idea.”

  My suggestion is an innocent one, made out of the desire to try to hold a conversation for more than one minute. He must know I don’t want to go back because of Mom, so his adamant answer makes me raise an eyebrow. “Why not?”

  “Human settlements are too dangerous.”

  “I think that by then, whoever was left will be gone.”

  “And will probably have taken any useful supplies with them.”

  He has a point, so I nod and drop the subject. I have no idea how else to break this barrier I made between us. The fire cracks while we finish our chocolates, marshmallows floating around the dark liquid. The strangest thing happens next: we hear a knock on the door. We trade looks, perhaps to be sure neither of us is crazy.

  Another knock.

  We get up; I grab my handgun; he gets his shotgun by the kitchen counter. We position ourselves by the door: he places a hand on the handle, while I point the gun at it.

  He swings the door open, and I blink twice.

  “Lily.”

  I open my mouth, lowering my gun. “Mom?”

  Standing outside in the snow is a ghost. There is no other explanation. Time slows down. My mother really is standing outside, wearing the coat Father gave her for their last anniversary together. A coat to use in their trip to the Himalayas, a t
rip he always promised her, but always decided against. The present had been a last attempt at promising her that they could work. I know this because it was my idea in the first place. Father barely cared at that point. She’s alive. More than that, she came to us of her own free will. I don’t know what to think.

  She doesn’t smile at me, doesn’t even meet my wide-eyed gaze. I steal a glance at Father, shotgun still ready.

  She points to the room inside, not a hint of emotion on her face. “Jacob, can I come in?”

  Nobody moves. Surprise mixes with relief and takes away my ability to speak. I see another figure behind her. No. Two figures. A tall, handsome man in Sheriff's hat and a short, stocky guy with messy brown hair, a goatee and one pierced ear.

  Roger and Danny. How...?

  Mom moves inside, passing by like the wind. Roger takes his hat off, nodding to me. His friend, Danny, also strolls in with a smile at my direction. Father closes the door, stopping the cold wind from entering. We gather around the fireplace. Mom sits on my chair, and Father moves to the other. They face each other, and I have the oddest feeling of a watching an old movie. The surreal scene doesn't disappear when I blink.

  “What happened to your arm?” Danny asks, walking close to me, almost touching my wound. I recoil. “Are you okay?”

  “I'm fine,” I manage to reply, still dumbstruck by their presence.

  Mom doesn't even bother looking at me. She's fixed on Father's face. Any relief I felt on seeing her alive is gone by now, giving room to the usual tension between us. Nothing good comes from her being around us.

  “What do you want, Margaret?”

  It's not the coldness in his voice, nor his hand on the shotgun barrel. No, what gets me is his complete lack of shock at their presence. He shows no signs of surprise. No frown, no tight lips or white knuckles.

  “We need your guns, Jacob. We need your help.”

  He lifts his head to Roger, who stands next to Danny and me. “I thought I was clear before.”

  Before? My heart beats faster, ears ringing. “Father, what's going on?”

  Roger avoids my eyes, Father stares at the fireplace. Danny's the only one who looks at me. “I knew I was right. You didn't know. Told you, Roger.”

  I stare at him, confused. “Knew what?”

  The silence is maddening. Roger’s friend places a hand on the back of his neck.

  “Danny, I didn't know what?”

  Father answers for him. “They knew about the disease even before I did. Planned for it. They wanted us to stay in town and help secure it. I said no.”

  “And, of course, he didn't say a word to you,” Mom says, hands on each arms of the chair. “Typical.”

  “This has nothing to do with you, Margaret.”

  “Typical? What does she mean, typical?” I ask him, cold running through my veins.

  “Not now. After.”

  I shut up. I don't have a clue why. Years of training, of being told to follow his orders, to trust his judgment. Bad habits die hard. Or maybe, Mom was right, and I'm brainwashed.

  “You should leave. We are not going to help you. I said before, and I'll say again: I don't want anything to do with that town anymore.”

  Roger steps forward, still making every effort to pretend I’m not in the room. “This isn't about the disease, Jacob. This isn't only about the town either. You are not safe here.”

  Father looks at his former pupil. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Against thirty raiders armed to the teeth?” Danny asks. He walks around the room, stopping by my bed and picking up my books. “Oh, I love this one. Darcy is dreamy.”

  Father frowns. “What’s he talking about? Thirty raiders?”

  “It's true,” Roger says. “A group of armed men are targeting our town, and if we don't stop them now, they'll find you eventually.”

  “Unlikely.”

  Mom lets out a bitter laugh. “We found you. They will too.”

  “You found us because you knew the territory, and can predict my choices. These people won't.”

  “Fine, Jacob. Abandon us. Leave us to our fate, let us be enslaved, killed or worse. Let everyone die because you hate me. Very reasonable of you.”

  “I have no responsibility to a town that treated me and my daughter like trash our whole lives. Or to a woman that cheated on me and abandoned her only daughter.” His grip on the shotgun remains tight. There’s anger in his voice, but also tiredness. “I suggest you leave, before I make you.”

  “Don’t you dare use me as an excuse. You made me leave her. You left me no choice. I guess you are a selfish bastard till the end.” She gets up and walks to me. “Lily, I hope you stay safe.”

  Mom slams the door behind her. By now, her back is more familiar to me than her face, but her words shake me to the core anyway. Before all of this, her accusations of Father being a liar would only add to my growing resentment of her, but today fear is my only reaction. What if she’s telling the truth? Did Father make her leave me?

  “Jacob, you know I would never come here if it wasn't my last option. We need your help. We have people over there who need to be protected, children and elderly. We need to arm ourselves. If you won't come, then let us take a few guns. You have enough for a small army here.”

  Roger’s pleas are ignored, as Father stares at the fireplace.

  “How about a trade, then?” Danny suggests, opening our cabinets. “We have beer, we have better food than canned beans and rubbery deer meat. We have working showers and movie night every Friday. Or maybe you want more clothes? Gas? Soap? New books? Name your price.”

  I almost open my mouth to agree it's a good idea, a fair one at least, but Father gets up and opens the front door. “Not interested. Leave. And don't bother us again.”

  For the first time since he entered the cabin, Roger looks at me. There's no hint of his familiar smile, so warm it used to give shivers. Instead, he only frowns and nods.

  Danny is the last one to leave. Before he does, he grabs my injury-free arm and whispers into my ear. “Roger is very sorry he didn't tell you about our plan first. He's just afraid you'll punch him if he talks to you.”

  He gives me a wink, going out before I have a chance to react. The door closes, and I'm alone again with Father, who goes back to his chair.

  “Go on. Let it all out,” he says to me, gesturing with his hand. “I'm ready.”

  “Why didn't you tell me about the town?” My voice is surprisingly calm.

  “Does it make any difference? I knew you'd agree with me.”

  And I know he's right. I had nothing left for me in Redwood. Not even Roger, after he rejected me. What really bothers me is another lie coming to surface and what others might follow. “That's not the point. You didn't give me a chance to choose.”

  He sits down and puts the shotgun against the wall. “Well, now you have one. And you're still here.”

  I let silence linger between us, as I gather courage to ask the question that might confirm all my fears during these past days.

  “What did Mom mean about you making her leave me?”

  I still remember the day Father announced he had signed the divorce papers. He told me Mom had threatened to reveal his huge arsenal to authorities unless he signed it. He told me she was having an affair for years and was a liability to our survival. And then he revealed she didn’t want to see either of us ever again. She ignored my calls, my letters and with each rejection, the emptiness inside me grew. Anger and sadness have been my companions for years, all thanks to her.

  Father’s silence breaks me. Something inside me snaps. I clench my fists. “She’s telling the truth isn’t she? Somehow you forced her out of our lives, not the other way around. You lied to me all these years.”

  He hits the chair’s arm with a fist, the sound making me wince. “No, I didn’t. I only gave her a choice. Being able to see you or the divorce. She chose the divorce, Lily.” His voice rises at each word. “She left you! When it came do
wn to it, she chose him over us! Over you! I did it all for you, to show you. I stayed. I took care of you. I trained you. You are alive because of me.”

  Every part of my body is frozen in this very spot. He never shouted at me before.

  Perhaps thinking my silence is a sign he convinced me, he continues with a confident tone, “So forget about your mother. And that town. We are better off without them. Trust me on this, like you always do. We are a team. We stick together and survive. We don’t need anything more than this.”

  “I’m leaving,” I whisper, hardly believing I said the words.

  Father’s head snaps up. “What?”

  “I’m leaving.” This time my voice is loud and clear. “I’m going to Redwood, to help them fight.”

  “You are going to believe your mother instead of me?” He gets up from the chair, eyes wide and nose flaring up in anger. “Is that it?”

  “I can’t trust you anymore. I don’t want to.”

  He strides over to me, face to face. “No. I won’t let you do this.”

  Our eyes meet. I don’t back down. “And how are you going to stop me?”

  “If you leave, I’ll disappear. So when you come back, after they use you then force you to leave because of who you are, I won’t be here anymore. You stay, or you'll never see me again. Do you understand?”

  I freeze. He gave Mom an ultimatum and now he’s doing the same thing to me. I close my eyes, feeling them sting with tears. Indignation and anger fill me to the bone. I clench my fists. “I'll stay.”

  “That’s my girl.” He smiles, sitting down again.

  Oblivious to my anger, he offers me my cup back. I take it. The liquid is cold and bitter. We don’t talk for the rest of the evening.

  My eyes open up the second I hear his snores. I get up and leave the cabin with soft steps against the crackling wood boards. After loading the truck with our stock of guns and ammo, I turn the ignition key and leave the cabin behind. I take a last look back. He probably heard me, he has good ears and rarely sleeps deeply. Part of me hopes he'll get up and run to stop me. The rest of me knows he won’t.