Red Footprints in Fresh Snow

President Clay spent a few more minutes on the patio before leaving. Once he was sure his driver would be waiting for him, he made his way to the front entrance of the building.

As he pushed open the front door, a small figure, huddled against one of the pillars supporting the entryway, leaped to its feet. John stumbled back into the building, startled, before noticing the figure to be a small, woman, probably in her fifties or sixties. “You shouldn’t do that you know,” he said, gathering himself and clearing his throat. “Who are you?”

“My name is Yuri,” the woman said, hobbling forward. “Yuri Remus.”

John narrowed his eyes, stuffing his hands into his suit jacket to shield them from the cold. “Should I know you?” he asked.

The woman shook her head negatively. “But you should know my husband,” she said quickly as John started to step away from her and towards the road where he could see his ride waiting.

“Listen,” he said, “I have to-”

“No,” the woman said firmly.

John paused. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry,” the woman said, her voice faltering. “I spoke out of line. But my husband,” she continued, gesturing to the building. “He’s in there, isn’t he? I just want to see him. He was gone so long…”

John cocked his head, staring at the woman. Remus, he thought, trying to place the name. “Who is your husband?” he asked.

“His name is Mirus,” she said. “He’s one of the, you know,” she said, lowering her voice, “The Revived, as they’re calling them. I know he’s here, President, sir. Please just let me see him.”

“What makes you think he’s here?” John asked cautiously, recalling the name now. Mirus was the man from the experiments.

The woman placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “I’ve been around for fifty years, sir. I know government soldiers when I see them— they came and took him, they did, straight out of the garden in the morning. I know you’re experimenting on him. I get it, how could a man possibly return from the dead like that-” she paused, wiping her eyes and nose- “But it’s just been so, so long. All I want is to be with him, even if just for a moment.”

On the street, the car flashed its lights. John tapped his heel, trying to think of what to do, then produced a small card from his coat. “Take this,” he said, holding it out to the woman to take. Once she did, he continued, “Show this to the woman in the second room on the right down the entrance hall; she’ll get your husband.”

“Oh,” the woman cried, “bless you, Mr. Clay, bless you,” she said taking the card.

“Yes, yes,” he quickly replied, inching away from the woman, “Just make sure to leave the card with the woman at the front,” he said rushing towards the street.

“Thank you, sir! Thank you!” the woman called as he ran towards the vehicle.

I just hope they’re done with him, John thought as his chauffeur opened the back passenger door for him.

“Sorry,” John said, ducking into the vehicle.

“It’s alright, President, sir,” the man said, shutting the door and getting in the passenger seat in front of him. “You just said this matter was a bit urgent and we didn’t know if you had seen us, that’s all.”

John nodded and waved his driver forward. “Yes, yes, you’re right. That woman just, well, I suppose it isn’t really important; you know where we’re going?”

The driver nodded. “The Fourth Garden Street, correct?”

“Precisely,” John said, settling back into his seat as the man kicked the car into gear. “Oh,” he added. “Could you send someone back for Martha? I’m afraid she got caught up chatting again.”

“I’ll send word for a driver to be ready,” the chauffeur replied.

“Good, good,” John said absentmindedly, looking out the window as they drove, peering into the darkness as they drove closer to the Edge— the wall that separated the Upper and Lower Districts; it was sometimes referred to as the Wall Market, due to the numerous shops that lined the edge of both districts and resided within the wall itself.

As they rounded a corner and the Edge came into view, John couldn’t help but frown; the place brought back memories. Soon enough, the view faded behind a wall of hedges lining the community in which Mire resided.

Mire’s mansion sat on a large property that his mother had bought after the family business had taken off, presenting the young widow and her son with an unimaginable amount of wealth. The property they’d purchased was larger than the capitol building and capable of holding dozens of amenities and gardens if they desired.

Mire had thought of doing so, in fact, but before he could, his mother passed unexpectedly. In his grief, he abandoned the project and searched to do something better with his wealth. For now, except for the family mansion and a small garden behind it, the property remained barren— a field of patchy grass and dirt.

As they arrived, John thanked his drivers as he arrived and stepped out of the vehicle as soon as it came to a stop, taking the steps up to Mire’s mansion two at a time. He adjusted his suit and knocked firmly on the oaken door.

After a short moment of shouting inside, presumably Mire’s children letting their father know he had a guest, Mire appeared, stepping rapidly outside and closing the door behind him. “Sorry,” he said, “things are a bit crazy right now, trying to get the kids to sleep and all.”

John laughed and gestured to the side of the house. “The usual spot?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” Mire replied, buttoning his coat as they walked. He rubbed his hands together quickly. “Aren’t you cold, John?”

John paused, realizing that he was actually quite comfortable in the current climate. “No, it’s not that cold now, is it?”

Mire raised an eyebrow in response. “Tell that to my wife, she’s had the heat on inside this whole week.”

“Well, that’s why your cold,” John said. “If you get used to something, anything different is bound to be a bit… well, different.”

“Well spoken,” Mire sneered, “I’m surprised you became our leader with communicative skills like that.”

“Oh, shut up,” John teased facetiously, then cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “You read my report, right?” he asked as they rounded the back of the house to a small room that jutted off from the rest.

“Of course,” Mire replied, unlocking the door and letting John in.

Inside was a medium-sized office space John and Mire had set apart to discuss the affairs of their nation. John generally included Mire in every decision he made. It was, after all, thanks to Mire that he was in this position at all. Their lifelong friendship had made them excellent partners and businessmen.

Inside the office, on the far wall, was a large screen with a long, crescent-shaped desk sitting before it. Additionally, there was a small bar with a fridge and sink behind it. In another corner was a long L-shaped couch. It was here that John sat as they entered.

“So, what is it?” Mire asked, sitting along the other edge of the couch.

John leaned forward, settling his elbows on his knees. “The charter is due to be signed Saturday afternoon, following the party Saturday morning.”

“Yes, at the Blanc’s place if I remember correctly, why?”

John bit his lip, trying to gather his thoughts. “What about the Revived?”

“The Revived?” Mire replied. “Is that what they’re calling them now? What’s your point? What does the Charter have to do with them?”

“Well,” John continued, “It’s just that the Charter is going to be using a lot of our resources, the Named resources. I’m honestly surprised they’ve bought into our plan and I don’t want things to go sour. There are thousands of Revived now and they’re mostly among the populace of the Lower District…” he trailed off, unsure of how to continue.

“I see,” Mire said, rising from his seat and pacing the room. “You’re worried that we don’t have enough resources, am I correct?”

“Well, yes-” John started.

“Or,” Mire said, cutting him off and stopping his trot around the room. “Is it that you just aren’t comfortable with the idea of the Revived?”

John froze, unsure how to reply as Mire resumed his place on the couch. “I’ve known you a long time, John,” Mire continued. “I know your convictions and your worries. What you don’t realize is that this will probably help the Charter.”

John narrowed his eyes. “How?”

“Simple. Isn’t it a joyous thing that people’s loved ones are returning to them? Isn’t it good that people are happy? Isn’t that what we wanted? I say monitor the Revived, I watched Jefferson’s video earlier and read the report. I know that if a monster were to rise among these Revived, it would be bad, but don’t you think it’s a bit prejudice to pass a judgment on an entire people when they haven’t actually done anything yet, better yet, on the possibility that they might? Anyone can do bad deeds, John. Remember Tez?”

John nodded slowly. He remembered Tez alright. The man had started on the right path but his methods had been… inhumane. John shuttered at the thought of the chaos that man had caused. “And if someone like him does show up?” he asked.

Mire shrugged. “Then treat them like any other criminal. Just because they’re immortal, I don’t think it means they can fight off a team of soldiers holding them down, they aren’t superhumans, right?”

John smiled. “Right. At least, Jefferson’s research says they aren’t.”

“Good then,” Mire said, jumping to his feet and making his way to the bar. “I trust Jefferson, quirks and all.”

“So do I.”

“Then we’re all settled then,” Mire asked, looking over his shoulder as he took two glasses from the cupboard.

Thinking about his conversation with Edwin and his current one with Mire, he felt confident that this was the right approach. “Yeah,” he said, getting up from the couch and joining Mire. “What are we having?”

***

“This,” Gale Glyies said, shaking his newspaper to get out the creases, “This is what winter feels like Mr. Ez. Those flurries last month were just some weird phenomena, nothing to them, just a fluke.”

“Yes, indeed,” Tez, Mr. Ez, replied pursing his lips and trying to ignore the man’s stupidity.

Unfortunately for him, Glyies was important for Tez’s plan. The man was a fool, but he was a fool who knew things, things that Tez didn’t, not yet anyway. So here he was, taking a ride with the man to his factory, pretending to be an interested party in purchasing the property now that Glyies was ready to retire.

“You know,” Glyies said, watching Tez as he stared out the window at the falling snow, “You look a lot like that one guy, from what was it, two years ago? The Named Killer dude.”

“How interesting,” Tez said after a deep breath.

“Yeah,” Glyies said, folding up his newspaper and accidentally knocking off Tez’s hat in the process. “Oh, sorry about that,” Glyies said, picking it up and passing it to Tez.

As Tez adjusted it on his head, restraining himself from stabbing the man here and now, Glyies continued his incessant talk. “Are you going to be attending the party this weekend, Ez? I’ve heard all the big guys are gonna be there.”

Tez perked up at this and allowed his eyes to stray from the snow to Glyies’ pudgy face. “What party?”

Glyies blinked as if in surprise. “You haven’t heard about it? I thought everyone knew, especially the up-and-comers like you. They’re passing some Charter, it’s supposed to really help things out.”

“What things?” Tez asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, you know, factory things and stuff. I guess the Nameless have been complaining, not that I care of course, about conditions and stuff. Really, they ought to try being in my shoes someday. I bet I work harder than the lot of them.”

Glyies laughed as Tez bit his tongue, looking over Glyies’ fat body in disgust.

“What’s that look for?” Glyies said, suddenly serious.

Tez sat up and leaned back. “Nothing, just remembering a rebellion at one of my factories a few months ago. Lost a few machines.”

“Ah, I see Glyies said, licking his lips. “What you’ve got to do,” he said, leaning forward, and sending spittle across Tez’s face, “Is get their families. Send a few off to the plants, and uh, have some fun, if you know what I mean,” he laughed.

Tez didn’t reply but kept his eyes narrowed on Glyies as their vehicle suddenly lurched to a stop. Glyies frowned and tapped on the glass window behind him, separating them from the cabin. “Reis, what’s going on? Why have we stopped?”

Outside, the flurries were growing stronger; the wind was whipping up a blizzard. Tez didn’t say anything as Glyies knocked harder on the glass. “Come on, man,” he said, then turned to Tez. “Can’t get a good driver these days. The man showed up late last week because of… well, I can’t remember. But can you believe that? These Nameless are so lazy, it’s awful, someone’s gotta whip the whole damn lot into shape.”

“Is that so?” Tez said, enjoying himself as he watched Glyies struggle to unseat himself and open the door.

“I’ll be right back,” Glyies said sliding outside and making his way around the car.

Tez slid out after him and joined the man as he tapped on the snow-covered driver’s window. “Unbelievable,” Glyies said. “Did he decide to take a nap or something? Lazy piece of—” he banged on the window harder until it completely shattered.

Inside, the man, Reis, seemed frozen in place. Glyies leaned forward. “Reis,” he said shaking the man, “Are you okay?”

Glyies let go and the body fell to the side, slumping over the passenger seat. Glyies turned to Tez, shaking, clearly in a panic. “Mr. Ez, I think there’s something wrong with him.”

“Oh no, I assure you he’s fine,” Tez said glancing at the body. “He’s just dead.”

Glyies froze and Tez watched in satisfaction as the blood visibly drained from Glyies face. “Dead?” Glyies asked. “How?”

His shaky eyes caught hold of Tez’s devious glare; Tez smiled. “You?” Glyies whispered.

“No, no,” Tez said, reaching into his pocket. “God killed him.”

“God?”

“Yes, God. Because you and me, Mr. Glyies, need to have a bit of a chat.”

From his pocket, he flipped out a long knife and threw it, straight into Glyies’ right bicep. The man howled and stumbled backward. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Who am I?” Tez asked with a glitter in his eye. “You said it yourself earlier. I look a lot like that guy from those few years ago— the Named Killer.”

Glyies leaned back against the car, hand inching inside for the phone on the driver’s door. “Oh no,” we can’t have that,” Tez said, stepping forward, yanking the knife from Glyies arm and swinging it down expertly over the man’s fingers.

Glyies screamed again and fell to the ground, huddling against the car. “Why?” the man cried.

“Because I don’t appreciate what you’ve done to my people, that’s why,” Tez said, dropping down to a squat and leaning towards Glyies.

“Please,” Glyies cried.

“I wonder,” Tez said, reaching out with the tip of his knife and sweeping aside a tuft of hair that had fallen over Glyies’ face, “If that’s what the families of your victims said to you.”

“Please, I’ll do anything. Just don’t kill me.”

“Oh,” Tez said, leaning back. “I won’t. Not yet that is. First, we’re going to have a bit of fun, then you’re going to tell me more about this party you spoke of earlier, then I’m going to kill you.”

“No,” Glyies whimpered. “Please. I’m begging you.”

“Beg harder, it's not going to change anything,” Tez replied, plunging his knife towards the man.

Twenty minutes later, Tez had the information he’d come for. He tossed his knife aside and stood up, leaning into the cabin of the car. “Let’s go,” he said to Reis.

The man cracked his neck and sat up, looking over himself. “Amazing,” he said. “I died, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Tez replied, reaching through the window and unlocking the car door.

“And I’m Revived?”

“Yes,” Tez said, pulling open the door and offering the man his hand. “Come on, we’ve got a party to prepare for.”

Reis grabbed his hand and let Tez help him from the vehicle. “Where’s-”

“Look down,” Tez said, starting away from the car. He heard Reis gag behind him but he didn’t stop. The man would catch up. All he had to do was follow the red footprints in the snow.