The Risen: Dawning (12 page)

The truck door opens without so much as a sound, exposing the wide bench style seat of dark cloth. Her keys gleam in the ignition, sending a silent hint letting us know that even she is ready to be done with this place. The first headlight sweeps around the back of the cabin as we slide into this new metal safety net of mine.

Roar after roar of engines fires the yard into life. My heart begins to accelerate, not knowing what is ahead of us in the night’s thick darkness. I begin to shake with the fear of not knowing if our escape will really be our salvation or our tragedy.

My warhorse starts with the same deep roar, daring the bikes to outdo her. J.D. motions for me to take the lead of the charge into the dark wooded path after the duffels from Lee’s are dumped into the bed with the bags from earlier. I guess even the Boogeyman sometimes is afraid to be the first to step into the dark. The thought sneaks a smile onto my face even in the middle of these circumstances.

J.D. is not as fear resilient as I have always thought him to be. The man I felt was steel-lined, is now unable to meet my stare with the knowledge we have shared between us. Our rock has just as many ghosts as we do that walk with him daily. Has his blood-painted past finally caught up to him with so many new nightmares always stalking our deaths? With Death as our new consort, does he finally fear the payment due? His grimace shows how angry he is at letting his walls slip before me. His eyes dare me to question our new understanding of one another, but I do not need to ask him anything. I have seen the truth.

The very thing he is now afraid to do, I have already done before. I have faced these hell-tainted demons already on my own more times than my sanity will admit. I have already found myself in harm’s way to save the ones I love. I have ran with hell at my heels, and I am about to do it again. He no longer holds the power I have so easily given him all these years. I tell him so with my own smile, as I rev the truck into our exit, with my own dare to him.

Only once we hit what is left of the tire rutted road do I look behind me. Our paradise is crawling with dark masses and shapes. They have used each other as a ladder to climb upon the tall porch. Hands slam against the windows, silhouetted by the many glaring lights beyond them.

The ancient glass is already beginning to give against their assaults. I wonder if they will ignore the sharp edges of the glass they must slide through to gain entrance, or will their hunger-forced animation desist once they find the place empty of human life. Will our perfume of flesh linger for them long after our exit? What does the Devil do when one cheats him from his prize, again?

The woods are filled with their waiting eyes before us. They stand motionless until alerted to our passing. Eyes always find us moments before their bodies awake, resulting in a spine-chilling feeling of their stares. Their glaze is catching the light from my headlights in reflections that project an eerie glow. I push the truck to speeds unsafe for such a winding dirt road at the sight of so many of them staring at us. Their stained clothing, and decaying forms, brings the night alive with their spectral images.

The large tires bounce over, what I pray to be, ruts in the well-worn path below us, but I don’t look to see. The steering wheel fights to jerk free of my grip to further capitalize upon the known risks I am taking. My job is to clear the path for our family behind us. My panic sets in under the pressure of holding the risk of losing them all to the monsters that have already taken one family from me. I am achingly exhausted from the many failures I already hold guarded behind my high walls. I have no more mortar to build the bricks any higher shall I fail tonight.

They drive, almost huddling close together, avoiding any unneeded space. Their level of skill, and ease, with their motorcycles shows as I press them hard to keep up over the rutted and slick, leaf-covered path. Only Rhett has a sense of enjoyment with all of this.

He calls out to the hidden secrets the forest is trying to keep veiled, allowing them to sneak up on us. I almost see a smile on those lips as his “come what may” thrill-seeking side is finally finding a world in which to thrive. I cannot hear the words he is yelling at the desperate attempts the Risen take to reach them, but whatever he is shouting, it brings pure death daring male smiles to those around him. To all of them except Chapel. He is stone faced in our hell-themed amusement park roller-coaster of an escape.

J.D. uses his blinkers to tell me which way to follow the path as I try to keep my eyes on him, and the path before us. His headlights tell me when to speed up with a flash. Luckily for us, by the time the Risen have awoken to us, we are zooming past in a leaf covering cloud, but this ride of terror seems to take forever, even at such speeds. My arms are starting to ache from fighting the trucks natural responses, and I can only imagine what the motorcycles are doing to their riders’ bodies.

“There! There!” Aimes screams, pointing ahead on the path. Glorious pavement shines like a holy river of salvation ahead to our right, and on cue, I see the blinker flash in the darkness. I force the truck harder at the sight of our freedom. Her engine roars into the night like a beast announcing its victory, and her call is returned behind me in an answering chorus.

I do not know if I am happier to see the pavement, or to feel it, when the large tires grip and shoot us forward. I begin to ease off the gas for the first time since the trip began, allowing them to come around me. J.D. flies around us, giving a nod, before leaning his bike into the space in front of us. Lawless comes from the other side, giving a smirk, and one by one they file past until the leader is now the follower.

“Hey, want me to drive?” Aimes asks, breaking the tension and it is my turn to give her a single finger answer.

“Can I quote you on that?” Her laughter fills the truck as I settle into what I am sure will be a long drive.

“H
ome sweet home.” Aimes says as she claims a spot in the back of the abandoned Welcome Center. Her voice carries the exhaustion the rest of us are feeling.

The glass doors had been nailed shut with various scraps of plywood. Litter floated along the night’s breeze. Empty cars stood parked, and abandoned, with no signs of their owners around. Once again, life was a snapshot of time. It was these clues that made J.D. assume it would be safe for us. Even though, he made Aimes and I stand in the shelter of the shadows of my truck while the men soundlessly secured the room. We have driven for what mentally feels like hours. My numb legs judge it to be days.

The inside of the building is an open floor plan best suited to allow for the ease of human traffic that had once gathered within its walls. The layout leaves plenty of space for the bikes to be brought in along the wall that once boasted the many reasons to stay in this town. Their headlights watch us like sentinels of darker times with the blacked out frames aligned in riding formation.

My truck blends with the other deserted cars forever left between diagonal white lines. Lawless has haphazardly reaffixed the wood that we took down to gain our access, giving no clues to any changes we have made. The butane lanterns cast only the faintest of glows, and provide just enough light, to ease the earlier visions from our minds. They form an almost night-light effect for grownups.

“Sleep sweet sleep.” Returns Rhett as it is decided that Marxx will take the first watch.

The only other room connected to this one is what once served as an office for the staff. It is secluded behind the service desk where smiling attendants once stood to greet people, and answer questions, about directions or nearby attractions. The only door is the one we came through, making it easy to spot anyone, or anything, trying to come in. Watching us sleep is most likely the only thing anyone on guard will do tonight. It is not an altogether unwelcoming thought.

The soft sounds of rustling fabrics float through the space as we prepare to rest our aching bodies and overstressed minds. Sleeping bags are unfolded, and zippers slide along metallic teeth, giving the illusion of security when the fabric shell closes around the occupant inside. I prefer to leave mine undone, minus the small amount needed to keep it held together. My blade, with its disobedient sheath, slips under my pillow for security. It is better than any teddy bear I have ever owned.

I am grateful for my body’s fatigue in hopes that it will win over my mind’s need for the nightly terror-filled blue eyes and golden hair it shows me. My own eyes begin the losing battle of staying open as I watch J.D., Marxx, and Lawless sit upon the bolted couches huddled in discussion. Lawless holds my gaze with his warm brown eyes as I cave to my body’s demands. I cannot help but to think how familiar this all feels as I drift off to sleep.

My body tenses as my senses awaken before my brain does, signaling some unseen danger near me. Reflexively, I reach under my pillow, even before my eyes open, grasping for the blade to swing at what my body screams is behind me. A strong hand covers mine, and a familiar voice settles my racing heart.

“Shhhhh” it whispers, coaxing me back to sleep, while his strong arms wrap around me, pulling me close to him. I am drowning in the scent of his skin and I welcome the decent.

My body betrays me, molding into his frame, enjoying his heat, and the comfort he offers me. We adjust in our perfected sleeping position, giving each other as much as we take. I was wrong about the blade being the best teddy bear to date. Lawless, with his velvet and stone mixture of a body holding me close, has claimed that title as his own body melts to mine, luring us both to the seduction of sleep.

I wake to the sound of muffled voices and male bodies peering out between the plywood boards. Aimes motions for me to stay silent as she crawls to me while I fight to drag myself from sleep. Something bad is happening on the other side of those boards. Something that is making even J.D. anxious as his fist clenches, and releases, with the knowledge of it. I can see Lawless’ jaw muscles clench as his eyes move, following the hidden action. Chapel breaks first. He turns from the scene, taking himself to the couches to bury his head in his hands. Aimes and I watch all their reactions until my curiosity gets the better of me. I will once again wish I had better control of that.

The Welcome Center was designed with all your traveling needs in mind, just as the overly cheerful billboard reads. Apparently, they too did not foresee just how fast our needs would be changing with their giant, smiling family advertisement. Other than the building we are hiding in now, there is also a small convenience store/restaurant combination, and another building holding restrooms across the shared parking lot. Once the rich green landscape, now fall covered, wrapped around the place for weary drivers to walk along, and children to burn off pent-up energy to their family’s road weary relief.

Aimes and I had run the space last night, screaming with glee, as Rhett chased us along the paths. We chased fireflies, sparkling like stars, in the attempts to remove the images burned into our minds, before being brave enough to try to sleep. Outside of the once well-lit restrooms stand various vending machines, that still, after all these weeks, hold a wide variety of salty, satisfying cravings.

Rhett and Lawless had happily discovered these, returning them to a cheerful state, that is so rare to us anymore, that their mood was contagious. After such a long night, it had felt good to be surrounded by male laughter and their rough jokes again. As a group, we had decided last night that we would wait until daylight to explore the other building for any more hidden treasures. No one wanted to break the spell we were under that had allowed us this rare gift of peace. Now it seems others had the same idea.

A blue minivan is slowly becoming overrun with Risen as they rock the vehicle with their strength and sheer number, treating it as a mere child’s toy. Randomly an arm would extend from the driver’s side window to stab at a body, but even as it falls, another takes its space. A smaller clump of Risen have huddled over something a few spaces away from the van that pours red slickness around it that catches the sun’s light. The way they kneel, the hidden horrors of my mind know all too well what has happened, and what they are doing.

It is the small movements from inside the store’s windows that steal my attention from the massacre. A man randomly comes into view from the other side of the windows. His wide eyes, panic and pain rimmed, are watching the parking lot. Sometimes a woman, whose red hair is hard to miss even from this distance, will share the same look as she joins him in the space between the walls before ducking from view. The story slowly unfolds in a reverse story telling style for me.

This group had come to find their own supplies, lured by the hopes of survival from that which we all cling. They have left the driver in the van as a look out while the other three had gone inside. Something went wrong with their exit plan though. Now one lies dead, blocking the path to freedom for the other two. A twist of bitter agony to lose someone you care for, and the loss being the very thing keeping you from escaping the same fate. They are now stuck in a prison of their own making. Their wardens are holding a death sentence over them.

The van is now a layer plus deep in Risen. The arm no longer risks exposure with the pointless attempts of preservation. There seems to be some communication between the two sets as both the male and the female appear in the window wearing the same frantic fear from something we are unable to see from our room.

The van inches forward with jerking motions, and the revving of its engine, trying to push through the rotting mob around it. It is a slow progress until the driver grows either braver, or more desperate, pushing a path using the pure force of the van’s acceleration. Some of the Risen fall under the tires’ path, becoming a red ruin, as the wave follows the moving target out onto the highway. The van with its Pied Piper appearance rushes from the Welcome Center parking lot with tires that scream from the escape.

“He left them?” Aimes whispers, subconsciously fearful of alerting the remaining Risen feasting upon the fallen friend of those across from us.

“What did you want him to do? They are behind walls and he was a carrot on a stick. He probably just went for help.” Rhett observes with a shrug.

This whole time he has been snacking on whatever vendor goodies we have stashed while watching the scene outside as if it was no more than birds and squirrels fighting for trees in the spring. Sometimes his ability to detach from the world’s horrors worries me. Most times, I am just grateful someone here is strong enough to mentally accept it all.

Something he said has caught J.D.’s distracted attention. His cold eyes slowly come to rest on Rhett, causing the other man to look affected with their weight. Once again, the men share some private code of eye-contact that stirs the men to action. Both Rhett, J.D., and Chapel begin checking their ammo with determination of discovery, as Marxx and Lawless pull long dark barrels from the duffels with haste.

“Are we going to go save them?” Aimes asks with a child-like hope.

“No Sweetheart. That’s not the plan.” Marxx gravel voice answers gently. His voice holds the same kid gloves tone that Aimes evokes in the men around us.

“So then, what is all this?” She asks him weakly.

“Protection.” He answers her, never being brave enough to meet her eyes.

Now I understand. The ones trapped hold the thought of help with prayer. We are holding the thought of help with preparatory.

The first scream shatters the mock calm we are all draping across our minds. Marxx and Lawless make no movement to acknowledge the sound. Only their cringe, with each decibel, shows they are aware of anything other than their chore at hand. Chapel and I are the only ones to take back up the watch of the plywood peek-a-boo as J.D and Rhett turn their backs to become deeply absorbed in a discussion over the best plans to defend against the invisible attackers. I wonder if their refusal to look is from hardness or weakness. Does it help them sleep at night?

The Risen have become disinterested in the body they have left exposed and violated under the sun. If not for the basic form of it, it would be hard to say it had been human at some point. They have left nothing to mark any clues of the person’s one time humanity. It is nothing more now than so much red meat and broken bones, laid bare for all to see with no shame or afterthought. Our vanity makes it hard to see one of us so destroyed like cattle for dinner. In some small corner of what is left of the world, I am sure pro-animal groups are holding glee at it all. Human flesh, it’s what’s for dinner.

They slam crimson-coated limbs against the protective glass of the storefront. The smiling vinyl faces, that were once put there to encourage your patronage and dollars spent, slowly become gore covered with each moment passing. There are no smiling faces beyond the glass though. Only wide eyes and open mouths that shout orders, or pleas for suggestions. With their lack of enthusiasm, I am guessing there is not much of either to be had, as the glass starts the first pebble effect under the trauma of so much force.

“They are gonna get in.” Chapel whispers with a fear-flavoring realization of what we are about to watch.

“Not our problem.” J.D. says in an attempt to remove any confusion over our part in what we are watching unfold. He expects us to all sit in here. That is his decision. We can either watch or not. In that, he holds no judgment, but we are not to help.

“You can’t seriously mean that.” Chapel’s voice is still razor thin. It barely cuts the room with its reservations for asking a question to which we all already know the truth.

“Look, I would enjoy being your idea of some decent guy, but the truth is, I’m not. Not ever gonna be good enough for you. Or even all those like you. All I am is a man. Just smoke and mirrors for whatever I need to do to get us through each day. Today, today we stay in here. With our own. Now, take that pretty, little golden trinket of death off your neck that allows you to so easily place yourself above the rest of the world, and man up or shut up. I don’t care which one, but I don’t have time to babysit your fragile sense of right or wrong today.”

J.D. has walked straight to the other man, to stare him down, while explaining his point of view on the matter at hand. Now the room fills with frozen statutes as we watch the two men in their silent duel of wills. Chapel breaks the stare first under the anger of J.D.’s gaze before returning to keep watch. With that simple disconnect, the room begins to fill again with oblivious activities as we all try to avoid the same fate.

All but me that is. My mind wanders back to our escape yesterday and the fear I saw in J.D.’s eyes. I wonder how much of this decision is truly about keeping with our own. He feels my gaze upon him and turns slowly to face me. Is this now an attempt to prove that he can, in fact, keep us safe or is it just another attempt to cover his own failures with the power he holds over our small group?