The Risen (Book 1): Dawning

by Marie F. Crow

  I know there is movement behind me, not from my own awareness of it, but because of his eyes. They were once so trained on me, but now they are watching something else. They dull again making his face slack as his brain once again seeks to figure out what is happening. Risen think and react, but it makes them slow, exposing a weakness for a few pauses in time as they try to interpret their prey. With their minds so engaged in the situation, their bodies seem unable to move. Just their eyes are watching, gathering, and plotting a new way to kill you.

  His eyes follow something coming up behind me along the ground. With the rate of his eyes, I know it is coming fast and I instinctively look. The sun reflects off the metal blade sliding towards me. The metal is hissing along the sidewalk with its progress towards me like a snake warning those around it of the danger. My knife is coming home.

  Over my shoulder, I see Aimes standing outside our Center as hands wrestle Lawless back inside. He is fighting to be free of them and pleading with me to come back. Kneeling to grasp my old teddy bear, I smile into those pleading brown eyes of my current one. Our eyes lock, draining him of his purpose. He knows I must see this through. The very thing that he once loved about me is now coming between us. I only hope he can forgive me. Aimes screams my name, bringing me back to myself. I realize too late the mistake I have made. I have turned my back on Death and the pause is over.

  Pulling my body in tight, I wait with some mentally stored basic knowledge of self-defense. His hands grab me, forcing me still for his attack, and I wait, even as screams come from all around me. I watch our shadows slowly merge into one as he lowers his mouth to my flesh, and I still wait as my heartbeat fills my ears with its pattern. I hear his snarl so close to my face that the scent of his breath expels all air from my lungs, and still I wait, despite my body joining in with the screams around me. Her laughter floats all around me again, blocking out the world around us. Time slows down, dragging the rate of his attack with it, the stench of his rotting breath, sounds at my ear, even the caress of the wind around us slows, when I finally begin my own hunt.

  My left arm swings up, locked at the elbow to take the shock of the attack, denying his reach for my neck as it collides with his face, tilting it sideways. My right arm follows the gravity of the attack, coming down on his tilted face. The blade slides with snapping sounds into the space between his temple and eye, pulling me around with the force of his fall. I stare at the nightmare crumpled next to me before removing the blade with a wet, sucking sound. Her baby soft laughter dances around us and I wonder, for my own pause in time, if I am finally losing my mind. A part of me truly hopes so because I still have four more to go.

  I give no time for my body to reconsider my course of actions. If I am to pause to think of what I am marching up to, I will lose all confidence in myself with my brutal truths. The blade drips black crimson drops with every step I take like a personal drummer for this battle. The female Risen before me has been turned longer than the male. Her face has melted down to cling to her sharp cheekbones. The skin around her eyes is yellowed and bruised in coloring. Her lips are chapped and torn, shredding the tender flesh around them. Matted hair too heavy to sway is cut short, further emphasizing the decay of her face.

  Her arms reach for me, seeking a target for her never-ending hunger that has become the only purpose left to her. I slide in between those deceptively weak arms of hers, keeping her body away from me with my own. I thrust the blade into her face forcing it to its hilt. I brace against her fall, letting her slide off the blade, coating it with more crimson material for the drummer to use. Three more.

  The next to reach me appears as a female teen or young twenty-something. The stages of decay do not help with definite declarations of age. She is dressed in a tragic emo style, that now mocks her walking death, with its black fishnets and skull decorated dress. Her long blonde hair is a sharp contrast to the image she tried so hard to portray in life. Even with the added bright colors, now a stark contrast to the faded fabrics of her dress, she still never really was able to grasp the concept.

  The flesh of her left shoulder is shredded, and torn, exposing bone and wetter objects. It is slower than the other arm due to its injury and I use that side as my opening. I never pause in my step, but reach up with such false bravery and skill, to plant the blade in my right hand into her temple. Her slower, damaged arm allows me to go untouched even as she falls before me. Two more.

  The blade is slick now and slides around in my hand. The grip was never meant to be coated in such depths of blood and thicker matter as it is now. My palm becomes cold with the wetness that tries to wrap itself around my hand. The knowledge creeps into my mind of what I am doing and it is covering my heart in that much more stone. The drummer has picked up its tempo with the amount of splattering I leave in my wake, making a beat to my own demonic dance.

  The last two jerk backwards with a loud echo that vibrates the area around us and I startle at their motions. I mimic them as I freeze in my path, trying to figuring out what has taken place, when I feel my body spin around with such force I brace for an attack.

  Brown eyes swimming in anger stare down into mine as his hands clutch my shoulders steadying me from the effects of his spin. Even with the anger flowing from his body, my own melts into his with all my bravado gone. The blade falls to the ground with a final ending of our battle song as my arms wrap around Lawless, pulling him close to me.

  He hides me in my weakness with his arms around me. His one hand presses my head to his shoulder and the other pulls my back toward his chest. His head rests on the top of mine and I am thankful to not be able to read his face right now. He allows me to huddle there absorbing his strength, and stability, listening to the rush of his heart speaking its own telling of his fears. I stare at the honey-hued skin of his arms, marveling at their strength, and yet, how gently he holds me to him as if I really am as fragile as I feel right now.

  “You came for me.” I whisper into his chest. My voice giving away more of my weakness than I am ready to admit.

  His silence makes me hold my breath. He is so still beneath me with only the sounds of his heart talking to me. I wonder for a moment if the price I must pay for my disobediences will cost my soul too much.

  “I will always come for you, Helena.” He finally answers me. His voice is just as weak as mine.

  “I just don’t know if you are living to die or dying to live anymore. All I know is you are killing me with it.” I feel his voice echo through his chest from which I am using to hide.

  It vibrates something deep in my own core with its flatness. The high wall of protection it comes from behind strips me of my own walls. I feel my first tear falling from my payment. Our golden tilt-a-whirl of a romance is spinning away from me, and I feel him slipping from me, all while I stand here desperately clinging to us.

  He drops his arms from around me, side stepping me. He never looks at me, but keeps his eyes straight ahead when the sounds of the others’ steps reach us. I am left cold, and alone, without him to hold me. My mortar cracks. My world crumbles.

  CHAPTER 23

  The two groups stand with an imaginary line drawn between us. Apprehensive greetings are being exchanged as we each verbally test the other out. J.D. does not bother to hide his annoyance, and distrust, with any small talk. Lawless does our talking with a forced cheer. His voice holds his normal charm, but it does not reach his body language. He is showing that his openness is not to be confused as an invitation, blocking Aimes and me with his body from those before us. Rhett stands to his left with his hands resting on his belt buckle in total ease with the situation. One look into his eyes will show you a different story.

  He is memorizing every feature of the group ahead of us. Every movement they make. Every mannerism that would alarm him to danger before the danger has time to form. J.D. may draw your death out, but Rhett will just kill you, and then go about his day as he had planned before you inconvenienced him. I am not sure which one of
them scares me anymore, for that matter, if they even scare me at all.

  The one male we had not noticed until now is named Simon. The tall African American male acts as their voice to the questions Lawless asks them. He offers no more of a welcome than he is receiving. He stares between Rhett and Lawless to capture my gaze, ignoring any attempts to gain his attention from others. It sets our men at greater discord and I can feel the tension surrounding us.

  “That was some stunt you pulled.” He says to me, ignoring the building agitation he is causing. “Name is Simon.” He reaches through them to extend me his hand.

  Rhett’s eyes go the cold color that we have learned to avoid. Lawless tilts his head from side to side slowly as if he is working out a sore muscle group in his neck. The male posturing builds with Simon’s boldness.

  “It wasn’t a stunt. I couldn’t stand by and just watch, is all.” I take his hand in my own with the normal sign of greeting, hoping to ease down the men in front of me. “Helena. This is Aimes.” I gesture to the blonde pixie beside me who is beaming with amusement at the situation. Her sense of humor may be a bit twisted.

  “And the two men you just sealed your fate with are Rhett and Lawless.” She motions to the men in front of us that are no longer trying to hide their annoyance at the disrespect shown to them. “J.D. back here wanted you dead from go, so you may want to slow your roll on the death wishes.” She wears her sweetest smile. It even reaches her eyes with its charm. Honestly.

  Simon smirks, taking it all in, as his stare roams over each male figure, not bothering to hide the dare. I know from years with Lawless that the tilt of his head is the first sign of his anger. The second clue is his tongue dancing along his back molars before sliding along his front teeth behind clamped lips. The sniffing from him is his final build up. It signals Marxx to join his right side with his own gestures of annoyance. It is now a bomb waiting to explode, and the detonator is one wrong word or look from Simon, who seems to enjoy pushing their buttons.

  The other male steps in between the standoff with an open arm smile, still careful to not break the imaginary line. “Let’s all just breathe here. I mean it was a pretty amazing thing to watch from this side here. One little girl against that whole mess? Seven men and only the girl had the courage to step out. That is crazy!” He says with amused embarrassment. Guess who just spoke the wrong word. Gone on, guess. I’ll wait.

  “What are you trying to say? You calling the rest of us what, exactly?” J.D.’s calm voice holds more anger than a shout, letting the question hang in the air. It rolls outward sneaking up in a warning of caution. Once J.D. gives the signal, this will all go south fast, and Rhett smiles with the knowledge of it.

  “No, no I am not calling anyone anything. I was just explaining Simon’s amusement is all.” His voice trails off as J.D. steps up to fill the gap between Rhett and Lawless. Ross’ shaggy light brown hair is showing the stress of the day with the many runs of his hands through it. Pale teal eyes seek some hint of a path to closure from me as the men face him.

  “I’m Ross,” he extends his hand to J.D. in an apology. J.D. pretends to not notice it, still staring at the man. Rhett tries to hide his chuckle with an exaggerated cough. He fails.

  “This is Leslie.” Ross motions, undiscouraged by the insult, to the red-head beside him. She is as annoyed as I am with their male egos. She gives a simple nod, and a wide fake smile, to further prove it. I think I may love her.

  “Well now that we are all fine friends here, where you folks be holding up at?” J.D. smiles, but it has no warmth to it.

  “And why the hell would we tell you that?” Simon smiles his own empty smile.

  “Well as I see it, your padre there left you for dead. My girl saved your asses. I see it as you owe us. Unless you just want to camp out here till someone from your camp remembers where they left you.” he shrugs “Doesn’t bother me one way or another.”

  He makes some small gesture that sets the men to action. Whatever it was, the rest of us missed it as we all react to Lawless, Rhett, and Marxx pushing their way through into the building. Simon follows with a small skip of step to catch up to them. Ross glances at Aimes, Chapel, and me for some clue, but we have none to offer him.

  J.D. places his hands in his front pockets, and rocks on his heels, with male glee. “Like I said, you owe us.”

  Ross’ and Leslie’s faces fill with the look of disbelief as the sounds of destruction drift out of the store. Destruction brought on by my attempted efforts to save them. Everything that happens to this group now is my fault. I brought them into our world without their permission. Now they are being forced to accept the actions of a man that holds only one truth to be true. His.

  With annoyance, I walk towards the open doors only to have J.D. grab me, setting those nerve-wracking eyes on me. “I think you’ve had just about enough fun for one day, Sweetheart.” His voice holds so much anger it is almost a whisper, reminding me of his earlier whisperings. We stare at each other over this new divide forming between us. Our foundation slowly cracks under its weight.

  “Nothing much left in there.” Marxx says, breaking through our standoff. “Looks like whoever boarded the place up went through it pretty well.”

  “Pretty much just basic shit.” Lawless joins the discussion, exiting the store with a relaxed walk. His eyes dart from me to J.D., who still is holding on to my arm. They hover to Aimes quickly for some insight before returning to us. “A few jugs of water, basic camping gear, plenty of tourist crap.”

  “Any food?” J.D. asks.

  “No.” Marxx answers in his limited style of vocabulary.

  “Well at least none left on the shelves.” Lawless adds, leaving the unspoken words open to interpretation and J.D. interprets.

  “Rip it apart.” He says, with his voice calm and face blank, still holding me in place.

  Lawless pivots, patting Marxx on the chest signaling him to follow when J.D. pulls the next scheme from his dark depths.

  “No. Not you two.” he turns to the man behind me “You.”

  Chapel exhales, running a hand slowly over the lower half of his face. To refuse this would mark him forever in their books. It will make him slip from their trust, which was deadly before this new world. Now it will be devastating.

  J.D. knows that this is on the boundary of Chapel’s comfort zone. This is his punishment for helping me. His punishment for being too weak to stop me. J.D. knows the man has been in an internal war with his ideas of morality since the world tilted. Someone who once held life so precious in the encasement of his family is now standing alone in the darkness, seeking any light to guide him home. He wears his ghosts like a shroud of many weights that grows heavier with each dawn that finds him. He has become nothing more than a melancholy phantom of his former self. Now he is being told to wade deeper into the darkness of what is left of his humanity.

  Lawless and Marxx watch the scene, wearing their masks of disinterest to cover their thoughts. J.D. keeps his eyes locked on his target, wearing thin the shield of shelter from which Chapel uses to hide. Too long of a delay is just as damning as a no. The clock is running.

  “There really is no need for all this.” Ross steps forward to ease down the tension. I have figured out his role in their group already. Leslie’s eyes roll to confirm it. “She did save us. I am sure we can all work something out here that would best suit everyone.”

  As J.D.’s grip tightens on my arm, I make a mental note to thank Ross for that little reminder, again. The man may as well be handing J.D. a shovel.

  “She must have one hell of a Guardian Angel.” he says with a chuckle.

  “I lost all my Angels a long time ago.” I jerk free of J.D. as eyes turn to me with secret knowledge. Their anger simmers some at the implications of my words. “Where is Rhett?”

  “Testing out his new knife.” Lawless answers me, as his mask slips around the edges, with the tremble of his voice.

  I refuse to give in to it. I refuse
to allow his pity to pour out my own pain. “On what?”

  “Whatever gets in his way…” Marxx deep gravel of a voice leaves more questions than answers, stirring panic finally within Ross.

  We find Simon and Rhett in a classic old west scenario. All that was missing is the well-known sound effect for the situation, which Aimes provides for us at our arrival. Rhett’s back is to us, blocking Simon from their already packed supply run, in anticipation of our leader’s next move. I do not know if that was what the standoff is about or not, but it does allow J.D. to, once again, crack Chapel’s resolve.

  “Go.” J.D. motions with a head nod, letting the man know he has not forgotten his test.

  Marxx and Lawless mirror Chapels steps, blocking Ross and Leslie with their own movements from the bags and our man. Their hands fold together in front of their bodies, or tuck into pockets, while watching the other two for any resistance in their false relaxed stance again.

  “Wait, let’s just all step back here and think about this.” Ross plays his role well. What others may see as weakness, is his strength. He does not have to know our men well to see what is about to happen. Simon will never allow Chapel to reach those bags peacefully. Once the fight starts, Ross knows how his group will fare. His role is to make sure that does not happen, no matter the cost to his pride, the most precious thing to a man. That is what makes Ross stronger than any of those before us.