The Risen (Book 1): Dawning

by Marie F. Crow

  Screams and tears fall from Ross. Each scream is louder than the last. Each tear is faster than the first. The courtyard fills with it until the sound is one long echo of terror. I am dancing on a tight rope with my emotions and the knowledge of the fact that another may die from my actions. I should really come with a warning label.

  Marxx said that J.D. would not kill Ross. He never mentioned that Lawless wouldn’t. It is the small words that form every meaning in their secret life. A simple switch of a name and all promises are wiped away. Am I brave enough to sit here and let this play out? Or, is it really weakness to sit here and do nothing?

  A noise from the archway behind us pulls my attention to the mirror on the truck’s door. Shelia is running towards them, her face a visible testament to how their actions are affecting her. J.D. is still and watching her run towards them. Like a spider in its web waiting for the prey to become trapped. He had fun playing with Ross, now he has a better subject to use to taunt the people in the high school. Their Queen is now his.

  One moment he is relaxed and watching her, but as she grows even with him he lunges, grabbing her in a backwards hug. He picks her up off the ground, spinning her in two full rotations as she screams, beating against his arms with her tiny fists. It encourages him, his laughter a strange sound to be mixing with Ross’ mumbling pleading and Shelia’s screams.

  He drops her, letting her fall to the courtyard’s hard cement floor, dizzy from the spinning. Kneeling over her fallen body that now shakes with her silent sobs, he runs his hands over her shoulders and down her back. He lets his face show the male enjoyment of her skin under his hands. His long unfulfilled hunger is showing before us.

  “Where is your boy now?” J.D. whispers into her ear, as his eyes scan the upper windows for any movement.

  “Now we can have us a party, boys!” He pushes her forward, making her fall to her hands and knees, letting the position hint at his intentions.

  At least I hope it is a hint. Of all the sins J.D. can claim, never has one been rape. He has always told the other men of the club that only the weak force themselves where they are not wanted. A real man does not have to sink to such levels to strike fear. Fear is something to be flavored and drawn out. It should be the least expected, not the most expected of what a man can do. To be discovered as a rapist in his club is not a death sentence. Death would be a welcome after what he will do. Now with this new dare, I wonder how much room he has left himself.

  Lawless made Ross scream for what felt like hours condensed into minutes with no response from inside. Shelia’s first real scream, and the doors open with such force that their hinges fight to keep them from hitting the stone walls. It makes J.D. smile his wide grin, pulling Shelia up and close to him.

  “There he is. Smile for him, Hun. Let him see that pretty face of yours.” He holds her as she fights against him. He lets her sway with her efforts. It puts on a better show for the others to see her so distressed, held tightly against his body.

  Marxx is right, the ones he is holding now are not his targets. Shelia never was. Ross never was. What he wants is standing a few feet from him now. He wants their grief, their anger, their fear with not knowing what will happen next. He wants them to beg for his mercy as he feels they should have from day one.

  “Enough.” Simon says. “Just let her go.”

  “Just let her go he says. Just like that he asks? Oh brother, I don’t think so. You and me, we going to have us a little chat first.” J.D. tells Simon, pausing to inhale the scent of Shelia’s neck. Feeling him so close to her makes her fight harder to be free. Simon’s panic is flooding his senses.

  “We can talk about whatever you want, after you let her go.” Simon lifts the rifle on his side in a peace gesture. He puts it down on the cement next to him with his hands raised. “You want me. You just let her go and I’ll come to you. A simple switch.”

  “That’s real sweet of you, but you ain’t really my type.” J.D. smiles, as his hand cups Shelia’s inner thigh. It has its desired effect.

  Simon rushes forward, even as Richard grabs him, tackling him to the ground. Richard is speaking in his ear, trying to reassure him, to calm him, but the words are not reaching him. J.D. knows how to play this game well. He knows the pressure points to spring forth reactions. Everyone is a book to J.D. and he read Simon’s chapters a long time ago.

  “What do you want?” Richard shouts across the courtyard. “You want to talk? Talk!”

  J.D. pauses, his mind reassessing this new target. Shelia’s abuse will not bring the same anger from this new man before him now. To keep the pressure going, he has to find a new method of torment. He must find a new weakness to exploit.

  “You know, I find it real funny no one has begged for Ross yet. Do you find that funny too, Hun?” He asks Shelia. He is testing these new waters that rock underneath him.

  “Ever seen a man die? It’s a messy business. At this short range here, his head will explode. It will spray Smiley bits all over this area. That kind of stain, it will last and last. Always here to remind you and yours how you let us kill him.” He turns Shelia so she is fully facing Lawless and Ross.

  “Now keep your eyes open. You don’t want to miss this.” He whispers to her. It works.

  “No!” She screams. “Don’t do this. It wasn’t his fault. They told him to. Don’t do this.”

  “You want to see what they told him to do? Keep your eyes open. Let me show you what they told him to do.” J.D. looks to Chapel, tilting his head towards us in the truck.

  The Jedi mind trick works and Chapel understands exactly what he wants. Perhaps if I had a nice shiny leather vest, I too could figure out what is going on around me. If Santa is still alive, it is totally going on my list this year.

  Chapel helps me from the tall truck. My legs are jelly underneath me, and I have to brace against its bed for support. Next, he reaches for Marxx, who is pale and panting from the wound of his arm. He too is bracing against the truck, but for worse reasons than mine. Aimes slides out on her own, standing to the other side of Marxx. I am not sure what this display is supposed to accomplish until I look at the three of us. Evil genius, our J.D.

  Aimes is covered in Marxx’ blood, that is now escaping from underneath the pad on his arm. Her shirt is as covered as his, from keeping pressure on his wound, making it hard to tell if she is wounded as well. Marxx is worse. His normal rich ivory skin tone is now a pale ashen grey. The wound has left a trail of blood from his arm, to his chest, and down one side of his leg from the amount of time it took to treat it and now its new seepage. The pad has been pushed to its limits. It is painting a bright shade of red upon him where it sits and from what is spilling around it. Aimes is not the only one bathed in Marxx’ wound. The act of the bite, and the refusal to let go, has left his blood where he held onto me. Together, we must paint a pretty picture of our morning. No amount of coffee will make this less depressing.

  Shelia stares at us, her knees growing weak from what she sees. “I told them not to do it. I told them it wasn’t right.”

  J.D. lets her go. She is in a new prison now. A prison that does not need his arms to keep her secure. She is trapped in the sight of us. Trapped in the conclusions her mind is forming over what she is seeing.

  “Do you know what they did? What they wanted to happen? They wanted them dead. Your boys wanted us dead. Led us right into a room of trapped Risen while they sat here waiting to see what happens. How many of us were meant to make it back?” J.D. whispers his tormenting words to her. Every word he says hits its intended destination. She is a protector. She has spent these past many months keeping everyone safe under this roof. Now the very men with whom she has formed a family, attempted to jeopardize it all.

  “They said they wanted to see if you would get the list. If you would do what we needed versus what you wanted. That’s what they told me. I thought it was wrong to trick you. To test you at all. It wasn’t supposed to be this.” Her words are a soft whispering
of regrets. Looks like I am not that only one the needs a vest around here.

  J.D. has applied the correct pressure again. Richard may not care as much as Simon about her screams, but the look in her eyes that she now sends him makes a ruin of his face. The anger and the hate she sends their way makes even Dolph look away from her.

  “It wasn’t supposed to be this way.” Simon tries to reason with her from across the space between them. “The girls were supposed to stay here. They were never supposed to go.”

  “So you just planned to murder the men?” She screams back. “Murder is murder. You sent Ross to do your dirty work because you were too afraid of them. Too afraid to just trust them and try to work out your differences and your ego. Is this how we solve our problems now? If you don’t like someone, are they your next target?”

  “Shelia, come on. Look at them, they can handle a couple of those things. It was just supposed to prove a point. See if they would go through with the list versus wimping out. We needed to know if we could trust them to stick by us when it gets rough or if they would revert back to “theirs first” mentality.” Richard is pleading for her to understand. His eyes though keep floating behind her to Aimes who seems smaller than normal with her blood soaked clothes and despaired face.

  In one moment of glory, J.D. has reversed the roles we have been playing. Now their girl sits on our side of the room where before his girls sat on theirs. He has to keep the pressure going to keep this play in action. To let up for a second may cost him his finale.

  “He is right about that. We could have handled it, but he knows what Hells is like. It was her that saved your boys after all, and look how they repay her. They try to kill her. If Helena had not risked her life at that Center, your boys may not have come home to you. How much more trust does a man need?” His words sink into her. You can see it on her face. I would clap with his performance, but my hands are busy holding me up.

  “Now, we have us some wounded here Shelia. My people need your help. Marxx might die over there while your boys keep us out here. You going to let that happen?” He does not ask for her help for himself. That would be too easy to refuse. To refuse a wounded group, that is not in her nature.

  “I’ll tell you what, I’ll make my boy there release Smiley. A show of good faith. To show that I can still control this. I can make it all go away. But you, now you got to get us back in there so I can get them help. You OK with that?” He asks her. He is removing her fear of him by showing her how desperate he is to help his people. He is making her the savior and the mediator with one request. A role her heart loves to play, and cannot pass up.

  “Paula will be in the kitchen. We do not even need to go past them or have their permission.” She smiles with triumph as she pulls a key and its pretty blue ribbon from around her neck. “I can get you in.”

  Seriously, all together now, standing ovation for the man.

  J.D. looks to Lawless with his silent command. The first kink in his plan is happening though. He didn’t count on Lawless’ rage. Lawless stares at Ross with eyes filling with anger over having to let him go. There is no more mocking or taunting from him. I watch his hand holding the gun, that is still embedded in Ross’ mouth, tremble. The tremble spreads through his body, and I hear his sharp inhale. Lawless is no longer daring; he is about to take the dare.

  In two steps, J.D. reaches him. He is whispering in his ear words that do not reach anyone else. J.D. will not take the gun from him. If he wants this, J.D. will allow him to take it. J.D. plans to make sure it is what he really wants though before ruining his well played performance.

  Father figure and son stand locked in a whispered debate. Ross’ eyes swing from one to the other with the exchange going on above him. His face gives us a better understanding with its many expressions as the state of the debate, versus the body language of the other two men. Rhett stands there watching as well. His face is missing the smile it has worn for most of the morning with the turn of events the day has taken for us. I know with the look in Rhett’s eyes that Ross may be safe today, but tomorrow is another story. The small word change will be the death of Ross.

  I missed Lawless releasing Ross from his hold while I was watching Rhett. Lawless is squatting, covering his head with his hands, as he tries to collect himself. His gun is still grasped in his hand as if he is still rethinking his decision. A part of me wants to go to him and tell him everything will be all right. Another part of me wants to take the gun from him myself and shoot them both, and still another part of me is just waiting on that nap I was promised. Not sure yet which side will win.

  “No hard feelings, right?” J.D. says to Ross, pushing him towards the men across from us with whom he conspired to set this plan in motion.

  Rhett watches Ross walk by with his one timid step at a time. Every muscle shows how much he wants to run, but pride will not let him. Rhett is not the only one that is watching him though. Lawless watches the man’s back with such anger I am not sure how Ross does not twitch with it. It is the look that Lawless shares with Rhett that causes me to worry. Lawless’ anger strips Rhett of his calm exterior until they both are sharing the same rage over having to let Ross go.

  I have never pretended to know what the men do behind closed doors or what they do when not around me. That is not to say that I hold no illusions to the type of men they can be, I just prefer to not admit it. Now as I watch the two of them, I know how well-sheltered Lawless has kept me from this part of him. The same hands he has used many nights to heal my soul, inflame my desires, and fill the air with music have done so much more. From Rhett I have always expected such things, but not Lawless with his gentle eyes and charming smile.

  I had hoped I had my fill of truth for one day from Lawless. Now as I watch him and Rhett, another truth he gifts me, and each one becomes more of a curse. The most obvious truth is how much danger Ross is still in as both men look to him again. His days are numbered and the timer started long ago.

  CHAPTER 37

  Paula’s domain is not only the kitchen. She and Shelia have brought us to what once served as the sport’s medicine area for the gym. Now it has been converted into a makeshift triage to help those that call this school home. Its many doctor-office style benches are still covered in the thin noisy paper waiting for use. We are not going to disappoint it.

  “How bad is it?” Shelia is hovering over Marxx like a mother with a wounded child. She even holds his other hand, either in the attempt to give him comfort or to find it for herself. Marxx has gone past caring to refuse her as Paula cleans and tends to his wound.

  “It’s pretty deep. A lot of muscle damage.” Paula’s voice has lost that playfulness. I guess stitching up a human’s bite on another human’s arm kills the mood for “girl time”.

  “Is he going to turn?” Aimes’ voice is small and nervous from risking her question. I have forgotten about her with my own issues. She is being cradled in Rhett’s thick arms and their size difference resembles more of a Father and Daughter than two adults. I am annoyed with how they treat her. I am mostly annoyed that no one is holding me, but I am not going to admit it.

  “Turn to what?” Paula is half listening to us around her as she concentrates on repairing the damage to Marxx’ arm.

  “He’s been bit.” Hurrah for Captain Obvious with her pink streaks of perception.

  “I can see that.” Paula answers with the same tone I am holding mentally for their conversation.

  “So is he going to turn into one of them?” The question sets the room at unease. Even Marxx now opens one of his eyes to gauge Paula’s response.

  “If a raccoon bites you, do you turn into a raccoon? You’ve watched too much T.V. girl.” Have I mentioned how much I like Paula? No? I like Paula.

  “It doesn’t work that way?” Marxx’ nerves make his voice weaker than its normal deep gravel.

  Paula gives him a reassuring smile, stopping her stitching long enough to look at him. “No, it doesn’t work that way.”<
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  “How do you know?” J.D. has been silent this whole time in his normal “watch and see” fashion and to give Shelia room to recover from their encounter. His concern for Marxx keeps him from being too close, unwilling to risk showing his emotions.

  “I just do.” She is back to being annoyed now. Apparently, only Marxx gets a free pass to talk to her.

  “That’s not good enough.” Rhett is watching every inch of the thread pulled through Marxx’ wound. Each stitch is serving as another memory for him in his own locked chamber. It is a chamber different than mine and it unsettles me with his fascination. As much as I feel I know the man, it is moments like this when I see a different light in those eyes, reminding me how very little I do actually know.

  “Didn’t think it was going to be.” She answers. Her deep sigh tells us there is a story to be told. Our stilled breathing lets her know we are waiting.

  “I used to be a nurse at a drug clinic. I had a little girl of my own. I thought I was going to help change the world for the better for her. I went into the research of vaccines. I thought I was helping to stop the spread of illnesses. So noble.” Her voice is bitter. She is focusing on Marxx’ arm like it’s a raft in a storm. He winces with the needle now more than before.

  Something about the words she said tries to spark a fuse of a memory. It sputters but goes out before the flame can catch. At least for me, Chapel though seems to be remembering something with how he stares at her.

  “Years of research went into this new vaccine. It was supposed to be the wonder and cure all of the many different strands of the flu but also many other winter aliments in one dose. Think of it, the common cold, strep throat, and pneumonia being nothing more than another mention in history books. It was supposed to be amazing, ground breaking even. It was. It has broken all sorts of new ground.”

  “It was fully tested on all levels. Some levels that I was not even cleared for but documented the passage. No one had any clue to what was about to happen. We were offered the option of having one dose for our own private use. I wanted my little girl to have it. I wanted her to be healthy just like every mother does. To avoid the many illnesses that winter seems to bring with it. How could we have known?” Her voice has fallen in its pitch with each word as a new emotion comes forth from her. It almost sounds like shame, but I can’t imagine why.