The Risen: Courage (17 page)

CHAPTER
20

“W
hat were you thinking?” Lawless has either completely spent his anger on Marxx or he is keeping it hidden well as he asks me the first question that comes to his mind. I’m not sure which I hope for.

He and Marxx had walked away from us when we arrived at our private floor. Whatever was said between them was kept tight and refined leaving us with no real sense of the conversation. It had ended abruptly when Lawless had walked away and still Marxx kept his face blank. Law had pointed at me and then into the room we share, summoning me without a word spoken. My pride had first refused to answer, and if the truth were to be shared, I would still be sitting out in the makeshift loft if it were not for Chapel’s gentle nod encouraging me to come here. In my mind I didn’t obey Lawless, I answered Chapel’s request. See how much better that sounds?

“…about the little girl.” I shrug as much as the hug I am forcing on myself permits. My hands slide along my arms to hide my nervousness with the impression of being chilled. Without the winter coat, for some reason I feel vulnerable. “I was thinking about that little girl out there alone.”

“We don’t even know her.” Lawless is trying to understand my reasons instead of shouting. I have to give him credit for that small step. I just don’t know how to help him understand them.

“Does that matter?”

“Yes. Yes, it matters.”

“Why? Why is her life less important because we don’t know her?”

I watch as he searches for the right words. His eyes betray his thoughts by swaying back-and-forth. He is weighing his answer with hopes of controlling the conversation.

“It just isn’t,” Lawless says, forgiving his lack of an explanation with blunt honesty. “You, Aimes, Marxx, Chapel – those are the ones who matter now. We keep taking these risks for people who wouldn’t do the same for us like we owe it to them, but we don’t. We don’t!” He begins to pace in front of me with the attempt to control the rising flood of his emotions.

“And Rhett? Does he still matter?” My question halts the pacing, but he still isn’t looking at me.

His head shakes slowly and he half laughs before saying to me, “You just won’t let it go.”

“You’re not the only one who lost J.D.” I know I am traveling through a dangerous landscape. Like hidden quicksand, I could sink neck deep before even realizing what I have stepped on. “Rhett buried him that day, too. We all did.” My courage falters with the truth of it pulling my voice this deep into private thoughts. This was meant to be a speech to reach through his walls, not mine.

“I was the one who pulled the trigger. I’m the one who has to put us back together.” His head is lowered under the weight of his self-enforced shame. His voice comes slowly as if the words are too heavy to form. “You’ve almost died twice. We almost lost Aimes, too. Marxx was going down right along with you. I’ve almost killed over half of us, Helena, with the plans I have made. I’ve helped turn our home against us. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. I just keep thinking that if he was here, it would all be different.”

“J.D. lived in the moment. The furthest plan he ever made was maybe ten minutes into the day and that was before half the world went cannibal. You really think he would be doing any better right now?” His head half turns to me as I speak. There is a flicker of hope in those amber eyes and I want to see it catch fire. “Not even J.D. could keep me from doing the things Aimes and I do, much less the things that I do on my own.” I smirk at him, knowing how correct I am. His lips turn upward with mine carving a similar smile on his face.

“We need Rhett, don’t we?” he asks me still wearing his smirk. It looks more sad than amused though, like the joke is on him versus it being humorous anymore.

“Rhett needs us. It’s kind of a package deal.”

“Parasitic deal.” He pinches the bridge of his nose before running his hand over his short dark hair that has replaced the once close trimmed mohawk that has been his trademark look since I’ve met him. “Shit,” he exhales the word with the deep breath he took. “I don’t even know where to begin with him.”

“A nap.” My answer is completely not what he was expecting and it shows on his face.

“I’m not sleeping with Rhett. I have my lines.”

“Good to know.” My voice has more venom than I meant for it to before I could bite back the thought. I’m tired. My stomach is an even deal of fire and pain with a topping of nausea. My tongue has a power of its own without my mental leash to control it. “I meant mine.”

As soon as I admitted my weakness, his whole demeanor changed. The worries of the world slip from his shoulders as he comes to me tenderly. “Paula said you were supposed to be taking it easy,” he says helping me onto the cot.

It’s amazing how hard it is to move when your stomach is the cause of the suffering. “I think we already covered how well I listen to people.” I remark trying not to wince with the movement.

“I’m just wondering how much you have to go through before you start to listen to people.” He meant it as a jest, but I notice the undertone despite him trying to hide it. He pulls the timeworn boots from my feet and rubs the life back into my cold toes. His mind is already somewhere else. I can see his thoughts roaming with the shadows they make across his face. “Sleep,” he tells me, never turning to me but feeling my stare just the same. “I’ll keep watch.”

“Keep watch for what?”

He does turn towards me now. His smile is genuine making me realize how long it has been since I have seen it. “In case you try to do something stupid again.”

“What could I possibly do now to top my record?”

He laughs a deep male sound before saying, “I’ve learned not to ask that.”

“Jerk.” I answer his idea of charming, but I have to smile. He has a point. “If I start sleep walking and fighting at the same time, then we have been doing this for way too long.”

“Fair enough.” He shrugs and winks at me as I succumb to sleep. It’s a soft drifting of darker and darker shades as I fall under the waves of exhaustion letting the pain slip away. Like a moon-driven tide, each wave pulls me further from the shore I have left until I am completely afloat in the arms of sleep.

There is a campfire near me. I can hear the crackling of the wood. The heat from the flame warms me, surrounding me in the scent of the fire. I watch as the sparks soar into the darkness above me. They weave their way into the dark night sky with pairs or partners like dancers. It’s spellbinding.

There is no fear here. I have no urgency to glance around me for things moving in the darkness. I’m not straining to hear any slight sounds that give clues danger is approaching. It’s just myself, the fire and the soothing darkness filling the space around us.

Turning to stare into the bright flames, I watch the colors meld into one another and apart again as the flames flicker. I am transfixed by the light show it’s providing. The shadows sway like palm trees on a beach. The heat it gives is almost tropical with how easily it penetrates my clothing to touch my skin. This is peace, and closing my eyes, I just want to cling to this moment.

The wind shifts, pulling the flickering flames and their dancing sparks in a different direction. The scent of the warm wood changes. It’s has a more acidic smell as the wind washes over me. It steals the heat that was holding me, pulling my attention once again to the peaceful pyre.

The wood is no longer the stacked glowing red logs but long, white rows. The subtle cracks from the logs giving under the heat are now replaced by the fast burning sounds of cloth. Stack upon stack of white sheet covered small bodies burn before me. They scream from the flames devouring their skin. Long wails for help for parents who will never come fill the night.

The sheets twist and kick as the children they contain try to escape from the torture. I can smell their flesh cooking, gagging me, but there is no way to help them. They won’t die. They just continue to scream for help with their little bodies fighting to be free. With the intense heat from this new fire, my tears evaporate before they can frame my face. My peaceful escape has turned into a torturous imprisonment.

“Nice and toasty,” J.D. says from beside me, startling me with his sudden appearance.

I quickly turn to see him and the sight of him locks my throat, removing all the air in my body. His skin is blackened and skeletal taunt in places. In other spots it is flecking off into the night like the sparks I was so mesmerized with earlier. His eyes that stare at me are still the steel coloring I remember along with the wide grin he wore.

“Why is it that kids always burn so well?” he asks me with grinning lips that crack and bleed, like the tears the heat stole from me. “You going to bring me more wood?” He laughs softly at first with each laugh building in volume until he is as loud as the screams from behind me, as loud as my screams that join them.

I jerk awake with the trembling from the dream still clinging to me. My body vibrates with the fear it has left upon me, making my stomach spasm with pain. Slowing my breathing, I glance around the now dark room to find myself alone.

Way to keep watch Law, but honestly, I’m grateful. He would be curious and want to know what the dream was about like all people are when it comes to nightmares. It was just a pile of burning kids and J.D. enjoying the glow from the fire, nothing unusual about that. Although now, I do think I will be skipping naps for a while.

CHAPTER
21

C
hapel and Aimes are alone in the recreated loft area. Either the men did their best to prove that it doesn’t bother them to be a floor down or they are doing their best to further grind the dagger in the new group’s collective back. With such a display, it’s really hard to tell which idea is the real truth.

Chairs have been collected from the former music room and painted black. Arranged to allow a path of sight to the stairwell doors, they sit on a long deep red rug, making the black paint appear a darker shade. The biggest proof of their new space is the artistically painted grinning skull of theirs on the wall. Its black void of an eye stares out at those same double doors defiantly taunting any who enter this space who do not belong. Seeing as how none of the men could master a flipbook of stick characters, this has Aimes’ name all over it.

“Nice drawing.” I motion with my head to the “artwork” hovering above us.

She shrugs, ignoring the teasing of my voice. “I was bored,” she says slumping in a rather uncomfortable position in her chair. My stomach aches just trying to imagine myself attempting such a poise.

“What are you now?” I ease into a chair near me, ignoring the watchful eyes of Chapel. The way he is studying me, I know he has been given the chore of keeping track of Aimes and I. It also explains the pouting from my partner-in-crime.

“A prisoner,” Aimes says, sticking her tongue out at Chapel. It confirms my suspicions and I feel pity for the man who has been stuck dealing with her angst. She looks at me with large, exaggerated eyes telling me, “Seems we are a flight risk. Run off into the dark, possibly Risen infested, woods one time chasing a stranger’s child who wants us gone and poof, welcome to solitary.”

“You know that solitary is when you are all alone, right?” Chapel asks her.

“…and poof, welcome to isolation!” Aimes counters without a pause.

“Isolation is where you are kept away from everyone,” Chapel returns.

“…and poof, go away,” she says to Chapel and receives a smile from the man.

“It feels more like a lock down,” I offer squirming in my chair to find some position that doesn’t make me want to squeal with pain; so far, no luck.

Chapel nods, pressing his lips taunt with thought. “That would be fair,” he says and a part of me knows that if I wasn’t in such a pathetic state, he would unleash his own lecture about our choice of behaviors. I guess he thinks the agony I am in is a better life-lesson than anything he could put into words. It is, for now, but it’s amazing how quickly we can forget things once wounds are healed.

“Did you really get stuck watching us?” I smirk with my question; amused that someone felt such a need. I can guess who the someone was.

“We can’t even go down to eat.” Aimes doesn’t hide her dissatisfaction with our predicament.

“That’s not what he said.” Chapel stretches his long arms into the air, exhaling to let his mounting frustrations escape before they can turn into verbal weapons. “He said not to go down to eat until Hells is awake.”

Aimes attentively turns to me, peering at me as if I am a stranger. She asks me, “You awake?”

I’m sure as hell not taking a nap again
is the response that I bite back. Instead, I tell her, “Yup. I’m very wide-awake.”

Aimes stands, finally wearing a smile. “She’s awake,” she tells Chapel with a moment of glee.

“She’s awake,” Chapel concedes leaving me feeling like an awkward third party to their conversation. It’s one of those all too common moments where you are included, but not as a participant, but as the topic. The good times just keep rolling.

If Aimes could skip down the stairs, she would. There are only a few things that make it to her list of things she considers are never going to happen, and expecting her to sit still for longer than a few moments, tops that list. Expecting her to be quiet quickly follows it. Myself, on the other hand, dreads each stair that pulls on the assaulted flesh of my stomach as I climb down them. I might paint my own mural with happiness over being moved to the second floor instead of having to climb the extra set of stairs from the third before I am fully healed. If Chapel keeps being told to keep an eye on us, the boredom will definitely be there to further inspire me.

The smells rolling from the cafeteria would send professional chefs to investigate with envy. My stomach responds with complaints over my lack of good eating habits. Considering what happened in the shower, a lot of my habits are about to become rearranged. No more naps. No more showers. This should free up a lot of time for a few extra meals. The strong scent from a passing male completely calls my bluff on the shower theory.

“I know that look,” Chapel says from my shoulder. “You’re thinking again.”

“I do that sometimes. Shocking, I know,” I reply back wondering when my wonder bitch mode was activated.

“Yeah, just normally trouble follows it.” Chapel pats my back as he walks past and I know he is just jesting but my tongue swells with the retorts it wants to unleash. Chapel has done nothing to earn any of it. I want to hurt him just the same. He is correct and maybe that is what is encouraging my mistreatment. One man shouldn’t be your warden and your confessor. There are too many things that could wrong with that much information about a person stored in one genie bottle.

I continue to follow the other two into the room chewing on my tongue to keep all of us safe. Judging from the room’s inhabitants’ stiff silence, it’s not my tongue that is the threat.

Lawless and Marxx are already sitting at a table. There is an almost carved space between them and the rest of the room. The men pay no mind to the stares and poorly covered whispers. Nor do Aimes and Chapel hesitate to enter the room to join their table. Not even high school was this childish, close, but not completely.

“Travis suggested it would be best if we ate on our floor as well as lived there until we could learn to accept our sins and become one with God.” Aimes doesn’t whisper the explanation. She pretty much shouts it just for the amusement of seeing the shocked looks. “Law agreed and had Marxx start packing up all the food that was our donation from the runs they have been doing. Travis suddenly became very “Christian” after that and forgave us for our “transgression” as we are learning the wonders of His love.”

“How very charitable of him.” I answer mentally picturing the snake oil of a grin Travis must have worn while declaring their imperfections as a mere stepping-stone. How anyone continues to believe in the man is a mystery to me. Like the mystery of why those children were put in the tree, both are dark and brutal with their hidden agendas.

“She’s awake. Can I eat now?” Aimes accents her bluntness by resting her hands on her hips. There are no wide eyes or cock of her head to sooth her bite. She wants to fight and has thrown the first stone at Lawless.

“By all means…” Lawless stands, bowing in a grand gesture of days long lost. It’s not her that uses this moment to strike.

“Please, let her eat. She’s losing inches of ass by the day.” Rhett plops himself down with his tray in the bar stool like seat by Marxx. He sits as if he never left, proudly displaying the vest again. Jaws just don’t hang; I can hear the sound of them as they bounce on the surrounding tabletops. Supplier of food, protection and hours of entertainment; you’re welcome.

“What do you think you’re doing?” It’s Chapel who recovers the quickest. Or at least it is Chapel who has the nicest way to phrase the question first.

Rhett never pauses from his dinner, but says with no volume of amusement between mouthfuls, “Eating.” It’s a simple answer and sometimes it’s the one worded ones that enflame their anger the fastest.

“That wasn’t really the question and you know it.” Marxx leans in lowering his tone, but not his volume. He is purposely invading the other man’s space to insult him.

“He told you, he’s eating. Let the man eat.” Lawless settles back on his stool not looking at either man as if the discussion is beyond boring. He motions with his head for the three of us still standing to go. Since I have no desire to watch, I do just that.

Only Chapel hesitates as if he is trying to figure out where his calm head is needed more. Should he stay at the table to try to rebuild the bridge or stay with the walking, and sometimes lethal, duo of good intentions? I guess Aimes and I are the bigger threat because he follows us. I’m not sure if that is a complement or an insult. Seeing as how the men keep picking fights like spoiled toddlers jealous of the others toy, I’m hovering on insult.

“So, what is on the apocalypse cookbook for today?” Aimes twirls her tray on the metal counter looking for Paula.

“Apocalypse is kind of harsh.” I start the mind-numbing chore of separating the utensils to hand down our chain.

Aimes shrugs her normal “
I guess
” gesture. “People are eating people while they scream. I guess I just have a different idea of harsh.”

“Good to see you’re keeping your spirits up,” Paula says with her biting, sugary tone overhearing our conversation from her side of the barrier. Her smile matches it.

Like a child scolded for cussing, Aimes looks down at her feet as she takes the plate of food from Paula. I raise an eyebrow at Chapel asking silently over Aimes’ behavior. It’s such a simple retort; she should have had a volley of wit to return. Instead, she is walking away like a whipped puppy. Walking away was never something she would have done before. Trust me, I have wished for it more times than I can recall.

Chapel doesn’t offer any clues with his blank face. He doesn’t greet Paula either. I watch as he and Aimes both retreat to our area; make that two whipped puppies.

Paula vanishes as quickly as she appeared, leaving me to standing alone, lost and confused. I never enjoyed silent movies. I never really understood what was going on in them. Now I’m living one as a part of the main cast with the same over acting and washed shades of greys to set the mood. Lucky me.

Rhett still sits by Marxx when I finally make my way back. Lawless is watching over everyone while chewing like a teacher with a table of naughty children. His arms are tense, ready to spring if one of our toddlers steps out of line. With heads bowed, deeply invested in the plates of food, the only sounds are their metal forks tapping the plastic plates as they eat. I’m equally impressed as I am amused and I have to bite my lower lip to keep the laughter restrained. The Prince has proved he can be King. They don’t hide the way they would if it was J.D.’s steel eyes upon them, but it’s a start.

Being the suicidal flirt that I am, I break the stand off with my own questions as I take the seat next to Lawless and across from the rest of them. The silent movie has grown dull. “How did we earn the privilege of a private floor?”

The tapping slows and the eyes look to Lawless to answer for them; make that four puppies. How many do I need for a full litter?

“It was best,” Lawless says on the topic, leaving more unsaid than answered.

“Are we really that hated?” I push the conversation with just eyes swinging from Law to myself.

“Depends on who is around. Mostly we are just avoided.”

“…unless they need something.” Marxx finally joins Law and I in conversation.

Lawless nods still pushing around what is left of his dinner on the plate. “Unless we are needed,” he says agreeing with Marxx.

“What do Travis and his crazy crew have to add to this place?” My question brings their eyes to Rhett. He sits oblivious to it with his thick barrier of skilled uncaring.

“Whore and prayers.” It’s Aimes who takes the first swing when the men were trying to figure out how to “play nice”. I may have just lost a puppy as she finally finds her wit.

If her statement bothered Rhett, he doesn’t show it. He simply puts another full fork load into his mouth ignoring the room.

“…and our area upstairs?” I ask, setting her up to continue to keep playing.

“Travis took over the “satanic symbol of our separation” for their prayer groups,” Aimes answers. Her smile showing she is growing braver by the question.

“Satanic symbol of our separation?” I repeat the phrase, dumbfounded by the quote.

“Yup. Afterwards I wanted to go pick a peck of pickled peppers I was so moved by his speech,” Aimes says and when she leans forward to address the man at the extreme opposite of the table from her, Lawless reaches over to lift her face to him.

Whatever he shows her in his eyes is enough to bring the pixie back to perch. His thumb gently taps her chin before he releases her and it humbles her even further as she swirls the food before her with her fork. It was such a simple and gentle act that only the silence of her lapse of conversation brings the other men’s heads up. By then, the show is over, leaving them unaware of the act. Lawless has already returned to his food as if nothing has happened. Only my own visible reaction leaves them a clue.

“Were is Simon in all of this?” I ask, trying to recover the flow.

It’s Chapel who picks up the broken pieces of the conversation sensing my need to talk. He says, “Simon is a broken man. I had thought he may recover from losing Shelia and Kira, but once we lost Richard like that, he retreated deeper. Only Dolph really keeps him going now. If Dolph were to quit, Simon would be content to stop living. He would just sit up in that room and let himself wither.”