best and most revered qualities of a culture or society. However, the hero is not simply born. It is never that simple. The hero must be created, forged, if you will, in a fire of turmoil and trials. To do this he must go on a quest, which is what you’re doing right now.”
“A quest, huh? So, what am I looking for?”
“Well, my favorite authority on this subject, Joseph Campbell, referred to the quest as the hero’s journey. Different journeys have different treasures at the end. In your case, you are on a quest for self-discovery Campbell believed that, regardless of your culture or time frame, the basic structure of this journey is the same, and thus an archetype. He called it a monomyth. In its most basic form, during his or her quest, the hero experiences a call to adventure. They typically refuse or are hesitant about answering the call. They receive supernatural aid and cross the threshold, undergoing trials and tribulations before returning home bearing gifts or boons for their people.”
“That doesn’t sound like much of a self-discovery, Professor.”
“Well, perhaps not. But something that is very important to the formation of the hero is his journeying
“They’re not my family,” I interrupted. “I’m not the best person to be taking care of kids.”
“And yet you are, and they want you to be that person. And you haven’t shirked that responsibility, even though you could have done so very easily. You are here for them. You continue to exist for them, whether you even realize it or not. That’s a very selfless act, Lamar. And that’s an important aspect of the monomyth—the hero’s selflessness. He may first undergo his journey for his own self, but he returns and brings wisdom and order to his peo—ple. Thus the hero is a creation for all the people, not just the individual. Mythic heroes bring back large, worldly benefits. Things that affect everyone, not just the microcosm of a small community.”
“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
“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
