Dawning (The Risen Series Book 1)

by Marie F. Crow

  Truth takes no prisoners. She has no interest in your longevity. She only wants acknowledgement in the moment to satisfy her bitter needs. Then she will wait while you grow lax, needing reminding yet again of her blade’s potent poison.

  Our truth comes slipping around the corner in the dark. It is watching, waiting for Aimes to be the most extended from the window, allowing her to be the most vulnerable for his attack. We are on the last of the bags when he decides to strike.

  Her white blonde hair shines brightly in the night air as she leans under the opened window, reaching for the next bag I am about to pass to her. I watch with a scream locked on my tongue as she jerks backwards into the darkness beyond the plaid-framed window. Her eyes grow wide with the sudden movement forced upon her. When she turns to see the cause, we both become acquainted with the level of horror these monsters are capable of holding.

  The truck is sitting so close to the cabin it leaves only enough space to spare my warhorse its paint. By the warm safe rays of the sun, this made perfect sense. Now with the darkness of night and its cold sightless moon upon us, there is no sense to be had. The male once had dark brown eyes, almost black, but now they are the color of dried mud. The left side of his face is sheered down to the bones from the rough wood of the cabin. Wet gore drips from the raw wound splattering the dark thickness upon his body. His chest is torn and tattered. It exposes layers of glistening tissue like wet meat shining under the silver rays of the moon. He was so eager for her he had forced his body into the thin space between the truck and wooden planks of the cabin’s exterior. Since neither side of his captors was willing to give space for his body, the wood took its vengeance on his soft, rotting flesh as the truck kept him pinned against the wall. Standing before us, he is holding on to Aimes with the only arm he is able to raise while his body is weeping its fluid upon the ground.

  I cover her mouth with my hand as her lungs fill with air when she sees what is pulling her down. If she screams it will cause the shift of shadows to head our way, possibly blocking our escape. Most likely, it will also cause our deaths once they begin to climb into the window. Her hot breath screams into my hand as she watches the Risen try to tear at her flesh. She continues to frantically tug against his hold. She gains no freedom, but the constant movement causes him to miss his chance to bite into her flesh as his body is wedged too tightly in place to gain any vantage point for the attack.

  My hand fumbles with the sheath of my hunting knife. The latch is catching under my fingers, but it is refusing to unclasp. I focus my coordination on keeping Aimes from harm, adding weight to her tug-of-war and I can’t fully find the grasp to open the magnetic snap as it defiantly ignores me.

  I need to remove my hand from her mouth, and I pray she will instinctively understand the importance for her silence. I need my body separated from her so I can firmly undo the metal snap mocking me in my time of need. As the man’s attacks become more desperate, the thought of her coming to harm outweighs the risk of her screaming, even if it does mean my death if she should bring them all down upon us.

  I take the risk, and as luck would have it, she does not scream. She continues to fight maniacally against the dripping nightmare holding her. I am able to undo the closure, and firmly grasp the handle of the large gleaming blade while my memories ride my sanity with their pointed teeth and swaying pigtails.

  I lean around her to wedge my body against the wooden window, mimicking the mutilated man’s predicament. The first splinters bite into my flesh in a warning of what could be if I am not careful. The blade slides into his damp temple with ease. I push until my hand connects with the raw film of his flesh as red pigtails flash before my eyes, but it’s not enough. It’s not enough for me at all.

  The blade slides out with a wet sucking sound, sending shivers of satisfaction through me. Slamming the blade into him again, I let my aching soul find release. Repeatedly I smash my fist against this head as the blade finds its mark again and again. His dark blood sprays against my wrist and arm and not until his body fully goes limp do, I stop. He does not fall so much as melt back- wards against the bed of the truck. His mud-colored eyes still stare at us as his blood seeps to cover them.

  We retreat into the room, falling upon its threadbare rug. The sound of our labored breathing fills the darkness around us. My sideburns and I can feel the wetness on my palm thickening as it chills before sliding down and coating my fingers. I swear his eyes are still staring at us, motionless and judging.

  How does one really know when the dead can no longer see you? I roll over onto my stomach to completely avoid the mental debate I feel beginning in an attempt to avoid dealing with what I just did. I look over at Aimes, watching her trying to weigh her response.

  “Did he bite you?” I ask, as the silence grows too thick.

  “No. I don’t know how he didn’t, but no,” she says, with her eyes seeing only the ceiling above her.

  “Well, we can dangle you out the window again and let them try harder if you want.” A “precious pink” tinted fingernail is raised toward me as her response.

  “Can I quote you on that?” I ask her with a smirk, and we laugh. We laugh because we don’t want to cry. We laugh because we don’t have the energy to fully break down. We laugh because we have to. Sometimes, you just have to.

  “You girls taking a nap? Want me to get you some pillows? Rub your feet?” J.D.’s voice is sharp and soft.

  His voice holds more power when it’s soft like now and we both startle as if he shouted. I sit up, watching his eyes slide over me before following a path to the window. Aimes’ arm is coated with her own war paint. She stares at it now with shock as if seeing it for the first time. The large man kneels down beside her small frame to check her over with a blank, passive face. He smears the area with his thumb looking for any wounds. There are only many tender points causing her to wince, which will surely bruise should we live to see morning, under his examination.

  He nods, satisfying his concerns with his findings, and still wordlessly, he walks to the window to stare at the corpse against the truck with its muddy eyes for a few moments. Grasping the handles of the last bag, he throws it into the bed, aiming at the dead male’s desecrated body. He manages to break the neck with a brutal snap from the force of his anger and the heavy bag. Now those eyes stare at the heavens and I wonder if it is as curious where God is lately, or if those thoughts are left for only us to endure.

  “Get ready. When we bring the bikes around, you two exit this window and get in that truck of yours,” he says, as he exits from the room. Once again, I am happy I am on this side of the line of J.D.’s world. “Oh, and Barbie, I wouldn’t trust the driving to our girl here. We’re kind of in a hurry and don’t have the time to track your asses down again.” His chuckle carries him into the deep darkness of the hallway where creatures such as he is the most comfortable.

  I glare at her and she gives me her bashful shrug at the memory while the lights in the front of the cabin are coming on. The tele- vision begins to blare random noise as they carry it to the front windows. They are trying to create the biggest distraction they can, coaxing the Risen to the front of the cabin from where the noise and light stream. It finally sets in for us we are truly abandoning the only safe place we have had for weeks, our private haven in a world gone to hell.

  Like teens in a prolonged sleepover, we glance around the room we are now leaving with remorse. What was once just an attempt to bend the rules of our small town by forming their little bar- based club has now become a new family for those of us under this rusting tin roof. We had tricked ourselves into the hope of this being our new future as we held hopes of it becoming our new home. Truth so hates to be ignored and now the monsters we had let slip away have returned for us.

  We lay here in silence, listening to the various sounds inside the cabin as they prepare for our grand exit. We are trying our best to ignore the many sounds from outside the cabin as our imaginations are forming images to
match. We hold the bravado of small children at night wondering what the thing in the closet must look like no matter how many times our parents tell us we are perfectly safe. Every child left by now knows no one may ever be perfectly safe again. We just don’t know why the monsters made it out of so many closets at once.

  I grow restless waiting for the men. We should already be in the truck when they come around. It makes no sense to me to be risking our exposure over their loud engine noises as we crawl around in the dark. The truck would make a better path for them to follow behind than allowing them to ride through the center of whatever is out there waiting for us.

  If they are hoping the noise will pull the Risen away from the roads, it may not be the best idea. I still remember the way the demonic dolls watched Conroy and me. The way they waited for us. They are not mindless husks, but pure predators behind those eyes that think, watch and wait.

  “I don’t know what you are thinking of, but no,” Aimes says, watching my forehead crease.

  “I am thinking we need to be in the truck before they come for us so we do not end up playing pass the pixie again,” I say, and we launch into our rapid way of answering the other.

  “I hear it’s a totally overrated game.” “Certainly not a crowd pleaser.”

  “You are going to make us do this, aren’t you?”

  “Nope, you can sit here and wait.” I stand as my side protests the stretching and say, “I am tired of the kid gloves.”

  “You know if I sit here now and wait you pretty much just called me a wimp?”

  “I was thinking chicken, but if wimp makes you feel better…” “No, being thought of as food, yet again, brings me the best

  sense of comfort ever,” she sarcastically says.

  “I think you are more of a snack. A whole meal is a lot of pressure for that small body of yours.”

  “Well, we can’t all be a four-course like you.”

  She dodges the pillow I throw at her with an exaggeration of the accomplishment.

  “Come on, Bok Bok,” I say to her, as she makes playful chicken noises as she follows behind me to the window, and I pray Truth has had her fill with us for just a few moments.

  The worst part about sticking your head around something is the fact you are about to stick your head around something. Your mind’s eye sees a thousand dangers just waiting for you. Each one of the dangers pictured for you is worse than the one before it. They are hunching over waiting with whispers barely containing their glee for you to do something stupid. Like for you to stick your head out for them.

  For a moment, I debate about putting Aimes’ head out first if it would stop the noises. My thoughts must have shown in my eyes as her sounds are reduced to covered giggles as stress and fear make her nervous.

  The night is oil black. The trees, even with their leafless arms, seem to cover the area in thick shadows. My eyes strain for any movements that would signal danger around us, but they see nothing. Now, to only find the courage to climb out past the broken body sitting beside me. It all sounds so easy in my head, but my own body refuses to make the first move. It always sounds so easy in my head.

  “Do you need a push?” she whispers behind me, and I jump, hitting my head on the raised window.

  We knew it was going to happen to one of us. A raised window waiting with two frazzled girls? The Fates were stacked against us from the start. Lucky me. I glare at her again and she mouths the word, “sorry”. Unfortunately, her giggles do not convey the best of sincerity for the matter.

  The window of the cabin is only half the size of most modern bedroom windows. My upper body fills most of the space as I slide out using the truck for extra leverage to pull against. The further out my torso slides past the Risen, the more images begin to play in my head of his sudden reanimation. Surely, he has al- ready used his one free horror style pass of coming back to life. It would just be cruel if they were to have a pass for each form of “life.” Whatever Gods are still watching over us could not be that perverse. His glazed eyes do not encourage me to dare them. The exit from the cabin was much more graceful in my mind than the actual belly flop into the bed it results in, bringing more giggles from behind me. Like a beast, the truck does not budge as I help Aimes through the same small window. Her eyes are staring at her near-death experience resting so close to us as she passes it, making her limp and clumsy. I would pay money to see the body twitch right now. I never claimed to be a nice person.

  The truck door opens without so much as a sound, exposing the wide bench seat. Her keys gleam in the ignition, sending a silent hint letting us know that even she is ready to be done with this place. The first headlight sweeps around the back of the cabin as Aimes and I slide into this new metal safety net of mine.

  Roar after roar of engines fires the yard to life. My heart begins to accelerate, not knowing what is ahead of us in the night’s thick darkness. I begin to shake with the fear of not knowing if our escape will really be our salvation, or our tragedy, or if I just need to keep my panties on like J.D. suggested to Chapel.

  My warhorse starts with the same deep roar, daring the bikes to outdo her. J.D. motions for me to take the lead of the charge into the dark wooded path after the duffels from Lee’s are dumped into the bed with the bags from our room. I guess even the Boogeyman some- times is afraid to be the first to step into the dark. The thought sneaks a smile onto my face even in the middle of these circumstances.

  J.D. is not as fear resilient as I had always thought him to be. The man I thought was steel-lined is now unable to meet my stare with the private knowledge we have shared between us. Our rock has just as many ghosts as we do who walk with him daily. Has his blood-painted past finally caught up to him? With Death as our new consort, does he finally fear the payment due?

  His grimace shows how angry he is at letting his walls slip before me. His eyes dare me to question our new understanding of one another, but I do not need to ask him anything. I have already seen the truth.

  The very thing he is now afraid to do, I have already done before. I have faced these hell-tainted demons already on my own more times than my sanity will admit. I have already found myself in harm’s way to save the ones I love. I have run with hell at my heels and I am about to do it again. He no longer holds the power over me I have so easily given him all these years. I tell him so with my smile as I rev the truck into our exit with my own dare to him.

  Only once we hit what is left of the tire-rutted road do I look behind me. Our paradise is crawling with dark masses and shapes. They have used each other as a ladder to climb upon the tall porch. Hands slam against the windows, silhouetted by the many glaring lights beyond them. The ancient glass is already be- ginning to give against their assaults with spider webs of circles. I wonder if they will ignore the sharp edges of the glass, they must slide through to gain entrance, or will their hunger-forced animation desist once they find the place empty of human life. Will our perfume of flesh linger for them long after our exit? What does the Devil do when one once again cheats him of his prize?

  The woods are filled with their waiting eyes before us. They stand motionless until alerted to our passing. Their eyes always find us moments before their bodies awake, resulting in a spine-chilling feeling of their stares. Their gaze is catching the light from my headlights in reflections that project an eerie glow. I push the truck to speeds unsafe for such a winding dirt road at the sight of so many of them staring at us. Their stained clothing, and decaying forms, brings the night alive with their spectral images.

  The large tires bounce over, what I pray to be, ruts in the well- worn path below us, but I don’t look to see. The steering wheel fights to jerk free from my grip to further capitalize upon the known risks I am taking.

  My job is to clear the path for our family behind us. My panic sets in under the pressure of holding the risk of losing all of them to the monsters who have already taken one family from me. I am achingly exhausted from the many failures I already hold guar
ded behind my high walls. I have no more mortar to build the bricks any higher shall I fail tonight.

  They ride, almost huddling close together, avoiding any unneeded space. Their level of skill and ease with their motorcycles shows as I press them hard to keep up over the rutted and slick, leaf-covered path. Only Rhett has a sense of enjoyment with all of this.

  He calls out to the hidden death threats the forest is trying to keep veiled, allowing them to sneak up on us. I can almost see a smile on those lips as his “come what may” thrill-seeking side is finally finding a world in which to thrive. I cannot hear the words he is yelling at the desperate attempts the Risen take to reach them, but whatever he is shouting, it brings pure death-daring male smiles to those around him. That is to all of them except Chapel. He is stone-faced in our hell-themed amusement park roller coaster of an escape.

  J.D. is using his blinkers to tell me which way to follow the path as I try to keep my eyes on him and the path before us. His headlights tell me when to speed up with a flash. We have no signal for slowing down, not that I would.

  Luckily for us, by the time the Risen have awoken to us we are zooming past in a leaf-covered cloud. Even at such speeds, this ride of terror seems to take forever. My arms are starting to ache from fighting the truck’s natural responses and I can only imagine what the motorcycles are doing to their riders’ bodies. Instinctively, I glance to the rearview mirror and count the men behind me with a prayer on my lips.

  “There! There!” Aimes screams, pointing ahead on the path.

  Glorious pavement shines like a holy river of salvation ahead to our right, and on cue, I see the blinker flash in the darkness. I force the truck harder at the sight of our freedom. Her engine roars into the night like a beast announcing its victory and her call is returned behind me in an answering chorus.