Resilient

by Toni Cox

  Getting out, I draw my weapon and scan the lot. It’s empty, but I know that can change quickly. Hunter has reached his car, and he’s rummaging in the back seat, shouldering a backpack, another bag, and something that looks like a bunch of sticks.

  I hear the door slam from here, and I recoil, keeping my weapon ready, and a wary eye on the lot, as Hunter runs back to the Rover.

  “Expecting trouble?”

  “You left without your weapons,” I say.

  “Ah, thanks, you were worried about me. How sweet.”

  He wiggles his eyebrows, and I want to smack him.

  “Your Primals are territorial,” he carries on. “This parking lot belonged to the ones I killed. There won’t be others here.”

  “Oh.”

  We stash his stuff in the trunk of the Rover, and I notice that what looked like sticks from afar are actually more swords. Samurai swords.

  “They’re from my father’s collection,” Hunter says. “They are genuine pieces, each worth thousands of dollars.” He smiles. “If Dad knew I was using them, he’d turn over in his grave.”

  “How do you know how to use them?”

  “I did Kendo. It’s a Japanese martial art that uses bamboo swords for fighting. I was a 4th Dan instructor at the Dojo in Rosebank.”

  “Oh, wow, now you’re just showing off.”

  “When you’re good, you’re good.”

  “Get in the car.”

  “Yes, Mam.”

  Hunter is annoying, but he has a certain type of charm I could get used to. He’s definitely more fun than being alone.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I have a base in Edenvale. During the day, I drive through the suburbs, but at night, I always return there. It’s safe.”

  We drive down the R55 for a while. Here, nature has already reclaimed much of the road, and I keep to the middle, where the tar is still visible.

  “What do you do in the suburbs?” he asks when we get onto the N3 highway towards Edenvale.

  “I gather supplies. There are certain items on my list that I need to stock up on.”

  “You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?”

  “I wish,” I snort. “All I’m trying to do is survive, and to keep my friends alive.”

  “There are more of you?”

  “Yes, there are two others, but they’re not in Edenvale. Most of the supplies I need are for them.”

  We go quiet as we drive under a bridge; two Primals crouch within its shade. They open their mouths, baring their teeth, as the car drives past.

  “How many of them do you think are out there?” I ask.

  “Fewer every day,” he replies.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve noticed changes,” he shrugs, “like how they are now avoiding the sunlight. They never used to do that in the beginning.”

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed that, too.”

  “Their teeth are falling out. I reckon if they don’t have teeth, they’ll eventually starve to death.”

  “Oh.”

  “They’re also getting weaker, slower. Don’t get me wrong, they are still a threat, but in a few months, I think they’ll be no more.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Morgan jumps out of the car and does his usual run of the perimeter, marking his territory, before following us into the apartment. Hunter helps me carry some of the stuff from the Rover into the garage.

  “Nice place,” he says when we go in.

  “It does the job. There are water bottles in the bathroom, so you can wash and flush the toilet. Towels are in the cupboard.”

  I leave him to it and go to my bedroom to change. Morgan sits protectively in front of the door, and I laugh at him while I put on slacks and a t-shirt.

  “Good boy.” I ruffle his head before leaving the room.

  Hunter is still in the bathroom. I didn’t want to tell him that he smelled, but I think he got the message. Who knows when last he got the chance to bathe?

  It’ll be dark soon, so I go to the veranda to bring in the solar lanterns. They’ve been charging all day and will give us hours of light tonight. I place them around the room and then light the arrangement of candles on the kitchen table.

  When Hunter comes out of the bathroom, he looks different. His wet hair is dark, and tousled, hanging over his eyes. He’s got a crooked smile on his face, and he smells good; aftershave, I think.

  “So,” he says, “tell me more about your quest to save your friends.”

  I shrug, unsure if he’s ready for the truth. He, too, will die if he doesn’t get the right medicine.

  “Tell me something first.”

  “Okay.”

  “Did you take any medicine when all of this happened?”

  “My mother insisted I take this syrup. Some natural product, I think. She drove all the way from Pretoria to bring it to me. A whole lot of good it did, too. Both my parents are dead, now.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, knowing how hard it was to bury my parents. “Can you remember what it was called?”

  Hunter shakes his head. “All I know is that it was made from Elderberries or something.”

  There it is. Elderberries. He must have taken olive leaf somewhere along the line. Otherwise, he would have died the same as his parents. I clench my jaw.

  “We found this lab, and the research there shows that if you do not carry on taking medicine, you will eventually die, too.”

  Chapter 15

  He takes it well; I have to give him that. We spend almost the entire night recounting our stories up until we met, and his couldn’t be more different from mine.

  He’s the drifter; I’m the homebody. He’s the hunter; I’m the gatherer. Yet, we’ve both made it this far.

  “Let’s go to the lab,” he says in the morning.

  “And, do what?”

  “Look at this research you told me about. Maybe there’s more to it.”

  I’ve never thought about going back. We were so glad to be out of there; we never wanted to. He might have a point, though. What if there is other information that proves useful? All we really know is what the Prof told us. For all we know, that could have been a lie.

  “Alright, let’s go.”

  I suit up and tell Hunter what to pack into the Rover for the trip; I never leave things to chance.

  “You really look badass in that suit; you know that, right?”

  He takes me off guard, and blood rushes to my cheeks before I can compose myself. Andrew and Bronwyn never said anything, so I didn’t think anything of it. It served a purpose.

  “Get in,” I tell him.

  He’s got a stupid grin on his face as I drive us onto the highway. Morgan is excited and standing on the backseat, his head sticking forward between the two front seats, bathing us in dog breath.

  I’m glad for the distraction, and glad Hunter cannot see the blush on my cheeks that, annoyingly, won’t go away.

  It takes far too long to get to the lab, and most of the silences between our short conversations are now awkward. Well, for me, anyway.

  “This is it,” I say, as I pull into the driveway of the lab.

  “Were there Primals here?” he asks.

  “We didn’t see any.”

  I switch off the engine, and we get out. This time Morgan comes with us. I’m not leaving him alone in the car again.

  Showing Hunter the way, I lead us through the warren of hallways to the underground lab. We turn the last corner, and there is the steam box, still jammed open.

  “Ouch,” he says, “you did this?”

  “I did,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat.

  The professor lies in the middle of the hallway, a grotesque mess of his former self. Five others made it through the doors of the steam box; their bodies are strewn randomly, contorted in agonised poses.

  Beyond the box, in the lab, are the bodies of the others. As we step through the steam box, over the dead, we can see that those
who managed to find a gas mask made it all the way to the next lab through the other, smaller steam box. That’s as far as they got.

  I’m fighting tears as I see the results of my actions. They were people. People wanting to live. To find a cure. Now, their rotten bodies will pay homage to my heartless act forever.

  “Erika,” Hunter touches my arm. “Come. Don’t look at it. Let’s find their research, alright?”

  I nod, and he steers me over to one of the counters. Piles of paperwork, files, and research books are scattered here, and we search for a starting point. The dead behind me keep staring, and I get nervous, knocking things to the floor.

  “Let’s pack this up, and take it to the next room,” Hunter suggests. “Take this,” and he hands me a stack of papers, “and go so long. I’ll bring the rest.”

  Obediently I comply, eager to get out. I go through the second glass box; stepping over more bodies; and on into another large room, which also used to be a lab, but the researchers converted it into their sleeping quarters.

  The lab's counters are pushed together in the middle of the space and in their place along the wall are camp cots; the researchers’ personal belongings are piled on top of each.

  I dump my stack of papers on a table and pull up a chair; at least there are no bodies in here. Hunter soon follows with more. Once we have everything, and the two lanterns we brought are set up, we begin the painstaking task of sifting through the research.

  “I wish we had electricity,” Hunter says. “I’m sure that most of their stuff was kept on their computers.”

  I frown, remembering the red emergency light in the hallways. There was light in the lab, too. I now recall the sound of a generator.

  “There is a can of petrol in the car,” I say. “If you can find their generator, we can put the power back on.”

  He smiles and kisses me on the head. “See you now.”

  Morgan lies by my feet while I scan the documents, alone now. I can’t make up my mind whether to concentrate on the fact Hunter kissed me on my head or the fact that I am alone in a lab with a whole bunch of dead people.

  The longer Hunter is gone, the more the dead bother me. I can’t concentrate, so I get up and walk around, looking at the makeshift beds.

  Dr Ciril Maxeke, Dr Wendy Van Niekerk, Prof Arnold Naude, Sihle Khumalo … I stop looking at their names, my stomach churning.

  There is another door on the other side of the room. It’s a red one, just like in the other lab. I wonder if this one also leads to animal cages. Wanting to look at anything besides a reminder of what I did, I go through the door, Morgan now at my heels.

  It’s dark, and the light from my headlamp casts strange shadows. I’m unsure of what I’m looking at; glass walls, maybe?

  Suddenly, the lights come on, and I stand there for a moment, waiting for my eyes to adjust. When I can see again, I wish for nothing more than being blind.

  It is a square room, lined on three sides with glass-walled cells. Each has an occupant. I stagger to the middle, holding on to the lab table there for support.

  Three of the occupants were Primals; the other seven were humans. I see Aurora to my left, and I can only assume that one of the others must be Nathan.

  Within their glass cages, they are incredibly well preserved, and their agonised faces speak of unimaginable horror. Starved to death. Dead of thirst. All because of me.

  I crumple, sobs welling up from deep within me. The knife in my heart twists and turns as their accusing faces swim in front of my closed eyes. The vice of guilt tightens around my chest, and I can’t breathe. I killed them. I killed them. I killed them.

  Arms around me. Humming in my ear. Rocking. I lean into the embrace, tears falling freely now, blurring my vision, hiding the evidence of my betrayal.

  The floor disappears from beneath me as Hunter picks me up. I wrap my arms around his neck, hiding my face in his shoulder.

  “Hush, you’re okay.”

  He whispers in my ear while he walks. I don’t want to look. I don’t want to know where we’re going. I don’t want to know. I just listen to his low voice, interrupted only by my occasional hiccup.

  When he lowers me onto something soft, I don’t want to let go. He takes my arms and frees himself from my embrace, but does not let go of my hands.

  “Erika, look at me.”

  His voice is full, strong, reassuring. I look up; my vision is still blurry.

  “You didn’t know. You did what you had to do to survive. It’s not your fault.”

  “I didn’t know,” I repeat.

  “No, you didn’t. And you didn’t lock them up either. The scientists did that. The blame is on them. It’s not your fault.”

  “Not my fault.”

  “There you are,” he smiles at me. “You’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.”

  He wipes my tears with his shirt and then tells me to lie down. We’re in an office, and I’m on a couch with poufy pillows. Two windows let in enough light to see by.

  “Morgan can stay here with you, while I get the research. We don’t need to work in the lab. The light is much better in here, anyway.”

  I want to protest, but he gives me that crooked smile, and I feel myself nodding.

  “That’s my girl.” He pats the couch by my feet. “Morgan, come, protect her for me.”

  Morgan jumps up and lies behind my bent legs and rests his head on my knee. Hunter ruffles his fur.

  “We’ll figure this out, Erika. I promise. You and me; we’ll make it.”

  Hunter is a genius with electricity. We don’t need electricity in the lab anymore, so he changes some cables, or plugs, or something, and voila, we have electricity in the office.

  “Were you an electrician before all of this?”

  He laughs. “No, but my father owned Northern Electrical, so I kinda grew up with the stuff.”

  “We keep the lights on,” I tell him the slogan for his father’s company, and he looks at me funny. I laugh. “I used to send work to them all the time. I worked for Murray and Roberts before everything fell to pieces.”

  “Huh, small world.”

  I sit in the big, leather office chair behind the desk, with several folders open in front of me, slogging through heaps of scientific data I have no clue about.

  Hunter is opposite me, one of the laptops from the lab open in front of him, looking for anything that might help us understand what happened.

  It is tedious work, but at least it keeps me from thinking too much about the dead in the basement.

  There are blood analyses, complex reports, even photographs of skin samples, but nothing that helps me understand. Frustrated, I keep looking, doggedly going through one file after the next.

  It’s getting dark outside, and Hunter goes around the building, closing several doors; just to be sure. I feel safe in the office with him and Morgan.

  We carry on working until Hunter calls me over.

  “Take a look at this. There are a series of videos here that look promising.”

  The main folder is called OUTBREAK and, within it, there are several more folders, each pertaining to a different stage of what happened. We look at each other.

  “Movie night?” Hunter asks, giving me his crooked smile.

  We move over to the couch, and Hunter puts the laptop on one of the poufy pillows between us.

  “From the beginning?”

  I nod, and Hunter opens the folder that says FIRST SIGNS.

  The virus has been isolated. It has been tested, and we have seen the first signs of it working. If all goes well, we should have a test sample ready within the next three months.

  “Oh, my God,” I say.

  “Indeed.” Hunter hesitantly clicks on the next folder.

  There has been a setback. The virus is too short-lived and cannot survive contact in the air for longer than 24 hours. We’re back to the drawing board with fresh samples but hope to see better results soon.

  “I can’t believe th
ey manufactured this thing. Can you tell where these videos were made?”

  Hunter shrugs. “That’s an American accent, but it could be scientists working anywhere.”

  We carry on watching, video after video, horrified. When we get to the last video, we’re reluctant to play it.

  Mr President, today I present to you the final product. It is beautiful in its simplicity and deadly in its execution. It’s ready at your command.

  The grinning scientist holds up a vial of yellow liquid.

  “No,” I shake my head, “I can’t believe that. Why would they do that?”

  Hunter takes my hand. “I don’t know.”

  We take a short break, stretch our legs, eat something, and walk Morgan outside, and then we’re back on the couch.

  Hunter clicks on a folder called SPREAD, and we find a series of news reports, reporting on the outbreak across the globe. From China to Russia, to Europe; it spread at an alarming rate.

  We’re not prepared for the videos in the next folder, and we cannot watch them all. They are recordings of CCTV footage within cities around the world from within days of when it hit.

  We can literally see people dying on their way home, to the pharmacy, or wherever else they were going.

  I make Hunter switch it off.

  The last folder is called EMERGENCY PROTOCOL, and I hope to find some kind of answers there. Maybe they left a clue in there for us to save ourselves. Maybe there is a cure.

  A state of emergency has been declared across all nations. The presidents and prime ministers have been taken to their bunkers. The spread is more far-reaching than we expected. We need more time to find a solution.

  Shit.

  We have managed to contact several labs across the globe where there were survivors. Everyone is working hard to find a cure. Australia seems to think some of their natives might be immune, but it’s too early to tell.

  Hunter and I look at each other.

  I’m sorry, Mr President, there is no more good news. We’ve lost the labs in the Philippines, Hawaii, Morocco, Sydney, and Mumbai. We still have contact with London, South Africa, and Germany, but their research has yielded nothing so far.