Dawning (The Risen Series Book 1)

by Marie F. Crow

I don’t know if I am happier to see the pavement, or to feel it when the large tires grip and propel us forward. I begin to ease off the gas for the first time since the trip began, allowing them to come around me. J.D. flies around us, giving a nod before leaning his bike into the space in front of us. Lawless comes from the other side, giving a smirk and one-by-one they file past until the leader is now the follower.

  “Hey, want me to drive?” Aimes asks, breaking the tension and it is my turn to give her a single finger answer.

  “Can I quote you on that?” she asks, repeating me from earlier and her joyous laughter fills the truck as I settle into what I am sure will be a long drive.

  Chapter 20

  “Home sweet home,” Aimes says, as she claims a spot in the back of the abandoned Welcome Center. Her voice carries the exhaustion the rest of us are feeling.

  The glass doors had been nailed shut with various scraps of plywood. Litter floated along the night’s breeze in the parking lot where empty cars stood parked, and abandoned with no signs of their owners around. Once again, life is a snapshot of time. It was these clues that made J.D. assume it would be safe for us to crash here. Even though he made Aimes and I stand in the shelter of the shadows of my truck while the men soundlessly secured the room. We have driven for what mentally feels like hours. My numb legs judge it to be days. Rhett’s crude joke as he had dismounted his Harley let me know the men are feeling the same way by their laughter.

  The building is an open floor plan, making it well suited to allow for the ease of human traffic once gathering within these walls. The layout leaves plenty of space for the bikes to be brought in along the wall that once boasted the many reasons to stay in this town with glossy postcards and brochures. Their head- lights watch us like sentinels of darker times with the blacked- out frames aligned in riding formation. My truck covered in dust from the dirt road blends with the other deserted cars forever left between the diagonal white lines.

  The only other room connected to this one is what once served as an office for the staff. It’s secluded behind the service desk where smiling attendants once stood to greet people, and answer questions about directions or nearby attractions. The only door is the one we came through, making it easy to spot anyone, or anything, trying to come in. Watching us sleep is most likely the only thing anyone on guard will do tonight. It’s not an altogether unwelcoming thought.

  Lawless has haphazardly reaffixed the wood we took down to gain our access, attempting to hide any clues to any changes we have made. The butane lanterns cast only the faintest of glows and provide just enough light to ease the earlier visions from our minds. They form an almost night-light effect for grownups.

  “Sleep sweet sleep,” Rhett returns with Aimes’ chant, and it is decided Marxx will take the first watch.

  The soft sounds of rustling fabrics float through the space as we prepare to rest our aching bodies and overstressed minds. Sleeping bags are unfolded and zippers slide along metallic teeth giving the illusion of security when the fabric shell closes around the occupant inside. I prefer to leave mine undone, minus the small amount needed to keep it held together. My blade, with its disobedient sheath, slips under my pillow for security. With how life is churning, it’s becoming more soothing than any teddy bear I have ever owned.

  I am grateful for my body’s fatigue in hopes it will win over my mind’s need for the nightly terror-filled blue eyes and golden hair it shows me. As my eyes begin the losing battle of staying open, I watch J.D., Marxx and Lawless sit upon the bolted couches huddled in discussion with Rhett already snoring in his sleeping bag. Chapel sits in a far corner, holding his head as he prepares to battle his nightly demons of sleep. Lawless holds my gaze with his warm, brown eyes helping me cave to my body’s demands. I cannot help but to think how familiar this all feels as I drift off to sleep.

  My body tenses as my senses awaken before my brain does, signaling some unseen danger near me. Reflexively, I reach under my pillow even before my eyes open, grasping for the blade to swing at what my body screams is behind me. A strong hand covers mine and a familiar voice settles my racing heart.

  “Shhhhh,” he whispers, coaxing me back to sleep while his strong arms wrap around me, pulling me close to him.

  I am drowning in the scent of his skin and I welcome the decent. My body betrays me by molding into his frame, enjoying his heat and the comfort he offers me. We adjust in our perfected sleeping position, giving each other as much as we take.

  I was wrong about the blade being the best teddy bear to date. Lawless holding me close has claimed that title as his body melts to mine, luring us both into the seduction of sleep.

  I wake to the sound of muffled voices and male bodies peering out between the plywood boards. Aimes motions for me to stay silent as she crawls to me while I fight to drag myself from sleep. Something bad is happening on the other side of those boards.

  Something that is making even J.D. anxious, as his fist clenches and releases with the knowledge of it. I can see Lawless’ jaw muscles clench as his eyes move, following the hidden action.

  Chapel breaks first. He turns from the scene, taking himself to the couches to bury his head in his hands. Aimes and I watch all their reactions until my curiosity gets the better of me. I will once again wish I had better control of that. How many lives does a cat have after all?

  The Welcome Center was designed with all your traveling needs in mind, just as the overly cheerful billboard reads. Apparently, they too did not foresee just how fast our needs would be changing with their giant, smiling family advertisement.

  Other than the building we are hiding in now, there is also a small convenience store/restaurant combination and another building holding restrooms across the shared parking lot. Once the rich green landscape, now fall-covered, wrapped around the place for weary drivers to walk along and children to burn off pent-up energy to their family’s road weary relief.

  Aimes and I had run along these spaces last night, screaming with glee as Rhett chased us along the paths. We chased fireflies, sparkling like stars in the attempts to remove the images burned into our minds before being brave enough to try to sleep. Outside of the once well-lit restrooms stand various vending machines that still after all these weeks hold a wide variety of salty, satisfying cravings.

  Rhett and Lawless had happily discovered these, returning them to a cheerful state and their mood was contagious. After such a long night, it had felt good to be surrounded by male laughter and their rough jokes again. As a group, we had decided last night we would wait until daylight to explore the other building for any more hidden treasures. No one wanted to break the spell we were under allowing us this rare gift of peace. Now it seems others had the same idea, but peace was not their gift.

  A blue minivan is slowly becoming overrun with Risen as they rock the vehicle with their strength and sheer number, treating it as a mere child’s toy. Randomly an arm will extend from the driver’s side window to stab at a body, but even as it falls another takes its space. A smaller clump of Risen have huddled over some- thing a few spaces away from the van. The red slickness pooling around it catches the sun’s light. The way they kneel, the hidden horrors of my mind know all too well what has happened and what they are doing. Suddenly, I have completely forgotten my morning hunger as my empty stomach clenches.

  Small movements from inside the store’s windows thankfully steal my attention from the massacre. A man randomly comes into view from the other side of the windows. His wide eyes are panic, and pain rimmed as he watches the parking lot. Sometimes a woman, whose red hair is hard to miss even from this distance, will share the same look as she joins him in the space between the walls before ducking from view. Their story unfolds as we watch from our vantage point.

  This group had come to find their own supplies, lured by the hopes of survival from which we all cling. They had left the driver in the van as a look out while the other three had gone inside. Something went wrong with their exit plan
though. Now one lies dead, blocking the path to freedom for the other two. It’s a twist of bitter agony to lose someone you care for and the loss being the very thing keeping you from escaping the same fate. They are now stuck in a prison of their own making. Their wardens are holding a death sentence for them.

  The van is now a layer plus deep in Risen. The arm no longer risks exposure with the pointless attempts of preservation. There seems to be some communication between the two sets as both the male and the female appear in the window wearing the same frantic fear from something, we are unable to see from our room. The van inches forward with jerking motions and the revving of its engine, trying to push through the rotting mob around it. It is slow progress until the driver grows either braver or more desperate, pushing a path using the pure force of the van’s hood to nudge his way out. Some of the Risen fall under the tires’ path becoming a red ruin as the wave follows the moving target out onto the highway. The van, with its Pied Piper appearance, rushes from the Welcome Center parking lot with tires screaming from the escape.

  “He left them?” Aimes whispers, being subconsciously fearful of alerting the remaining Risen feasting upon the fallen friend of those across from us.

  “What did you want him to do? They are behind walls and he was a carrot on a stick. He probably just went for help,” Rhett observes with a shrug.

  This whole time he has been snacking on whatever vendor goodies we have stashed while watching the scene outside as if it was no more than birds and squirrels fighting for trees in the spring. Sometimes his ability to detach from the world’s horrors worries me. Other times I am just grateful someone here is strong enough to mentally accept it all.

  Something Rhett has said has caught J.D.’s distracted attention. His cold eyes slowly come to rest on Rhett, causing the other man to look affected with their weight. Once again, the men share some private code of eye contact and it stirs them to action. Both Rhett, J.D. and Chapel begin checking their ammo with determination of discovery as Marxx and Lawless pull long dark barrels from the duffels with haste.

  “Are we going to go save them?” Aimes asks with a child-like hope.

  “No, Sweetheart. That’s not the plan,” Marxx gravel voice answers gently. His voice holds the same kid gloves tone that Aimes invokes in the men around us.

  “So then, what is all this?” she asks him weakly as she and I watch their actions.

  “Protection,” he answers her, never being brave enough to meet her eyes.

  Now I understand. The ones trapped hold the thought of help with prayer. We are holding the thought of help with preparation. The first scream shatters the feigned calm we are all draping across our minds. Marxx and Lawless make no movement to ac- knowledge the sound. Only their cringe with each rising decibel shows they are aware of anything other than their chore at hand. Chapel and I rush back to the door being the only ones willing to watch through the plywood peek-a-boo at what is about to happen across the lot. J.D and Rhett turn their backs to become deeply absorbed in a discussion over the best plans to defend against the invisible attackers and Aimes sinks deeper into her bag as she pulls it over her head to block the screams. I wonder which of their refusals to look is from hardness or weakness.

  The Risen have become disinterested in the body they have left exposed and violated under the sun. If not for the basic form of it, it would be hard to say it had been human at some point. They have left nothing to mark any clues of the person’s once upon a time humanity. It’s now nothing more than so much red meat and broken bones, laid bare for all to see with no shame or afterthought.

  The Risen slam their crimson-coated limbs against the protective glass of the storefront. The smiling vinyl faces who were once put there to encourage your patronage and dollars spent are slowly becoming gore-covered with each moment passing. There are no smiling faces beyond the glass though. Only wide eyes and open mouths shouting orders or pleas for suggestions. With their lack of enthusiasm, I am guessing there is not much of either to be had as the glass starts the first pebble-like effect under the trauma of so much force.

  “They are gonna get in,” Chapel whispers with a realization of what we are about to watch.

  “Not our problem,” J.D. says in an attempt to remove any con- fusion over our part in what we are watching unfold.

  He expects us to all sit in here. That is his decision, his call. We can either watch or not, in that he holds no judgment, but we are not to help them.

  “You can’t seriously mean that?” Chapel’s voice is still razor thin. It barely cuts the tension of the room with its reservations for asking a question to which we all already know the truth.

  “Look,” J.D. says, “I would enjoy being your idea of some decent guy, but the truth is, I’m not. Not ever gonna be good enough for you, or even all those like you. All I am is a man. Just smoke and mirrors for whatever I need to do to get us through each day. Today, today we stay in here with our own. Now, take that pretty little golden trinket of death off your neck allowing you to so easily place yourself above the rest of the world and man up or shut up. I don’t care which one, but I don’t have time to babysit your fragile sense of right or wrong today.”

  J.D. has walked straight to the other man to stare him down while explaining his point of view on the matter at hand. The room fills with frozen forms as we watch the two men in their silent duel of wills. Chapel breaks the stare first under the heated anger of J.D.’s gaze before returning to keep watch. With that simple disconnect, the room begins to fill again with oblivious activities as we all try to avoid the same fate. Daddy is on a rampage. That is, all but me. My mind wanders back to our escape yesterday and the fear I saw in J.D.’s eyes. I wonder how much of this decision is truly about keeping with our own. Is this now an attempt to prove that he can, in fact, keep us safe or is it just another attempt to cover his own failures with the power he holds over our small group? He feels my gaze upon him and turns slowly to face me.

  “Something you want to add here, Barbie?” J.D. asks me, in a blatant dare to voice the thoughts he can read upon my face.

  “No. I am sure you have your reasons for making us sit in here. Do you want us to just cover our ears when the screaming really starts or sing a round of “Kumbaya”?” My voice is a neutral friendly tone as I ask my questions. My words are not.

  He closes the space between us with three steps of anger at my rebuttal. You do not talk back to the monsters. You bow your head and refuse to meet their eyes for the fear they will cause you. He now knows I no longer fear him, stripping him of his hold over me.

  We stand a breath between us as he stares at me finally, really seeing what is behind my eyes. I have tasted death and J.D. does not hold the same metallic taste in my mouth with his presence anymore. His eyes roam my face trying to read my thoughts, looking for any clue it may give him. I keep my face blank, waiting for his next move.

  The room grows thick with their anticipation of our standoff. The men are torn between their biological DNA to protect me, a girl, and knowing the fact any harm coming to me will be from the man they each obey without question. They fidget with their mental debates of what they should do.

  Marxx holds a hand on Lawless’ arm, preparing for what will happen depending on the path J.D. decides to take. Aimes stands watching the whole room. She is taking mental notes, storing them in her own chamber of secrets for later use.

  J.D. leans in so close I can feel the heat from his body that hovers over mine. I can feel his hot breath at my ear when he whispers to me, “You best keep those ideas of yours in check, Helena. I’ll mourn at your grave, but I will bury you just the same.”

  I feel my heart skip at his calmness, letting me know he is holding no bluff between us. My stomach drops as he places a soft kiss upon my temple right above the ear, he was whispering in.

  “Why don’t you start a round of “Kumbaya”? Been a spell since you blessed us with that soft voice of yours in something other than screams,” he says
with a taunting tone as he turns from me. To the room, it is a teasing jest. To J.D. and me, it is a further illustration upon his whispered promise, and something clicks in the eyes of Chapel as he watches J.D. leave my side.

  Chapter 21

  We return to our roles as we prepare for any possible danger from an outside group. We know what the Risen hold for us. They have one thought process to them. People are a different volume of threats. Risen may kill us. People will destroy us.

  Chapel and I watch as the red-haired woman begins to roll empty racks in front of the doors across the parking lot. We both know the flimsy metal on those thin wheels will do nothing to brace the glass doors as the Risen begin their entrance into the building. We also both know sometimes it’s better to try any- thing versus just sitting and waiting for Death to come. Any minute stalled could give one last chance of hope for just one more moment of life. Something most of us took for granted before this all started.

  Each pitch of her scream causes another memory to dance through my mind. A past life feeling of horrors is swirling together with her tempo of dread. The memories dance faster and faster in my mind, flowing from one scene to another when I stood by and watched my Angels die as I am watching this woman stare at her death now.

  I was unable to stop it then. I was not prepared for the world to tilt the way it did, tossing us all around with the action of it. I was not prepared for Evil to jump forth from what we only knew as pages of books or shows on our televisions. Yet, it has. Evil is once again in front of me, preparing for another round and this time I will not just watch.

  Chapel stands beside me, still watching it all unfold. His mouth moves in what I imagine to be silent prayers. If it’s for our souls or theirs is the only question lingering between us. His gun hangs lose at his side. Its holster is unfastened, and its metal clasp is winking at me. His head turns to me slowly with his mouth still silently echoing the prayers in his head. I lower my eyes slowly to his chest, taking his eyes with mine. We stand there, his mouth still moving silently as we stare at one another in our private moment of time.