The Risen: Courage (3 page)

CHAPTER
4

T
he sun has finally crested the trees, sending its dazzling rays into the long windows of the bottom floor. The dead man with his broken neck seems more horrifying in the bright light of day. I refuse to glance at the woman who holds the proof we no longer need still planted in her chest. Her blood sticks to the bottom of my boots like glue in its cooled state. We trample it across the hallway, only spreading more of the red coloring I had hoped to escape. I have seen and smelled enough blood in one day alone to fill every day of a calendar with comments of its vision. After today, I have no desire to be reacquainted with it any time soon.

“Law, you left the gate open.” Marxx motions with his head to the wide-open wooden doors of the courtyard to which Lawless stares at with a confused look.

“Pretty sure I didn’t,” Lawless says. He is lost in thought trying to force the memories from last night to the surface of his mind.

“Did they open themselves?” Marxx meant it as a jest, but no one is laughing. The mood shifts like an earthquake. We know what can open doors when others have had them closed.

“Give her to me.” Marxx tells Rhett and when he gains no response he says, “My arm is still bum. I can’t fight them, but I can get her and Paula to safety.”

“Wait, we don’t even know if it really is them.” Chapel pleads, trying to edge down the growing adrenaline.

“Take Hells.” Lawless tells Marxx as he ignores the preacher’s son. He is well aware of the risk that could be taking place.

“No.” Rhett and I both speak the word together.

Turning his head to Marxx as he hands Aimes over to his protection. “We are down one already. She fights better than most men could anyway,” Rhett says. It is high praise from him. If only it was something I wanted to be praised for, though. Someone could tell me my hair looks nice today. That would be a better praise with how jumbled my nerves are. Yes, it is extremely “girly” and I’m okay with that.

“Anyone mind filling me in on who exactly “them” are?” Paula has gained enough insight to know whatever we are speaking of is dangerous. She just wants a better clarification on the matter.

“It’s not who. It’s what. The Risen.” Chapel’s words, even whispered to spare her a shock, cause her spine to straighten and eyes to widen. She knows the name he dubbed them months ago in a dirty bar of past lives. It was the first time we faced the truth of what was happening as a group, and since then, we have not been able to escape it.

“…but that is impossible. The chain gate should prevent them from entering. The wooden gate to the courtyard should block them if it fails. They can’t open gates!” Paula stutters over the start of the sentence only to have her words crash into each other as it ends.

Trying to figure out who gets to tell her the truth of what the Risen can do, we stare at her. We know the facts well. We have seen them open doors. We have seen them fight in groups, silently sharing strategies to kill. We have seen them watch and wait, solving problems presented to them with their eyes. What chance does a fence or a wooden-gated set of doors stand before them if they are motivated? None!

“You said so yourself, they keep pieces of their former selves. It allows them to think. It helps them figure out stuff. They adapt.” It’s Rhett who breaks the news to her, mumbling it while loading a fresh clip in his gun. His hands tremble a little from the many emotions he has endured today. I sense another roller coaster is about to start.

He is right. She said so herself when Marxx was bitten that they never truly die. Whatever was in the vaccine takes over the body. It shuts down the brain, making the person appear dead for moments in time until the new mind can take over. As she said, the vaccine takes over the host. It results in the pure hunters they are now where nothing alive is sacred. Not even their own family. That I remember only too well.

Her eyebrows speak the words her mouth does not. You can almost watch the conversation with just the face she is mentally holding. The scientist inside her must be fascinated with the results, but the humanitarian is struggling with the consequences. They had hoped to remove viruses from people. They have only managed to remove people with a virus.

“Marxx, follow behind me. Chapel and I will take the lead. Lawless, you and Hells keep our rear safe. Don’t want anything sneaking up like a joke just when we think our shit is safe.” Rhett barks the orders another man would have once given; my chosen father, J.D.

He was the man who kept us in line and encouraged us in a backhanded way. He was also our doom should we cross him. He taught us the meaning of the word “monster” this morning in his grief over the death of the prodigal son, Lawless. Lawless, who not only survived, but escaped the Risen and returned last night, only to be thrust into the chaos. It was he who then ended the life of J.D. with a single shot to his head, bringing the circle of Karma to a completion. Now he stands silent and brooding. His tongue is darting across his teeth as a sign of his growing anger or anxiety.

“Why?” Lawless’ simple one-word question brings everyone to stare at us. “You heard what Dolph said. They don’t want our help. Why do we keep offering it?”

“Because we are the good guys.” Rhett tosses Lawless a spare clip, letting him know there is no room for argument.

Chapel half laughs looking to Rhett and asks him, “Since when?” He remembers the many past deeds they have done as a club.

“Since the real bad guys got a whole hell of a lot scarier than we are.” Rhett chambers his gun, and the sound seems to echo against the plain, gray slate walls. He locks eyes with every man around him, sparing a few seconds of
and because I said so
with his face. It ends any further debates on the matter.

The resounding, agreeing chorus is the many echoes of chambered guns in response to his. Just like their Harleys, when one revs, they all rev. It has to be a boy thing. Their “boy thing” makes one thing plainly obvious to me. I don’t have a gun. I am honestly about to bring a knife to a gunfight. I would have pointed that fact out, but the Risen left me no time.

The echoes from their guns proved to be a door knocker to the Risen. They inch slowly from the cafeteria, waiting for another clue to tell them where to turn. They have not seen us yet, but it will only be moments until their eyes begin to seek out what their ears no longer hear.

Seven of them stand now in the space between the cafeteria’s open doors and the hall, but with the many sounds of shuffling, I know there are more. Their clothing is layers thick with stains from wear and death. Not only their death, but also the many they have brought to death. The stains swirl from rust colors to dark blacks as blood and earth mingle like a name branded upon them. Their bodies hold signs of abuse with broken fingers and torn flesh. Their flesh is spread, tainted, or bloated with decay. It holds all the shades rot can hold. If Death has ambassadors, the Risen would fill the position.

“You ready?” Lawless whispers his question to me as I roll my eyes with frustration.

Knife to a gunfight and I’m on the front row. Tickets, please! I would love the chance to point out that Rhett wanted us on the back row, not the front!

Lawless takes the bullet from his chamber and tosses it high, sending it sailing across the herd, to hit against the wall across from us. At the sound of the sharp metallic ping, their heads turn in unison with an almost snap of attention, placing us now behind them. The first few branch off to examine the source of the noise as we hug the wall beside us, hoping to keep from their angle of sight. It is not enough. The rest still stay frozen in their statue form. I can mentally picture their eyes swaying, searching the shadows for their prey. The bullet does not bleed or have the flesh they desire. It will not hold their attention long.

“We have to get these doors closed. We can then play them off each side of the room with one group at the set of doors here and the set outside.” Lawless whispers to me as if we are wearing a matching set of knights-in-shining-armor outfits.

“You want to play Ping-Pong with the Risen?” My frustration is growing with my question and my knife is looking less and less useful with his answer.

“You have a better idea?” He meant to be serious with his question, but his sense of adventure just fills his face with mirth.

“No,” I say, and I don’t. This only pisses me off more.

“When I say run, run. Don’t detour. Just hug the wall all the way down and get the doors closed.” Lawless speaks to me as if his plan is brilliant, but I am seeing a lot of holes. I’m seeing holes that will eat me alive if given the chance.

“You want me to run right into the middle of them?”

My voice must vibrate with doubts as he smiles at me because he says, “Isn’t that your normal plan?” His smile is so wide that it makes an easy target and my knuckles itch to land a perfect bull’s-eye.

“No,” I say with more bruised ego then anger, “it is not. It is just the way it happens.”

“A lot,” Marxx mutters, and I wonder when this conversation became a slapstick comedy hour. There are only rotting flesh-eaters ahead. Let’s all stop to make some jokes!

“You ready?” Lawless’ mirth is still abundant, wearing my trust a little thin.

“…or you could just wait for them to spot us while you two debate it till our deaths.” Marxx sinks to the floor, supporting Aimes with his body as her weight pushes his damaged arm to its limit.

All of my anger fades as I realize my hesitation could be her death. If they spot us, Aimes cannot defend herself in this state. If we become over-ran, we would have to leave her as we fled. She would be left to them to destroy and feast. Survival isn’t pretty anymore. Everyday, we are taught a new lesson by it. I nod, signaling that I surrender again.

“Run,” Lawless whispers.

It is such a small word to inspire so much fear. My legs falter with it before I can gain traction. My body falters with a last chance to save itself from what I am about to do again.

I hug the wall as close as I can, but still allow myself room to run. I know Lawless will be shooting over my shoulder to clear the biggest threats to me. He will have to wait though until I am closer than I want to be. The sooner he shoots, the sooner they will become aware.

My boot’s flat heels click against the tiles as I see their heads cock in their hunting stage. They are attempting to use their ears to find a reason for the new noise, a noise that is slowly turning their heads towards me as I rapidly close the space between us. The glazed eyes from my nightmares will soon become focused on me. I can hear J.D. laughing in my mind, inspired by my constant mixture of “balls” and stupidity.

My hand finds the hilt of my hunting knife as easily as the knife finds the skull of the first target. It falls without a sound to signal the one in front of it to my presence, but my flesh gives me away. Each of us has a scent that is our own. A scent that we as humans no longer can notice, losing so much of the hunters we once were. The Risen are pure hunters, so they notice. They notice fast.

There is no gradual alert of me. They snap towards me, turning their bodies in whichever way they need to, with a sharp movement unlike anything I have seen from them before. The normal slow turning with strings is gone and replaced with a new attack. An attack they unleash with viciousness, reaching for me with hatred and hunger. I completely forget about the doors with them upon me.

Nails dig into my arm like a bird of prey’s talons, preventing me from pulling away or risking more damage to my already pierced flesh. I scream with the fire-like pain and the female that holds me still smiles at me. My scream and the smell of my blood flowing to the floor around us bring forth a cry of victory from the cafeteria. It clenches my stomach tight and my body begins to sweat in panic. The only saving grace that I have is she only attacked my left arm. My right is still fully capable and proves it so as I arch my arm to connect the blade with her forehead.

Her eyes follow the blade and, at the last moment, she pulls me off-center with her talons, landing the blow as a deep gash to her cheek. She smiles at me as if to say, “
My
turn”,
and she opens her jaw wide for her rebuttal.

Its black coloring and its rotting tissue from her many meals of blood-filled flesh surround me with the scent of plagues. All logic leaves me as I watch her. I could try to bring my knife back up, hoping to still land a blow, but she has almost twisted me with my arms crossed, using her body to counterbalance me. They shouldn’t be able to plan this well. They shouldn’t be able to fight this smart. I really should stop running into the middle of them.

The first shot finally comes, bouncing her head sideways with the hit. It explodes in a spray of carnage with the exit of the bullet and she falls limp. She tears the flesh of my arm with her fall and I follow her down out of sheer self-preservation. The shots come quicker now with our cover being blown. There is no reason to hold back. Unless you take into account the not limitless amount of ammo we have, but being at the bottom of a pile of rotting monsters again that are trying to eat me, I’m voting shoot now, worry later.