The Risen Series | Book 3 | Remnants

by Crow, Marie F.

  Bless me Father, for I have gone insane. It’s been 24 hours since my last run-in with death. How many Hail Mary’s and Acts of Contrition are needed to save me now?

  “You ready?” Alicia is anxious with her nervousness, pulling me from my mental ramblings. “The sooner we get out there, the sooner we can return.” She didn’t have to say it. The thought is written all over her with the way she checks her bags for storage space and the lists of things they need.

  “Will Genny be safe here?” I know by watching my daughter, and being accustomed to her ‘save the world’ behavior, that she will not want to leave the boy behind. Her halo will compel her to stay here and keep an eye on him since his father is also placed in an exploration group headed to a different circle.

  “Yeah. Not many will stay behind. Those that do stay normally sit in their cars to keep the sounds muffled and to be safe from surprise attacks, if it were to happen. We’ve picked the parking lot of the movie theater up the road to meet up if we get separated.” Her eyes never meet mine as she counts wire ties, ammunition, and other various miscellaneous items in her attempt to settle her own nerves. She does nothing to settle mine. “Truth is, she will most likely be a Hell of a lot safer here than out there with us.” I nod, agreeing with her, but it still doesn’t settle my nerves of leaving her.

  Alicia is right. The ‘other things’ don’t travel unless they are motivated. We are so far off the main roads. Being surrounded by these thick woods on a dirt road that was once a hunter’s trail, that there is no real reason for them to come this way. Where we are going, there are plenty of reasons to find them. After all, there is a chance we are pretty much going knocking on their doors.

  “Genny,” I call to my child, as I leave Alicia to her military minded madness. For a woman who has always hated the idea of camo, in any color, she has the hunting mentality down. “Genny, I’m going to go help scout out the area with Alicia. Will you be ok here, alone?” I can tell right away that my question has wounded her teen sense of pride.

  “Yes, I’ll be fine. I know the rules.” Her voice is pleasant, but her face is the crowning jewel of annoyance.

  “I’ll keep an eye on her.” Ginjer comes to lean on the side of the Jeep. “I assume she knows ‘sit’ and ‘stay’, right?”

  I have never seen my daughter and my friend on the same side of the picket line before, much less seen them on the side opposite of myself at the same time. Can’t say that I am enjoying it. All I can do is smile and walk away. Being a female, I know that this is dangerous ground and talking is similar to a minefield. You never know which word you step on could be the one word that blows up in your face.

  “Thank you, Ginjer.” I kiss the top of Genny’s head before I walk away and send my silent mantra up to the heavens.

  Please Lord, don’t let my daughter see me die today.

  The ride to our assigned spot is filled with awkward silence with each of us lost in our own fears and mental pictures of what is to come. I never thought about death as much as I do now. I took every day for granted with the monotonous chores that life held. The alarm went off at the same time every day. I went to work on the same road, sat in the same space at the same building, talking to the same people and most times eating lunch at the same place. Death was only a joke then, whereas now, the only punchline that death holds is its own. Death laughs at us now and it has taken back the mantle of terror it should hold.

  Our team consists of Alicia, Collin, Peyton and myself. Our sedan is something that would have once been deemed a luxury car with its leather seats and now novelty upgrades. The speaker system it once boasted would be a threat to use now. Its wide body is cumbersome to fit through the many wrecks and hazards that fill the road. The high price name brand means nothing to the things we hide from. It’s pure karma that at one time the well-to-do outlives us all with their lifestyle and luxury, whereas now, we blue-collars own the world. What is left of it, anyway.

  The road becomes clogged as soon as we find the brick wall built to help reduce the roaring road noise from the first rows of houses. Cars sit with open doors and vacant seats sending ominous emotions through our car. Fall has claimed those parked around us with piles of her leaves, but winter is making her mark as the leaves wither and fade.

  Suitcases once packed in haste are opened and scattered around the area. Their items are discarded in random piles, hinting that we are not the first survivors to come this way. Broken bicycles, stripped of their chains and tires, are wedged under cars providing a picture of how this scene started long ago. The area is now deserted, but even with as much as it is hinting at, it still clings to the secret of how it may have ended up this way.

  Collin coasts the car past the once cheerful sign advertising the newly-constructed neighborhood. It is eerily calm around us with only lines of well-fed black crows watching us with their cocked heads from rooftops. Sidewalks with their bright, white concrete that was poured for picturesque family walks escort us down the road. Homes stand like bones of a castle with their long, lost memories of times gone by. Their painted doors stand open by force. For some homes, brittle splinters are all that remains from their once secure gatekeepers. Some lawns are filled with destroyed items that may have once been treasures to their rightful owners. Some lawns contain worse.

  Human remains with their time worn decay watch us with missing eyes. Their bones are exposed with the damage from weather and scavenging. Jaws lay open as testimonies to their last screams. It is a warning to us as we enter here. These people thought their world was safe and secure only to discover the cruelty of the truth. What makes us think we are any different?

  Please Lord, don’t let my daughter see me die today.

  “Do we have a plan?” I say, and I didn’t mean for it to sound as condescending as it did. My mind wanders to my daughter and coats my tongue with bitter emotions from being away from her.

  “Most of these houses look ransacked already. I want to drive a little further in just to be sure we are not setting up camp in someone’s backyard. We have enough to contend with as it is,” Peyton says, and he makes sense. His awareness speaks of some of the possible struggles his group has already faced. Once again, I am reminded of how lucky we are with our row of ‘private housing.’ It is just depressing that an invaded crypt is now serving as prime real estate for us.

  The sights before us do not become any less macabre the deeper we travel. The homes are not as abused but here death is more prevalent. Fallen, destroyed corpses are no longer confined to random locations. They fill the lawns and sidewalks, sometimes in patterns of long rows of bodies laid out under unknown circumstances. The flies are thick like a dark, shimmering haze around the bodies. It is the first hint that not only did these people suffer, but also, they were brutalized.

  Some sway from the ropes fastened to the long branches of trees like over ripened fruit. The creaking of the rope is constant like a ticking hand of a clock. The small shapes in faded pastel clothing is indicating that not all were adults when the ropes were placed around their necks. Children with their faces destroyed from decay and animal scavenging stare down at us as we drive past.

  “What the Hell…” Collin whispers the words that fill all of our minds.

  “Do you see it?” Peyton’s voice is forced and humbled.

  I don’t want to examine the area around us to figure out what it is he has spotted. The images will haunt me with the brief glances I have already taken.

  “What do you think it means?” Alicia is watching it all with the silent strength she possesses.

  “That there are more forms of madness than we already expected.” Peyton’s answer causes me to battle against my weakness and once again stare out the window.

  I had not seen it before with how I refused to let my eyes rest on any one area too long. Now as I stare into them, I see it. The discoloration around the bodies is not from fall’s destruction of greenery or proof of their gory-laden deaths. It is from fire.
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  “Stop the car,” Peyton demands with a voice guarded and tense. “I want a closer look.”

  Our exit rings out into the silence with the clicking of the car doors. Standing around so much death, and the risk of what did it possibly still lurking somewhere just beyond our sight, sets our nerves on edge. Every crunch that our feet make pulls our eyes to dance around us with trepidation. We follow Peyton not because we share his curiosity. The three of us just don’t want to be caught standing alone.

  “Look.” Peyton points to the first section of bodies lying together in random positions. “The ring of fire never touched them. It’s not what killed them.”

  “Then what is?” Alicia asks, while Collin and I pretend to be keeping an eye on our surroundings. It is better than admitting that we don’t have the stomach to explore the question.

  “There are holes in each skull.” Peyton is moving the decayed heads with the toe of his shoe to examine them, hoping to gain a better idea of what happened here months ago as he walks past them.

  “They were shot?” Alicia’s voice holds shock and distress. “Why light a ring of fire only to shoot them?”

  “The ones in the trees don’t appear to be shot.” Collin has been staring up, trying to rid his mind’s eyes of what is around us. It is a hard task to do with bodies being everywhere.

  “There are no children in the circles either. Just in the trees.” Alicia’s observation does not bring any of us comfort or answers.

  “Look,” Peyton says again, and I am beginning to dread his observation skills.

  He is squatting close to the base of the tree, tracing his fingers through a pattern that has been carved into it. A pattern I have spotted before.

  “I saw that when we first came in. It was on the back of the sign, the sidewalk and on some mailboxes.” I watch Peyton’s face contort with emotions.

  “Is it a symbol of some kind?” Collin bends down beside him, curious as what it may mean.

  “It is not a symbol. It is letters. Greek letters. IXOYE.” Peyton sighs after sharing his revelation. The knowledge it brings him makes his head shake as he stares up into the trees. Tiny shoes sway with a sudden breeze as if excited legs kick with the pieces coming together.

  Collin is slowly recovering, like myself, from the sights around us. He grows more curious with his boldness. “What does it spell?” he asks, finally genuinely interested in what is around us.

  “Jesus Christ God’s Son Savoir.” Peyton’s voice is weary and disappointed in what we have discovered. “Follow me and I will make you fishers of men.”

  Alicia no longer hides her shock as she stares at the horror around us. She asks him, “A religious group did this? Why?”

  “Why would a religious group claim to do what they do in the name of God? I’m sure the people of Salem would love to have that chat with you.” Peyton stands, seeing the area around us with sad, tired eyes.

  A new depression has fallen over us. It was one thing to acknowledge the destruction left behind by the events we have all become accustomed to have taken place. There is now a thicker layer of sadness bearing the markings of what humanity has left behind. That is something we had not expected with such a degree of deranged cruelty.

  “We aren’t going to find anything useful here. These people have been disturbed enough. Dead or not, some things just don’t need to be disrespected; even in these times.” We agree with Peyton with silent nods and down cast eyes. We return to the car and leave this behind to the nightmare we know is coming for us. Nightmares that will find us tonight filled with the creaking ropes and the bodies of the dead children swaying in the breeze with their tiny shoes and missing eyes.

  The ride back is thick with silence. It is heavy and oppressing as if it should hold weight on our shoulders. We each replay what we imagined may have happened to those people like a black and white film. Each time the version is more horrific than the last. In our minds, we don’t just hear the creaking ropes, but the screaming also. We see their kicking legs as they choke. We can smell the smoke from the fires. The cries of the tormented begging for their lives fill our minds.

  The children in the trees gain faces as we fill the last hours of their lives with imagined mental clarity. Did their necks break or were they forced to hang, kicking and fighting for air? Did their parents watch or were they the ones surrounded by the fire like a private ring of Hell? Where are the rest of the homeowners? Most of all, we are all wondering for what reason did God condemn these people and who carried out His judgements?

  What irony would it be if those left to rot, discarded, tortured and forgotten by God’s servants are now standing staring down from Heaven, free from this nightmare while God waits for those who misused His name? What injustice would it be if they are not?

  Chapter 10

  “Are we the first back?” Alicia asks Ginjer, who is filing her nails with boredom. The look she casts Alicia expresses her doubts over the woman’s IQ.

  “Obviously,” Ginjer says, with a hint of bitterness, but when she sees Peyton, her bitterness is dipped in honey. “But I am sure they will be back soon.”

  As if the universe wanted to prove her right, slowly cars fill the area around us, returning from their trips. Some faces are hollow with the haunting of what they have discovered. Some are void of any signs of emotions, as it is just another day in “paradise” for them. There are returns met with supplies and novelty items met with halfhearted laughter as greetings are exchanged. None of it holds any meaning for me as I still try to hold on to my outsider status, so I search for Genny wanting to hug my own child after seeing the ones that belonged to others.

  “She is still with him.” Inspecting a nail for imperfections, Ginjer motions with her head. “She has been the whole time. I guess she is happy to find someone to talk with, but I still don’t trust him.”

  “You don’t even know the kid.” I don’t want to take his side. No mother wants to take the side of the other person, but I am right. We don’t even know him.

  “No, I don’t. But I have a pretty good idea of what he will become.” Once again, Ginjer leaves me confused by her thoughts, leaving me behind so she may offer Peyton any needed help to take a tally of what was brought back.

  I feel almost guilty intruding on Genny when her laughter surrounds me. They are both sitting on the hood of the Jeep, lost in conversation. With my mind constantly on the thoughts of survival, I have taken for granted the need for social aspects of life, too. I am a hamster on a wheel running with all that I am from my fears and just trying to keep us safe. Watching her now, I know there is no backing out from taking them with us and that scares me more than the vision of children swaying in a tree with their bent necks and pointed toes.

  “Have fun?” Genny’s smile is genuine and full of mirth with her question.

  “Barrels,” I tell her, noticing the body language in front of me. “Have you had fun?”

  My question inserts inches between them and a glare from my daughter. The world may have come to an end, but I can still suck the fun right out of an afternoon. It’s another “mom talent” of mine. Another talent is the ability to talk in code and understand the great riddles of what is being said.

  “I’m going to fix some lunch. Are you hungry?” The real translation of my question is: “I think you have been alone with him long enough. Let’s go.”

  “Sure, I guess I can eat.” Genny’s real translation is: “I can’t believe you are doing this to me! I hate you!”

  “I’ll catch up with you later?” Genny asks Kent, but what she is really saying is: “I’m so sorry. My mom is so lame. We’ll talk all about how unfair she is later.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Kent’s translation is: “This is super awkward so I am just going to sit real still and agree to whatever is said and smile. Can’t forget to smile.”

  Kent smiles. Genny blushes. Genny glares at me as she walks past. The world keeps turning. Que Sera, Sera….

  Sitting in the ba
ckseat of the car, the metal edge of the can opener seems harder to twist than normal. The added pressure of keeping what I am doing a secret is not helping the matters I am sure. I may not be able to avoid taking them back with us, but I am not FEMA. I don’t have to feed the whole place.

  “It smells horrible.” Genny’s nose wrinkles with disgust as the ‘stew’ slops its way into the plastic camping containers with which we use to eat.

  One night left stranded in the car will make you rethink what to store in your glove box. Now, at all times, there is a flashlight, plastic compact bowls that store mini silverware from our camping days, dry socks, can opener, a map and “snacks”. I try to keep the basics of first aid in there too just being me, running on my wheel.

  Genny’s first taste is timid, a small bite that she rolls around in her mouth before committing to a larger sample.

  The gourmet dog food is not the processed can of thick, gelled substance I was fearing, but closer to the style that Ginjer used to feed Mintzy. It is chunks of meat and a blending of vegetables with a gravy sauce. I hate to admit it, but minus the smell, it really does pass as stew and most likely, better than anything I have ever tried to put together. With Genny already being accustomed to food with questionable substances, this may go over better than expected.

  “If I can close my eyes, get past what it really is, it’s not the worst thing I have had to eat,” she says, and I love when Genny proves me right and insults me in the same breath.

  “What are we going to tell Ginjer it is?” To answer her, I hold up several cans showing that I have already stripped them of their paper labels, hiding the truth of what they contain.