Rise of the Dead

by Jeremy Dyson

  “You’re okay, Mel,” I reassure her. “Hang in there.”

  According to my phone, it is almost five in the evening. The battery is also halfway dead. I return the phone to my pocket and get up to look outside. In a couple of hours, the sun will go down. With each minute that passes, I feel even further away from my old life, and it seems harder to imagine things will ever go back to the way they were before this morning. Quentin flips on the radio again and scans the stations for anything that isn’t static.

  “That was really nice of you,” Danielle says. I hadn’t noticed her standing next to me until she spoke. She leans her back against the door and looks at Melanie.

  “It doesn’t seem like much,” I shrug.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  “Yeah. Well, no,” I stammer. “I mean, all things considered, I’m fine. Just thinking about my family out there.”

  “We’ll find them,” Danielle assures me. “I’ll help you. I owe you that much for saving my life.”

  “Do you have people you want to find too?” I wonder.

  “Sure,” she nods. “My dad and my brother. They are in Pittsburgh so it might be awhile before that is possible.”

  “You think they’re okay?” I ask.

  Danielle looks away, at the memory of her home six inches away from her eyes. “I hope they are okay. That’s all I can do. I don’t think about it, though. It sounds weird, but I know they wouldn’t want me to die in a failed attempt to get to them. They would want me to take care of myself.”

  “I know that should make me feel better about being here instead of with my family,” I say. “But it doesn’t.”

  “There’s no one out there anymore,” sighs Quentin. He spins the dial back and forth. “I’m not even getting the emergency broadcast now.”

  “The radio could be broken,” says Dom. “It looks pretty cheap.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” says Danielle. “There has to be something to tell us what's going on and what to do."

  The widespread power outages might have something to do with the silence on the radio, but it could also be that there isn't anyone alive to broadcast.

  "Maybe no one out there knows what to do," I say. “We all saw how the police fared at the train station. I doubt there was enough time to activate the National Guard. We have to assume the government can't help us, and the media isn't able to tell us anything, and that we might never have power or running water again." I pause, and I glance up at their faces. My words are stirring up their worst fears. "If we are going to survive out there, I think we have to assume this is the end of all those things. The end of civilization.”

  “This has been one fucked up day,” Joey sighs. He collapses on the bench and removes the security cap from his head and pushes the black strands of hair from his brow.

  “Tell me about it,” agrees Dom.

  “Well,” Joey says. “First thing this morning, Frank woke me up and—”

  “God, I didn’t actually mean tell me about it.” Dom rolls her eyes, blowing a plume of smoke into the air. She squishes the filter like an accordion, then drops the butt on the floor and grinds it flat. She takes another one from the pack, lights it and exhales with a sigh.

  It could just be all the smoke from Dom, but it suddenly feels hard to breathe in the lobby. I push through the door and step outside. The air outside is thick with the smoke of nearby fires. Visibility is, at best, a mile, and getting worse by the minute. The gunfire coming from the streets has been steadily decreasing all day. The sound of gunshots seems farther away, and further in between.

  For a few moments at a time, you can still hear the birds chirping in the trees as the blowing wind rustles the leaves. It almost sounds like any other day. Then the distant rattling of a machine gun fire returns, and when you listen closely, you realize it isn’t the wind you hear at all, but the droning moans of hundreds of thousands of undead.

  A gas tank ignites in one of the cars burning on the road and unleashes an enormous fireball into the sky. Separate blazes engulf different wings of the college across the road. There is an odd scent in the air from all the things burning that shouldn't be. The sky grows darker, even though the sun is not yet setting. The spreading smoke from fires casts a ruddy glow over everything. The sight is not too far from what I imagined hell might look like. Maybe that’s exactly what this is.

  If this were any other day, any normal day, I'd be sitting down to dinner with my family right now, eating a boneless, skinless chicken breast with microwaved vegetables, probably. That's what Amanda cooks, most of the time. Abby would toss her green beans to the dog when Amanda wasn’t looking, and I would pretend I didn’t see it either. Instead, I’m watching the burning suburbs before me, and the line of dead people pressed against the fence. What I see makes it hard to believe I will ever have another ordinary day.

  I'm not an idiot. I know what their chances are of surviving. That doesn’t make it easier to accept that my family might be gone, or that I may never even know what became of them no matter how long I search. Something Danielle said earlier about her family keeps running through my head; how they wouldn't want her to risk dying to get to them when she could be somewhere safe. It makes sense. I wouldn't want my wife or daughter leaving any relatively safe location to try to find me right now either. It's that thought alone that keeps me focused on my survival.

  Gunshots down by the cemetery gate draw my attention, and I spot a figure with long hair running through the gridlocked cars and smoke. Something about the hunched way the figure moves gives me the impression it's a man with long hair. He pauses to look around, then fires a gun twice at a couple of corpses trailing behind him. The undead at the cemetery fence turn away from the bars and toward the road.

  I hustle down the slope toward the gate, whistling loudly to get his attention. I wave to him emphatically. For a second, he only gawks at me, as though he can’t trust his own eyes. “Hurry,” I yell.

  The dead are already closing in on him. He scampers maybe twenty feet before he is surrounded. The man raises the gun again firing a couple of rounds to his left. Then he stops firing and looks down at the gun. He must be out of bullets, but it hardly matters. The living dead close the last few feet. I'm still about a hundred yards from the fence when he screams as the horde swallows him. I lower my arms and come to a stop. Even though I’m gasping loudly for breath in the smoke, I hear the last screams from the street. I bend over with my hands on my knees and stare at the lush, green grass. Once I catch my breath, I trudge back up the hill toward the office.

  "Nothing you could do, man," says Quentin. I look up a little surprised to see him and wonder how long he's been standing outside. He takes a drag off a cigarette he's holding, coughs, and shakes his head.

  "I know," I say.

  "Might be better anyway," he says. "If we're as fucked as you think we are, we might have to worry about the kind of people we're going to come across. The kind of people that can survive something like this."

  "What?" I ask, shaking my head. “Like roving gangs and post-apocalyptic warlords? That sort of thing? It's a little too early for all that."

  "No," he says. "I'm just talking about scared and desperate people. Like those guys in the truck this morning. The ones that ran through the fence at the track.”

  “They needed help,” I insist. I gaze back to the spot in the road where the guy with long hair had perished. “And so do we. We need all the help we can get.”

  “They shot a cop,” he reminds me.

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “But we can’t just look out for ourselves. We can’t turn our back on people. Not now.”

  "Maybe," he says, doubtfully. “Or maybe that will just be what gets us killed."

  "You know I'm right," I tell him. "And I know you know it because you're still here with us instead of going it alone.”

  Quentin stares through the smoke to the street and takes a long drag off the cigarette. He hacks out a cloud.

&nbs
p; “Do you even smoke?” I ask.

  “Just started,” he coughs, then tosses the rest of the cigarette away.

  “We wouldn’t have made it here without you,” I say and pat him lightly on the back. “Thanks,” I add.

  He drops his gaze a moment as if he isn't used to much genuine appreciation thrown his way. When he looks back up, he shrugs his shoulders and with a smile says coolly, "Yeah, you all are pretty damn lucky I stuck around."

  I take a few steps toward the office, but notice he lingers in the grass, contemplating the road. “You coming back in?” I ask him.

  "I was just thinking it might be a good idea for us to keep someone on watch out here,” he suggests. “In case those things get in, or someone else comes along."

  "Not a bad idea,” I agree.

  He settles himself down on the grass, facing the road. "You go on in. I'll take first watch."

  Before I open the door to the office, I take a look back at Quentin sitting in the grass. Our conversation was a bit unnerving. I’m afraid to turn my back and find he isn’t there when I look again. I don't really know the first thing about him, but I know we need him. He knows how to handle a gun better than any of us.

  “It’s going to be dark soon," I announce. "We should try to get settled in before nightfall."

  "Settled in?" blurts Dom. "You can't be serious."

  "Going anywhere in the dark is a bad idea," I tell her. “We’ll be safe here for the night.”

  "We are in a cemetery," Dom states. “I’m not spending the night in a goddamn cemetery.”

  "This is as good as any place we managed to find today," says Danielle.

  "That doesn't mean we can't do better," complains Dom. "Those things will trap us in here."

  "It's just for the night," I say. "We will reassess the situation outside in the morning. Maybe we will get some news on the radio, or those things might wander off in the night. For all we know, whatever is causing this might stop tomorrow, and those things out there will just be dead bodies again."

  "Alright," agrees Dom finally. "But I doubt I’ll be able to sleep in this place. Especially with all those things right outside the door.”

  "I doubt any of us will be able to sleep much tonight, but we are going to have to try,” I say. “I saw some couches in the lobby of the chapel. It’s not much, but they'll be better than these wooden benches. Dom, can you keep Melanie company while we move them here?"

  Dom gives me a slight nod to confirm she is on board with the plan.

  In the fading light, I walk down the hallway to the chapel lobby with Joey and Danielle.

  “She's kind of bitchy," whispers Danielle when we're out of earshot. "It's hard not to smack her sometimes."

  "Lesbians," explains Joey, as if this conveyed everything there was to know about the woman.

  Danielle scowls at him, but when she sees his guileless face, she merely rolls her eyes and says nothing.

  "Dom is just as scared and uncertain as any of us and dealing with it in her way," I explain. “Give her time. She’ll get over it soon enough."

  "She better," mutters Danielle.

  There are three long couches spread around the lobby area. After a quick scan of the room with the flashlight, I head over to the closest sofa.

  "Why don't we just sleep here instead of hauling this thing across the building?" asks Joey.

  "I think it's best if we stay closer to the exit," I say. “If we need to block the doors, these will come in handy.”

  "This guy thinks of everything," Joey says to Danielle without any hint of sarcasm.

  There is something very likable about Joey. Nothing seems to get to him. Maybe it's because he doesn't bother trying to comprehend everything going on around him that none of it ever bothers him. Ignorance is bliss, I guess. Perhaps reality just hasn't set in for him yet. I wonder what will happen when it finally does.

  We lift the first sofa and haul it to the lobby. One by one we maneuver them down the hallway. By the time we set the last one down in front of the service desk, my muscles ache from the exhausting day. I happen to glance at my reflection in the glass above the counter and realize I still have blood splattered all over my clothes and on my face. There is nothing I can do about my clothes, but I head to the bathroom to splash some soapy water on my face. The cold water revives me momentarily, but when I lift my head up, I almost don’t recognize myself in the mirror. My face seems so weary and somehow older. It’s been one hell of a day.

  I remove my phone from my pocket and notice the battery indicator is now red. In the privacy of the dim restroom, I spend a few minutes staring at photos on my phone. There’s an image of Abby smiling and holding an ice cream cone. I can’t remember where or when we took it. I skip to another photo of Amanda and Abby standing by a fountain. That was at the zoo or the park, or maybe it was the arboretum. All I want is to trigger a pleasant memory of them, but I’m struggling to remember the context from any of the images. It’s like I wasn’t even there with them even though I took the picture. The battery is about to die, so I give up and turn it off. To hell with it.

  When I return to the darkening lobby, I find Melanie has already fallen asleep on one of the couches. Her head rests on top of her folded arms, and she had to use her jacket as a makeshift blanket. I crouch down beside her and adjust the jacket, so it covers her shoulders. I wish I could do more for her, but, at least, she is safe and sleeping now.

  The door opens and Quentin enters the lobby and approaches me. I leave Melanie to sleep and step a few feet away, so we don’t wake her.

  “It seems pretty quiet out there now.” Quentin yawns. His eyes are bloodshot.

  “You look beat,” I tell him. "I’m still too wired to sleep. Get some rest. I’ll get you in a few hours.”

  "Alright," Quentin sighs. He almost seems disappointed in himself for needing a break. Quentin spots Joey searching through drawers in the office beyond the service counters. He waves Joey over and hands him the gun. “Find anything useful?” he asks.

  “Just some breath mints,” says Joey. “And a walkman from like, 1988. It even has a Guns N’ Roses tape in there.”

  “Yeah, that’ll come in handy,” Quentin cracks. “Good work.” He settles down on the couch with a groan. Then he removes his hi-tops before he stretches out with a tired sigh.

  Sitting beside Dom on the bench, Danielle yawns as she watches Quentin nod off.

  “I guess I’ll try to sleep now, too,” Dom sighs as smashes another cigarette before she rises from the bench. She drops her cigarette at Danielle’s feet and taps it flat with her high heel. She avoids Danielle’s stare and makes her way to the last open couch. With a tentative hand, she wipes the fabric of the sofa and scrunches her nose, before she slips off her heels and lays down.

  “Guess I’ll take this comfy bench then,” Danielle says with obvious irritation.

  Dom ignores the comment and makes a show of tossing and turning as she finds a comfortable position on the sofa. Danielle rolls her eyes and then reclines on the wooden bench.

  On my way outside, I stop to grab a bottle of water to bring with me.

  “Need some company?” Danielle offers.

  “It’s fine,” I decline. “You’re tired.”

  “There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep on this thing.” Danielle sits up and pats the top of the wooden bench. “The grass outside will probably be more comfortable.”

  “Up to you,” I say.

  She follows me out the entrance and across the parking lot to the lawn. I pick out a spot that affords an unobstructed view of the lobby. For a few minutes, we sit there without speaking. I become distracted watching the corpses lined up along the fence. Even though it is nearly pitch black, the shapes of the undead are silhouetted against a backdrop of cars burning in the street. If there were no light, I would still know they were out there by the haunting sound of their collective rasps and moans.

  Danielle nudges my elbow and jerks her head back at Joey in t
he lobby. With a pair of headphones in his ears, Joey rolls around in a chair from the office. He glides past the doorway going one way, then glides back from the other direction. He spins around on the swivel seat in the middle of the lobby floor, then takes breaks to twirl the gun around his index finger.

  "It's like he doesn't have a clue what's going on," she says.

  “I kind of envy that,” I admit.

  "Not me," Danielle says. "He told me earlier that I have a nice rack. In the middle of all this. Can you believe that?"

  "Actually, that doesn't surprise me at all.” For the first time today, I laugh a little.

  "Oh," she says. “So, are you agreeing with him now?"

  "No, no," I stammer. "I'm just not surprised he would say something like that.”

  Danielle stares at the wedding band I am aimlessly twisting around my finger. I try to casually put my hands in my pockets. She realizes the conversation is making me a little uncomfortable and instead of carrying on, she says, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be like that."

  "No," I start, but she cuts me off.

  "I'm just trying to talk about something else," she says. "Something ordinary. So, I don't have to keep thinking about everything else."

  "You seem to be holding up okay," I say.

  “I guess," she says, "but inside it feels like each breath is more difficult than the last one."

  "Yeah," I agree. "I don't really know how I am keeping it together at all. Just compartmentalizing, I guess."

  "Come what?" she asks.

  "Compartmentalizing," I say. “Focusing on the first step of solving a big problem instead of the entire thing. So things don’t seem overwhelming. Most of us do it automatically to an extent, especially when dealing with something of this magnitude.”

  “Never heard of that,” she admits.

  “They don’t teach you that in med school?” I ask cynically.

  “I guess not,” she rolls her eyes.

  “It works as long as I have something to do,” I tell her. “Sitting around and doing nothing is the hard part. That’s when I start to feel like I’m going crazy.”