CHAPTER 2
The stifling weight of silence weighted upon the epaulets sewed with intricate embroidery patterns upon my stiff shoulders. Stiff because of crowded bodies that press, rub, and smear the evils of their daily lives on my frame or because of the weight of the papers in my hands. I trick myself into saying the former. The paper weighs a ton, more than the fresh bowl of fish Gran would purchase at the market every weekend back at Edenvale. The paper that would determine my future, that would decide if I get a good living for my family, sheets of plants that would determine the power shift in the home this big moving car I currently stand in.
Verily, one wouldst deem that even with all the technological advancements we've made, the trains wouldst have been made more economical. Yet, today is Monday; the busiest day of the week. Proof of this can be seen in the rowdiness of the behemoth rectangle of iron I find myself in, forced to stand side by side with strangers. It wouldst be quite intimidating were it not for mine towering stature. Thanks be to many years of Football and Farm work back in the hot quiet country that Gran so much adores. I reminisce with a smile, but then frown rememb'ring the papers that weigh my hands down and yet, fill me with unspeakable hope.
"It must mean my acceptance, for it to weigh this much," I say to meself as I jiggle the papers in mine hands, trying to discern the words enclosed within the brown envelope. The weight of the moment presses in on me, as I shall stall no longer.
With a steady hand, I rip open the envelope with care and perhaps a bit of worry. It takes me half the day, or so it seems, to muster the courage to see what lay inside.
"I won't go back home if this is a show of my defeat," I grimace, recalling the endless nights in my surly room as I sit by the lamp, my desk shoved against my chest. I recall Ma bringing me late-night snacks, sweet fruits to ease mine sorrows. She brought me fruit for three days, three months, three years. Three years since I laid mine eyes on M, the world's top university, here in Mother America. Three years of training hard, three years of lessons, three years of making friends and losing friends - mostly losing friends. Friends who claimed it was all for naught.
Yet, here in mine own hands lay the result of mine success. Maybe I was stalling, but never again. The weight of the world was upon me, more tense than the moment on field when the Ref's lips would kiss on the black plastic, signaling the beginning of the match. More tension than when I race down the green fields, searching for my teammates as I spot at least five others from the opposing team closing in on me. Racing at me like a predator would at a hurt prey.
I take a deep breath to calm mine quaking breath, feeling it in mine legs, mine lungs, mine neck, mine spine. The tension was palpable, threatening to tug me down to my knees. But I stand tall at 6'3 and refuse to let the weight of the world bring me down.
"Take a deep breath Xander" I have the habit of talking to myself when I feel stressed. But I'm not stressed. My hands tremble. I'll need to take a seat for this one, so I do. I settle back down on my chair with my bag heavy on my back.
I pull out the crisp white plant from the brown covering and it echoes in the quiet train. I lick my lips. Deep breath. Dry throat. I lick my lips again.
Dear Xander Lopez
...
You've been accepted into QWUG (Queen Wisteria University for Geniuses)
I let out a cold breath I have been holding in my throat, my legs pull to each other, hug and rub each other to hold back the piss I would have undoubtedly let go if I had seen any words otherwise.
"No fucking way" I look down. A smile on my lips but I feel angry because of that, it makes me feel constipated. I feel dissatisfied. 'This is what mom wanted' I got it. 'So why act like a newborn when you should jubilate like Ma did when news of Olivia's pregnancy first came'I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.
This world ran more complex than parents would try to sugar-coat it. I had learned that fact at a young age but I of now would have laughed at 9-year-old snubby Xander who thought he understood the runnings of the world. If thou had no job, thou wert as good as dead. If thou barely passed the first trial, thou wast in imminent danger of death. Most companies would ask a postgraduate for 20 years of experience. Old Jill once said back in his days he got up to college level education but remains a humble Taxi driver. It is a bitter pill to swallow that some may have achievements and diplomas from great universities, yet have naught to offer their kin nor to the world for the rest of their lives. Why must we spend our whole lives studying in schools, heeding the advice of our teachers to read our books, only to discover that in high school, college, and even in a corporation, we shall still have to read the same books and clauses? All for what? To end up like a useless husk that fades away like the afterglow of sunset.
I am reminded of the phrase, "work, sleep, eat, repeat." This might be the norm, but why should it be? Can we not aspire to more than this mundane lifestyle? Do we not dream of a world where freedom of thought, action, and creativity reign supreme? Where the pursuit of knowledge and curiosity need not be drowned out by the routine of everyday life? And all through my oh-so-precious youth then tire like a bag of old dunk Old Mcan Richie uses for fertilization. I don't even think I'll have enough strength for human fertilization when the time comes.
I lean back in my seat and close my eyes. Enough of this damning world where my status as a Worker bee has been pre-ordained. I'm tired and I recite the 37 times table from 37 all the down to 20. I have the habit of doing this when I'm very tired but my brain just can't take a rest so I let it run a few laps until it tires out. The world doth demand much of us, and yet, we continue to push through, hoping for brighter tomorrows, where the shackles that bind us may be broken, and we may be free to pursue our destinies.
'Thirteen seven times eighteen equals six hundred and sixty-six.DCLXVI' My brain says without me even thinking. Sometimes it feels like I'm a built-in calculator because I don't even think about the numbers and just say them out on instinct or something...
"Sir stop" A small female's voice calls out softly and I perk up at that.
"Sir...are...are you alright, do you need help...Ahhh" A lady in a navy blue uniform and a small white bow on her neck to match her white shoes calls out to a sickly pale man. He slumps and falls to the ground.
Everyone shows them disgruntled looks, anyone would be antsy coming back from work but they give way not wanting to caught up in the drama.
"Sir...I'll need you to sit back on your seat. Would you like a glass of water?" She stops the cart of juice she had her hands on and moves to kneel in front of him. Her professional voice gets laced with worry as she squats in front of him, one of her knees down on the ground to stop from flashing him and one hand balancing the cart steady.
The man heaves up a chunk and we go under a tunnel, the whole train going dark for a few seconds.
The sound from the speaker rings through
"Everyone stay in your cabin- can we all- mech- coming from cap- strange-" It crackles and soon the train seems to slow down into the next tunnel as the AI program comes in altering us
"We've come to a stop at Mount Jokil, 20 kilometers away from the expected destination" It starts, "The train has encountered an electrical difficulty, if passengers cou-" The mechanical voice of a woman starts. And it lags to a stop.An electrical problem? How...wonderful. I deadpan. This train needs electricity, the door can't even open now, I pray the engineers get here soon.
"Everyone stay in your seats" The attendant in navy uniform slowly stands up as she turns to flick on the lights overhead her, the wheezing man holds her arm at the movement. And now I'm on full alert. A train attack, a possible junkie, a crazy man. A deranged individual with harmful intentions? There could be several crazies on board, poised to strike during this slight disruption. A case of a junkie harassing a passenger on a bus for getting too high. Most said he was high and dry and pissed. So I tackled him down and roughened him up just a tad bit...that I think put him in a coma for 2 days...oh not my tackling him down it was the petite brunette just 5'4 that gave a resounding slap, I physically cringed. I had to hold him down before she could get her hands on him and try some martial arts tricks on him...for educational reasons and with his consent of course.
Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream shatters the air, ringing out louder and more powerful than any on-screen scream from a Hollywood actor. It bounces around the metallic space, silencing the stillness, undeafening the deaf, and drawing me back to the present moment.
Eh?
I whip my head so fast just in time to see the pale.- his skin is so ashy, the man takes a huge chunk out of the blond's legs. She scrambles out of his grasp, kicking and flaying her hands widely. The dawn of what has happened hasn't set on us just yet.
What in the cannibalism Jeffery Dahmer x Issei Sagawa is this? Did they have intercourse and produce this abomination?
I quickly stand up to get her out of this fucked peril but a gruffly businessman in sharp suit is already there to help.
One more goes to help and soon others are running to save the day. I stand aside, assessing the situation. Cannibalism can be caused by drugs. That's the only thing I can say. He has ripped the woman's left leg in a clean slate...but something is not right.
Something doesn't add up. Opening one of my mind archives, I go through the series of events that went on around me in the last 2 hours since that man's arrival. He's at the last seat so I know from seat rotations he must have entered an hour or so ago. I find him, huddled up in my mind's eye, my conscious had been so distracted by the letter but my subconscious kept a careful eye over anyone within a 100-meter range from me, he was within that range.
People move towards the commotion, using the red light strips on the train's side to make their way to get their luggage. I weave my way through the crowd, standing out like a polished pig amongst dirty ones, my shoulders making way for me.
Humans as innocent as they want to make themselves seem are drawn to violence. I've seen several cases of people simply watching a man as he goes into a stroke, with no one calling the phone for help. All of them just stood and looked with amused or fake-shocked expressions.
Just like now, as most make their way to get a look at the attendant like she's a slab of meat on the butcher's table while they make their bids on who gets to take her home for a nice soup...that sounds cannibalistic. A loud crack of bones reverberates and everyone goes silent. The flight attendant stands up as her body twitches violently, her body folds on itself as she defies the very principle of gravity.
Her strawberry blonde head whips when she's on her two feet and we all just watch on, someone goes forward.
"Um...miss...do-" she starts but then the attendant lunges at her and rips a huge part of her neck out, the mad woman raises her head to the ceiling in jubilation, and the red blood of the poor victim runs down her pale white skin that visibly begins to go rotten.
The scream of someone registers and all hell lets loose. The restrained man, the cause of all this, I discern jerks against the grip of the 6'4 burly man who is most likely into boxing. The man keeps his strong arm under the chin of the madman. The crazed man turns his head a full 180 degrees his arms fly back, and grips the now terrified 6'4 man closer to him the crunch of his elbow is visible as the bone just out from his suit and I know, just know this man is not crazed.
So I do what a good citizen would do.
Turn and run and it is not long before the garbled scream of the man enters my ears. I shall tell you a story, a story of how horrible I suck at running in demanding run situations
I was 4 when I spent the holiday at me grand pops farmhouse that had a horse ranch beside it. With a horse ranch comes a dog.
The Bitch's name was Daisy. Has anyone ever told you how Dog Daises are poisonous to horses? I don't think Grandpops knew that. I had been introduced to a proud and purebred Horse chaser, a German shepherd, the best in town, apparently. No one told me she was the best 4-year-old chaser too.
As a kid my father, it was customary for me not to fear dogs, he said Lopez doesn't stutter even in the meanest of dogs. So the night of my arrival, I volunteered to help bath her and even feed her, I thought we had settled our dispute, although I was never aware we ever did and I went to bed knowing, we were on equal terms.
The next morning, Gran's truck came in and I went to see what the commotion was about. I remembered for a second about my little rendezvous with Daisy and was excited to meet her but soon got carried away by the Papaya tree beside me that suddenly looked plump, sweet, and edible. Out of the corner of my eye, Daisy was staring at me and I reminded myself Dogs could smell emotions like Dad had told me so I stood still and tried sneakily walking back to the house. The bitch shuffled her feet and jumped in the direction of the house as if to taunt me, I ran and the sand held my ankles causing me to fall, I stood up but the sand acted as ice and I slid into a small split. It was then I knew I had a chance at becoming a ballerina. I ran and fell, ran and fell until I got to the stairs of the 3-storey and was smart enough to shut the door behind me but I still kept running till I got to the laughing woman who had birthed me. Slid between her legs and buried my head on her lap. Yeah, not a good core memory for me.
I never talked to Daisy or any Daisies about that. And at the end of the day, it wasn't even the season of Papaya!
The lesson of the story?
Never run in Sandals.
But I wasn't wearing sandals but the people around me must have been because they kept falling and sliding.
Oh and don't get distracted by Papayas, I almost got bitten by a snake from daydreaming of one beside my house fence.
***
"What the hell is going on?" The words hang in the air, what everyone is asking right now. An entire cargo of 40-plus people wiped out on a clear morning just like that. Not a sound has come from the other cargo separated by a glass that is now smeared in blood and black liquid, all that remains is the heavy breathing from a man beside me and the worried chattering from some females huddled up together. Being anxious won't help us, we need to think of this logically.
"Secure the doors, does anyone have a flashlight?" I briskly remove my bulky jacket and place it on the couch. "I said, does anyone have a flashlight?" And a small hand goes up at my inquiry. The female steps forward and puts it on, placing it overhead one of the curtains, where it can shine the cargo equally. Some boys quickly tie the handles of the door with curtains. They look big and bulky, I'd discern from their stance, the wear to their hands their deep-set eyes, and many other factors that they play rugby, basketball, or at least swim.
"Does anyone know where the plans for the train are kept? We also need to find the captain." I peek out the window. It's dark in the tunnel.
"Why is this kid talking like he knows what he's saying? Would you listen to this man-boy" An irrationally loud man steps forward, his hair is disheveled and his eyes are wide, he isn't part of my group that managed to escape into here. The oppression that elders use on younger ones is evident. I raise my brows at him.
"He talks like he knows what he's saying, I say we move to the next cargo right now" I hide my smirk. I'm fairly sure, he'd get eaten if he even thought of doing that, there's a reason the cargo after ours is dead silent and the captain has warned us not to move. I assess the man. He's worried about his kid at home; a girl, he's a banker and played the violin for a few years, he's recently gotten off his smoking addiction and has anger issues. Scorpio.
"I do know what I'm saying, I just ran 2 cargos to get here from a group of cannibals-" I start and shrug my wristwatch.
"Do you really think those things are cannibals?... I don't think cannibalism is a disease" Someone's quaking voice interrupts me. I hate being interrupted.
"I know that...but they eat human flesh, hence their label, and yes, cannibalism isn't a disease but what is raging out there is" I shrug and glance at the man a few steps away from me, he's sour brown leather coat is turned away from me and he looks like he's run a mile.
"You aren't even sure what it is" The first man starts with an accusing tone, and I cut him off asking him the same thing.
"You suggest we get to the captain's door but we don't know what is beyond that door, we could as well be walking into another massacre blindfolded" I point back at the door that remains mostly silent other than the silent groans or moans. I turn my head but say nothing.
"I say we wait, phones aren't working anymore for some reason, there's no electricity and we're stuck in a tunnel, 20 fucking kilometers from the city, I hate to wait around like sitting ducks but we need to find a way to get the captain on this and possibly police on the matter, boys go through anything you can find" A big burly man with strangled red beard and a clean shave says, his arms as big as my thighs, a lot to say from a pro-sport athlete, he stand at a height of 5'5, like those fairy tale lumberjacks. He even has a bald head, which reminds me of Gran. His team begins to move out but a man stands up, he's tall and has this dangerous air to him. Like a lone captain when all his platoon members have been killed but he still holds. He has swirls of ink riding up his arm and I see them gripping him tightly at his neck, his black-blue suit does nothing to hold back his frame. He blocks the way of the little children. They are my age but that is what he makes them feel like, he shifts his gaze to me and I gulp then he gives me a friendly smile that makes his eyes turn to half moons. Um...I don't know how to feel about that.
"I would let you, but how do I know one of you isn't infected?" He directs this to me, I think.
"We can't be, the flight attendant from our cargo became like those things in a matter of seconds, if any of us were it, we would have been long gone" One of the guys, straightened his shoulder, crossed his arms around his chest and pumps his chest up high, attempting to look intimidating. He must play rugby. "It's been 6 minutes since we came here, now excuse us" He moves to go past him.
"That your friend over there..." He tips his head over to the man at the back, and everyone's eyes follow. "Doesn't look so good, you ran only two cargos and you all look good, he looks like he's run the whole length" He folds his arms and looks at me suspiciously.
"Yeah, y'all munks waltz in 'er and expect us to let ya go through our stuff" Already outsing us as aliens, sowing seeds of distrust and already claiming territory. "Something y're telling us? I say we stay here for now, until the captain comes" The first man states. His accent is more prominent. Also, did he just call me a chipmunk? And I look at my group filled with hefty, taller-than-average men, chipmunks on steroids.
I look back at the domineering man, he'd make a good leader, and then back to the hunched-over form of the wheezing man, back to the first man who now has a lollipop in his mouth, and back at the ashy fellow. And we all silently decide.
"Yup, he's definitely infected, huh" A boy looks at the veiny man with disgust, we have tied him up against one of the poles, and the people not from our cargo, back away, as if this is none of their business.
"Can't we just knock him unconscious, something about his eyes are freaky" He continues and I simply nod at this.
The man has black eyes, not black eyes, just dilated ones, I can still see his original blue eyes, albeit barely. His golden rich tan skin now looks brown and dirty. He keeps looking around for something but his attention would snap back to the loud teenager in front of him. He looks confused and scared. His limbs are getting longer or skinnier? He looks hungry. For what? And why?
"Why are they still here?" I hear a small whisper from the group behind me. I turn around and I'm met with the judgmental gaze of 13 or so people. They keep shut when they see me but still whisper to each other. They are just scared. Humans say things when scared. I turned back to Mr. Fred. I'm sure that's not his real name but I call him that. Helps me remember people easier. I see he's already looking at me but I don't break eye contact. So, we stare until I get tired of it and turn my gaze back to the man who was fine just 10 minutes ago.
I know he was wheezing he had gone quiet, but I thought he was still in shock or just as confused about this situation as they were. As I was. What was this situation? No, why hadn't he attacked immediately just like the flight attendant did? That was the biggest question right now. What was different?
"I say they go" A frightened lady stands up, she has a frightened look in her eyes, her stance has gone defense mode, and her legs point to Mr. Fred Her hands her behind her body and she has a quake to her hands. "I say we let them go, to the next room, we don't know how the infection is spread, or how long it takes" She repeats and points to the slowly turning mad man, his hands and feet are restricted with bundles of curtains, in a tight loop that tightens more if restraint is put up. And he's restraining a lot. Black is now bleeding from his eyes...weird.
"I agree" Another lady in a sundress comes out, her straw hat standing out in the train filled with people wearing office clothes and city trendy clothes. She smells of dew drops and sunshine. Sarcasm is intended here.
They hold a vote on if we can be with them and I don't know if to be happy or sad. These people are stupidly stupid, it hurts looking at them. The vote is anonymous. It is a way to let people make immoral unethical calls without the judgment of others, it is a convenient way to decide the fate of 6 people, disregarding their lives because the fear of losing their lives seems bigger, it seems the first downfall of civilization.
"Don't say nonsense, we aren't infected or anything, all these godforsaken events just happened less than an hour and you're already pointing hands" A girl from our group steps up to the first girl and juts her hip out, crossing her arms. "Would seriously let us go, you don't even know how it spread-" She starts but the first man, the father, cuts her off. I shall call him Mr. Baby, nonchalantly rudely interrupts her.
"We don't know how the infection is spread but neither do you, you're as useless to us as we already were from the very beginning" That is not true. "Take the next cargo, we don't want to have anything to do with you, who knows maybe this is spread by physical touch" Wrong. He just wants us to risk our lives going to another cargo, he doesn't even want to go to the captain's room, he wants to send us out and I don't mind it. I'd rather not want someone like him with me, I won't want anyone from this lot at all.
The girl from my group throws herself at him and he lets out a tiny shriek as he backs away, "There I've touched you, if anything happened to me, it will also happen to-" Before she can finish her sentence he slaps her across the face and her face cracks to the right. I step forward but halt, "Marlene" A boy runs to her as she lets out a loud shriek while trying to reach for Mr. Baby. The madman now turns his gaze at us and makes snapping noises with his teeth but the ropes hold him still. I have decided Mr. Fred is not as good as he seems. None of them are as good as they seem.
"Fine we'll go, but just know if I turn into one of those blood-sucking things, I'll make sure to come personally for you" She shrugs from the tall player and points accusingly at Mr. Baby.
"Let's go guys" She pulls a duffel bag over her shoulder and walks to the next cargo and as we pass by Mr. Fred, I steal one small glance at him.
"You sounded so badass then but now I think the time for you to go on your little spree is closer" I grind my teeth as I try to get myself settled. But I can't, not in this tight storage room with 5 other people straddling each other. I turn my head to the right to address the short blond. "What did you say?" She throws me a frustrated frown. "I don't think you need to go for him anymore though" I reply as I turn my gaze back to the boy sandwiched between the wall and me. I flash him a gentlemanly smile. Did I forget to say the group of people who chased us out on account of us being cannibals are now cannibals themselves? How impertinent of this humble servant.
"Served him right!, I bet he doesn't have anyone who'll miss him now that he's gone" She huffs and turns her head away. I decided to call the father, Mr. Craven, it means a coward. I think of my own family just 45 kilometers away from me, I wonder how they are doing.
The idea of us being chased around by rabid-contagious cannibals seems too...dreamy. But it is what it is. I hoped I was just dreaming, because people, rabid, cannibals, yes. But contagious disease, zombies, No...Why, what's the reason? For my acceptance to the top university in the world? Why now?
The bang on the door for our room tells me this is real, I spied an axe, gloves, a hammer, a plastic sheet, a first aid kit, some manuals on how to open a door manually, and other kinds of stuff. The people from my cargo are ready to throw hands to defend themselves. I don't condone violence.
The door swung open and that axe looked suspiciously shiny to me.