Those Who Remain (Book 2) Read online

  “Yes. I understand it well. I lost my brother recently.”

  She places her hand on my arm. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Was it… Was it before all this?”

  “No. During. It is a long story.” I clear my throat. “Best left for another day. A happier one, with no room for brooding.”

  “You’re right. We have enough sad tales here.”

  “It certainly does not look like it. You managed to keep this town safe, Lorraine. An achievement few can boast about it.”

  “It was all thanks to Danny, really.” Her smile reaches her eyes, finally. They are a marvel of deep green. “He and Roger. If they hadn’t prepared us, who knows if any of us would be alive? He makes me prouder by the second.”

  “He does appear to be a considerably smart young man. You raised him well.”

  “Do you have any kids of your own, Alexander?”

  “No. I had no wish for them. My wife did. Now I am divorced. Or I was. She is most likely dead. This world… Well, it does not fit her. She was not half the woman you seem to be.”

  “I see,” Lorraine says with a raised eyebrow.

  The words flowed from my mouth. A river of strange, but comforting confessions. This slip of the tongue causes an awkward pause in our talk. With no excuse to leave and nowhere to go, I turn around to observe the room, hoping to stop myself from another embarrassment.

  My newly acquired pet sleeps on the lap of a young girl, the same who reads a thick book by candlelight. It is clear he is better off here, instead of venturing with me to cold Canada. My journey will be a lonely one indeed. To be perfectly honest, then and now, I miss my brother. For all our troubles and fights on science and ethics, we were family. All was left of him, probably quite literally, was the briefcase.

  The same briefcase I cannot let fall in the hands of Red Star. The same briefcase that contains the solution for the virus eating the world alive. The briefcase I need to take to the right people.

  The night moves forward, with no regard for the pain it brings Lorraine. We play cards, eat canned beans and I watch her closely as she moves between people, providing calming words and reassurances to the ones still too frightened to sleep.

  The fight between worry and fatigue is lost. Around ten o’clock, while sitting next to the windows with her head against the glass, she falls asleep.

  I cannot do the same.

  My hands reach the briefcase. I place the cold metal against my lap and run my fingers around its edges. The lock requires a numerical password.

  I look around the room. No one remains awake.

  Click. Click. Clack. It is open.

  My brother’s notes are messy, full of grammatical errors and drawings out of a mad mind. I feel the torn notebook with my thumb. He never used computers, preferring the privacy offered by pen and paper. His paranoia used to be ridiculous to me, but his reasons became clear after he revealed whom he was working for. I dig deeper to find a small vial in a plastic bag. I hold in my hands a cure for the virus, ready to be analysed and, hopefully, duplicated and distributed.

  The key to salvation. The hope for a better future, but only in the right hands. Hands of people capable of manufacturing this en masse, and who can also understand my brother’s messy handwriting, and decipher his horrid experiments. The notes are also a way to understand his methods, his thoughts….

  His reasons.

  If I finish my mission, if I bring into light what really happened, he will be infamous forever. Placed in History with likes of Genghis Khan, Stalin, Hitler and Murabai Awasai.

  Alistair Spencer, the monster who created the most destructive disease ever to infect the human species. My brother.

  I can only hope the actions of Alexander, my own actions, will be enough to salvage the Spencer name and help make amends for my brother’s terrible mistake.

  Closing the briefcase takes a mere few seconds. I get up from the uncomfortable chair. With care, my soft steps bring me to Lorraine. I snatch her keys away from her pocket. She stirs in her sleep but does not open her eyes. I leave the classroom.

  The administration office’s lock offers no challenge. With a turn of the key, it is possible to walk inside the room full of supplies. I fill a plastic bag with food and water bottles. I do not need much. I am going alone and plan to eat little. Inside a cabinet, I find a map of the region. No sign of a compass. My limited knowledge of the stars will have to do.

  “You are leaving.”

  Lorraine’s voice hints some disappointment. Or perhaps an incoming lecture. I turn around to face her. She has her arms crossed and a frown marks her features. No shotgun this time, fortunately.

  “Yes. I do not want to waste daylight. The sooner, the better.”

  “You think they failed, don’t you?” Her tone of accusation only makes me sigh. As always, my intentions are wrongly interpreted.

  She walks to me, finger pointed right into my chest. “They will come back. Danny will come back. The town is going to be fine. You hear me? And even if he died out there, even if this horrid man attacks us, I will defend this place to the last man.”

  I lift my hands in a gesture of defeat. “I do believe you, madam. This is not why I am leaving.”

  “I don’t understand. Why then?”

  A more honest man would tell her about my plan to use Redwood as a shield against Red Star, a way to delay him into following me, even if that meant Redwood would be destroyed and ravaged in the process. My intention was always to leave when the opportune moment arrived.

  “I have no choice in the matter. I need to leave.”

  “But that’s a horrible idea. Winter is here. Crossing the forest, the cities, all the way to Canada is going to kill you. What’s so important over there that you would risk your life like this? You’ll die.”

  Someone else would also see this as an opportunity to ask for help, to reveal the briefcase and its importance to the world. Lorraine seems to be a kind woman, without a bad bone in her body, yet the idea of sharing the contents of the briefcase with anyone is impossible. No matter who, humans always succumb to temptation. Trust in this new world is a luxury I do not have.

  So, instead, I clear my throat and say, “Everyone dies eventually.”

  Lorraine stares at me; arms crossed. She shakes her head. “You are a very strange man.”

  “Yes, I am aware of that.”

  She gives me a smile, head tilted. “I suppose nothing will change your mind?”

  “Unless it involves a group of people willing to guide and protect me, no. I am afraid not.”

  Lorraine offers her hand to me. “Safe travels.”

  “Thank you. Stay safe as well.”

  Keep surviving, my dear. Stay alive to see civilisation rising from the ashes again. Perhaps then we can meet again.

  The silence inside my car is unbearable. I place the briefcase next to me. As the sun rises, my hands fumble inside the compartment in front of the passenger’s seat. I find an old dusty CD.

  I leave Redwood behind at the sound of the Love album from the Beatles. If only I had a joint to accompany Strawberry Fields Together and I Am The Walrus.

  If I close my eyes, I can imagine my brother sitting next to me. I can almost hear him drumming his fingers against the car’s panel, accompanying John and Paul’s singing with his god-awful tone-deaf voice. Another night out around town, stopping at dozens of pubs, more drunk by the minute. The puffs of smoke clouding our thoughts and stretching our lazy smiles. How young and foolish we were.

  Back then, we were full of grand theories on how to fix the world. End misery. End war. Give the world a clean slate, and start over. I wanted to teach, to reach people and spread knowledge.

  He wanted to clean the slate a bit too literally.

  “Fix this, Alex. Please, brother. Before it’s too late.”

  I leave Redwood to its doom. Yes, time is running out for all of us.

  The Girl in the Forest V

  December 15th, Tuesday, 3 pmr />
  After the supermarket and the robbers, there isn’t much left of our supplies. I try to save every little piece of food and every drop of water, but Peter eats too much and spills way too much water on his face. He doesn’t wake up when I tell him to and gets tired every few hours. The slow pace annoys me. Every time we camp I keep watch and the constant vigilance makes me stressed. It’s not that I don’t trust Peter, it’s that I don’t trust him with my life or even his own. He’s too sloppy, too nice.

  We take weeks to even reach the woods, avoiding the main roads. I’m actually glad to be away from the houses, malls and streets. Mostly, I’m relieved to be away from other people. Weeks of tension lift as I smell the trees, hear chirping birds and feel the wind on my face. Here things are the same as ever, with no sign of monsters, people trying to trick you, destroyed cars, broken windows or burnt houses. It’s like nothing ever happened.

  The best thing is Peter knows where he’s going here, taking the lead once we step inside the forest. He finds us a lake with clean, refreshing water and plenty of berries to eat. We sit on the grass, below a tree, and gorge ourselves with the fruit. My fingers are red, but sweet.

  “See? I told you the woods was better than staying there.” He licks fingers too, a smile on his lips. “Admit it.”

  I roll my eyes, letting my back rest against the trunk. “We got lucky.”

  He falls down on the grass, hands on his stomach. This the first time he has smiled since the supermarket. His good mood is contagious.

  “You know I’m right,” he says with eyes closed. “You’ll see anyway.”

  I finish my berries, and he sleeps. I don’t know how he does it. No way will my eyes close here, no matter how safe it feels. I sleep only when my body won’t let me stay awake. Still, I have to admit it’s nice to stop being tense all the time.

  While Peter naps, I distract myself by counting our supplies. The food is almost gone, but now we have fruit everywhere, so I’m not too worried. I fill our canteens and plastic bottles with water from the lake, and organize the stuff inside my backpack.

  Without any more tasks to be completed, I walk toward Peter and hit his leg gently. He doesn’t move. I do it again, but there’s no sign of him waking up. Sitting on my knees, I poke him in the stomach. He flinches. I poke him one more time, and he holds a laugh in.

  “Come on, Peter. We need to move.”

  His eyes stay closed.

  “Really? I know you’re not sleeping. Get up.”

  When I poke him again he grabs my hand and pulls me in. I fall on his body, my cheeks warm from the embarrassment.

  “Are you a robot?” he asks, pressing me against his chest, eyes still stubbornly closed. “Just sleep. You have to be tired.”

  I try to get up, but not for real. “I’m not. Let me go, we need to leave.”

  “Why? It’s safe here. Just us and birds flying around. Go to sleep.”

  I want to agree with him, let it go and just sleep, like this, close to him. Maybe if I was Jenny, I could do it. Her whole world revolved around boys, boy bands and kissing: who she was going to kiss, with what music in background, where and how many times. She probably dreamed about this very scene. Peter was just her type: beautiful eyes, a smile to die for, with good taste in music and athletic. I bet anything she wouldn’t care if he wasted water, ate three chips instead of two, and preferred to sleep in an open area than somewhere hidden from view.

  The problem is: I’m not Jenny. I’m Laurie Tanaka, and Laurie does care about staying alive more than she cares about kissing boys, no matter how cute this boy is.

  “Laurie?”

  “We really need to move, if we want to find this town.”

  He doesn’t let go of me, and opens his eyes. We stare at each other.

  “Why are you like this?” he asks with a frown. “Why can’t you relax for a second? We walked miles. We didn’t even rest… And now that we are here, you act like….”

  This time I really do want to get up and manage to get off him. “Like what?”

  He sits, hands on his lifted knees. “Like a crazy paranoid person.”

  I roll my eyes, moving to take my backpack. “You can’t be crazy if you are right, Pete. I spent a month running around, barely managing to stay alive. I’m not paranoid; I’m still alive. And we did rest. Like a lot. You can’t walk a mile without sitting down. Don’t act like we didn’t stop every time you wanted.”

  “Yeah, after I almost had to beg,” he spits out, getting up. “Now that we are here, you don’t need to be so afraid, okay? Dad said… He said it was safe.”

  “Well, he’s dead. Sorry if I don’t take his word on that.”

  Peter lunges forward before I can realize what I had just said. He’s slow, so I move to the side just in time to avoid his grasp. He trips, falls, and rolls down a slope just behind the tree I was resting on. He disappears from my view, and I yell his name. I run over to the ledge of the slope, eyes running over the bushes for any sign of him.

  “Where are you? Peter? Answer me.”

  For a brief, horrible second, I think the worst has happened, but then, he calls for me.

  “I'm stuck. Laurie, my ankle… It hurts. I can't move.” His voice cracks and he waves so I can spot him.

  Crap!

  “Okay, it's okay. I'm coming down. Don't worry.”

  Each step I take, my heart beats faster. Using my hands to move down, I reach him with only a few scrapes and cuts. He's down in a ditch, sitting against the earth. His ankle is bent in a weird way, twisted. Peter greets me with a frown and wince. I crouch next to him, placing my hands on his injured ankle.

  “Hey! Don't touch it.”

  “I need to touch it, so I can fix it. It's okay, I know what I'm doing.”

  He stares at me, white with fear, when I take it firmly and place the other hand on his leg. “Wait… What—”

  Crack. He screams. I hope I did it right, my only experience with fixing broken ankles was on a training doll. Mom used to teach first aid to volunteers, and I liked going with her, watching her work. It was fun pretending to save people.

  When I look up, Peter is out cold. My hands find his cheeks, and I shake his head. He's limp and unresponsive. I sigh and try climbing up the ditch alone. I grab some vines and force my feet up. I fall, and fall, and fall again. My butt hurts, and the palms of my hands are red from the friction. My clothes are full of dirt, my body’s tired, but I prepare myself to try again.

  “What are you doing?” Peter slurs, a hand on his forehead.

  “I’m trying to climb up.”

  “What about me? You can’t leave me behind. Don’t leave me alone down here.”

  I bite my lip, feeling my cheeks get hot. “I’m not. I just wanted to get our stuff before some animal eats everything.”

  “Help me up. I want to go too.”

  Crouching down, I offer my shoulder for him to support himself. He's heavier than I imagined, but I help him stand up. He tries to put his injured foot on the ground, but yells at the pain and we almost lose balance. I steady both of us using the ditch’s wall of dirt.

  “I don’t think you can climb up, Pete.”

  “So what do we do, then?”

  My eyes go the top of the hole we are stuck in. “You wait here. I’m going to bring back our stuff. I can use our clothes to make a rope and pull you up.”

  He frowns at me. “You have to promise you won’t leave me here after you reach the top, okay?”

  “I promise. Just boost me up, so it’s easier.”

  We nod at each other. I move close to him, placing my hands on his shoulder. He’s looking right at me, big blue eyes fixed on my own. My cheeks are probably red again. Peter boosts me up using his hands and I climb up against his body, my feet on his shoulders. I’m embarrassed by the contact, but try to concentrate on reaching the upper vines.

  I’m almost there when I hear the steps and moaning. A shadow passes over me, and I spot a bald head, full of lumps, moving a
round near us. Crap.

  “Pete,” I whisper. “Peter, I’m going down again.”

  “Why?” He yells. “What’s going on?”

  I want to strangle him, really. Why’s he so loud? I climb down, he helps me and my body slides against his, before I plant my feet down on the ground again. His hands are on my waist, and for a long time we just stare at each other.

  “Laurie, what happened—”

  I place two fingers against his lips, pointing up. We hear footsteps. Peter nods and moves us closer to the ground. Dirt and grass fall inside the ditch as a group of monsters pass us by. We wait, holding our breaths. For maybe hours, we do nothing, not moving a single muscle and with our bodies pressed against the raw earth. Finally, only the sounds of crickets and the wind remain.

  Only after being sure we are safe that every single part of my body wakes up, feeling his hand touching me and his breath against my neck. I'm not the only one bothered by this, as he moves away quickly, as much the ditch allows.

  “How's your ankle?” I ask, voice weak. “Does it still hurt?”

  “Yeah. But it’s okay. We should try to climb up again.”

  I shake my head. “It’s too soon. They will hear us.”

  He doesn't answer, and the pause reminds me of how we ended up down here in the first place.

  “I'm sorry about what I said,” I mumble, hugging myself. “About your Dad.”

  “Why did you do it? You know… You know how he died. It wasn't his fault. He was shot.”

  “I know. I'm sorry. I just—”

  “You think I suck, don’t you?” I’m about to argue, but he continues, “I know I complain too much. Get tired all the time and do dumb stuff like falling into ditches. Sorry. If you want to leave me behind, it’s okay. I get it.”

  “I don’t. Really. Besides, the ditch thing was kind of my fault.”

  “Okay, I guess. So, friends?”

  “Yeah. Friends.”

  A cold breeze forces me to hug my knees, back against the earth. I look up to the sky, hidden by the trees around us.