Saints in a Chip

They sat together, the three of them—Jude, Bart and Tom—sharing a bowl of undercooked potatoes with slices of unsalted burnt onion. Jude couldn’t complain much; there was plenty for all three men and some leftovers, but the food tasted barely edible.

Since Delila had left in a rush, the atmosphere had shifted. None of them spoke. It wasn’t Jude's presence as the new guy that created this silent awkwardness; it was the moaning and wheezing coming from Lazaro's room, a sound that pierced through the place like a continuous stab of a knife. Jude could see Tom absently playing with his food, pushing the potatoes around his plate. At the same time, Bart seemed to be trying to turn off his mind. His head down, resting on the back of his hand, he held his fork loosely, his lips moving without a sound, almost as if he were praying.

The clinking of cutlery suddenly stopped as the sound of a harsh car’s door closing echoed through the unit, breaking the heavy silence.

Startled, Jude peeked out the window, and his breath caught in his throat.

A woman walked through the settlement, her presence commanding and strangely contagious. She had what Marta would call "Main Character Syndrome"—an aura that made her stand out as if she belonged in a story far larger than the one he was living.

Her hair flowed behind her like a curtain of silk, and she moved with confidence with a rifle slung over her shoulder and a trench coat draped over her jumpsuit.

“Len is here!”

Jude’s eyes widened in surprise. He had expected Len to be a man, someone rough around the edges, perhaps even gruff. Instead, it was a woman who walked in their direction, her stature short, but her presence was anything but small. Her face bore dark circles under her eyes as if she had forgotten how to sleep, yet there was a fierce resolve in her expression.

Tom and Bart stood up immediately, placing their hands behind their backs, their postures suddenly rigid. Jude hesitated, unsure if he should mimic their stance or remain where he was, feeling somewhat out of place.

The door swung open, and Len stepped inside with a look of mock disbelief. “What the fuck are you guys doing?”

Bart and Tom burst into laughter at her bluntness, the tension in the room dissipating almost instantly. Len chuckled nervously, shaking her head. “You guys are fucking assholes. Look at the poor guy. He doesn't even know what to do.” She said, pointing at Jude.

Jude looked around, unsure of how to react to the banter. Bart playfully hit him on the shoulder. “You passed the test, kiddo. Fuck, first one who didn’t salute like a monkey.”

Tom was still laughing, his shoulders shaking as he tried to calm down. But then he noticed the seriousness of Len's expression and quickly sobered. “Ah, fuck, sorry, um... Laz is in the room,” he said, his tone shifting to concern.

Len placed her rifle against the counter and shrugged off her coat, revealing a fitted jumpsuit underneath. “You two... seriously, you could have waited for Laz to recover to participate in the prank,” she said as she disappeared down the corridor.

Bart made a subtle gesture to Tom and Jude, urging them to follow him. They walked quietly, stopping mid-corridor to peer into Lazaro’s room.

Inside, Len had settled next to Lazaro. She placed a hand on his forehead, checking for fever, perhaps while speaking softly to him. “Just breathe, Laz. I’m here now. You just need to tell me if you're ready.” Jude exchanged a glance with Bart and Tom. “What is she doing?”

“Just being the best,” Bart replied, his tone serious. “If anyone can help Laz, it’s her.”

Tom nodded, his eyes glued to the scene. “Let’s hope she can work her magic again.”

Inside the room, Len sat with her legs crossed in front of Lazaro, holding his face gently in her hands. “Breathe,” she instructed. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Just like that, yes.”

Lazaro nodded slightly, trying to focus on her words as she guided him. “You’re going to be okay. Just take it slow. And tell me once you're ready.”

Jude watched intently, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach.

“Come on, Laz,” Len urged, “You’ve got this. In… and out.”

As she led him through the breathing, the room felt Len's care for him, and the intensity in her gaze made it clear how much she wanted to help.

“Is he responding?” Jude whispered to Bart and Tom, his eyes never leaving the scene.

“Hard to tell,” Bart replied, crossing his arms. “He looks more stable, but it’s still a battle.”

“Just keep watching,” Tom said, leaning slightly closer. “She knows what she’s doing.”

Len’s voice remained calm as she continued to guide Lazaro. “That’s it. Just a few more breaths. You’re doing great. Focus on my voice. Are you ready?”

But Lazaro could only wheeze in pain, gasping, “I can’t... I can’t... breathe.”

“Laz, I need you to tell me if you’re ready,” Len urged.

“I’m... I am,” Lazaro managed to reply, his voice strained.

“Laz, I can’t do this if you don’t confirm,” she insisted, holding his head more firmly. The intensity in her eyes reflected the weight of the moment.

“I’m ready... I am.” The wheezing grew louder, and a harsh cough escaped him, sending a tremor through his body.

“Laz, are you hearing me?” Len pressed, her grip tightening as she leaned closer.

“I am...” he replied weakly, but Jude could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“Laz? Can you hear me?” she almost shouted, desperation creeping into her tone. The scene felt almost violent, like a desperate plea from a lifeline to a drowning man. It was a heartbreaking display, and Jude felt a surge of emotion welling up inside him.

Without realizing it, Jude stepped forward, instinctively wanting to intervene, but Bart held him back, waving his hand next to his neck. “Cut it out,” he warned, whispering, a serious look in his eyes.

“Bart, she’s pushing him too hard!” Jude protested, unable to tear his gaze away from the struggle unfolding before them.

“Let her do her job,” Bart replied. “She knows what she’s doing.”

Jude wanted to argue, but he had never witnessed anything like this before—Len's harsh tone focused against the backdrop of Lazaro’s suffering.

“Laz!” Len shouted again. “You need to breathe! I can’t help you if you aren't ready!”

“I’m trying! I told you I am...” Lazaro gasped, his voice cracking. The sound of his struggle resonated through the room.

“Lazaro, can you—” Len began again, but Lazaro's frustrated outburst suddenly cut her off.

“For fuck’s sake, Len! I’m telling you, I am ready! What else am I supposed to say? Are you deaf?” His voice boomed louder than any sound around, and miraculously, the wheezing disappeared.

Lazaro clutched his neck, taking a long, deep breath. The change in him was unreal, and for a moment, it seemed like the air in the room shifted as he exhaled heavily. “I’m... I’m disconnected?” Lazaro murmured, confusion flickering across his face. '"I am, am I not?"

Len stood up from the bed, a proud smile breaking across her face. “Yeah, you finally did. You're out.” Lazaro jumped out of bed, eyes wide with disbelief as he began to touch everything around him—the bed, the walls, Len’s face, and then his own.

“I left?”

“You did... you are no longer on Earth,” Len confirmed.

“Oh my God. Oh my God... Am I alive? I’m fucking alive?” Lazaro exclaimed, his excitement bubbling over as he bounced around the room, energy surging through him. He spun in circles, the realization hitting him like a wave, before he finally plopped back down onto the bed, a look of astonishment on his face. “I need to process this.”

Len chuckled softly, tapping his shoulder reassuringly. “Take the time you need, Lazaro. It’s a lot.” Jude watched the scene unfold, a confused smile creeping onto his face as he witnessed Lazaro’s recovery. The fear and pain that had once filled the room had been replaced with pure exhilaration. He had never seen anyone react to such a monumental shift in perspective before, and it was awe-inspiring. But he had no idea what just happened.

“I can’t believe this,” Lazaro said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I thought I was done for. And now…” He looked around the room, absorbing every detail as if it were a precious treasure. “I feel... free.” Len walked out of the room as the other three men rushed back into the kitchen. Once there, she rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “You are all worse than children.”

“Will he be okay now?” Tom asked, concern etched on his face as he looked at Len.

“Pen and paper,” she replied, leaving no room for questions.

Immediately, Bart and Tom sprang into action, scavenging through drawers in search of what she needed. The sound of rummaging filled the kitchen as they scrambled to find something usable. Tom quickly found a battered notebook and half of a pencil.

“Alright, I'm listening,” he said, flipping open the notebook.

“He needs constant hydration, so lots of water. You’ll need to feed him six times—four during the day and two at night. All food needs to be like soup. His body is brand new; he won’t be able to operate like before,” Len instructed.

“Is fine, I will handle it,” Tom replied, scribbling down notes.

“He might forget how to use his legs and arms, so he’ll need exercise. Also, his bowels might not have self-control,” Len continued.

“I cleaned his puke and shit before; I can do that no problem,” Tom said, but the hint of a nervous smile played on his lips.

Len placed a hand over Tom’s shoulder, grounding him. “You are not his parent; you are his partner. Divide and conquer, and don’t hesitate to ask for help.”

Jude watched as the conversation flowed, impressed by Len’s command of the room. “Right,” Tom nodded, absorbing the information. “I’ll keep track of his meals and make sure he stays hydrated. What about exercises? Any specific routines?”

“Start with simple movements—gentle stretches, some range-of-motion exercises,” Len advised, her expression softening. “He’ll need to re-learn how to use his body, so take it slow. And if you feel overwhelmed, just let me know. I can help.”

“Yeah, Tommy, we divide to conquer... the chores; it’ll be easier on all of us. No need to be a martyr,” Bart said, leaning against the back of a chair and making it swing.

Len nodded in agreement. “Exactly. And as soon as you can, you need to take him to the nearest city to get all his vaccines and do a medical check. We need to compare everything with what he had previously. So, vaccines, meds, supplements, all that jazz.”

“Like a newborn?” Jude asked.

Len looked up, surprised that he had the audacity to voice his opinion. Her expression shifted, and Jude could see that she disliked his comment or simply disliked him. “Lazaro is three times older than you; he is not a baby. He is a man who underwent a transformation,” she replied.

Then she added, “If you have nothing nice to say, don’t. Just don’t.”

Jude felt his cheeks flush, the sting of her words hitting home. He intended to express concern, but now he felt like he had crossed a line.

Definitely a case of Main Character Syndrome.

Tom furrowed his brow and went back to Lazaro. “How long will it take for him to be himself again?” Len paused, considering the question carefully. “It’s hard to say. Every case is different, but given what he’s been through, it could take weeks or even months for him to regain full function and strength. The important thing is that he doesn’t rush it..”

Len admitted with some hesitation and added, “It’s possible he could lose memories. You’ll only get a grasp of the changes after a while. I don’t know the probabilities; everyone has a different experience.”

Tom's expression shifted from hope to dread as he processed her words. “Could he forget me?” he asked.

Len looked exhausted as she met his gaze. “Yes.”

The room fell silent, the gravity of her answer hanging in the air like a thick fog. Jude could see the tension in Tom’s shoulders as he grappled with the possibility of losing his connection to Lazaro. It was a chilling thought.

“Shit,” Bart muttered, breaking the silence. “That’s rough.”

Jude felt a pang of empathy for Tom, knowing now what Lazaro meant to him. “But that doesn’t mean it’s guaranteed, right? We can help him remember and keep those connections alive,” he said, trying to fall back on the good grace of the group.

Len nodded slowly. “Yes, we can do our best to help him. Being there for him, sharing stories, and keeping familiar routines can all aid in that process. It just might take time and effort.”

Tom ran a hand through his hair, “I just don’t want him to forget the good times we had... or how much he means to me.”

“We’ll make sure he remembers,” Bart said with his wide smile. “We’ll remind him every day. You tricked Lazaro into your bed once. I bet my beard he will find his way back in there one way or another!"

Tom rubbed his forehead, glancing at the list in front of him. “Nothing can come easy,” he muttered. Len sighed, “I’m sorry, Tom... I wish I could do more.”

Tomas turned to her, standing up and looking her in the eye. “You have been nothing but a saint. I’m sorry if I sound ungrateful.”

Len waved her hand dismissively. “You’re not ungrateful. This situation is tough for everyone, and it’s okay to feel overwhelmed. Just remember, we’re all in this together. Well, I’m going home,” Len finally said, shrugging on her coat and slinging her rifle over her shoulder. “See you later, guys. And, Jude... welcome.”

Jude felt called out and was only able to whisper, "Thanks."

“Len?” Bart called after her before she had a chance to set her foot outside.

“Yes?” she turned.

“Please take care of yourself. You need to sleep,” he urged.

“I'll sleep when I’m dead,” she replied with a half-smile, then walked out.

As she reached her car and settled into the driver’s seat, there was a heavy silence in the room. The engine didn’t roar to life, and the stillness felt unnerving.

Tom moved to the nearest window, peering outside as the minutes ticked by. “She fell asleep at the wheel,” he said.

Jude joined him at the window, “Do you think we should check on her?”

“Nobody makes a sound! Nobody does anything!” Bart declared, raising his hands as if to halt any further protests. “Let the woman sleep; she deserves it.”