by Brian Keene
Terry took a deep breath. Goosebumps dotted his arms, and he wondered why. He chalked it up to the dampness in the air.
Chip led him across the deck. “Come on. Brave face. It’s only one weekend.”
They climbed onto the dock and slowly walked towards the parking lot. Nobody got out of the vehicles. As they got closer, Terry grew alarmed. There was a jagged, splintered hole in the car’s windshield, and the van’s front grille was crumpled. A splash of red covered the white hood. Terry broke into a run. “Oh God! There’s been an accident!”
He could see his sister’s silhouette behind the rain-streaked van windshield, but couldn’t tell if she was hurt or not. As he dashed around to the driver’s-side door, Chip opened the sliding door on the side.
Terry’s father rolled out on top of him, and sank his teeth into Chip’s ear.
Chantal burst from the vehicle, slamming the door into Terry’s legs. He collapsed to the ground, skinning his palms on the wet asphalt. Chantal giggled. Somewhere out of sight, his parents’ car doors creaked open.
“Sorry we’re late, Terry,” Chantal croaked. “There was a major fender bender in Duluth, and then we stopped for a bite.”
His sister was a grisly sight. Her nose was a swollen, broken bulb, and a portion of her scalp had peeled back, revealing the pink meat between it and her skull. She reached for him, and Terry gaped in horror. His sister’s hand was broken at the wrist, and twisted into a deformed claw.
“Chantal,” he gasped. “You’re hurt!”
Chip shrieked.
“Wow,” Chantel snickered, “I haven’t seen Dad this active in awhile.”
Terry stared in horror at Chip’s ear dangling from his father’s clenched teeth.
His mother, stepfather, and sister advanced on him. His mother’s right arm was missing from the elbow down, and his stepfather’s face was split in two.Terry cast one last, shocked glance at Chip. His father had his face buried in Chip’s neck, burrowing into the flesh.
Then Terry fled. Eighteen years of comfort and bliss were forgotten, overridden by blind panic. Chip’s agonizing final screams echoed in his ears. Terry jumped onboard the boat, started the engine, and sped away across the water.
Back at the house, the radio and television talked about the chaos spreading across the world—worsening by the hour. Later that day, Chip and the others arrived on the island, dripping wet from their walk along the bottom of the lake.
And then they had a family reunion.
* * *
AS ABOVE
(Sisters, Part One)
The Rising
Day Three
Belleville, Illinois
Shannon Wuller’s father loaded her younger brother, Dashiell into the car seat. The three-year-old kicked and fussed.
Shannon frowned, and her father noticed.
“You’re in charge until your grandparents get here.” He gave her a hug. “Take care of your sister.”
Well, of course she was in charge. She was the oldest. Shannon was ten and Allison was six. That wasn’t the point. Her father was fibbing, and Shannon knew it.
“It’s getting dark out,” she said. “How long will you be gone?”
“Not long.”
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Nothing, honey,” her father fibbed again, quickly glancing away. “Your Mom worked a double shift at the hospital, and she says she has to stay a little longer. But I think she should come home now, so I’m going to pick her up. Dashiell can help me convince her.”
He smiled, but Shannon heard the fear in his voice. Her father was scared.
And that terrified her.
“I called your grandparents. They’ll be here in a few minutes.”
Allison piped up. “Can we go play in the secret clubhouse after they get here?”
“No!”
Both girls jumped at the exclamation.
“Sorry,” their father apologized. “I didn’t mean to yell. Daddy’s just tired.”
“Why can’t we go to the woods?” Allison asked.
“We’ll be back before dinner.”
“I don’t want either of you to go outside, okay?”
He offered no further explanation. “And don’t open the door for anybody other than your grandparents. You promise?”
Shannon and Allison nodded in unison. “We promise.”
“Good.” Their father gave Allison a hug and a kiss, and then turned to Shannon.
She hugged him, and before he could pull away, she whispered in his ear, low, so that Allison wouldn’t hear. “Dad, something bad is happening, isn’t it.”
Her father was quiet, and Shannon didn’t think he’d answer. When he did, she had to strain to hear him.
“Yes, sweetie. Something’s happened. Stay inside and don’t answer the door. And don’t turn on the television. It’s better for your sister not to watch.”
Shannon hadn’t planned on TV anyway. There was nothing on but news. Even the Disney Channel and Cartoon Network were showing news reports—something about dead people.
Her father kissed her head, and walked to the car. “Now back inside. And lock the door.”
“I love you, Dad,” Shannon said.
“Me too,” Allison echoed.
“I love you, too.” Their father climbed into the car, backed down the driveway, and waved goodbye.
He didn’t return.
Their grandparents never showed up, either. She was worried about them all, her parents and little brother, her grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. None of them came to the house. But others did. Strangers.
Though they were sisters, Shannon and Allison were best friends. They played games and watched a DVD. Shannon told herself it was to keep Allison’s mind off of things, but deep down inside, she knew it was to keep her own self from thinking about the situation as well.
The Wuller family’s two-story, French country home sat in a subdivision on a big lot, and was spread far apart from the other homes. Shannon and Allison shared an upstairs bedroom. The house had a half basement and a crawl space. The backyard held a pool, Jacuzzi, and outdoor fireplace, and beyond it was a grape vineyard.
“I’m thirsty.” Allison got a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Get me one, too,” Shannon said.
Allison handed her a cold bottle.
Shannon wiped the condensation on her pants.
“I hope Grandma and Grandpa get here soon.”
Her sister didn’t respond. Instead, she stared out the window into the backyard. Shannon’s eyes followed her gaze.
A naked man stepped out of the vineyard and into the yard. As he got closer, Shannon saw that he was covered with dirt and blood. And there was something else wrong with him, too. She couldn’t pinpoint it, though.
Giggling nervously, Allison pointed. “That man doesn’t have any clothes on.”
Shannon’s heart began to pound. “Go to the basement.”
The man passed the pool, and now Shannon saw what was wrong with him. His insides were hanging out of his stomach.
“Get downstairs,” she repeated. “Now!”
Allison seemed frozen. She didn’t respond, just continued pointing, her mouth hanging open. Then the water in the swimming pool splashed, and a woman stood up in it, surprising both the girls and the naked man. The girls screamed.
“Who are they?” Allison’s grip on the water bottle tightened.
“Bad people. Come on. Go to the basement.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going to make sure the doors are locked.”
In the backyard, the woman climbed out of the pool. Her white skin looked like a prune, and her clothing was plastered to her emaciated body. She fell in step with the naked man.
Shannon picked up the phone and dialed 911. She got a recorded message that told her all circuits were busy, and slammed the phone down in frustration.“Stupid phone.”
Allison’s lower lip trembled. “What do they want?”
Shannon didn’t reply. Instead, she grabbed Allison’s arm and dragged her along. Already, a plan was forming in her mind.
The house to the right of theirs, an American Southern, had a never-developed cul-de-sac with woods at its end point. The girls liked to play on the cul-de-sac, and called it the “secret street.” Their topsecret clubhouse was located in the woods beyond the secret street.
Shannon opened the basement door. “Get down there.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I’m going to lock the doors. We’ll hide in the basement. If they get into the house, we’ll go through the crawl space and out to the back yard. Then we’ll run to the secret street and hide in our clubhouse before they figure out we’re gone.”
She shut the door behind Allison, and then ran for the front door. As her fingers touched the lock, she heard voices on the other side.
“Is there anyone inside?” A woman’s voice. The one from the pool?
“Only one way to find out. You’ll have to open the door. My arm is broken, and as you can see, the other one is missing.”
The doorknob rattled, and something pounded against the frame.
Turning, Shannon fled for the basement. The pounding continued behind her, and she heard wood splintering. Before she could reach the basement, the front door crashed open. A stench filled the house. Rotting meat. The way the garbage can smelled when her parents hadn’t emptied it for a few days.
Not wanting to lead the intruders to her sister, Shannon ran up the stairs to her bedroom.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” the naked man croaked. “You’ve got visitors!”
Trying to be as quiet as possible, Shannon ducked into the closet, pulled the door shut behind her, and hid beneath a pile of clothes. There was a loud bang as the intruders knocked something over. Then she heard them start up the stairs. When the foul smell increased, and the soft footsteps padded into her room, Shannon Wuller tried not to scream.
* * *
SO BELOW
(Sisters, Part Two)
The Rising
Day Four
Belleville, Illinois
When she first woke up, Allison Wuller didn’t remember where she was. Her eyes were open, but everything was pitch black. Her aching legs and arms were all scrunched up. She sat up quickly and banged her head.
“Ouch!”
Lying back down, she rubbed her head and waited. She remembered now. She was inside a trunk. She’d hidden inside it when the naked man and the woman opened the basement door. She’d heard them break down the front door, heard them calling out. Their voices were weird—cold and growly, and they stank like poop. Even hiding down here in the basement, she could smell them.
* * *
Allison had waited for Shannon to come back, but she hadn’t. She wondered what had happened to her sister, and tried very hard not to cry. Everybody was gone now. All her family. They probably weren’t coming back. Something bad had happened. And now she was alone in the dark. The zombies (because she knew what they were—she may have been six, but she wasn’t stupid—she knew what zombies looked like) had crashed around upstairs for a long time, before coming down into the basement. Allison had scampered inside the empty trunk and shut the lid just in time. She remained there in the darkness, holding her breath and trying not to move or scream, while they searched the basement.
“I don’t see any life glows,” the naked man said.
“Maybe the house is deserted.”
“There’s a half-full bottle of water,” the woman growled.
“So?”
Allison shut her eyes tight. She’d left her water sitting on top of a box.
“Someone was drinking it,” the woman said.
“Where are they now?”
“I don’t know, but they aren’t here. Let’s check the house across the street, the one with the gardens. Maybe we’ll have better luck there.”
And then they were gone. Allison lay there shivering, afraid to come out. She must have fallen asleep after that. She wondered how long it had been. Could they still be out there? Maybe the zombies were playing a trick on her. Maybe they’d known she was hiding in the trunk, and they were upstairs waiting. Allison squeezed her legs together. She had to go to the bathroom—really, really bad. And she couldn’t stay inside this trunk much longer, either. It smelled like mothballs. She listened carefully, but the only sound she heard was her own breathing. Her parents had always called Allison their “little spitfire,” and while she wasn’t sure what it meant, she understood what it implied. It meant not being afraid.
So she did her best to be brave.
Slowly, carefully, Allison opened the lid and peeked out through the crack. The basement was empty.
She climbed out of the trunk and collapsed to the floor. Her legs felt rubbery and weak. She lay there panting, until they felt better. Then she climbed the stairs, put her ear to the door, and listened. The house was quiet.
“Shannon…” Allison bit her lip and tried not to cry.There were no zombies in the living room or kitchen. Allison glanced out the window into the backyard, and shuddered, remembering what they’d seen last night. Then something occurred to her. It was daylight outside. When they’d first seen the zombies, it had been getting dark. Now it was morning again, which meant she’d slept all night inside the trunk.
Allison began to get a bad feeling inside—her parents were never coming home, and the zombies had eaten her sister. She pushed the tears away, trying to be a spitfire, trying to be brave, the way they’d want her to. She wondered what to do next. Should she call 911? Go next door to the neighbor’s house? Or just wait? What if the zombies came back?
While she was trying to decide, she heard a noise from upstairs—a soft, muffled thump.
Allison froze.
The sound was repeated, louder this time. Before she could move, she heard the hiss of a closet door sliding back on its track. Allison couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like it was coming from her and Shannon’s bedroom.
She tried to call out, but her mouth was dry, and she could only whisper.
“Shannon?”
Thump…Thump…Thump…
Footsteps.
Allison licked her lips and took a deep breath. She opened a kitchen drawer and took out one of her mother’s steak knives. Her heart pounded in her chest.
The bedroom door creaked open, and the footsteps crept down the hall. Her eyes glued to the stairs, Allison slowly backed towards the front door.
“Hello?” a voice called out, small and afraid. Allison whimpered. “S-Shannon?”
“Allison? Is that you?”
Allison’s spirits soared. Her sister was alive! She ran to the bottom of the stairs. Shannon stepped out into the light, saw her, and began to cry. The two girls rushed to each other and embraced, crying and shaking.
“I thought the zombies got you,” Allison sobbed.
“I thought you were dead.”
“I thought they got you, too. I hid upstairs, in the closet. I must have fallen asleep. What about you?”
“I hid in Daddy’s old trunk, down in the basement. I fell asleep, too.”
They straightened up and wiped their eyes. Allison grinned. “I’ve really got to pee.”
“Me, too,” Shannon laughed. “Oldest goes first.”
Allison scampered up the stairs behind her. “Not fair!”
When they were finished, Allison asked, “What do we do now?”
Shannon thought about it for a moment. “Let’s get all the food and water we can carry, and some books and games, and we’ll go hide in our clubhouse.”
“But won’t the zombies find us there?”
Shannon shook her head. “How could they? It’s a secret. We’re the only ones that know about it.”
They made their preparations, and then, when they were done, the two sisters walked hand-inhand down the secret street. The sun climbed high into the sky and shined down upon them. Then they
disappeared into the shadows of the woods, to a good, secret place, where neither light nor darkness could find them.
* * *
LAST CHANCE FOR LA CHANCE
The Rising
Day Five
Baltimore-Washington International Airport,
Baltimore, Maryland
Jamie La Chance groaned amidst the chaos.
“What do you mean the flight was cancelled?”
He slammed his palm down on the counter in frustration. “This is the third time you people have done this! It’s ridiculous!”
The girl behind the counter bit her lip and stared at the computer monitor, refusing to meet his eye.
“All flights have been grounded, sir. Nationwide—by order of the President. Nobody can fly right now.”
“But I’ve been here all night! I have to get home—back to California…”
“There’s nothing I can do, sir. I’m sorry.”
The guy behind Jamie shouldered his way forward. He stank of sour sweat and cigarette smoke.
“Where can we catch a train?” he demanded.
“This is bullshit.”
The woman didn’t look at him either. “All trains have been stopped as well. Nothing is running. The President just declared martial law a few minutes ago, and the country is now under a national state of emergency. There’s—”
A commotion broke out three counters down from them, as a wild-eyed young man vaulted over the counter and shoved a ticket agent out of the way. He grabbed the computer monitor and shook it.
“I’ve got to get home,” he snarled. “You don’t understand! My wife is pregnant!”
Jamie watched as the fallen woman rose to her knees. The young man reached down and grasped her hair, clenching it in his fist.
“I need to get home,” he screamed. “Tell me how, god damn it!”
Around them, a few bystanders watched the scene unfold, but no one stepped forward to intervene. More people ran by, screaming at each other, shouting into cell phones, or just looking generally dazed.
Earlier, after the first cancelled flight, when Jamie was stretched out in a hard, plastic chair and trying unsuccessfully to sleep, somebody had mentioned that the world was ending. He’d scoffed. But now he thought they might be right. The crazed man picked up the computer keyboard and slammed it over the ticket agent’s head. Blood flowed. Several people screamed. A few ran away. But most just watched, as if it were a movie or a play.