Those Who Remain (Book 2) (28 page)

“So… What does it say? Come on, don’t leave your poor Ma hanging!”

The letter goes back inside the envelope. I open my mouth, then close it. Finally, I sigh. “Sorry Ma. I didn’t get in.”

She hugs me tightly. And the funny thing is, it doesn’t feel like she’s trying to console me. Instead, it seems like she’s happy at the news. Happy that I’m going to stay. Perhaps she forced me to apply because of guilt. Maybe she really wants me to stay, but felt like was her duty to give her son a chance for a better future. Either way, I decide we are both happy to stay together and that’s fine.

“It’s okay, honey. There’s always next year.”

“Yeah… Next year definitely.”

But there never is a next year. I never apply for college again. I start a small online business and don’t look back. People talk, of course. They assume I was too dumb to get in any college, and now live in my Ma’s basement, doing nothing but playing children’s games and being an overall annoyance to poor Saint Lorraine.

Truth is, I play canasta with Ma every night. I make her laugh once a day, some days even more. We watch movies together every Friday night and, as time goes by, Ma gets better. She’s her old self now.

Some days I see regret in her eyes. Maybe she knew I got in, but decided to believe in my lie and now feels guilty. Maybe she felt it’s her fault I’m stuck in Redwood for the rest of my life.

Some days I catch myself wondering if I really stayed for her, and not because life freaks me out. Everyone is moving on around me. Lily starts community college, Roger is the town’s Sheriff. Cousin Ted gets married. Even George Lucas is planning to continue the Star Wars trilogy. And what do I have?

Lots of money. More money than anyone in this shitty town. And my Ma.

I guess that’s all I need.

Alexander Spencer

October 10th, Sunday, 1986.

Before the African War

Picket signs, grand banners and thousands sitting upon the campus’s grass. The sight had become normal. Every day, be it under rain or sunlight, the protesters refused to leave. They are here to demand peace. Yet, I can’t help but feel irritated by their insistence on causing havoc in my daily routine.

I pass them early in the morning, avoiding their attempts at having me join them and careful not to step on any signs lying around. On them the same messages are scribed with righteous indignation: “No more violence.” “Free Murabai.” and “We stand with our Free Republic brothers and sisters”. Their naïveté is only surpassed by their youthful enthusiasm. I, on the other hand, am far too old to see any point in these protests.

A dictator is a dictator, be he elected by the majority of his countrymen or by a military coup. I have long abandoned the illusion that democracy guarantees people’s best interests will be upheld. One million people can be just as blind as one.

Either way, it does not affect me in any shape or form. If Murabai is freed by his communist and soviet allies, or if the United States has any success in keeping him away from power, makes little difference for a Virology professor.

I walk to my office, briefcase in hands. The amount of papers to grade will occupy me for the better part of the morning. As I get in, I spot my brother, sitting in my chair at my desk. He wears the same smug smile I grew accustomed to. Even after years of not seeing it, I do not miss it. He looks older, with not a single hair left on his bald head. That is a glimpse at my future, right there.

“Brother, how quaint of you to drop by unannounced and unwanted,” I say, rolling my eyes while placing my briefcase on the guest chair in front of the desk.

“If I had told you I was coming, you would have changed names and address as fast as an in-debt poker player fleeing the sharks.”

“True.” I sigh, and sit on the only free chair remaining. “What brings you to my office, dear brother? I hope you remember that our dead parents’ money is all gone by now. You took everything the last time you dropped in without warning.”

He waves dismissively at me. “Yes, yes. I realise that. I didn’t come here to ask for money, little brother. No. Quite the opposite. Instead, I have come to offer you money. A fortune to be exact.”

The laugh that escapes my lips is a hearty one. I even feel tears coming out of my eyes. The very idea of Alistair giving me anything, but headache and trouble, is hilarious, I must confess. “Are you ill? Or is this a convoluted plan to get me to give you money… Perhaps an investment with a promise of long term results. Long term as in centuries?”

He gets up from the chair and strolls towards me, showing once more the self-satisfied smile. “Nothing like that at all.” Alistair takes out of his pocket a mass of money and places on my desk. “This is payment for your share of the inheritance I took.”

I stare at the money with narrowed eyes. “Who did you rob or cheat to get this? And why should I accept it?”

“I’m truly offended, little brother. I may have convinced you in the past to help me out of pity, but I do not extend my begging to strangers. You know my pride.”

Besides the roll of my eyes, I believe him. He is quite a prideful prat. “So someone paid you this money. For what service?”

Alistair’s face lights up, having a long laugh before explaining himself. “I got an investor, Alex. A truly rich and interested investor. He believes in my vision and is willing to pay a fortune to help me realise it.”

Suspicion only grows inside me. Alistair’s vision usually went against what most people would call “common sense”. Unlike me, he still clings to old ideologies and concepts of social engineering that are far too narrow-minded for a respectful scientist to hold. It is no wonder he has spent most of his adult life trying to convince people to invest in him, only to have doors shut in his face.

No one respectful or proper would agree with Alistair’s visions or desire to make them real.

“Who is this investor, Alistair?”

“I can’t say. Unless….” He smiles. “Unless you agree to work with me. Imagine, brother, everything we always wanted to do now in our grasp. Make a better world. Fix everything wrong with the human race.”

I place a hand on my face and sigh again. “Dear brother, we are no longer teenagers. This talk is ridiculous.”

“It’s only ridiculous because it seems so far away. But it no longer is. Alex… I’ll fix the world. Science is here to improve our lives, not to cower at the will of ignorance.”

“Who is this investor? I have hard time believing he exists.”

“Murabai.”

My jaw drops, my heart pounds. I cannot believe it. “Alistair… He’s a madman.”

“Madman… Pfft.” My brother laughs and rolls his eyes. “Oh please. Do you truly believe in the American propaganda? They hate him because he’ll not be bullied like our own country. He’s a visionary.”

With a shake of my head, I get up from the chair. “You are out of your mind. Utterly out of your mind. I cannot even begin to imagine what kind of vision of yours aligns with Murabai’s goals. I hope to God it involves only your studies on that cat parasite….”

“It’s actually a parasite that commandeers a rat’s brain and leads the animal to be eaten by cats… It might come in to play, although, that’s only one of my projects Murabai is interested in.”

I throw my hands in the air, frustrated. “I do not care, Alistair. This is madness.”

“All geniuses appear mad to the common man. Will you work with me or not?”

“Of course not. And you should not do it either! He’s threatening violence and revolution if his demands are not met.”

“He’s in prison for his beliefs as his people suffer repression of a Western-imposed government.”

It is my turn to laugh. “I consider you many things, brother. Mad, stubborn, and inconvenient. I never imagined you would be so gullible. What happened to power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely?”

Alistair paces around the office, expression serious. “I have not come here to discuss politics with you. I do not care about it. Neither should you. These matters affect other people, not us. Not with the money Murabai is offering. We could be above any petty political differences and focus only on the science, only on advancing the human race into a new era. A better era.”

“He will be the end of your career. You will never be able to work here ever again.”

“What career? What work? This country only rewards the silly and the mundane. I’m more than happy to leave all of this behind.”

“He is dangerous, brother.”

“Maybe, but I’ll be invaluable to him. And you will be too. No harm will come to us.”

I take the money on the desk and place it back into my brother’s hands. “No, brother. I will not involve myself in this. I have a good life here. You should leave.”

And he does.

The next time I see my brother’s face is on the news. He’s receiving the Nobel Prize for his HIV’s vaccine. Everywhere he goes, Murabai follows. They are side-by-side in interviews, pictures and every article about their achievements together. The Spencer name will be forever associated with the president of The Free Republic of Africa.

The same man that years later decides to start a war to conquer the whole African continent. With the help of my brother’s bio engineered weapons, he succeeds.

Lauren Tanaka

January 8th, Friday, 10 pm

“If you stop, you die.”

I raise my head, eyes stinging with tears. Every muscle in my body is aching from staying in the same position for hours. The nails on my fingers are dark blue.

The man kneeling in front of me wears a hunter jacket with camouflage pattern. On his shoulder he carries a rifle, a knife and gun hang from his belt. He has a thick beard and bushy eyebrows. I recognize him as the same man from the cabin.

He’s offering a hand to me. I don’t take it. Instead I raise the gun in my hands, shaking badly.

“If you don’t move, your body will shut down,” he says with a low voice, not worried about the weapon. “So move.”

“Who are you?”

“Does it matter? I’m older and smarter. You should listen to me.”

“Leave me alone.”

“If I do that, you are going to die.”

I frown, staring at my blue nails. I lost my gloves for good. Peter’s gloves.

The man keeps talking, “You’re holding your gun all wrong. If I wanted, I could’ve taken it from you a second ago. You are going to end up dead. Unless you let me help you.”

I almost want to believe him, but I can’t. Not so easily. “Why do you care?”

He adjusts his rifle. “Maybe you remind me of someone.”

“Who?”

After sometime he answers, “My daughter.”

“What happened to her?”

“She ran away from me.”

“That sounds creepy.”

The man smiles. “I suppose it sounds bad without context.”

“What’s the context?”

He doesn’t answer for a long time, then sighs. “The context isn’t any better. Let’s just say I trained her, and she’s still alive because of that. I’ll do the same thing for you and if you want to leave too, I won’t stop you.”

I don’t know why exactly, but I trust him. He sounds like someone who has nothing to lose, nothing to gain. Just like me. He’s a hunter and the same man I saw carrying a deer. If anyone can help me be stronger and smarter, it’s him.