The Risen: Dawning (7 page)

T
he sound of their motorcycles leaving the lot sends a wave of shocking disbelief through the room. The depleting sound sends most standing as if they can watch them leave through the thick walls. Some it sends deeper into their excited conversations. Most though, it just sends looking to us for answers.

With false determination to remove unseen spots, Aimes cleans the glass in her hand. “I hear Florida is nice this time of year.” Even as she is avoiding their gaze, I can hear the disappointment in her voice.

Her emotions open the door for others’ emotions, also. Emotions from those that have come here for help that are now left stranded without answers. Their confusion pours out like a flood around us. Some begin debating their next move, wondering if J.D. and Lawless are coming back or if they are taking the coward’s way out, leaving so many behind. Some begin to argue when such an insult is presented, as anger is always an easier emotion for men to admit to than the fears they may be feeling. The women sitting around the area begin blending further in with the walls around them as voices rise and finally the tension breaks. It crashes over the crowd in angry words and threatening innuendo-filling sentences.

The results cause some to slink out with fears for their own safety while others just leave soaking in self-absorbing worry about what is to become of them. Marxx and Rhett take up their normal mantel of enforcers, removing the most hate-filled patrons with glee. They strip the deserters of their vests in the process. Daddy might not be home, but his rules are still violently felt. No loyalty. No vest. No protection.

When the waves finally calm, it is just a handful of us left amid the debris from the storm. Rhett, with his smiling enjoyment of the fight, stands guard over the back door. Marxx stands with his silent glare at the front, daring any to attempt to come back. Chapel sits in a back booth. He has been watching the whole event while sipping on his frosted mug, never bothered by the drama or bothering to help stop it. He sat watching it all and now sits waiting for whatever is next with the same lack of interest. Aimes and I stand behind the large oak bar playing rock, paper, and scissors to figure out who gets to clean up what, with our own lack of care. Regardless of how each of us is feeling about what has just happened, we never would’ve wished upon them what was about to happen.

It is Bridget’s screaming that brings us running to the large tinted windows first, even as other feminine screams slowly join in her chorus. The monsters have found us, and they are surrounding the lot with shuffled steps and grunts of their vocal sounds. Glazed eyes begin picking their targets with eagerness, splitting groups into smaller numbers as they spread out towards their new victims. The loud noises from the many roaring Harley engines are acting like a dinner bell to their ears. Lines of shambling bodies form down the streets heading to the bar like a horrific Halloween parade. Long arms reach out, pulling people from their motorcycles, or the motorcycles down all together, as person after person falls to the walking nightmare versions of our town folk.

“What the hell are they?” Aimes whispers, staring out.

Chapel’s lifeless voice from behind us at his booth offers the first answer given to us all day.

“Their flesh will rot while they are still standing on their feet. Their eyes will rot in their sockets. Their tongues will rot in their mouths. On that day, they will be terrified, stricken by the Lord with great panic. Each man will seize the hand of another, and they will attack each other.”

“Did he just quote scripture?” Rhett’s forehead creases with his question. He shakes his head in amusement as his twisted sense of self continues to watch the window. “Is that what you think Chap? Last time I checked, when God wants us gone, he just washes it clean. Kind of like a final judgment deal. Not a survival of the fittest.”

All around us, it is the same as it has been all morning. Never-ending terrors that even the darkest of plots never would dare to imagine, surrounding us, sipping from our humanity to feed their survival. I am still not sure which is worse. Is it when the screaming starts or when it ends?

Both have their own signals for the events that are unfolding in crimson soaked colors. Is it what they are, that makes it so horrid? Is it their style of attacks, that make my blood run cold? Is it knowing what they do to those they attack, that makes my heart quiver with fear? Perhaps it is the truth of it all combined into one horrific package wrapped with a bright, shiny, blood-dripping bow.

“They are the Risen.” says Chapel drawing a long sip from his beer. “And it is what we will all become. One by one, until there is no one left but the Devil himself to walk this earth.”

No one has the voice to argue with him as we watch those that were sitting among us only moments ago being devoured before us. Aimes and I huddle together under the window, covering our ears from the remaining fading screams. Screams that will reach us no matter how deep of a sleep we shall ever again be blessed to reach.

“What the hell happened here?” The voice startles everyone in the room. Rhett and Marxx reach for their holsters reactively as they spin to face the back of the room.

J.D. does his normal chuckle at their reaction as he makes his way to us over the broken tables and the remains of many crushed glasses with Lawless behind him. We are at a loss for words as the two men who started all of this with such a simple act stand so calmly beside us now at the window. J.D. does not seem surprised to see that we are all that is left of the once filled room. He is eyeing the destruction with slight annoyance at missing a good show. I can feel Lawless’ guilt seeping from him like a wound, as he is watching the all too real horror show framed by the window. Each fading scream becoming another notch of failure he will wear forever upon his soul.

“You left!” Aimes screams. “How could you do that? You left and they all freaked out. Went total white trash talk show at being left behind. The only thing missing was a “who’s your daddy” moment to complete it.”

Her screams cause the Risen to pause. Slow hunting movements bring their focus to where we stand but the dark tinted glass used to keep prying eyes away protects us. Some stare transfixed, as if seeing their reflections for the first time. They stare confused at what is being shown back to them, cocking their heads left and right trying to figure out what is being shown to them. Others return to their previous victims with disinterest at what they cannot chase.

“We had precautions in place for you and Snowy there.” J.D. answers her without removing his eyes from the carnage. Marxx and Rhett shuffle some, giving away little as to what has really just happened.

Marxx glares down at us while talking to J.D. with his deep gravel-filled voice, warning her to not push the topic anymore. We both cringe under the heat of it. “When you two pulled out for your joy ride, not too many were happy to hear you go. On the way out they ran into what Chapel here calls the Risen.”

“Risen, huh?” J.D. shrugs, staying silent for a moment as if weighing the word. “It works for me. Not as if those things out there care one way or another what we call them. Just as long as we feed them. How many did Chapel’s Risen get?”

“A good bit. Don’t worry. Chapel says we will see them again soon. It is all very cheerful.” Marxx says, leaving the window and its visions of death. He is the first to break the train wreck trance that is holding us captive. “Anyone have a plan to get us out of here or do we all just sit till Chap’s reverse Rapture kills us all?”

“Yeah, we got a plan.” J.D. is still as he watches. If he feels any remorse for those that have fallen, he will never admit it. Those of us left in the room read him in ways that vocabulary is not needed to understand his mood swings. Watching him softens the anger we are feeling about his departure.

“We had to.” He almost whispers as his cold slate eyes roam the carnage before him. “We can’t make our way anywhere with so many of us. Look at them. They are all over town. Walking. Stumbling. Watching. Hell, some are half missing pieces, but they keep coming. One after another, they just keep on coming.”

He turns to stare at us. “We had to thin the herd. Take only what we can protect. Only those that can protect each other. I knew as soon as we left most of these cowards would file out like rats on a boat without us here to hand feed them. What if that would have happened when we are out there? When we are depending on them? We had to. The silent ones are just wolves in sheep’s clothing. They will kill you just as fast should the mindless herd suggest it. So just stop with the bullshit glares and get up. We ain’t sitting here all day to be food for Chap’s idea of a second coming.”

Aimes and I cringe under that misplaced anger. We wait until he steps away from us before we even begin thinking about getting up ourselves. Like fearful children, we wait until Daddy is out of reach, and only then, do we help the other to out feet. We keep our backs to the window so that we may keep another very real nightmare in our sight.

His stride is filling with rage with each step as he makes his way to the bar, not looking to see who is following his lead. The crunching glass beneath his boots as he walks wordlessly tells us its own opinion about the situation. “And if I hear one more word about your religious ranting Chap, I’ll feed you to your Risen myself. Then we can all see on which side of your Maker you sit.”

J.D.’s plan is simple. Simple as in a suicide attempt is simple with its many plot-caving holes. His logic is guns; lots of guns. Somehow, the end of the world has turned into a boy’s playground as each man in the room slides a slow smile onto his face at this revelation. Where does one find all these guns for them to play with? Well, that is the cherry.

He is sitting upon a stool as we all stand around him, like the good little children we are, waiting for a story. Children left alone amid shards of broken glass and splintered tables. Maybe this is why none of his wives ever suggested kids with him. Daddy doesn’t quite grasp the concept of safety first. He is wearing a proud smirk as he tells us his plans. They leave me torn between annoyance and amusement with him. The smirk on his face tips it to amusement. What can I say? I am a sucker for a good smile and a biker. Sue me.

He has been divorced now from wife number four for a few years, depending on which side you speak to, the exact number of years changes, as does the exact reason why. Neither detail matters much to me enough to really explore it. We all have our own scars and to explore others’ invites them to explore yours. No thanks.

Right now, he is taking full advantage of his scars. His wife left him for another well-known hell-raiser in an either very ironic twist or an impressive act of self-hatred. The new husband, Lee, is the owner of the most well-stocked gun store in town. Lee could often be found boasting in his normal drunken state, and wearing a new flannel shirt every day, that there is not a model made he does not have either on the shelf or in his very locked safe. I guess J.D. is about to call that bluff.

The fact that our genius plan is to try to break into a place better armed than the police station, owned by someone with less self-control than one, makes me pause to wonder when exactly I thought J.D. to be smart. Aimes must be having the same thoughts with her half-cocked eyebrow at me over the flow of male conversation around us. Sometimes it really is depressing to be the only girls.

“You want us to break in and steal these items?” Chapel’s voice still holds its empty echo of numbness.

“The world has gone to shit. I don’t think the rules apply anymore.” Rhett mutters.

“Then we really have fallen.” Chap whispers to his beer, in its never-ending mug he seems to have.

“You worry about our souls and how about I worry about our flesh, eh Chap? We will see which one turns out to be more important.” J.D. calls out, never acknowledging the other man with so much as a glance in his direction.

“OK, moral code aside,” I offer, trying to diffuse the building situation “how are we going to even get close to that place? Lee had a “shoot first” point of view before all of this. I can only imagine how welcoming he is going to be now.”

“He won’t be a problem.” The voice J.D. uses has a finality about it that makes us all look away.

I look to Lawless to see his reaction, but he refuses to meet my eyes. Aimes squeezes my hand in a silent communication to let it drop. She is right. If I have learned anything today, it is that there are many worse things than what J.D. may or may not have done to Lee. Worse is to think of what Lawless may have done to help him. Who knows, by the time this all plays out, we may be envious of Lee and whatever the truth of him may be.

“…and after the guns?” Aimes asks in a whisper. She is still holding my hand and I am haunted with the images of smaller hands that also needed my strength hours ago.

“My hunting cabin.” He says, making his voice gentle for her. “I always keep it fully stocked for when you girls annoy the shit out of me and I have to go shoot something.” He lets a slow, teasing smile sneak onto his face, and we are not sure if he means it as a joke or a warning. We are not asking. Smile and nod, baby. Smile and nod.