The Risen: Courage

by Marie F. Crow

  “You’re doing it again.” Aimes pushes my shoulder letting my body rock to awareness.

  I look at her using my face to ask what she means instead of my voice.

  “They aren’t human, Hells. You know that, right?”

  “Paula said they aren’t dead. The virus just takes over like a switch to the programming. If that is true, could there be a cure?”

  “It’s not some super flu that some horse pills and three glasses of juice a day will get rid of. The fever cooks the brain, allowing whatever it is to take over. You can’t cure it.”

  I watch Marxx, my personal Superman, put one down with his blade through an eye socket. It doesn’t phase him when the gore backsplashes upon him. He easily moves to the next one, repeating the same action through the links of the fence. It bothers me some that it doesn’t bother them anymore. I’m not ready to accept that this is our life now. Wake, dress, kill a handful of people, rinse and repeat every day? No, I’m just not ready to accept the life we once had is over.

  “What happened to you?” Aimes asks another version of the question she has already asked me several times. “Where are they, Hells?”

  A thousand answers clot in my throat like a wound that keeps bleeding with the slightest touch. “I killed them,” I say with a voice as hollow as my heart. “It was my job to keep them safe and I failed them.”

  “Oh, Hells,” she barely whispers. “One day, I will ask to hear it all and you will tell me so we can nail this coffin shut.”

  I nod, watching the show end below us. “One day.” One day I will have to answer all of their questions, just not today.

  “Come on,” she says, rubbing my arm with an attempt to remove the ghosts that are haunting me. “Lets go down and meet them. If Lawless comes across Travis anytime soon, your face will just go to waste. It will be hard to keep playing the “good guys” if Law is smacking around the “holy guy”.”

  That’s not exactly true, I want to tell her. Nothing makes a bunch of middle aged, over-romantic women fluster faster than a man defending the wrongs done to “his girl”. It’s the middle chapters of every sappy romance book I have ever tried to force my way through with worries that something might be wrong with me for hating every book of that style. If the women really lived in a life where “the guy” was always “avenging wrongs”, they wouldn’t find it so romantic. Sweeping up broken glasses and bottles night-after-night at Grit became less romantic by the hour. I’m not trying to appeal to my sense of heroics though. It’s to the ideas of the people living here we have to cater. I need the home team to change back to us and everyone loves a good comeback story.

  “Think Travis is already preaching?” Aimes asks me as we take the stairs two at a time to reach the show.

  “He’s going to have to think of some way to spin it all.” I wince with every forceful step now, seeing as my body has rid itself of the super powers given by adrenaline. “He and his people keep staying safe behind the walls while we and our heretic-selves keep going out there. He can’t risk letting those thoughts start forming in people’s heads.”

  “Isn’t that the point though?” she asks with a toss between excitement and curiosity.

  “Yes, but not for him.”

  I reach for the metal door of the first floor as it flies forward. My fingers slip from the cold handle as it is forced past my hand and Aimes jerks me towards her, saving my face from any more added colors being distributed.

  Selma looks as shocked as we are to be suddenly face-to-face. “You better hurry,” she tells us. She recovers from the shock faster than we can, but she has the skill of plastic with her face that we lack.

  “Hurry where?” Aimes asks, feigning an innocence that would make a true priest proud.

  You can’t fool the puppet master. Selma doesn’t answer. She pushes her way between us, refusing to play our game. I hate poor sports. As Aimes skips down the last few steps behind me, I guess she enjoys them.

  “You know that woman needs a whore-fax, right?” Aimes asks as we walk towards the room, serving for more than just an eatery. “One owner my ass.”

  “You don’t think she wore white?” I smile with my questions as we both begin to build our confidence.

  “Everyone wears white. It doesn’t mean they should.”

  “So I guess you will be wearing white?”

  She gives my question the very special one finger acknowledgment. From here we can hear the shouting from the cafeteria is all male. The deep pitches of the voices are colliding with random louder noises as if the room is divided and cheering for each side.

  I have a moment of weakness letting my feet slow. Normal people don’t have this amount of constant drama surrounding them like a black plague. Normal people don’t have this constant fighting to navigate through, never knowing which step will be the one that finds the landmine. The things waiting outside for us, those sadly have become normal and even that I can’t really handle. I’m not sure what it really says about me when I would rather fight hand-to-hand with the undead monsters than to walk into a room fervent with male angst. I would rather be risking my life than to have to once again step into the middle of the flying fists and words. Bruises from words often last longer than any damage fists could cause. Bruises heal, but the words never leave you.

  “Here we go again,” I sigh before pushing through the last set of protective doors.

  The noise explodes without the metal to dampen the flaring tempers. Tempers are burning hotter than the many candles being used to combat the early darkness of the season. The voices flicker back-and-forth as fast as the light being cast upon the walls. Right in the middle of it all, is shockingly not a single member of G.R.I.T.

  G.R.I.T. stands like tall pallbearers along one side of the fighting. Dressed in their black vests and wearing serious faces, they stand watching and waiting as Simon and the God Squad exchange verbal beatings. Travis is firmly behind the row of protectors wearing the same slimy smile as always, being the constant instigator that he is. For a man of God who believes He will protect him, Travis is never standing anywhere to test the theory.

  “That’s Horrence.” Leslie’s voice slips behind me, giving a name to the man battling with Simon. “He is the newest one trying to prove his dedication.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” I ask her without turning to look at her.

  “Why are you talking to us at all?” Aimes asks, taking her discomfort a tad bit further than I had.

  “I thought you would want to know,” Leslie says. Her red hair is a deep mahogany with nothing but the soft candlelight casting on her loose waves. It’s hard to not hate her. Or maybe, it’s just hard for me not to hate her. Her natural perfection just makes it more justifiable. I am woman. Hear me compare.

  “So what is the deal, Miss Helpful One?” Aimes asks with the most sincere attempt to be nice I have seen her put forth yet.

  Leslie accepts it for what it is – sarcasm. She explains, “When your group came back in, Selma made some offhand comment about Rhett changing sides more than Lawless changes partners. I guess she thought something so simple would get under Rhett’s skin, or Law’s skin, but Rhett just laughed and asked her if she missed him that much. He then said something about her wanting other people’s toys more than Travis does. The rest was really kind of hush-hush but whatever was said aggravated Simon enough to start defending your crew. It’s been going back and forth ever since.” She made motions with her hands to help separate the events as she was telling them. It was a mistake. We have had our own little past dramas, and with the one raging on in front of us, the room is waiting to see if ours is about to reopen, thinking her hand motions were more than what they really were.

  “How long do we let them ego it out?” Aimes whispers to me. “I mean, welcome back Simon, but this could go on for awhile.”

  “You mean because they wont throw
a punch like yours would have by now?” Leslie wants it to sound like an insult, but she has a trail of longing at the end of her sentence that ruins her intent.

  Aimes just smiles her the normal cocky expression, which often adorns her face. “Try to keep your vagina from your voice if you want to try to be insulting. Otherwise, you’re just being pathetic,” Aimes tells Leslie as she turns to walk towards the commotion.

  “I don’t even know what that means?” Leslie looks to me for help and I just laugh.

  What else can I do?

  I listen to the shouting match as I follow Aimes into the thick of it. I’m not sure what they are fighting over. I’m not sure if even they know at this point. In every fight, there comes a point when it’s just venting and no longer holding to a true path. I think not only has this one reached that point, but also it has gone past it, resulting in almost random insults. Now it’s just whoever can shout the loudest will win.

  I can feel Travis watching me like the snake he resembles for me. I can almost hear the warning rattle and it adds more of a glide to my steps. Other women feed from the hands offering them compliments and whistles. I graze from the looks of contempt and whispering judgments. At least those are honest.

  Every step I take towards them, Travis copies in a mimicked attempt of provocation. The room begins to grow still seeing the new drama unfolding. Everyone knows the main event is about to start, and like those who bet on a fight, people are debating which side to place their faith on.

  “Helena dear,” Travis calls to me from behind the security of his lesser-than-stellar-brain-powered security team, “where have you been? You’ve been lacking in your duty to keep the peace.”

  “I had to powder my nose.” I call to him without turning my head to see him. “The shine was contrasting with the bruising.”

  “Hmmm,” Travis almost moans the sound as he stalls to collect his thoughts. After all, it’s going to take something creative to make him sound like the good guy now. “Yes that was unfortunate the way you made me defend myself. It takes a brave woman to initiate a fight between herself and a man, as you can see, it’s not always a wise thing to do.”

  Reaching the wall of the men I have come to trust with my life, I finally give Travis my full attention. “It’s sad you felt the need to have to use your fists to defend yourself from me. I was just a girl asking … questions.” I pause, extending the last word, letting it hint to what he really hit me over. “Good thing Rhett has better self-control than you do, Travis. Your face might match mine otherwise.”

  “Want it to?” Rhett almost purrs the question and the men softly laugh.

  “Violence. That is all your people know!” Travis exclaims and it doesn’t take any brainpower at all to know he is about to start preaching to distract from what has been said against him. “They bring violence. They encourage violence. They live it. They wear those vests declaring it!”

  Aimes makes a grand show of a yawn while staring straight at Travis. Leslie was wrong. It’s not the men who always swing first. Aimes just doesn’t use her fists.

  “We have been safe behind these walls this whole time. They go out one time and look what follows them back?” Travis is spinning now using the cafeteria like a stage. “You call them heroes for going out there to destroy the demons when the demons came because of them. Like calls to like!”

  “Or deer meat calls to hungry.” Paula’s voice silences the room. She doesn’t need that little bag after all. Who knew? “Someone’s been dumping the remains left from cleaning the meat by the fences. Oddly enough, the same spots where they climbed over today.”

  I notice how Paula calls the Risen “them” and not “things” or “demons” like Travis has trained the place to do.

  “Isn’t it Dolph who hunts for us? Now he stands among them. Rather fitting wouldn’t you say?” Travis feels like he’s played his ace. Too bad he’s playing cards with a woman like Paula. She knows that the ace is never played first. You hold that card until you have more than one to boast.

  “Except that it’s your man in charge of removing such things as per your order.” Paula says, crossing her arms to wait for his answer.

  “If someone said that, it was untrue. I never placed such a suggestion.” Travis wears his smug grin. I’ve come to learn that the wider that grin becomes, the deeper the lie. Right now, he’s lying through his perfect white teeth.

  “Yes, you did,” the one named Horrence says before he can stop himself.

  The corners of Travis’ mouth actually rise higher. I didn’t think that was possible.

  “Like I said, a misunderstanding,” he says.

  Horrence shakes his head, still not understanding the subtitles Travis is doing his best to spell for the man. “No, Boss. You said to be sure to take the unusable meat and place it along the fences. I understood just fine.” His words spill forth with the worry Travis might think his every command wasn’t obeyed.

  I relax into the arms of Lawless as we watch the comedy hour. Horrence is a large man; someone who would live in a gym as long as that gym was walled in mirrors. He most likely used to catch every woman’s eyes with his extremely toned body, but lost their attention just as fast when he opened his mouth. The more he opens his mouth now, the more attention he gains. Not all of it is good.

  Travis’ eyes hold the same gleam I saw when I was at his feet while he was holding that perfect smile.

  “You just have to hate it when a plan almost kills people,” Lawless says while resting his head on my shoulder. He reaches into his vest pocket and pulls the baseball hat from its hiding place. “Unless that is the plan.”

  The room is in an uproar of hushed whispering over the little memento of a tragedy still unanswered. Travis shows no sign of recognizing the hat, but one of his Squad does. The man pushes through the line ignoring their looks of disapproval. He reaches for the hat like a starving man stretching for one final sip of decadence. His fingers tremble as they slide over the stiches and the many worn spots from years of wear. Each discoloration holds some memory for him and his smile flashes before it fades with each spot he remembers.

  “How?” he asks as his tears start to glide.

  “We found it under the tree you left your son in,” Lawless says. He doesn’t mince words or try hiding his disgust for what the man has helped happen.

  The man turns to Travis with shock. It steals his breath and his chest rapidly rises and falls with the emotions coursing through him. “You said you buried them. You told us you would honor our sacrifice.” The man steps towards Travis with clenched fists. The line of protection Travis depended on steps aside from the man’s anger. “Our wives? Did you leave them too?”

  The room starts to ring out with questions over what they are watching.

  “What tree?” comes from one side of the room.

  “Leave them where?” comes from somewhere else.

  “What sacrifice?” comes from somewhere deeper in the room.

  Travis’s eyes bounce from each section that calls out. The mounting panic radiates from behind those eyes.

  “What is Selma doing out there?” Leslie is staring out the fogged windows with squinting eyes. Set after set of eyes join hers as they try to peer through the hazy windows at the woman standing by the cross outside.

  “She has Cole!” a woman shouts, shaking her husband’s arm as she points.

  “Is that Harper?” another woman asks with the same shaking of fear as the first woman.

  If the room was electric before, it’s pulsing now. Rhett grabs Aimes as the bodies force forward to see what is exactly happening outside. I want to stop them. I want to warn them, but I have nothing to offer and Travis’ smile is growing.

  It’s a different smile this time. He’s not nervous anymore. He’s not the least bit worried about what the people think of him or his. I watch as he takes out a small red b
eaded necklace with it’s gold cross and brings it tenderly to his lips. He closes his eyes as he kisses the flesh-warmed metal. I know it will all be over soon. I’m about to bleed.

  CHAPTER 34

  The dropping temperatures of the night have allowed the snow to float again. It’s the start of a winter paradise and the children dance and run under the frozen flakes. They extend their tongues, trying to capture the flakes in the centuries old tradition of winter fun. Their laughter is the soundtrack of innocence. The unease that was shared inside the cafeteria dissipates watching them celebrate the snow.

  Selma is winding the handle of an old styled record player. The needle plays the ancient strands of “Amazing Grace” with the white noise only a true record player can produce. The melody mingles with the laughter, and what was originally composed to inspire faith, only paints an eerie backdrop.

  “What the hell?” Chapel mutters, but we all have an idea of exactly the hell we are about to witness.

  The missing members of the Squad stand between the line of people and Selma. Her hands temple in prayer with a mouth silently moving as she recites whatever message to God which she hopes he is listening to. A large crate sits by her feet. It’s wooden structure hisses a warning no one is listening to with their eyes locked on the children they can’t reach. Panic with the event they just narrowly escaped a month ago inspires their bravery. I watch as the man named Ryan pushes against the men blocking them and he is shoved to the ground with an answer to his attempt to reach his daughter.

  The barrels are lit one-by-one around the yard while Selma continues to pray, oblivious to it all, or either very well aware and ignoring it. The members of their community pour the sharp smelling gas from the generator’s stockpile into the barrels. The flames catch with an almost hell-like heat. The crowd winces from the mini explosions of light, settling their voices and their fight to reach their kids.