Dawning (The Risen Series Book 1)

by Marie F. Crow

  “I don’t think our girl wants to be alone with you. She can come with us,” J.D. tells Ross, who grows suddenly restless with the idea.

  “It’s a small back room. She’ll feel more comfortable out here,” Ross tries, almost desperately, to make me understand the need to stay here with him.

  I am in no mood for any more drama, and to prove my point, I walk past them all to the back room. I am not a weak, frail girl who needs their protection. One exposed moment over Lawless does not mean I need to be sheltered from a dusty back room. I plan to prove that, not only to Ross, but to everyone else as well. One day I will learn to think before I act. Obviously though, today is not going to be that day.

  Two things happen as I walk through the door in front of me. The first is Ross screaming the word “no” and the second is my empty screaming of no words at all. In my moment of pride, I have walked right into a room full of Risen. There are so many in the room they are able to circle me in seconds, blocking the door from being opened again. The sight of me stirs the ones closest to the door quickly. Their excitement spreads throughout the room like a ripple in water, as each ring slowly turns to face me.

  They have been deprived from food for so long their faces and bodies are gaunt and deceptively fragile looking. The clothes which once fit perfectly, are now hanging, barely holding on to the many sharp angles of their bodies. The deep-sunken eyes before me become alive with each step closer. The sounds filling the space around me lock my voice with fear. The horrific sight steals my breath. The smell stirs my stomach with terror. Death once again has come for me. I have cheated him from his prize so many times before, and as I look for an exit, I feel his cold hands finally upon me.

  Male voices are screaming my name on the other side of the door as they push against it. Their force is only pushing the Risen closer to me with how many of them are in the room. The only weapon I have on me is the hunting knife I have kept this whole time. Suddenly, it does not feel adequate enough for what is creeping closer to me.

  I am afraid to move, or reach for it, with the fear it will signal their frenzy. This many in such a short distance will destroy me in moments. If I wait too long to reach for it, there will not be enough time to defend myself with whatever slim chance I may already have to live through this. I know I have to get my back to a wall to help protect me, but with them encircling me, I don’t see any way to reach one. That is until I watch the door.

  Each shove from the men on the other side pushes the rotting forms a little more off balance. The Risen have not begun the attack yet because their starved minds are taking longer to animate their bodies. They stumble against the force of the door, almost tipping from it as it collides with them. If I can get the men to push hard enough, I may be able to use the resulting moment of confusion to at least reach the wall. The rest, I can figure out once my back is safe. My mind is screaming in panic with the failure rate of my plans so far. I’m taking my self-doubt to a whole new plateau.

  “J.D.,” I gently call out to him, refusing to scream.

  I watch the bodies become still in front of me at the sound of my voice. Their eyes are swaying back and forth, staring at me with their confusion. It’s unnerving to be in the middle of so many that are now so focused on me. Their slack faces show their thoughts as they try to gauge my next move.

  “Helena?” J.D. calls from the other side in the same soft whisper. The hope in his voice touches a part of me I thought was dead for him.

  “I need you to shove the door as hard as you can. It will put them off balance enough I may be able to reach the door,” I tell him.

  Heads are tilting now as if they can understand what I am saying. Their minds are racing to sort the vocabulary and meanings my words might hold. I feel like a parent trying to spell out a gift in front of a young child with prayers they won’t catch on. It won’t be a holiday that is ruined if they do. It will be me.

  “May?” he chuckles, but it is not out of amusement. He just doesn’t want to voice his fears with so many depending on his strength on his side of the door.

  “Yes, it may. It may not. Anything is better than standing here waiting to be attacked,” I say, giving him my honest truth. It does not comfort either of us.

  “On three,” he says. He holds as much faith in the plan as I do.

  I am in a serious need of new cheerleaders.

  “On three,” I return, cementing our plan. “One.”

  My hand reaches for the blade. A room full of eyes follows the motion, pulling their faces into sneers.

  “Two.”

  I brace, ready to run. Growls erupt around me with my sudden movement.

  “Three.”

  I run as the door swings open. I run straight into the rows in front of me. They reach for me, welcoming me to them. Death is cheering in my ears with my suicide as fingers grab me, pulling me to them. As the first few mouths come close to me, I fear he may finally earn his prize.

  A female’s bone-sharp fingers clamp down on my arm. She is leaning into me with pure hunger over the flesh of my neck. I can feel her wet saliva dripping on me. The chill of it removes any self-confidence, rooting me to the floor. The smell of her triggers my fear. The smell of my fear triggers their excitement. I scream exciting them even more.

  Their voices rise with mine. I feel her teeth touch my neck and I scream for him. I scream for the only man I have ever screamed for in my life. His name is torn from me with my fears, forgetting all that has happened between us. Like I may never see him again, I scream for Lawless.

  Lawless answers me, pushing hard against the door with his own heartbreaking fear overhearing my scream. He would always come for me; he told me that once. What feels like years ago, he told me he would never leave me. He is here now. My lighthouse in the storm, even as we both know, he cannot reach me.

  The hunger of their desperation finally reaches all of the Risen around me. The teeth of the woman slide across my flesh as she is pushed by the rows behind her. Her tumbling knocks her into the one beside her, who slips, releasing their hold of me. It creates a small pocket of space between them. It will bring me deeper into their formation of death, but closer to the door. I turn into the space, pivoting from her to pull my neck further away and using her own disadvantages to free me. My arm slips away from her as I push backwards into that small space with their howls of rage surrounding me. As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear this evil.

  The continued pushing against the door gains it more of a swing with each shove. I time my movement with the swing that is knocking those around me off-step. Seeing their first meal in so long escaping from them, the other half of the room is now rushing forward. It only causes more chaos in the room with the movements tilting them back and forth. The small room seems to grow by miles with my backwards crawling through the enfolding tunnel of bodies and all of the motions and sounds around me.

  I collide with the wall and sink down. I pull my knees to my chest in an attempt to make myself as small as possible. My hands tremble, barely able to hold the knife before me, as I wait for the Risen to find their hidden meal. They do.

  I see them crawling towards me, using the same space I escaped through. For such frail looking creatures, they crawl with the speed of a toddler on crack and I laugh with my mental thought as my panic takes me. This is the moment where I know I have finally lost my mind, so it does not surprise me to hear Ashley in my ear.

  “Scoot over,” she tells me.

  Her voice sends shivers through a deep part of me I have kept locked away. The world slows around me as I watch Death racing for me, and I hear what I allowed Death to take from me whispering in my ear.

  “I can’t,” I answer her, looking into her blue, blue eyes.

  She is sitting on the floor beside me, holding her knees to her small body just as I am. Her soft pink pajama shirt is shredded and torn with wounds oozing dark fluids in the spaces of the missing cotton. Her arms are a series of lacerations that s
uck the fabric into the missing gaps of the flesh around them. She wears my sins upon her body like a beauty queen wears a sash and her crown is the perfect blonde shade of her hair that separated us and my parent’s love.

  “You can. You have to.” She is staring at me without any emotion. I am looking at her with enough emotion for us both.

  “I don’t want to.” The truth of my words cuts me and frees me at the same time.

  “You have to. They need you.” Her voice is so gentle. So gentle with me, considering what I allowed to happen to her.

  “You needed me,” I say to her, watching the Risen grab at my legs with numbing calmness.

  “Yes, I did.” Her own truth cuts me even deeper than my own. “Scoot over, now.”

  I feel a soft touch on my arm with her final words. I turn my head to see Marxx reaching for me with his fear and desperation racing over his face as Lawless is straining to hold the door open with his body. Marxx is stretching as far as he can to reach me, but surrounded in my own fears, I had not seen or heard him screaming my name. I only need to scoot over for him to grab me and help me escape the room to safety. I look for Ashley, but I know before I turn, she is gone. She does not need me now. They do, just as she had said.

  I scoot across the wall, kicking at the face of the man with my already battle worn boots who’s trying to bite me. With each kick reducing his face further into ruins, his blood coats the leather with his thick fluid. Marxx’ hand grasps my arm tightly, almost painfully, in his desperation to reach me.

  Marxx is pulling me up the wall so I can wedge past him and Lawless to exit through the doorframe. Inch by inch I slide along the wall kicking and shoving their bodies from me as Marxx’ grip demands I keep moving. Their hunger for my death animates them to such a level of activity that one moment of lost aware- ness will cost me my life. I am almost out when Death demands its pound of flesh with his own desperation. He refuses to let me completely escape from him.

  The same female who had come so close to my neck, has found Marxx’ extended arm. I notice her too late, but he saw her. He just refused to let me go. He watches her bite into his arm he is using to pull me from the room. We scream together as she pulls back, tearing the flesh of his arm with her teeth.

  Blood soaks her chin, running down her neck with her mouthful of him. Her eyes close as she chews, showing her enjoyment of it as more of his blood slithers down her body. His blood washes her clothes the way his flesh washes her face in ecstasy.

  He never lets me go as his wound is dripping heavily onto the floor. He tries pulling me from the room when the shock of what has happened locks my knees. My name is being shouted by many voices, yet all I can see is the female in front of me, as we stand face-to-face.

  I cannot let her live. My fear is rolling into anger as she chews with those closed eyes of hers. They open, seeing me standing in front of her. They are now bright and fully awake, and I am grateful she will see what I am about to do.

  I kick her knee, smiling as I hear the bones snap, tumbling her down in front of me. Her head looks up at me with her anger riding her features. It pulls her lips that are ruby red from Marxx’ blood back to expose yellow-tinted teeth. Lifting my knife, I smile at her one last time. The blade slips in with no more resistance than thick cardboard with my rage. I watch as her eyes go back to a glazed state as life finally leaves her rotting body.

  Bracing against the wall, I kick her face from my blade, shoving her back into the arms of her brethren who are still fighting to reach me. The sound of my blade dislodging from her thin flesh brings me a deep-rooted joy. It should fill me with horror, but that was before. Horrors are hard to find anymore with Truth doing so much evil on her own.

  “Are you happy now?” Lawless asks, still fighting against the door with his strength.

  He grabs me, roughly pulling me through the door before I can debate the answer, letting it slam shut behind him when he moves.

  The noises its closure causes could be the soundtrack of hell itself with the many demonic fists pounding against the wood.

  Marxx is on the floor with the rest of the men rushing to him. Except for Ross. Ross is standing with Aimes in the far corner, both of them safe from it all. He and Aimes refuse to look at the man bleeding in the middle of the room. If it is weakness or guilt, I don’t know. Either way, they both make me angry at their sought-out seclusion from what is happening.

  Chapel and Rhett are trying to stop the bleeding with the many shirts they have pulled from the hangers around them. Their hands are covered with blood and it continues to seep through despite their best efforts. Their love for the man before them escalates their fears, rushing their movements as his blood coats them, staining them with the warm, red proof of Marxx’ loyalty to us.

  I walk to Aimes, grabbing her overly large purse. She flinches as I search within it for what we need with mental clarity from some depth I am not aware of having. I pull a pastel-pink wrapped square from inside the purse before tossing the large bag back at her. I refuse to acknowledge her in any other fashion. I don’t have the time to ease her fears or anxieties. For once, the room does not revolve around our pixie.

  The paper refuses to cooperate with my shaking hands. I whim- per with my frustrations and my need to help Marxx, the man who has risked his own life for mine. Lawless takes the package from my hands, leaving me still frozen with the movement of holding it. My mind wants to shut down, too much has happened in too short of a time, but I fight against it. There is still too much to do.

  Lawless takes it, silently opening it for me as he leads us back to Marxx and the many crimson-soaked pieces of fabric piling up around him. God told his people to paint their doors with the blood of a lamb and they would be spared. We are painting the floors with ours and have been spared nothing.

  J.D. laughs when he sees what Lawless has in his hands. “God damn, Helena. Your sweet ass may just be worth it to keep saving,” he says with misplaced mirth.

  J.D. takes the maxi pad and pushes it firmly onto the gaping section of Marxx’ arm. He holds it there as Rhett rips more shirts into long pieces of fabric to tie around the arm. The adhesive backing clings to the fabric, keeping it situated over the wound. The bleeding is finally contained and Lawless and Rhett help him stand. Marxx is weak from blood loss and I know if he dies, it will be another grave to add to my collection.

  “We need to go, now.” Ross keeps staring at the back door.

  The knob is slowly starting to turn with their frenzy dying down. The Risen have switched back to their hunting mode. No one argues with him or with the cold dread the motion of the rotating knob stirs in us as we watch it moving.

  “Go. Go. Go,” J.D. whispers, shoving us out the store door. “Whoa,” Ross says, as he exits the building. He stops short

  when he sees the new crowd forming outside the store.

  What was once empty and desolate is now filled with many broken shapes that are mingling around one another like a dinner party in hell. With their new guests spilling out of the store, they turn to see us with as much eagerness as any host would. They are not interested in inviting us to dinner though. We are the dinner.

  “How many rounds you have?” J.D. whispers to the men around me.

  “Full clip,” Lawless answers, shifting Marxx’ weight so he can give his gun to Chapel.

  “Same,” Rhett says, but he is not handing his off. He will have to be the one to defend them with Lawless now unarmed and Marxx floating in and out of consciousness from his pain.

  Ross says nothing. Somehow, I am not surprised. Maybe we can blind them with his super white teeth and buy us time to run. It seems to be a legit plan in my mind. I miss my mind.

  “Get him out of here,” J.D. tells Rhett and Lawless, speaking of Marxx. “Get his bike loaded in the back of that truck. Take Blondie with you. She’s useless to me here.”

  They do not question him. Nor does Aimes as she follows them out, searching for another way back to our vehicles. The pat
h we used to come in is now blocked before us with various Risen staring at us. J.D. hands me the gun strapped to the top of his boot with a grin. He means for me to stay with Chapel and him to keep the exit safe. A part of me wants to be flattered, but I am mostly just tired and ready to go “home”.

  “Try not to get up close and personal with them this time, okay, Barbie? We need to keep some space between us and them to buy our crew some time,” he tells me, still wearing his misplaced grin. I nod as my vocabulary is failing me. I force what energy I have left into this moment. Marxx may die for me. The least I can do is try to stay awake for him, buying Rhett and Lawless time to get him to safety. Seems simple enough after the morning we have had.

  The horde in front of us is watching our slightest of movements, trying to gain a clue to our intentions. Many of them were not aware enough to notice the few of us who had escaped from them moments ago. The maxi pad is collecting the blood, keeping its intoxicating scent locked away. If we play this right, we may not need to shoot at all, but when has life ever been so gracious?

  Something slams against the store window next to Chapel. He fires the first shot, hitting a Risen directly and it crumples to the ground. J.D. and I turn to look at him with disbelief and he follows the motion, turning to look at the window that startled him. Encouraged with their loss of food, the Risen from the back room have figured out the doorknob, allowing them to escape into the store’s center. They are now pounding on the glass, trying to break through it to reach us. I am grateful we are no longer standing in front of the swinging door with the new skill set the Risen have learned. It’s frightening how they can adapt so well.

  Monsters are not supposed to be smart. They have an unbalanced playing field already.

  “I think I got their attention.” Chapel watches as the group outside stares at their fallen friend before looking back at us with the realization of the cause of it.