The Risen: Courage

by Marie F. Crow

  No sound greets me. No snarling face jumps out to startle me. The room is silent and seems to be empty. “Seems” being the key word and I would almost rather have them waiting for me at the door with dinner forks in their hands.

  Rhett holds the door open for me with the “I dare you” smile still on his face. I use to wonder how his mind worked. I’m kind of over that.

  I tell him, “I guess I don’t have to worry about you being a hero.”

  “Sweetheart, what I have for you isn’t love, but I’d be a victim all the same,” he tells me. The humor is supposed to take the edge off what we are about to do. It gives us each a moment to prepare for what we are avoiding, the Risen.

  “Don’t let me die.” I whisper to him and take my first step into the room.

  I feel his answer against my hair as he keeps the space tight between us. “Have I yet?” he asks me and I can’t argue with him. Well, at least not yet.

  CHAPTER 6

  I imagine something jumping out at me with every step I take. Like a twisted game of peek-a-boo, I picture them leaning out from a dark corner, but they don’t. Monsters are never that accommodating.

  Rhett motions to me that he will take one side of the many rows of long shelves while I am to walk parallel on the other side. His fascination with the splitting up idea goes against everything my heart is beating. You’re supposed to divide and conquer the other side, not your own.

  The windows of this room cast long shadows of the shelves with the sun’s light. The shadows seem to reach out for us like the jagged claws of a great beast. The chairs I once lounged in appear to have aged with my absence. Thick pools of darkness now gather under the long tables. The room that was once my refuge is no longer my friend. It doesn’t take us long to find out to whom it now belongs.

  He stands with his back to us staring at a turning display of magazines. He might have been mistaken for someone scanning the many titles of gossip on another day, but this isn’t another day. This is where his mind has shut off while he waits for something to hunt.

  Rhett smiles with the irony of the man’s pose. He whispers to me, “Think he reads the articles or just looks at the pictures?”

  This ones’ death is easy. Rhett takes full advantage of his blocked view with a casual walk to the man. With the same sense of nonchalant, he forces the blade of his large hunting knife into the back of the man’s skull. It was a soundless death. Rhett is almost disappointed with the lack of danger. With the same ease and the same smile, he steps over the body as he searches for more with his big ole’ bucket of crazy to keep him brave.

  The next one is on my side of the shelves. She is wobbling back and forth. The motion follows her whole body in a lethargic sway. She stares at me a few moments before she actually sees me. It allows me to close the gap between us before she can attack. As her snarl spreads, my blade finds its mark. I watch gravity pull her from me as her eyes go back to dull and blank and it’s another quick and clean kill. My heart begins to slow its pace with the smile that Rhett flashes to me. Have we finally caught a break or are the Demi-Gods just busy with someone else?

  Rhett is already moving on like a silent killer. He said we are the good guys now because we are no longer the scariest things in this place. As I watch his face set with the joy of his hunt, I’m not so sure about that.

  The snarl that escaped from the woman has gained the attention of the rest of the room. The room that I had thought to be empty is proving to be abundant. The Demi-Gods weren’t busy with anyone else. They were just waiting until I was a better toy to be played with. The space between the shelves is starting to fill with sounds of them “awakening”. Grumbles and growls become something more menacing when their eyes find mine. What started as curiosity is now eagerness with their discovery. I stopped counting when the many divided rows became one. Actually, I stopped counting when I realized that if I kept counting, I would have started screaming.

  Men and women of various backgrounds stare at me. Their clothing ranges from jeans and t-shirts to suits and ties, all stained and worn from what they have become now. The virus didn’t discriminate between white or black, rich or poor. It turned them all. Now, they all kill with the same lack of segregation.

  I can’t stop my feet from going backwards. My body has learned from my past experiences. It wants to endure no repeats. With Rhett nowhere to be found, my frantic heart pushes my nerves to their breaking point. My heart is beating so hard I can feel the vibrations through my body. My legs become soft with my fears, making my retreat clumsy. My first stumble excites them. They grow bolder in their stalking with almost- smiles and pre-victory sounds. It saps my resolve even more.

  “Rhett!” I shout to someone, somewhere in the room, “Now would be a good time to see about that whole not-dying deal!”

  The first row took my shout as an invitation to dinner and they rush me. My slow retreat has already brought me to the edge of one of the long tables. With a gymnastic skill that only fear can provide, I quickly mount and cross it to keep some away with the obstacle between us. The group is so over-eager to feed, it ruins their normal methodical hunting skills. They pile against the table, trying to force it to move with the sheer number of them, but the tables are bolted to the floor. It’s not moving, not for them and not for me to keep it between us. I know it won’t be long until they have figured out they can simply move around it as I did. Once they do, I’m not sure what I will do.

  Their outstretched arms reach for me. They swipe the air with anger over my elusiveness. The shouts that come from them are of rage-filled desperation. They are starving, drooling over the thoughts of food that is only inches away.

  If there were less of them, I might be able to take a few down, but the clumped group stands too close for me to fight them. If I reach my arms in, my limbs will be torn apart like an overeager scavenger hunt for my flesh. My death would be quick as they set their teeth into my many veins.

  I can’t run and leave Rhett either. I am out of ideas and I’m out of options. When the first one starts to climb over the table, I know I am also out of time.

  He crawls slowly over the table. He is testing it, but his eyes never leave me. It is a slow, predator climb, making my body become locked with tension. Behind him, the rest of his pack has stilled as they watch. They are also waiting to see if it works before following him. The tables creaking cocks his head, but he never stops. His destination is straight ahead of him. It’s me.

  He pulls away from the group. It is exactly what I needed. He is even gracious enough to come headfirst. Yes, those Demi-wenches are obviously not watching the show on this channel.

  He senses the change in me. It’s a subtle shift for both of us. He increases his speed and I increase my need to survive. I wait with my heart rushing in my ears for him to reach me. The white noise overcomes me. That simple, peaceful state-of-mind drowns out all sounds. It removes all my doubts and fears, replacing them with one simple logic - kill or be killed. It’s nothing personal for him or for me. We both just want to survive.

  His momentum brings him to me. I use his eagerness to counterbalance my lack of strength. With his help, I plant the blade into the space between the eyes that have watched me from his serial killer mind. It is not an instant death and I force the blade deeper into the skull to reach my target. It takes his brain a moment to catch up with the damage I have caused him. He stops, but his eyes still watch me until the false life that uses them fades completely. My victory dance becomes just a cry to battle.

  They harbor no more hesitation and finally, Rhett doesn’t either. Focusing their attention on me, the Risen never notice the real threat standing directly behind them. Rhett is able to shoot into the clumped group so they fall in short patterns of lines, like dominoes. His smile says it all. It says a little too much, and I duck as the barrel swings towards the center of the group.

  As the last one falls,
I watch his shoes wade through the piles. Their bodies roll when he kicks them as he passes through. I would like to think it’s for safety reasons, but I’m sure a part of him just enjoys the act.

  He kneels under the table to find me. I am staring into eyes that have not yet completely lost their predatory gleam. “What does that say about my aim when you feel the need to hide?” he asks me. “Hurt a man’s pride like that…” he says. His smile is a good-natured jest, but Rhett always has a fine line that makes you pause before you return his smile.

  He offers me a hand covered in the aftermath of the cafeteria like a dare. I stare at it, feeling my stomach roll from the many layers that cover it. Returning a shade of the same smile, I grasp it and allow him to pull me to him. You don’t ever allow Rhett to find your weakness. He will turn it into a hobby, and as it is, he already knows plenty of things about me to keep him very busy if he so wanted.

  “Took you long enough,” I say to him. I’m not even trying to hide my annoyance over once again being the bait armed with only a hunting knife.

  “Sorry,” he tells me with a shrug, “takes time to line ‘em up.” He checks the remaining clip giving further reasons for delay and says, “I’m running low; didn’t want to waste any shots.”

  For the third time today, I am surrounded by the dead and the clock has yet to strike noon. Some expression must have peeked through the composure I am fighting to wear on my face. Rhett’s eyebrow arches with a silent question, but I shake my head and head to the library door. If I allow myself this moment to break down, it will turn into hours, which we don’t have.

  “Stop.”

  It’s one simple command; a short, hushed word he says, but with his tone, it holds the power of a bomb. We forgot one. She watches us while standing near the librarian’s desk in a cardigan-covered dress that seems so painfully appropriate. Her blonde hair is still piled on her head from where she had looped it through her ponytail from days long ago. She has watched from her side of the room with silent self-preservation or plotting. Neither of those makes for a good ending.

  Her arms are torn fragments of the flesh they once were. Her right cheek is shredded with claw marks and the connective tissue hangs in patterned holes peeking through to yellowing teeth like delicate crochet. Most people would be nervous seeing her standing there. For some, it might even be terrifying. For Rhett, it is all amusement. He was made for a world of dark things and desperate moments. He was made for this world when it has broken so many others. Grabbing a book from one of the tables, he never pauses. He never slows his steps or alters his path. He may as well have been walking up to an old friend to say hello – or goodbye.

  She doesn’t fight him. She doesn’t show any emotions at all as she watches him stalk towards her. When he raises his hand with the hardbound book, she accepts her death with the same blank face. Rhett smashes the spine of the book into her head, driving her to the ground with the force of it. Repeatedly, he forces it into the bones of her skull until they give way under his vengeance, crumbling underneath his assault and leaking the decaying fluids they once contained around her. What does it say about someone when the monsters view them as the bigger monster and simply accept death as unavoidable?

  Rhett reads my confused look as something I’m feeling over the outcome, not the act. He shrugs, looking at the book in his hand that is now covered in thick pieces of the woman before dropping it to the floor. “It was a boring cover, anyway,” he tells me before tearing the yellow cover with its black out-lined angle from the book and dropping it to the floor.

  It lands perfectly by the dead librarian’s hand as if the location was staged and not just another ironic twist life continues to offer us. Like a present or an apology, he shyly hands me the rest of the book that only days ago gave me comfort when no one else would. It’s now topless and wet, exactly how Rhett enjoys his subject matters.

  CHAPTER 7

  “Do you even have a reason as to why we are still alive?” Rhett and I have walked our side finding only a few pairs of stragglers that were easy to kill, to his disappointment. With an insistence to be thorough, we even broke into the main office to be sure it was clear. That was the reason he gave, but we both knew he just enjoyed breaking in. Now covered in our blood, their blood, and others’ blood, we run to hopefully find the rest of our family still alive with my question hanging between us.

  “One,” Rhett starts, “because we were born. Two, because we haven’t died, yet.” His face is completely serious with his answer. It reminds me why I don’t come to Rhett for motivational speeches. He will simply kill the monster under the bed for you. He won’t help you overcome your fear of it.

  “Look,” he tells me, “we survive because we are together, not because of you or me or anyone else alone, but because we take care of each other.”

  “What will we do now?” I ask him. I hadn’t meant for it to be such a heavy question or that of one sounding like a child, but it is.

  “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

  J.D. was many different things to many different people. His loss is the same combination. Mix the hanging fate of Aimes into that, and now there is no true north.

  Chapel is sitting on one of the hallway’s benches in front of the entrance to the gym. His head is lowered, cradled in his hands. We both take it as a bad sign. Rhett rushes through the doors, willing to face whatever the news may be, but not me. My legs are locked as I stare at Chapel. His lips are frantically moving with his internal thoughts. It doesn’t take long for me to figure out that he is praying. I’m just too scared to ask for what or for whom.

  “You okay?” I ask him. I hope it will give me an idea of what is waiting beyond the doors.

  His voice is thick with cloaked emotions as he says simply, “Yeah.”

  “Does that work for you?”

  He holds a hand out for me to take, lending me the strength that he and I both know that most of the time I just fake. “Yeah.” he says again, gently leading me to sit beside him.

  We sit side-by-side in silence, just allowing our presence to be the other’s comfort. The preacher’s son never turns his soul-seeing eyes to me and I am grateful. I don’t know what he would see right now.

  “Why?” I ask, breaking the fragile silence first.

  “Why what?”

  “Why does it work for you?”

  He sighs, bowing his head again and tells me, “We don’t all have an Aimes in our life.”

  The mention of her name and the silence is a burden again. It’s a heavy burden that crushes the wind from my lungs.

  “Praying for you is like Aimes and I?” I whisper her name, afraid to speak it aloud as if it might be the last time I do.

  He looks to me, feeling my question in his mind before answering it. “I can say what I need to say. Even the things I don’t say, He knows. He doesn’t judge either way.”

  “I thought the whole “judgment” thing went hand-in-hand with Him?”

  “No,” he says, looking at me with that gaze I was so afraid of moments ago, “that’s mankind.” There is a deep emotion to his voice that leaves no room for doubts about the life he has lived. I can’t meet his eyes. Instead, I stare at his hands. I stare at the cross ring he always wears, which used to shine with the many white stones it holds. Now that shine is gone as the blood from my friend dries in every crevice it owns.

  “Is Aimes…?” I can’t say the word, but he knows what I am asking.

  “No. Paula says she’ll be fine. Just needs a few days to recover.” He tucks my hair behind my ear and runs his knuckles tenderly down my cheek. That same thick voice tells me, “We have a lot of shit to do still. Perhaps it’s best if you don’t go in there, not yet. Let everything settle down inside you first.”

  Until this, we have all ignored Chapel. However, he was not the man who now sits here beside me, either. We have all had to change or b
e destroyed by what our lives have become. J.D. broke, but the man he viewed as our weakest link, strengthened. As he gives me words to excuse me from my fears, I can’t imagine this life without him.

  “She is sure that Aimes is going to be okay?”

  “There’s always a risk, but she’s already gained some color back. It’s a good sign, Hells.” His voice is soft, comforting as he reassures me.

  “I can’t lose her.” That sentence frees all of the emotions inside of me. Everything I have shut down and ignored rips forth in an exhale that shakes my body. I would collapse before God myself if He would spare her. I would blunder through every prayer I know if He would only hear me. I have offered my life to Death in exchange for hers already. I would give God the same trade if He cared.

  Chapel crushes me to him. He hides me in the strength of his arms while I cry, rocking me into a peaceful place like the child I yearn to become again, safe and treasured. His heart beat pounds against my ear with his own suffering. It’s not just Aimes that has us clinging to each other, but J.D. and Shelia and all the other names seared into our hearts. Every new loss is the opening of wounds that never heal. The wounds left by those who have already gone. It is a reminder of all those we couldn’t save and didn’t save. When Death takes someone from you, he reminds you of all the others he stole too.

  “I can’t do it anymore.” I whisper into his chest.

  “You’re the strongest person I know,” Chapel’s says. I can feel the vibration of his words as they rumble in his chest. Somehow, it’s comforting to a part of me that is very girly and that I very much dislike. “You just have to find the courage to get through each hour. Just focus on each hour. Soon, the hours will turn into days, the days into weeks and so forth until this is all over.”

  “What if it’s never over?”

  “Eventually Helena, it’s over for us all.”