The Rising

by Eli Constant

  I interrupted him. “That doesn’t sound stupid, Hunter.”

  He smiled, it was a half-formed thing, his eyes crinkling only a little at the edges and his face showing more age than it had before he’d been injured. “There’s only another 150 like it. Keep it safe. It you ever run into another of us, just show him the badge and tell him I gave to you. It’ll earn you a friend hard and fast.”

  “Hunter, I can’t take that,” I said, pointing at the star. It was beautiful. Not in a Mona Lisa hanging in the Louvre way, although I suspected both the star and the lady of the painting held secrets, but in the belief system it stood for, in the sincerity in which it was offered as a gift.

  “Yes, you can. I know you don’t agree with some of the things I’ve let happen here, but the world’s changed hard and fast. Hard and fast like a shooting star.” He grabbed my hand, fast so I wouldn’t have time to pull away, and he shifted it, gently prying my fingers open so my palm faced the sky above us. He set the star into the shelf of my hand. “A shooting star, AJ. I haven’t taken the straightest path, but I’ve survived and these people are alive.”

  I let my fingers close around the metal of the badge. “Don’s gone. Does that mean that whole…that awful fighting them for entertainment will stop?”

  Hunter’s mouth had been a straight line, but now it fell into an obvious frown. “Don wasn’t the one who started that, he just jumped on the bandwagon. There’ll be others wanting to organize it, wanting to go out and try and round up a few. Bored folks do—”

  “Do stupid shit,” I finished for him. “Yeah, I heard it the first time. And you know what, Hunter, it’s still a sorry ass excuse. You…you I respect. What you’ve managed to do here so fast, that I respect. But the path to being as evil as the fuckers we’re fighting, that’s a slippery slope.”

  “Take some advice from a man you respect, and not a man falling down that slippery slope- shoot first, ask questions later. Stay alive.” The way he said it, a world existed in his words. It enveloped me in shades of shadows, hope, and sadness.

  “I understand.” And in truth, I did understand. I understood that he wanted me to stay alive, not in a physical sense, but to keep alive my sense of duty, my sense of rightness. He was telling me to keep focused on my moral compass, to shoot through the sky like the star I gripped in my hand. “Goodbye, Hunter.

  He smiled and shook his head. “Goodbye, AJ.”

  As I entered the RV, the theme song to Walker Texas Ranger met my ears. It was a soft humming, an unconscious sort of sound. It was coming from Juan, sitting patiently in the driver’s seat, thrumming his fingers against the steering wheel. As the sound died away, killed by the increasing tempo of the engine shifting and firing and pushing us forward, I knew in my gut that I’d never be back to Fort Del Rio or see Hunter again.

  PART III

 

  The mobile home navigated the littered road deftly, thanks to the focused hands of Juan. AJ had taken the passenger seat, her legs tilted towards the busted windshield, the toes of her shoes playing against the dirty, cracked glass. She’d had a lot on her mind since leaving Fort Del Rio, not the least of which was images crashing through her brain like they were carried on a roller coaster, the front cars full of bloody meat, the back cars full of salivating zombies.

  Battle dome. Ultimate Fighting Championship, but the fighters were already dead. The sick thing was AJ thought that would have gone over well in the world pre-apocalypse.

  “Want a snack? Martha sent a ton of sweets,” Marty’s voice floated up to Juan and AJ.

  “I can’t believe how much food they gave us.” Sherry’s voice sounded odd, like she was speaking through layers of plastic wrap, her psyche only half-touched by the reality around her. It was distant, quiet, shielded.

  “I’m not hungry, but thanks,” Juan said, turning the wheel just a fraction to go around an overturned truck that was sticking slightly into the road.

  “I’ll take something.” AJ turned in her seat, looking the little boy full in the face. He seemed so happy, just staring at the cardboard box stocked with dessert-y goodness.

  “Éclair, mini sweet potato pie, donut—”

  AJ had a feeling that Marty would go on for hours if she didn’t stop him. “Just give me whatever, I’m not picky.”

  Marty grabbed something out of the box and he jumped quickly from his knees to a standing position before moving the few feet to AJ. “This looks good, but I’m not sure what it is.”

  AJ smiled, reaching her hand out for whatever it was Marty offered. Her smile widened when she held the sweet in her hand. “It’s a plantain fritter. My neighbor back home used to make these when I was young. She’d bring them over hot with a tub of ice cream whenever she knew both my parents were working late.”

  “Is it good?” Marty looked like he regretted giving AJ the fritter, now that he knew what it was and that it might be really tasty.

  “They are, at least the way my neighbor made them they were.” AJ sniffed at the fritter and then she took a small, tentative bite. Her eyes smiled right along with her mouth when the flavor hit her taste buds. “There’s something a bit different in these, but they’re every bit as good as I remember.” AJ broke the fritter in half, taking the side she’d bitten on for herself and handing the other half to Marty.

  Marty took it, a hungry look in his eyes. He nearly shoved the entire half pastry into his mouth. It had been large as far as individual desserts go and he chewed and pushed and struggled for a moment before the half fritter disappeared into his mouth. Then, crumbs falling from between his lips, he grinned and spoke around all the flaky deliciousness. “These really are good.”

  Everyone laughed. AJ’s was a distinct, alto rumble that sounded as if her normal mostly-feminine voice had screamed and screamed until she was hoarse. Juan’s was a masculine bark that shredded at the end, falling into chuckling pieces. Sherry’s was a pealing sound, a little hysterical and yet all-to-sane at the same time, like polar-opposite worlds colliding. And Marty… God, his was a child’s laugh.

  For a moment, a blissful, dessert-fueled moment, the inside of the motor home sounded like heaven.

  And then everyone sobered at the sight of bodies in the road. Dozens of bodies broiled and baked, courtesy of the hot sun above.

  ***

  AJ

  I sat in the back of the mobile home and turned the Texas Ranger badge over and over idly as I studied the wrinkled road map. I’d been staring at the map so long that all of the lines and colors and symbols were beginning to look like an abstract painting.

  There were basically three ways to get from Del Rio to Albuquerque. To the West via El Paso, which was out of the question. El Paso was large, the kid population would be through the roof, and it was slam up against the Mexican Border. To me, that was kids from all side. And I’d fled the border once already; I didn’t plan on doing it again.

  Then there was to the South towards North Lubbock and the outskirts of Amarillo. Lubbock had a population of close to a quarter million; it was no Del Rio, microscopic chance that another Hunter and his compadres had planned for the worst and set that game plan into motion as soon as the shit hit the fan. Combine the size and probable chaos of Lubbock with Amarillo…more potential hostiles than I could imagine. I liked Highway 84; I was the most familiar with it. It avoided Amarillo by 60 miles but it went straight through Lubbock. I hated this.

  I hated how the familiar was no longer safe.

  The last option was right up the middle through Carlsbad and Roswell. Carlsbad’s population was about ten thousand less than Del Rio and Roswell’s was about 10 thousand more. It was a gamble, but everything was. I had always wanted to see aliens though (maybe not as much lately, if I’m honest).

  At normal highway speeds it would have taken only a few hours to get from Del Rio to Fort Stockton, the first real town we’d come across after Del Rio, but we were hardly going highway speeds. Juan kept the big vehicle rolling along around
40 to conserve gas, keeping the window form getting worse and to avoid the occasional road blockages.

  So, going grandma speeds, it took a solid four hours to make the trip to Stockton and by the time we began approaching the town, I could tell Juan was getting tired of the mundane driving.

  “You ready for a break?” I prodded, pulling my feet down from the dash where they’d been perched once again and sitting up stock straight. It made my back pop unpleasantly and I realized my ass was aching too. It had gone numb, I’d been sitting for so long and it protested my sudden movements.

  “Yeah. Know it’s not been that long really, but driving slow is maddening. Few times there, thought I was going to nod off.” Juan cruised to a stop, not bothering to edge towards the side of the road because, hell, there was nothing moving in front of us or behind.

  Only a short while later, I rolled past the town welcome sign at a dead slow crawl. No, not dead slow. We knew now that death comes fast. Those Z kids…it was ridiculous how swiftly they could move at times. Mike used to say something like ‘fools rush where angels fear to tread’. I never really understood it, still didn’t understand it, but I knew I wasn’t a fool. Both the angels and I feared the threats that might hide in the town…in any town now.

  Bringing the RV and attached trailer to a stop less than a hundred yards from a sports park, I studied the scene. I could see at least three baseball fields beyond the child’s park that boasted slides and swings, but nobody was out swinging the bat today. Instead, at least six large white tents had been set up across the fields; the red dust of the ground had deposited a powdery layer against the bottom of each soiled pale surface like the world was bleeding upwards.

  Behind those tents were neatly arranged cars and trucks. There were tables and overturned chairs. Coolers, some open…some closed. It wouldn’t have taken a trained eye to see that this is where the town had tried to organize, to round up survivors, and get them out. There wasn’t a sign of military anywhere. No, this was regular folks trying to save regular folks. I had a feeling they’d failed.

  The park was a ghost town. Nothing moved. The world outside the dirty RV windows didn’t even seem to breathe, like it had been suffocated slowly, mercilessly, and left in the dry heat to dehydrate.

  Unbuckling and standing up, I turned around to face my three companions. Juan was stretched out on the couch, Sherry and Marty leaning against one another on the floor, both looking at a book. More goodies found stuffed in random hidden RV storage.

  “I want to check this out. Doesn’t seem to be anyone around, so should be safe.” I said ‘should’ like I was sure. I wasn’t sure, not even a little bit.

  “Then what’s the point?” Sherry lowered the book and let it rest against her lap. “If there’s no one here, what can possibly be gained by taking the risk?”

  Marty set his book down also and looked up at AJ. “We’ve got plenty to eat and stuff. We don’t need to stop here. Let’s just keep moving.” The boy’s voice was frightened, trembling. The book in his lap shook with the movement of his fingers connected to his body, vibrating with fast-coming fear.

  “It’s always good to try and find out as much as we possibly can. There could be just the piece of intel we need to keep moving forward safely.” I reasoned, but even to me it sounded a bit thin.

  “I agree with Sherry and Marty, AJ. This isn’t military. I mean, there’s not a single military-looking vehicle in sight, the tents look like something you’d see at a town farmer’s market. Even you have to admit that there isn’t likely to be some vital piece of info that tells us where to go, what to do, and how to keep from dying.”

  “Just stay here and lock the door behind me.” I didn’t wait for any more debate. If there was one thing I couldn’t stand, it was people standing around talking instead of doing something.

  The set-up was definitely organized by the town. It looked like Martha Stewart had designed the little pamphlets that told the townspeople to ‘Stay calm in the wake of crisis. Panic never helps’. I wondered if that’s something the Mayor had commissioned. ‘Here, don’t worry, read this trifold and know everything will be just peachy’.

  I searched for only a short time, realizing quickly that Sherry and Juan had been right—this was a waste of a stop, an unnecessary risk. I was moving back between two of the tents, passing a table next to three knocked-down chairs, when a beaten-up briefcase caught my eye. I grabbed it and wondered if it would make this little trip worthwhile.

  “Found it lying on its side in the corner of the tent,” I said, holding up the case as I pushed through the open doorway. Juan had locked it after I’d left, kept a lookout for my return, and then swung the door open as I’d approached. “You all were right, waste of time.”

  “Let’s open it. Who knows, maybe it contains the keys to the kingdom.” Juan secured the door again and followed to the sofa. When we were both seated, I flipped open the briefcase latches. Marty got up on his knees, dropping his book to the carpet so he could see what was inside. Sherry didn’t seem interested. She held her book loosely in her hands, cross-legged on the floor, staring towards the windshield blankly.

  Inside were flyers and instructions to the population of Fort Stockton as to what and how much they could carry, when they were assigned to be evacuated, and their destination.

  Their destination…

  “Those poor people,” I breathed out, “they didn’t stand a chance.”

  Juan leaned in closer to me so he could see the destination. “Damn,” he muttered.

  “What’s wrong? Didn’t they make it?” Marty lifted as tall as he could from a kneeling position and found the name of where the people were supposed to go for safety. “To be air-lifted out of Laughlin…that sounds familiar.”

  “It’s the base that was overrun, the one in Del Rio near the fort we stayed at, Marty.” Sherry’s voice was still; that quiet storm, clouds flashing with unshed lightning. “That means that they—”

  Marty interrupted Sherry. “It means they didn’t make it, right?”

  “Some could have gotten out, Marty.” I said, patting his shoulder lightly. “Security could have held long enough to get a few planes off the ground.” I didn’t believe what I was saying. In my gut, I knew the whole town was dead. They wouldn’t have made it to Laughlin in time. I wondered how many of the vehicles on the road coming this way had been people from here trying to get to the base.

  “Yeah, I guess,” Marty replied softly dropping to sit fully on the ground.

  “Let’s get on the road,” Juan muttered, reaching across me to lower the lid of the case and flip the latches into the locked position. “No use crying over shit we can’t change.”

  “We really shouldn’t curse around Marty,” Sherry’s storm-strangled voice whispered.

  “I heard way worse from my mamma anytime we were running late or got stuck behind ‘some slow ass’ on the road.” Marty changed his voice when he said ‘some slow ass’, like he was trying to mimic his mom. I think it made him sad, because he immediately sobered and quieted.

  I took the wheel again, my thoughts miles down the road and focused on getting us to safety. My station had to still be intact. Albuquerque had to still be operational. But if the military couldn’t rescue a small town like Fort Stockton then what would happen to the bigger cities? I tried to forget about it and focus on the road ahead of me. We would pass through some small towns but the next one of any size would be Carlsbad, New Mexico. If we were lucky, we’d get through it before dark and hunker down for the night in the middle of nowhere land- zombie free.

  The small town of Pecos went by in what felt like a blink, like if I closed my eyes and reopened them then the town would disappear altogether, the buildings going wherever the bodies had ended up. Because I was sure they didn’t survive. I’m sure it was the same here as it was in Stockton. Go to Laughlin, they’ll get you out…only, they wouldn’t. It was the falsest kind of hope wrapped in the guise of brittle, waning authority.r />
  I could hope, though, that they’d tried to evacuate to a different location. A girl could hope. A girl could dream. Juan took over for me after Pecos. I wasn’t tired, not really. It was more that the loss of Stockton, even though I didn’t know the people, was enough to tire me out. To drain my brain, body, heart.

  I looked at Sherry as I moved from the driver’s seat back to the kitchen, my stomach growling for a bit of something. Her eyes closed and lying in one of the bunkbeds with Marty curled against her. I envied the peace of the boy’s face. I did not envy the look of nightmares that continually flashed across the woman’s though. Grabbing a baked good, not even paying attention as to what kind it was, I moved back to the passenger’s seat. My eyes began drooping before I’d finished the second bite.

  I jumped when a hand touched my shoulder and a voice whispered. “Marty’s really hot, running a fever I think. Do we have anything for him?”

  Forced back into alertness, I straightened up my body. It had slumped down along with my eyelids. I’d slept for a short while; I must have, because it was beginning to dim in the world outside the windshield.

  “Where are we, Juan?” My voice didn’t sound sleepy at all. Good for me.

  “Still maybe two hours outside Carlsbad,” he replied, eyes focused on the road.

  Carlsbad was two hours away still, when the sun began to do that dance it did each morning and evening, kissing the horizon either hello or goodbye. We wouldn’t make it by dark. We needed to park somewhere safe soon. And what did it mean that Marty wasn’t feeling well? Could he have somehow contracted the virus? No…no…he hadn’t been near enough to the monsters, near enough to be harmed. I stood up and followed Sherry back to Marty. I looked at him appraisingly, seeing the flush of his cheeks and the dew clinging to his brow.