The Rising

by Eli Constant

  Resigning myself to at least two trips, maybe three if I wanted to keep the gun handy, I propped the front door of the store open and moved all of the bags out onto the sidewalk.

  As I carried the first three bags to the RV, settling on making less trips without the weapon out, I kept my gaze in constant motion, making sure nothing was going to come out of the surrounding buildings unexpectedly. AJ was already stood at the top of the RV stairs, hands out and ready for the bags. I handed them over, only nodding and not initiating any verbal exchange. The faster I got the other three bags over, the better.

  This was too easy. Far too easy. And that made me nervous, jumpy, unsure of myself.

  I was almost to the store, my upper body already bent, my arms already extended and my fingers already prepared to curl around the paper handles, when the oddest sound made me stop in my tracks.

  I paused, feeling like I was a movie and the watchers had hit the slow-motion button so they wouldn’t miss any second of what was about to go down.

  The sound was almost a ‘clomp, clomp, clomp’, in slow, almost perfectly coordinated succession. And it was a dual or triple or quadruple sound, like there were several of the same whatever it was making that ‘clomp, clomp, clomp’ at the same time, imposed over one another like a compounded soundtrack on a rap CD.

  I turned my attention to the street corner two buildings down and the most bizarre image I had ever seen met my eyes. And the ‘clomping’ was joined by a neighing.

  I stood, frozen and unable to take my eyes off of the three half-dressed Native Americans on horseback, all armed with AK-47s, riding slowly toward me. The horses’ hooves knocking against the pavement of the road as they arced around the sidewalk and unlit streetlamp, was like something out of a post-war painting, in some alternative universe where their people were never murdered into submission and forced onto reservations. If it wasn’t for the rifles, the smack of modernization surrounding me, I would have sworn I’d fallen through some rift in time.

  When they were upon me, the horses’ legs shifting with repressed energy, I sputtered out the dumbest thing I could possibly have said. “You’re Indians…” I let the words trail off, knowing they were stupid as soon as I started saying them.

  “And you look like a cowboy,” the front rider said, in a voice free of cultural or geographical inflection.

  The burst of laughter from the apparent leader was followed by chuckles from one of the other riders. He was a good-looking brute, not much over 5’9” (although it was hard to tell on horseback) and he carried himself with an air of confidence. I knew I was gawking but seeing three live Indians ride up bareback, what else was there to do? Eventually the front man, his deeply-tanned skin and black hair falling in a wild curtain around his head, spoke again.

  “My name is Kirkland Ross, also known as Ahote, the Restless One. This is Chepi and this is Matoskah. Chepi let out a “YIP!” when his name was mentioned. Matoskah remained stone-faced.

  “Nice to meet you,” I squinted; the sun was cresting one of the lower buildings now, the perfect position to assault my eyes. “I’m Juan.”

  “Juan, what brings you to the fine city of Carlsbad.” The way Ahote said it, there was possession in his tone. His eyes moved from my face to the RV. I followed his gaze and found AJ stood on the pavement near the RV, M-16 in her grip and her face unreadable. She had her issue vest on, the one that made it clear who she worked for and what she was. “And what brings the Border Patrol here so far from the border and all of the desperate people only seeking to make better lives.” Now, the possession had been replaced by distaste.

  Chepi and Matoskah grumbled through closed lips. For some reason, none of the men felt kindly towards AJ, or AJ’s career choice. I couldn’t help but admire Ahote’s confidence though…or maybe it was the fact that he was, at the moment, positioned on a horse, looming over me and looking larger than life.

  “Look, we don’t want trouble. AJ,” I pointed at her and she moved a step forward. I stopped her with an open palm pushing outward, signaling for her to stay where she was, “saved my life and the life of my friend, plus a little boy we’ve been taking care of. She’s a good woman. All we’re trying to do is get some soup for the kid who’s sick and make our way to Albuquerque Station.”

  Ahote looked at AJ once more and then back at me, the small thread of tension dissolved between us. “We have wondered more than once why this store had not been raided.” He glanced at the propped-open door.

  “It was pure luck that let us see what the hell it was. Damn things practically disguised.”

  Ahote nodded. “Yes. We don’t have any grief with you, Juan. We patrol Carlsbad now, absorbing it back into the lands of our People. We have ridded this area of the demon spirits and we will keep it that way.”

  Chepi and Matoskah repeated his words, their voices low and reverent. “Demon spirits.”

  “Demon Sprits?” I asked, because it didn’t dawn on me at first what the hell they meant.

  “The dead that have risen, friend,” Ahote clarified, “The elders call them demons, I call them the reckoning for this world that has so mistreated the world, our mother. I call them punishment for the world which has so mistreated its people and forgotten the five genders and the ways of the true spirit, the energy of the planet.”

  “You…your people…there are no more of the demons here?” I tried not to sound sarcastic when I said ‘demons’. I had my own beliefs—in an unseen God and winged angels—it was beyond hypocritical to judge another’s beliefs because they felt like fantasy.

  “That is a long story, my friend. One I do not care to explain. Let us see the boy, let us see if there is something we can do.” Still, although he spoke more formally than the average American, there was no accent marring his words.

  I just looked at him, nodded and began walking across the street after picking up the three paper bags still sitting in the morning light against the sidewalk. The sound of the horses followed me, but now also the sounds of feet padding softly against the street joined the chorus. I knew the world had gone to hell in a hand basket but this was just plain weird.

  As we were nearly to the motor home, someone spoke from behind me. I think it was Chepi, although I had not heard his voice enough to be sure. “Have any coffee in there? I really miss that stuff. Haven’t found any anywhere since this all happened.”

  “Yeah, we’ve got some,” I said, my eyes meeting AJ’s. She’d stayed standing next to the RV, her shoes firmly planted against the ground, the M-16 still in hand. I knew what she was feeling, that fear that at any moment, this strange situation could turn deadly. The weirdness of it had settled over me, but my gut told me we had nothing to fear from this band of men resurrected from a wild world long lost.

  I did wonder what it meant in the scheme of things, in the hope for the future. Are these the sorts of things we should expect now, as the planet and its inhabitants continue to adapt? They’d said Carlsbad was free of the demons, of the monsters, yet, it was still silent and dormant. The life had not returned.

  Weeks…only weeks…and the world was presenting as a changeling that would not go willingly back to being what it was.

  It was a really odd scene a half hour later in the RV. Ahote had said it was okay to turn on the light what with the zombie adults and kids gone, so we did and now we were sitting in the living room listening to his story. Marty was in the back with his new friend Matoskah. He was leaning against a stack of pillows on the lower bunk bed looking pale and hot, but he was playing a game with cards that I didn’t recognize and he was weakly smiling at the man who taught him whatever game it was. An empty cup that once held a tincture of herbs and hot water lay on its side on the bed. Sherry was making him soup, standing at the stove with her back to me and AJ. We were sitting on the sofa with Ahote on the soiled carpet. Chepi, for his part, was on his second mug of coffee already; basically in heaven, or so he said.

  Matoskah, I found out later after a fast-wh
ispered sentence from Ahote, had lost his boy a year ago when he fell into a ravine. Ahote said it was the first time he had seen the man really happy, playing with Marty and periodically checking his head with his palm, seeing if the herbs were having some effect on the fever.

  Ahote had told us much already, but he was just entering into his story, his origin, his survival of the apocalypse.

  “…with 1st battalion 10th Special Forces group in Fort Bragg, NC when the virus or whatever it was began turning the kids. The spec ops boys immediately launched under order and flew off with SOLL, that’s Special Operations Low Level, in their C-17s. About three more groups of Rangers and Green Berets left shortly after to support them. I don’t know what their mission was but I can only assume it was to protect the president and the Chiefs of Staff, but that’s a guess. The rest of us, Army, Airforce, etcetera, stayed to try and stabilize the post and secure any civilians we could lay our hands on.” While he spoke, Ahote fiddled with a bone-handled knife, rolling it in his hands, still sheathed. He opened his mouth to speak again when Chepi jumped in.

  “Man, I miss this stuff. You mind if I have another cup?”

  “You’ve had two cups already.” This from Ahote. “Do you have no care for rationing?” There was no bite to his words, like he was used to Chepi’s boyish absentmindedness and unveiled enthusiasm for things.

  Chepi hesitated and then gave a cockeyed smile, his teeth looking brilliantly white against his deep-hued skin. “So, I can have a third cup then? You know, because of rationing.” He said the last bit deadpan and we all laughed. Even Sherry, who was pouring the warmed soup into a chipped ceramic mug for Marty to drink.

  AJ hopped up, getting the coffee carafe and pouring another cup of black joe for Chepi. When she resettled herself, I prompted Ahote to continue. “So what happened then? What brought you here?”

  “We lost control is what happened,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “They were everywhere. In Fayetteville, on the base, just…everywhere, from all angles, they came at us. There was no place to cut them off, because the base was too porous, too many entrance points that we couldn’t plug up. We held the base as long as we could and got a lot of people onto c-130s and helicopters but then the whole thing collapsed. The last bird took off and we were left. Matoskah, also called Steve Shepherd, me, and six others. Chepi’s my younger brother. He was back here with our people.”

  “So you’re a Green Beret also?” I turned and interrupted Matoskah’s game with Marty.

  He didn’t look at me, his eyes only for the boy who probably made him think of his son. “No. I was Air Force Para-Rescue assigned to Pope AFB which is adjacent to Bragg. Just happened to be there with my brother.”

  “You two are brothers? So you’re all family then.” I glanced from Matoskah to Chepi; I didn’t think they looked at all alike even though they were decidedly Native American

  Ahote laughed. “Him and me? Hell, no. He doesn’t even know who his mother is! Owwww!” Ahote barked, a smile still warping his face. “Cut that shit out!” he chuckled, reprimanding Matoskah for tossing a pillow at his head. He smiled at his brother-in-arms, wonderment on his face, like since the death of Matoskah’s son, their friendship had faded and seeing it come back to life, even for a moment, was a gift.

  AJ and I glanced at one another and I wondered if she was feeling how I was feeling; glad that there were still men who could joke and laugh and carry on like this now, but also worried and disheartened that we were hearing about yet another place that had fallen to the ‘demons’.

  Sherry was moving quietly, opening drawers looking for something. She must have given up, because she finally picked up the mug of soup and took it over to Marty. “He should take a break now. He needs to rest and eat.”

  Matoskah looked at her, sorrow like a thin veil over his features. “Yes.” He turned to Marty. “Rest now, boy. Get better.” He tousled Marty’s hair and then stood before speaking again. He was a serious personality without the softening effect of a child. “We are part of the Apache Nation, Mescalero. Ahote and I have been spirit brothers for as long as I can recall. We were stationed together at Bragg even though we were in different branches.” He moved to the kitchen, motioning to a mug. When I nodded, he poured himself coffee. Unlike Chepi, he didn’t even fully fill the mug, instead erring on the side of being polite.

  “So how did you get out?” AJ leaned forward a little, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands.

  Ahote obliged and picked up where he left off. “We did what we do best, we ran and we gunned. We had Humvees on the flight line so we hightailed to the arsenal, took what was left and headed out. It was total chaos. Looting, carnage, civilians running or fighting. I’ve never seen anything like it. It took everything we’ve been taught about surviving to make it to the reservation, across the damn country.”

  Matoskah took over then. “After we arrived, we found the old ways already reemerging. Our elders have said for decades that it would be our time to rise once again, when the world could take no more of industry and human service to money above honor. The town here had already been evacuated leaving the infected behind. We did what was needed. And now the demons are gone.”

  “I didn’t think the Indian reservation was that close to Carlsbad?” I asked knowing it was a good 70 miles away

  “It’s not. Our lands are expanding. Like our return here,” Matoskah pointed at Ahote, “a wider scale rebirth is happening. It’s not just Apaches. Navajo and Pueblo have come to us, a group of Sioux from the East Carolinas have survived their way across the states. It truly is a gathering of the people. We have patrols like ours extending almost a hundred miles from Ruidoso. We set buildings that are defensible, stock them, and use them as staging bases for anyone who has need. The land from the outskirts of El Paso to Albuquerque belongs to us once more.”

  “Albuquerque is where we’re heading.” Sherry had returned, the mug in her hand. I wondered if it was empty, or if Marty hadn’t been able to eat. “Does that mean that it’ll be safe? The rest of our way there, we won’t have to worry?”

  “There’s always the possibility of danger,” Ahote said, watching Sherry deflate. “But, it will be safer than the alternatives. Central El Paso is a war zone. Two of our people on patrol were ripped right off their horses before they could get away. The men were bloody masses of flesh and bone in minutes. That is why we call them spirit demons. The shadow of humanity gone evil.”

  “Albuquerque’s not all that and a box of chocolate, folks,” Chepi quipped, running his index finger inside his cup and licking off the very last of his coffee. “Our scouts say a lot of it’s burning and there’s still consistent gun fire in the area. That was four-day old information when we got it. Things may have changed.” Chepi eyeballed the coffee carafe and then pouted, setting his mug down and resigning himself to only the three cups of joe he’d had. “If I were you, I’d go somewhere else.”

  “Albuquerque Station is where I’m assigned. It’s where I have to go. If they’ve made it, they’ll have information. About the government, about how we’re responding and where it’s safe.” AJ’s voice was firm, making sure not to invite or spark a debate. I could see Sherry wanted to say something, her foot tapping and her arms crossed.

  “I’ll tell you what’s up with the Government,” Burst out Chepi, a jester-like expression of amusement on his face. “It’s tits up! If there’s a government out there, then it’s holed up way out of the disaster zone. They’re going to keep them safe even if it means ignoring citizens that might be saved. As far as your brothers and sisters in the Border Patrol, well I’m guessing they’re either dead or scattered to the four winds. The closer you get to the major cities the worse it is. Go somewhere else, man, unless you want to be demon chow.”

  “Chepi, shut up,” Ahote said the way an older brother reprimands a younger after the younger has done the same annoying behavior for the millionth time.

  “It’s the truth,” Che
pi grumbled.

  AJ was scowling at the loudmouthed youngest of the three, but secretly I wondered if he was right. If Special Forces couldn’t hold their own base, what chance did a few Border Patrol agents have of holding their station? “What about Kirkland AFB? They could be there.” AJ asked looking for a glimmer of light, her scowl still in place.

  Ahote answered before his little brother could make a bigger ass of himself. “they could have survived if they headed there. There’s always hope as well as danger. Kirkland has a perimeter fence and a good contingency of shooters. Plus they might get air cover. Yeah, it’s a possibility, but consider it like drawing to an inside straight. The possibility might not be worth the risk.” He glanced at his younger brother. “Chepi might not have the most politically-correct way with words, but he is right in that you might reconsider your destination.”

  I knew what he meant by ‘drawing to an inside straight’ to beat the odds, but it was possible. Besides, I knew AJ well enough now to know that she wasn’t going to give up on Albuquerque Station. She wasn’t going to give up until she saw her fellow agents were either gone or dead. “No, that’s where we’re headed. It’s a group decision.”

  “And I have to know.” AJ spoke after me. “I have to know if they’re alive and what’s going on out there. I have to know if the Government is alive and kicking, even if they are just holed up somewhere staying safe.” It was like she was convincing herself that she was making the right choice, that she wasn’t going to her station out of stubbornness or pride.

  “Then you’re going the right way.” Ahote’s voice held a thread of sadness, like he knew what our fate would be should we continue on our path. “We would escort you but we would never be able to keep up with this rig, too hard on the horses. You may run into other patrols and if any of them stop you, just mention our names. They’ll let you proceed through our lands.”