The Rising

by Eli Constant

  I stood. “Marty, come on, buddy. Maybe Ms. Martha can find us something sweet to snack on.” I smiled when he looked at me, wide and sincere so, hopefully, he could avoid the onset of fear which was springing to life in my stomach.

  “Ice cream?” he chirped, gathering up all of our drawings in a neat pile and placing each crayon gently in the plastic bag we’d found them in. He was a conscientious child, a gentle thing. He was the kind of son I’d want to have if I was ever blessed with motherhood.

  That thought made me look at him with more intensity, recognizing what a special boy he was. It was the end of the world. This was my motherhood, perhaps my only crack at it.

  “I can scrounge you up something.” Martha’s voice was still clear, strong, but also tender. “Growing boys need goodies.”

  It’s something a grandmother figure would say. Here we were- an unlikely mother and stand-in grandmother. ‘Family’ forged by blood and ruin.

  Juan stepped to the side of the door so Marty and I could climb out of the RV. Martha was already heading towards the clubhouse entrance. I didn’t begin following her until he stepped down also, joining us on the paved parking lot.

  “What do you think’s going on?” I spoke low, barely above a whisper so Marty, skipping in front of us, wouldn’t hear.

  “I doubt they have random middle-of-the-day gatherings for no reason.” Juan’s voice wasn’t stressed. He had more faith in this community than I did. Maybe it was his martial arts discipline attracting to other types of discipline—AJ’s law enforcement mentality…other things about AJ.

  Like her gorgeous looks and ability to kick bad guy ass.

  I sighed, wanting to say something else to Juan, but nothing came to mind. I was coming to terms with the ‘ship has sailed’ in reference to me and Juan. Jesus, there’d never been a me and Juan. It had all been fantasies, on both of our sides. I mean, at least on my side.

  We entered the club house, the air conditioning hitting against my face. Colder than the RV. Cold enough to give me goosebumps, but I wondered if that was more a result of my jumpy nerves versus it actually being too cool.

  The cold wasn’t what should have caught my attention.

  What I should have realized first was that we’d just walked into what appeared to be a completely empty building. Not a single person sat at the tables. Not a single person bustled about the room.

  Martha hovered at the door to the kitchens, the door she’d strode out of during breakfast. “Y’all are moving like turtles.”

  “I thought we were going to have something sweet?” Marty had stopped walking. So had Juan and I, I realized. “No one’s here.”

  “They are. Just gathered in another spot. Now come on.” Martha waved her hand, beckoning us forward, and then she pushed through the door to the kitchens. To the kitchens, and wherever else the entrance led.

  Juan and I exchanged a glance and then we followed. “Come on, buddy.” I took Marty’s hand as I passed, bending down slightly to reach his fingers. It felt right, our two hands intertwined. I gave a little squeeze, causing his eyes to flick upwards to my face. When I smiled, he tried to smile back, God love him.

  The space beyond the door was a kitchen. Smaller than I expected, but everything a person would need to make decent meals. There were two other doors, one leading to a small wash room, the other leading to what looked like a store room.

  The latter is where Martha stood, looking impatient again. We watched as she shifted a large shelving unit out of the way to reveal yet another door. “This isn’t some secret passageway, as y’all might be thinking. The golf course developers didn’t have the foresight to expect hell on earth.” She gave an abrupt, throaty laugh. “We added the shelf, quarantined this part off. It leads to a large conference space. There was a second entrance but we boarded that up. And the windows of course.”

  We followed her through the door she’d just revealed and opened.

  “This way, the kitchen staff could access both sides of the building. One side for normal golfers, other side for special events and such.” Martha closed the door again once we were all behind it and then she locked it. Two deadbolts plus a thick slab of wood nestled on two same-height brackets. “We added a few security measures here and there but nothing fancy. It’s a good place to keep the kids and people who can’t fight.”

  “I can fight. I shouldn’t be in here.” Juan’s voice was confident.

  I spoke fast, not wanting Martha to respond. Not wanting him to leave. I may not want to jump his bones anymore, but he still made me feel safe.

  “Why wouldn’t you just secure this whole building?” My words came out in a fast jumble. And then I remembered something I’d thought about the club house when we’d first entered. No wonder the outside of the club house seemed so big compared to the inside. We weren’t seeing more than half of the actual interior. I could hear soft voices now. We were walking through a dim hallway, boarded up windows on one side, a line of mirrors on the other.

  “Well, that’d be Hunter’s doing. He likes the view from the dining area, likes the sun coming in. Says it cheers him up.” Martha turned the knob on one more door. “That man usually gets what he wants. Then again, he also saved all these people by setting this place up so fast. I don’t imagine any other man in the world could have done what my Hunter did.”

  “I think you might be right, Martha,” Juan said. And the conviction in his voice kept me from saying anything else, from questioning anything else. I wasn’t sure of this place, wasn’t sure at all, but I could tell that Juan might stay here if it wasn’t for AJ needing to move on, to get to her station. AJ again. This time I didn’t sigh. You don’t sigh when an unavoidable truth keeps rearing its head. That’s just a waste of energy. And I wasn’t the type of girl to waste energy. If I was, then I’d waste away my waist a little more often.

  I almost laughed at that thought but I didn’t.

  I’m sure all of the people in the large room, sitting and lying on sleeping bags, would have looked at me like I was an insane person. Insane at the end of the world. Insane in the membrane.

  Shit, laughing would make me feel better, dammit.

  No sooner did Martha close the door behind us, again locking the door with several bolts and other measures, then gunfire erupted in the distance.

  Juan placed his hand on Martha’s shoulder as she put the piece of wood in place. “Martha, AJ’s out there. I should be too. I can handle myself.”

  “They’ve got it under control, Juan. You’re a good man for wanting to go help. You can do a world of help here too if things get out of hand.” Martha lifted her own hand and patted his gently. “Take care of Sherry and the boy. He looks shaken up. There’s a few plates of cookies over on that table.” She pointed. “Just so he doesn’t feel totally suckered into coming here.”

  I turned away from them, Marty’s hand still firmly in mine, and looked where Martha had pointed. A round table sat in the corner of the room, laden with cookies and water bottles. “Cookie?” I questioned, looking down at the boy and realizing Martha was right. He’d put two and two together. He knew we weren’t here for a gathering or any sort of fun.

  Marty’s eyes found mine, his face pale and drained of color. “Sure,” he croaked in the barest whisper of a whisper. We began walking.

  Several women carrying firearms moved also, catching my attention as Marty and I headed towards the large piles of chocolate chips and snickerdoodles. The women each took a spot at the back of the conference room next to another row of boarded-up windows. These windows had strategic holes in the wood to provide sightlines. I found it comforting that the glass beyond those holes were unscathed. Unbroken.

  No bullets had been fired to protect this room.

  That had to mean that here, we were safe.

  Another round of gunfire sounded, invisible bullets pushing through my skin to embed in my stomach and make all the assurances I tried to mentally feed myself, die.

  Nowhere was
safe now.

  And if I’d known this is where I’d end up at the end of things; still overweight, still single, still battling the occasional bout of teenage-inspired acne- I probably would have said screw the diet shakes, screw the self-starvation, screw the gym memberships I never used. I would have eaten cake. I would have eaten cake as often as I freaking wanted.

  Because there’s no dessert at the end.

  We were at the cookies now, Marty already reaching for a perfectly-browned circle of goodness.

  And I did laugh.

  I fucking laughed because there was dessert. Here, folks, join the apocalypse. We’ve got zombies and white chocolate macadamia nut. And they’re simply to die for.

  Marty and I both ate a cookie huddling together on the cool floor so close to the sweets table that the white cloth covering its surface brushed my shoulder. It felt like we sat there forever, muffled screams and gunfire the soundtrack that muted the soft conversations around us. I didn’t look at the people enduring this with us. I didn’t want to see the ‘what ifs’ on their faces. It would just compound what I was feeling and I didn’t need that.

  Finally, after a lifetime, the chaotic CD outside shut off. The voices around us fell into silence, joining the quietude. And then, I did look at the expressions of hope and fear and fragility. Then, and only then, did I entertain the ‘what ifs’ that surrounded me.

  ***

  AJ

  I saw the war raging on Hunter’s face. I saw anger and frustration and disbelief.

  But then I saw him aim his gun at his once-daughter.

  I saw him pull the trigger.

  I saw the bullet enter her temple and her face go slack.

  And then he turned towards his granddaughter.

  “Hunter, let me.” I moved my body, getting her in my sight lines. Balancing on the edge of the tipped bus had been increasingly more difficult, so I’d moved to the adjacent car across the gap in the fence where his daughter had been trying to pass through.

  “No, AJ. This is my job. My doing. I never should have kept my granddaughter alive. I knew it was wrong, knew it in my bones. And look what it’s caused.”

  Nodding, I said nothing more, because I understood. He and I were both the type of people who had to right whatever wrongs had happened at our own hands. It was a sense of honor. I aimed at another demon child trying to climb up the wall. I wasn’t the only one shooting. Bullets flew like falling stars, digging into the last of the assaulters.

  There were only three Z kids left standing now. The adults were ripped to shreds, even the adult male that had lifted his one-legged body up so the overall-wearing mini-monster could stand on his shoulders and fallen back to the ground. They still tried though, still flailed and shifted and tried to stand to mount the wall. I wondered if they did it of their own accord, or if the remaining Z kids were making them continue to try.

  Don had said the adults would fight if the kids weren’t around, that they would go for fresh meat. That could have been a fluke though. They’d only had battle dome once. I shudder, thinking about it. It was wrong. These people couldn’t help what had happened to them, they hadn’t asked to be changed, to be altered. To die.

  Pitting them against one another in some sick Ultimate Fighting Championship was inhumane.

  Finally, after what seemed like an endless barrage of bullets and so many hours that my trigger finger was starting to cramp, the guns quieted. And everything became eerily quiet. So silent that a pin dropping would have been a punch to the eardrums.

  The first thing to break the silence was Hunter talking into the radio he’d had clipped to his belt this whole time. “SIERRA, this is HOTEL. Do you copy? Over.”

  Silence like fog descended once more. No answer. He waited. We all waited.

  “SIERRA, this is HOTEL. Do you copy? Over.”

  Fog. More fog.

  “Get the injured to the pro shop for tending. Pile up the bodies and burn ‘em,” Hunter’s voice called out, the radio returning to its place clipped to his belt. I could tell he was making an effort not to look down at his daughter’s inert body wedged in the crack between the tilted bus and car wall or at the space a few yards into the fort where his granddaughter Dana was folded against the hard ground. Don’s head had fallen from her grip and rolled a yard away from her. Even from the height and distance I was at, I could see that his eyes were open. It made my blood run cold as ice in my veins.

  “I want to go check on my friends,” I said, looking for my easiest route down from the wall.

  “I’m sure Martha’s got them in the safe room.” He looked down too, shifting his feet on the angled bus. I didn’t know how he’d stood on it so long. My calves were aching from the strain of keeping my balance. Hunter really was part mountain lion. “I need to check on Sloane. I know you’re worried about your friends, but I promise you they’re safe. I can’t say the same about my men and Sloane is like family.”

  I knew what he was asking and knew why he wouldn’t say it out right. I wasn’t one of his people. I had no obligation to follow him into another fight. I would, though. Of course I would.

  “I’ll come with you if you could use an extra hand.”

  He didn’t allow relief to show on his face. He didn’t posture or feign extreme gratitude. He just said ‘thanks’. A single word, but I knew the weight behind it.

  ***

  HUNTER

  As we drew closer to the battle raging at the back wall, I heard M-60s open up and then rifles. Sloane and seven other men stood atop the wall, using short controlled bursts so the weapons wouldn’t heat up and jam. The seven still with him weren’t all part of the eight he’d chosen at the wall. Some had to be the group Martha sent out after Jacob went to warn her. She’d have sent four, maybe five people. Probably some of the Guardian Angels because they would have already been with her.

  I saw no women, only men. I knew that meant we’d lost people here, more than at the front gate. Five or six dead. That blood, too, was on my head. All for the love of a daughter and a granddaughter.

  I slammed my truck into park behind the wall next to the black cargo van Sloane drove. Getting out, M-6 at the ready, I looked up and caught sight of one man who had paused firing to glance behind. It was a guy we’d nicknamed Duke because he claimed to hail from some aristocratic line in England, yet looked, talked, and acted like a coarse country boy. He was a good aim, though, one Martha must have sent. He didn’t say anything or nod, he just went back to firing at the incoming ZULUs.

  It was a fact that Duke couldn’t die here. He’d served as a field medic in the Army for over five years and we needed him. Aside from a girl a year into nursing school, he had the most medical training in the community.

  AJ and I walked closer to the wall, me in the lead, and both of us simultaneously looked at the bodies of the men laid out side-by-side next to the single and double pile of cars that acted like a faux staircase. Georgie. Shane. Willy. Each head bore a bullet hole. They’d made sure they wouldn’t come back as one of those things. That was good. Beside those carefully rested bodies, was a smoking pile of blackened flesh and peeking bones. The Z kids AJ and I had killed when we were here. The trap-layers. They weren’t just burned by the sun now, they were overdone BBQ, too charred for even good sauce to make them edible.

  We mounted the cars, working our way onto the wall to join bullets to the cacophony of war.

  Sloane gave a jerky, fast nod when I took position beside him.

  And then I looked out onto the terrain, to ingest the enemy numbers beyond the border of the world we’d built so fast, thinking we could survive whatever the hell was happening to the world.

  We’d worked tirelessly piling the cars, running the wires, bolting the metal. Some days, we’d run off coffee and adrenaline. What we’d accomplished in about two weeks would seem impossible to someone who hadn’t witnessed the well-planned, coordinated efforts. Even with the game plan in place, the buddies on board, the fort was still a miracl
e. A miracle I didn’t want to give up.

  But there were so many. More here than at the front of the wall.

  Sloane and the men had put a massive dent in the attackers. Some were too riddled with holes to move, others dragged bleeding lower halves across the dusty ground. One Z adult was a mass of stringy flesh and intestines from the hip down. She army-crawled, her mouth gaping open and closed, a Z kid in a purple romper holding the end of her necklace in her hand and urging her onward.

  The rest of the small monsters were racing forward, fast and furious, their short legs pumping at Olympic speeds.

  But Sloane’s men were effective, downing the incomings before they could get within five yards of the wall.

  I didn’t understand how there were so many. We’d scouted this terrain, we’d checked the abandoned military vehicles. We’d done everything we could to ensure there wasn’t some secret den of fuckers lying in wait.

  We’d seen a stray monster here and there, but this…

  These monsters had joined the hunt, they’d been recruited. Not mindless creatures. They were mothers seeking daughters. They were strategists. Tactical.

  The weapons on the wall were being fired in full fury. Bestial screams sounded, filtering through the noise of gunfire. I could also tell the pitch of the weapons was changing, getting loader and more pronounced. I lifted my gun, AJ following suit, and I joined the fight.

  Pop.

  Pop.

  Pop.

  I kept track of my trigger pulls in my head; I followed the tract of my bullets. It was a way to stay focused in the din, a tactic I’d used before.

  Sloane yelled, “Someone get that bitch!”

  My eyes flicked to the left, finding the once-a-kid that had pushed through that magical fifty-foot line they’d been trying to maintain. It was a boy, pale as snow, unlike the other Z kids we’d seen too-long exposed to the sun. This one had been protected, preserved. He moved the tiniest bit faster than his counterparts, hoping from foot to foot like he was traversing tires at a football training camp.