“But you just said I’m only here for Tasha and Malik. They aren’t everyone.”
“Perhaps not.” He smiled, and then patted my hand. “But perhaps they are. The last two children left on earth? That’s a future generation, my friend. The last generation, if we’re not careful.”
“Last of a dying breed,” I muttered.
The wind shifted again, blowing his pipe smoke into my face. I breathed deep, savoring the aroma. I wasn’t a smoker, but the smell of the tobacco reminded me of when things had been normal—of a world without Hamelin’s Revenge.
“The important thing to remember,” Professor Williams continued, “is that the hero is created as an end result of the journey. He is a product of what happens on the quest. The events that shaped him, changed him, made him less concerned with himself and more concerned with those around him, the larger society. These are the important part. Heroes are not simply born, Lamar. They are forged! And how they are forged makes all the difference.”
I thought it over and shrugged. “I gotta be honest, Professor. I still don’t feel like much of a hero.”
“No? Then how do you see yourself?”
“I feel like a failure. A wimp.”
“Trust me, my friend, when I tell you that you are neither of those things.”
“I kind of see Mitch as the hero.”
“Mr. Bollinger is the warrior—another psychological archetype. The warrior is a representation of a pattern of behavior favoring physical confrontation and prowess to achieve one’s goals. The warrior can use his physical powers in a positive way to aid others and society. When you were in school, did you ever read the stories of Beowulf, Achilles, or elder Gilgamesh?”
“Professor, where I went to school, our most important concern was getting through the day without getting shot. We didn’t have many books. Books were like kryptonite to most of my classmates.”
The professor removed his pipe, tossed his head back, and laughed.
“Yes, that’s one of the reasons I was so looking forward to retirement. Trust me, Lamar, that particular loathing of literature is not confined to just inner-city schools. It seems to be present across the nation. Very sad.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, Achilles and the others I mentioned all used their powers to aid their families and loved ones.”
“So you’re saying Mitch is part of our family? He’s the warrior to my hero, and we’re both looking out for the kids?”
“Exactly.” He put his pipe back in his mouth. “However, some warriors used their prowess for selfish reasons. Grendel and young Gilgamesh are cautionary examples of this. Luckily for you, Mitch doesn’t fall into that subarchetype.”
I shook my head. “I still think Mitch is the hero. I mean, he saved us all back in Baltimore. If it wasn’t for him, Tasha, Malik, and I would all be zombies now.”
“Well, I humbly disagree. However, if it eases your mind, the archetypes like warrior, king, and trickster are rather fluid. One can be warriorlike and tricksterlike, a king and a fool. Remember, they represent aspects of personality which individuals tap into or manifest in times of trouble. The hero manifests not aspects of personality, but a total person, the summation of all the qualities that have allowed him to successfully complete the hero journey and safeguard his people or bring back gifts. Going even further, I think the archetypes not only provide a guide for our personal behavior, but also role models for us, as humans, to live up to. At an unconscious level, when the time is appropriate, like right now, we strive to live up to the expectations of the warrior that have been instinctively passed down to us since the dawn of man. That’s why we fight when all hope is lost; to not fight would be to deny part of the collective memories that define humanity. We fight because that is who we are. We fight because we are human.”
“And what are they?” I cast my hand toward land, even though we couldn’t see it in the darkness.
“The dead?” Professor Williams frowned. “Road-kill that doesn’t have enough decency to lie down and rot in peace. The waste products of our souls. They’re walking toilets, Lamar. Nothing more.”
A smile crossed his face. After a second, we both began to snicker, and then laugh. I bent over and clutched my stomach. I couldn’t remember ‘the last time I’d laughed that hard. It felt good, like a release.
“Walking toilets,” I gasped, straightening up again. “That’s good, Professor.”
“I always end my dissertations with a joke. That way I can tell if I’ve put people to sleep.”
The ladder clanged. We both turned, and saw Murphy walking toward us. He was stumbling in the darkness, his eyes not yet adjusted.
“Good evening, Mr. Murphy,” the professor called.
Murphy jumped, his hand flailing for the rail. He peered toward us, blinking.
“Who’s there? Professor Williams? Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me. Mr. Reed is here with me. He and I were just discussing mythology.”
Murphy crept closer. “Hey, Lamar.”
I nodded. “What’s up.”
Murphy stood beside us, his collar pulled up against the chill. Despite the summer heat, the ocean was cold at night.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he said. “It’s hot and I got the shakes. I’d kill for a drink right now.”
The professor nodded. “I think each of us have something we’d kill for at this point.”
I thought about the kids. Yeah, maybe I couldn’t kill for Turn, but I’d damn sure kill for them.
’A few of us have been talking,” Murphy said, his voice low. “We’re not so sure about the chief’s plan for this oil rig.”
“How come?” I asked. “Seems like as safe a spot as any.”
“Sure, if there are no zombies onboard. But what if there are? Then what? Do we really want a repeat of what happened the other day?”
The professor tapped his pipe on the handrail. The ashes drifted away. “So where would you suggest we go, Mr. Murphy?”
The big man shrugged. “My plan all along was to head for the wilderness. Go down into Virginia or West Virginia. Get high up into the mountains, where there is snow all year, and live there.”
I frowned. “I may be a city boy and all, but I don’t think there’s mountains in Virginia that have snow all year long.”
“And even if there were,” the professor added, “the zombies would find you there, too. The mountains are just as dangerous as the cities—perhaps even more. We have no idea how many members of the animal kingdom are now infected.”
Murphy rubbed his grizzled cheeks and sighed. He placed his shaking hands on the railing and sighed. I could tell that he was jonesing bad.
“I don’t think they would find us,” he said. “What are zombies? They’re just mobile corpses and nothing more. Cut off an arm or a leg, and they keep coming. They’re dead, but they can move and function and take a hell of a lot of damage. My theory is this—if I get to someplace where the temperature is below freezing, the zombies can’t move. Think about it for a second. They’re dead, so they have no body heat. There’s nothing to keep their bodies from freezing. If they tried to attack us there, they’d literally freeze in their tracks before they could ever reach us. That’s a lot more convenient than having to shoot them all in the head or setting them on fire.”
The professor looked thoughtful. “Well, biology and science aren’t my specialty, but I agree that makes sense. In theory, at least. If their blood and tissue freezes, then they would indeed become immobile. But you must consider something. Could we sail to such a location?”
“Basil had an idea,” Murphy said. “There are ski resorts in Pennsylvania and Virginia. We could pull into port and make for one of them.”