I am grateful for my body’s fatigue in hopes that it will win over my mind’s need for the nightly terror-filled blue eyes and golden hair it shows me. My own eyes begin the losing battle of staying open as I watch J.D., Marxx, and Lawless sit upon the bolted couches huddled in discussion. Lawless holds my gaze with his warm brown eyes as I cave to my body’s demands. I cannot help but to think how familiar this all feels as I drift off to sleep.
My body tenses as my senses awaken before my brain does, signaling some unseen danger near me. Reflexively, I reach under my pillow, even before my eyes open, grasping for the blade to swing at what my body screams is behind me. A strong hand covers mine, and a familiar voice settles my racing heart.
“Shhhhh” it whispers, coaxing me back to sleep, while his strong arms wrap around me, pulling me close to him. I am drowning in the scent of his skin and I welcome the decent.
My body betrays me, molding into his frame, enjoying his heat, and the comfort he offers me. We adjust in our perfected sleeping position, giving each other as much as we take. I was wrong about the blade being the best teddy bear to date. Lawless, with his velvet and stone mixture of a body holding me close, has claimed that title as his own body melts to mine, luring us both to the seduction of sleep.
I wake to the sound of muffled voices and male bodies peering out between the plywood boards. Aimes motions for me to stay silent as she crawls to me while I fight to drag myself from sleep. Something bad is happening on the other side of those boards. Something that is making even J.D. anxious as his fist clenches, and releases, with the knowledge of it. I can see Lawless’ jaw muscles clench as his eyes move, following the hidden action. Chapel breaks first. He turns from the scene, taking himself to the couches to bury his head in his hands. Aimes and I watch all their reactions until my curiosity gets the better of me. I will once again wish I had better control of that.
The Welcome Center was designed with all your traveling needs in mind, just as the overly cheerful billboard reads. Apparently, they too did not foresee just how fast our needs would be changing with their giant, smiling family advertisement. Other than the building we are hiding in now, there is also a small convenience store/restaurant combination, and another building holding restrooms across the shared parking lot. Once the rich green landscape, now fall covered, wrapped around the place for weary drivers to walk along, and children to burn off pent-up energy to their family’s road weary relief.
Aimes and I had run the space last night, screaming with glee, as Rhett chased us along the paths. We chased fireflies, sparkling like stars, in the attempts to remove the images burned into our minds, before being brave enough to try to sleep. Outside of the once well-lit restrooms stand various vending machines, that still, after all these weeks, hold a wide variety of salty, satisfying cravings.
Rhett and Lawless had happily discovered these, returning them to a cheerful state, that is so rare to us anymore, that their mood was contagious. After such a long night, it had felt good to be surrounded by male laughter and their rough jokes again. As a group, we had decided last night that we would wait until daylight to explore the other building for any more hidden treasures. No one wanted to break the spell we were under that had allowed us this rare gift of peace. Now it seems others had the same idea.
A blue minivan is slowly becoming overrun with Risen as they rock the vehicle with their strength and sheer number, treating it as a mere child’s toy. Randomly an arm would extend from the driver’s side window to stab at a body, but even as it falls, another takes its space. A smaller clump of Risen have huddled over something a few spaces away from the van that pours red slickness around it that catches the sun’s light. The way they kneel, the hidden horrors of my mind know all too well what has happened, and what they are doing.
It is the small movements from inside the store’s windows that steal my attention from the massacre. A man randomly comes into view from the other side of the windows. His wide eyes, panic and pain rimmed, are watching the parking lot. Sometimes a woman, whose red hair is hard to miss even from this distance, will share the same look as she joins him in the space between the walls before ducking from view. The story slowly unfolds in a reverse story telling style for me.
This group had come to find their own supplies, lured by the hopes of survival from that which we all cling. They have left the driver in the van as a look out while the other three had gone inside. Something went wrong with their exit plan though. Now one lies dead, blocking the path to freedom for the other two. A twist of bitter agony to lose someone you care for, and the loss being the very thing keeping you from escaping the same fate. They are now stuck in a prison of their own making. Their wardens are holding a death sentence over them.
The van is now a layer plus deep in Risen. The arm no longer risks exposure with the pointless attempts of preservation. There seems to be some communication between the two sets as both the male and the female appear in the window wearing the same frantic fear from something we are unable to see from our room.
The van inches forward with jerking motions, and the revving of its engine, trying to push through the rotting mob around it. It is a slow progress until the driver grows either braver, or more desperate, pushing a path using the pure force of the van’s acceleration. Some of the Risen fall under the tires’ path, becoming a red ruin, as the wave follows the moving target out onto the highway. The van with its Pied Piper appearance rushes from the Welcome Center parking lot with tires that scream from the escape.
“He left them?” Aimes whispers, subconsciously fearful of alerting the remaining Risen feasting upon the fallen friend of those across from us.
“What did you want him to do? They are behind walls and he was a carrot on a stick. He probably just went for help.” Rhett observes with a shrug.
This whole time he has been snacking on whatever vendor goodies we have stashed while watching the scene outside as if it was no more than birds and squirrels fighting for trees in the spring. Sometimes his ability to detach from the world’s horrors worries me. Most times, I am just grateful someone here is strong enough to mentally accept it all.
Something he said has caught J.D.’s distracted attention. His cold eyes slowly come to rest on Rhett, causing the other man to look affected with their weight. Once again, the men share some private code of eye-contact that stirs the men to action. Both Rhett, J.D., and Chapel begin checking their ammo with determination of discovery, as Marxx and Lawless pull long dark barrels from the duffels with haste.
“Are we going to go save them?” Aimes asks with a child-like hope.
“No Sweetheart. That’s not the plan.” Marxx gravel voice answers gently. His voice holds the same kid gloves tone that Aimes evokes in the men around us.
“So then, what is all this?” She asks him weakly.
“Protection.” He answers her, never being brave enough to meet her eyes.
Now I understand. The ones trapped hold the thought of help with prayer. We are holding the thought of help with preparatory.
The first scream shatters the mock calm we are all draping across our minds. Marxx and Lawless make no movement to acknowledge the sound. Only their cringe, with each decibel, shows they are aware of anything other than their chore at hand. Chapel and I are the only ones to take back up the watch of the plywood peek-a-boo as J.D and Rhett turn their backs to become deeply absorbed in a discussion over the best plans to defend against the invisible attackers. I wonder if their refusal to look is from hardness or weakness. Does it help them sleep at night?
The Risen have become disinterested in the body they have left exposed and violated under the sun. If not for the basic form of it, it would be hard to say it had been human at some point. They have left nothing to mark any clues of the person’s one time humanity. It is nothing more now than so much red meat and broken bones, laid bare for all to see with no shame or afterthought. Our vanity m
akes it hard to see one of us so destroyed like cattle for dinner. In some small corner of what is left of the world, I am sure pro-animal groups are holding glee at it all. Human flesh, it’s what’s for dinner.
They slam crimson-coated limbs against the protective glass of the storefront. The smiling vinyl faces, that were once put there to encourage your patronage and dollars spent, slowly become gore covered with each moment passing. There are no smiling faces beyond the glass though. Only wide eyes and open mouths that shout orders, or pleas for suggestions. With their lack of enthusiasm, I am guessing there is not much of either to be had, as the glass starts the first pebble effect under the trauma of so much force.
“They are gonna get in.” Chapel whispers with a fear-flavoring realization of what we are about to watch.
“Not our problem.” J.D. says in an attempt to remove any confusion over our part in what we are watching unfold. He expects us to all sit in here. That is his decision. We can either watch or not. In that, he holds no judgment, but we are not to help.
“You can’t seriously mean that.” Chapel’s voice is still razor thin. It barely cuts the room with its reservations for asking a question to which we all already know the truth.
“Look, I would enjoy being your idea of some decent guy, but the truth is, I’m not. Not ever gonna be good enough for you. Or even all those like you. All I am is a man. Just smoke and mirrors for whatever I need to do to get us through each day. Today, today we stay in here. With our own. Now, take that pretty, little golden trinket of death off your neck that allows you to so easily place yourself above the rest of the world, and man up or shut up. I don’t care which one, but I don’t have time to babysit your fragile sense of right or wrong today.”
J.D. has walked straight to the other man, to stare him down, while explaining his point of view on the matter at hand. Now the room fills with frozen statutes as we watch the two men in their silent duel of wills. Chapel breaks the stare first under the anger of J.D.’s gaze before returning to keep watch. With that simple disconnect, the room begins to fill again with oblivious activities as we all try to avoid the same fate.
All but me that is. My mind wanders back to our escape yesterday and the fear I saw in J.D.’s eyes. I wonder how much of this decision is truly about keeping with our own. He feels my gaze upon him and turns slowly to face me. Is this now an attempt to prove that he can, in fact, keep us safe or is it just another attempt to cover his own failures with the power he holds over our small group?
“Something you want to add here, Barbie?” He asks me in a blatant dare to voice the thoughts he can read upon my face.
“No. I am sure you have your reasons for making us sit in here. Do you want us to just cover our ears when the screaming really starts or sing a round of kumbaya?” My voice is a neutral friendly tone. My words are not.
He closes the space between us with three steps of anger at my rebuttal. You do not talk back to the monsters. You bow your head and refuse to meet their eyes for the fear they will cause you. Now he knows I no longer fear him, stripping him of his hold over me.
We stand a breath between us as he stares at me finally, really, seeing what is behind my eyes. I have tasted death and J.D. does not hold that same metallic taste in my mouth for me with his presence anymore. His eyes roam my face trying to read my thoughts with any clue it may give him, but I remain blank, waiting for his next move.
The room grows thick with their anticipation at our standoff. The men are torn between their biological DNA to protect me and knowing the fact that any harm that may come to me will be from the man they each obey without question. They fidget with their mental debates of what they should do. Marxx holds a hand on Lawless’ arm, preparing for what will happen depending on the path J.D. decides to take. Aimes stands watching the whole room. She is taking mental notes, storing them in her own chamber of secrets for later use.
J.D. leans in so close I can feel the heat from his body that hovers over mine. I can feel his hot breath at my ear when he whispers to me. “You best keep those ideas of yours in check Helena. I’ll mourn at your grave, but I will bury you just the same.”
I feel my heart skip at his calmness letting me know he holds no bluff between us. My stomach drops as he places a soft kiss upon my head.
“Why don’t you start a round of Kumbaya? Been a spell since you blessed us with that soft voice of yours in something other than screams.” To the room, it is a teasing jest. To J.D. and me, it is a further illustration upon his whispered promise.
Chapter 22
Slowly we all return to our roles to prepare for any possible danger from an outside group. We know what the Risen hold for us. They have one thought process to them. People are a different volume of threats. Risen will kill us. Humans will destroy us.
Chapel and I take back up the watch as the red haired woman begins to roll empty racks in front of the doors across the parking lot. We both know the flimsy metal on those thin wheels will do nothing to brace the glass doors as the Risen begin their entrance into the building. We also both know, that sometimes, it is better to try anything than to just sit and wait for Death to come. Any minute stalled giving one last chance of hope for that one more moment of life.
Each pitch of her scream causes another memory to dance through my mind. A past-life feeling of horrors is swirling together with her accelerating tempo of dread. They dance faster and faster in my mind, flowing from scene to scene. I stood by and watched each memory die as I am watching her stare at her death now. I was unable to stop it then. I was not prepared for the world to tilt the way it did, tossing us all around with the action of it. I was not prepared for Evil to jump forth from what we only knew as pages of books or shows on our televisions. Yet, it has. Evil is once again in front of me, preparing for another round, and this time I will not just watch.
Chapel stands beside me, still watching it all unfold. His mouth moves in what I know to be silent prayers. If it is for our souls or theirs, is the only question lingering unspoken in the air. His gun hangs lose at his side. Its holster is unfastened from the standoff with J.D. and its metal clasp is winking at me. His head turns to me slowly with his mouth still silently echoing the prayers in his head. I lower my eyes slowly to his chest, taking his eyes with mine. We stand there, his mouth still moving silently, as we stare at one another in our private frozen moment of time.
He nods and adjusts his torso, unblocking me from the gun with its flirtatious clasp. His eyes never leave mine as I wrap my hand around it, lifting it, removing it, and fulfilling its taunts with an almost seduction-like satisfaction. The cold metal is heavy in my hand, taking me by surprise with its weight. The world sinks down to just the face in front of me, with its silent prayers, as I realize what I have set into motion. I hope those prayers are for me.
I hear him remove the wooden barrier we have been hiding behind all this time. I hear the shouts rain down upon us, colored with confusion and anger. I feel his hand on my shoulder squeezing me with encouragement, and yet, that grasp coats me with anger at his weakness. The anger fuels my determination and I slide through our glass door with the sun watching me yet again. This time it has no heat. There is only coldness around me as if Death is also here to watch the show.
The first pull of the trigger snaps my hand back with the recoil, missing the target of the woman’s body in front of me. It lands further up in the pile as one staggers from the blow. His shoulder is forced forward nudging the body in front of him with a domino effect of accidental merit. They both freeze in the Risen’s form of awareness that something has changed. One by one, they all take on the sudden lack of movement. It is more frightening to watch than their attacks. I know their focus is about to become me. My heart gains speed with every extended second they stand there.
Shoulder by shoulder they turn to stare at me as they wait for their bodies to move in the new direction. Glazed eyes catch light ag
ain as I come into view for them, animating their limp bodies with renewed hate and hunger. The torn and rotting mass before me moves as one with their new hunt. Sounds of their stalking stir my own body with renewal and I lift the gun again.
My aim goes wide hitting only shoulders, chests, and the glass behind them. It only staggers the ones I do hit as their bodies react to the puncturing, but their minds never acknowledge the wounds. They cannot feel what is already dead. Only their brains are still alive in some inhuman fashion and that is the target I must find.
I exhale as the gap between us shrinks with each of my misses. They are in no hurry to reach me. What is left of their minds know that I am holding something that is a threat to them. Watching them, I am once again remembering that these are not the ones that were made to fill nightmares on wide-screen movies. No, these are walking nightmares of their own merit.
They are plotting the best path to me, separating into small groups to take me down. They divide before me, giving me more targets to worry about, as each group assumes a different speed towards me. To focus on only one side will be my undoing from the other side. They drag my attention to each section with their sounds, only for another group to start their own distractions, causing my shots to go wide in my panic. They are attempting to mentally tear me apart, reducing my threat to them, before they tear into my flesh.
They stalk towards me, waiting until the gap is small enough to rush me in their predatory killing style. I have seen them hunt before, and I force the images to stay buried as her laughter floats down the halls of my mind. My hands twitch with the feather soft memory of her gentle fingers. I inhale the scent of her baby shampoo and calm washes over me in a welcoming, numbing fashion. This time I can feel the slow draw of the metal trigger. The recoil has no jolting scorn. The target crumbles finally, fully broken upon the ground.
The Risen: Dawning Page 12