The Risen Series | Book 5 | Defiance

by Crow, Marie F.

  I turn my head to her so she may see my answer. I want her to really hear my answer.

  “I don’t care,” I tell her. “I have nothing left to care.”

  Her eyes darken to a shade between anger and betrayal before saying, “Poor Helena. Always poor Helena with her messed-up family and empty life. Suck it up, Zombie Barbie. Here is a newsflash for you - all of our families were messed up. Why do you think we all click so well? Each of us has that piece of us that is missing, and we fill it for each other. Your scars are no worse, or better than ours. You just want to tell yourself that so when you finally off yourself, or do something stupid getting yourself offed, you won’t feel like a pussy for letting it happen.”

  My foot finds the brake before my mind does. My truck jerks with the force of the command when we come to a sudden stop in the middle of the road and I can’t help but wonder how annoyed she is with the constant changing of our demands of her.

  “What did you say?” I ask, looking to Aimes.

  “I said you are a pussy.”

  Aimes doesn’t sugarcoat her words or try to hide her feelings. The same I dare you smile she has worn for the men to taunt them she is wearing it now for me.

  “All this time,” she says, “I thought you were so brave. You’re not brave. You’re just as scared as the rest of us. The only difference is we admit to our truths while you would rather drown in yours. All of this is a pity party for one, rolled into some guilt trip you have created for yourself. Now I understood what Rhett meant when he said you weren’t interested in using a gun. He said you would use us.”

  I stare at her, confused by what she is saying to me. I’m confused not because of how accurate it all is. I’m confused because of the why. Inhaling sharply against the words riding my tongue, I turn to see the road again.

  It stretches long and two-lanes ahead of me. I can’t see the ending any more than if I looked in the rearview and tried to see its beginning. Like Aimes and I, like the club and us, it’s hard to really pinpoint anymore where it all began. It’s even harder to see where it might all be ending.

  I know what she is doing. It’s the same thing the men are doing. Everything we have kept bottled up, we are releasing like evil genies as people begin to rub us the wrong way. All the things we wouldn’t normally say to each other, we are now, because we are all so incredibly angry.

  We are angry with ourselves. We are angry with each other. We are angry with this life. You can only yell at the mirror for so long before you run out of words to be used and this life doesn’t care for our feelings anymore. That only leaves us each other to scream at.

  “I guess we aren’t past our little high school stay, either?” I ask her, reminding us both of a time we have glossed over.

  Her face softens for a second before falling stiff, and unreadable. She looks almost puzzled when she says to me, “I guess not.”

  “So, what? You want to start exchanging hits?” I ask her.

  “No. It might not be much of a face, but it’s all God gave me, and besides, we both know you’d win.”

  “Then what?”

  Aimes shrugs. It’s not only the men who are unsure of what to do anymore. There has been too much between all of us, and like a racoon with his fist in a trap, we are all defiantly holding on to it all.

  I’m staring at the road again as my mind wanders, taking us both along for the ride.

  “Do you see the road?” I ask her.

  “Is this where you start to insult my intelligence by asking the obvious?”

  “If I wanted to insult your I.Q., I would have brought up you and Rhett.”

  Aimes shrugs, but smirks as well before saying, “Yeah, I see the road, my brilliant leader.”

  “That’s all we have now. There are no turn-offs, no resting, just long roads for miles and miles.”

  “You going somewhere with this? Or, just miles and miles of rambling?”

  I roll my eyes with a sideways glance, telling her, “Yeah, I want to give up. I desperately just want it all to end when I think about where we were and where we are heading, but I won’t. It’s not me. It’s not us. It’s not what we do. We keep going. Mile after mile, we just keep going. Once we all get past whatever this is festering, we will be back on our road. So, stop worrying about me. It’s like J.D. said years ago,” I begin, as I put the impatiently waiting truck into gear, “no matter what happens, you just keep grinning.”

  “And riding,” she finishes.

  “No matter how life torments you,” I start, with a mocking rendition of his quote.

  Aimes quickly falls into a pattern. “You keep grinning and you keep riding, even in constant torment, you just keep riding.”

  “Because riding is the only real escape they can’t take from you.”

  Aimes puts her hand over her heart and with a false mockery of being moved to tears, she says, “Good ole G.R.I.T.”

  Like a Band-Aid applied over an opened scab, we smile at each other.

  “Do me a favor though, Aimes?” I ask, as the truck begins to roll forward.

  “Hmm?” she answers, her smile a bit tenser now than a mere moment ago.

  “Leave me out of your pillow talk with Rhett?”

  “Actually, we don’t talk much about pillows. Normally one of us is-”

  “No. No ma’am. We are not going there!” I loudly exclaim, talking over her.

  She laughs when my dark warhorse pulls us forward, past the many dashes of yellow lines. They are put there to keep the two sides safe and divided. They let us know where our space is and where the other person’s starts.

  Our yellow lines are gone now. We have no personal space, or personal thoughts, or even personal scars. Everything is one giant cauldron of shared pain. Everything is exposed for anyone to watch or prod. Like a wound, bleeding, and seeping from the viciousness of its cause, we are all leaving a trail to be followed. For miles and miles, we have been bleeding out and only our defiance over surrendering and our stolen moments like this has kept us riding on, in torment but still grinning.

  Chapter 8

  “Oh look, it’s our merry little band of personal madmen,” Aimes says, upon hearing their engines. They haven’t even crested the hill ahead of us before she asks, “Think we can ditch the truck and make a run for it?”

  I lift an eyebrow with the thought, and if there was not a good chance of what lurks in the woods around us also hoping we would do that, I might take her offer seriously. If I must choose which demons to face, I’ll choose the dark beasts of G.R.I.T. every time.

  “No, but I can scatter them again, if you want?” I ask her.

  Her amused smile is almost as frightening as her taunting one. She braces her knees against the dash when the truck roars its matching pitch with my encouragement of her gas pedal.

  “Just don’t kill them,” she tells me. “We might actually need them one day.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith,” I whisper, earning me another bold smile.

  Our two groups sound like trains racing towards our destination and still I don’t let off the gas. The annoying responsible side of me knows this is a waste of resources, but the side of me who so enjoys seeing the men reminded of who I am, only whispers dark praises. Truth be told, as of late, I don’t feel the day is complete unless one of them is staring at me as if they are just meeting me for the first time. Men’s minds are easy to twist, and I’ve made a hobby out of it just to avoid the constant self-twisting of my own.

  “Remember when I said, just don’t kill them?” Aimes asks me.

  She is slinking further down, bracing tightly as the truck’s engine gains pitches with the speeds being forced upon her. Her smile is tight, not sure if she should be still filled with glee or evacuation plans. It’s more than just the men I enjoy tormenting.

  Knowing how they ride, I know their pattern. I know where each bike will be in reference to the other. If their engine noises weren’t so thundering, I would be more cautious, but the full throttle
of their pace tells me they are riding close and not spread out along the road. Even with maybe being the last people in the area, old habits are hard to break. They are even harder to break for bikers.

  I crest the hill, almost airborne with the speed and slope of the road. Hidden behind their dark glasses, I can still see the raised arches of their eyebrows when the large grill of my truck is aimed right for their tight little ball of male compensation. They do exactly what I had expected them to do. Riding so close, they can’t brake. They are forced to slide to one side of the road, hugging its line, as their side-by-side becomes one single file of arched eyebrows and set lips. Like the bitch I am, I forced them out of my way with no regrets or apologies.

  Marxx shakes his head as we soar past them, bouncing the truck’s tires with the impact. I don’t slow. I don’t wait for them when they turn around to follow me. I don’t chase after them anymore or after their respect. In fact, I think they only chase after me to see what I will do next.

  “How did they even find us?” I ask her.

  She is slowly unfolding from where she had become something of a human accordion. She says, “You mean other than the wonderful skid marks you left while traveling down a straight road with no turn-offs? Must be a miracle.”

  “Want me to sling you against the door, again?” I ask her, reminding her of my wonderful driving skills.

  “Not really. If I am to be tenderized for the Risen to munch on, I prefer it done in more pleasurable ways,” Aimes says, daring my bluff.

  I don’t. It’s disturbing enough to think of her and Rhett, or even hear her and Rhett. I won’t ask her any questions because she would answer them without hesitation or shame. Some things I do not want rolling around in my mind with so much already tearing it apart.

  “I guess we aren’t shopping alone,” I tell her.

  The men, Law, Rhett, Marxx, and Dolph have already closed the distance and are hugging the truck. I’m not sure if we are being escorted or followed by the look on Lawless’ face. Maybe he's just not happy with my attempt to turn a half-ton truck into the General Lee.

  “You could always slam it into reverse and try your luck again?” Aimes asks me.

  When I hesitate to answer, she cautiously arches an eyebrow.

  Smiling, I tell her, “Been done. The shock value is only good once.” I bounce my eyebrows, letting her relax before asking her, “Where was this place you saw?”

  “We passed the street with our new squatter rights, so it should be up here soon.”

  It is. I pump my brakes to let the red lights signal I am slowing to make the turn. I figured it’s the nice thing to do since I keep trying to run them over for pure enjoyment.

  It’s a long driveway and it’s in as good a condition as anything else in this forgotten section of town. My tires bounce along the neglected road while those behind me must slow and negotiate the many landmines waiting for their tires like gaping jaws along the asphalt. It allows me to place some distance between us and our constant, hovering shadows.

  The daycare, or small private school, is a basic brick building with the red and cream colors intermingling with its stonework. The windows’ trim was once bright white when it was built, but time and abandonment has crackled the paint and dimmed it in wattage to a cream. The wide, cement porch has also seen better days, as well as the painted mural displaying the name of the building. A matching themed artwork of clowns frames the whimsical lettering, as their many, differently colored balloons appear to be floating off the mural. It has a sad, forsaken feeling to it, but when Aimes points at the moving curtain, it takes on a different heartbeat.

  “Remember that whole comment about why you shouldn’t kill them?” Aimes asks me.

  I can hear her nervousness as memories of the many things we have already encountered overcome her. To this day, neither one of us can see a dead child, or see the many dark crows lined along a wide branch of a tree, without shivering as Travis’ insanity still lingers long after his death. Just like with Chapel, and the others we have left to the darker pits of our uncharted hearts, they still walk with us long after we can no longer walk with them.

  “My truck has a higher kill count than some of the ones you don’t want me to kill,” I answer her.

  “Well, yeah with how you drive!” Aimes shouts to me as I’m exiting.

  I’m not waiting on them. I’m not hiding in the shadows, waiting for some man to come to hold my quivering hand. I don’t need them to whisper reassurances into my ear or shove fables down my throat with promises of happy-ever-afters. There are no more happy-ever-afters, and if Prince Charming was a lie before all of this started, I sure as hell don’t need him now. I never cheered for Snow White, anyway. I have always been more ‘Team Wicked Witch’.

  “Hells!” Aimes calls to with me a hiss when she sees I am going in alone. “Really?”

  I hear her frustrated sigh. The way she slams the truck door expresses even more of what she is not saying.

  “You have a plan here, or just like always, run in with more ego than IQ?” Aimes sarcastically asks me.

  Ignoring her, I test the knob on the front door. It seems to scream like an alarm as I twist it. Aimes and I both wince with each decibel it climbs. We brace ourselves for any sudden rush from a tribe of rotting, cannibal people to run out at us when the door swings open. The only thing that hits us is the smell.

  It’s as strong as a punch to the gut. It almost doubles us over with its strength. There is something about the smell of death and decay, and how it swirls with stale air to remove any bravery or sense of pride from your thoughts. Now more than ever, because we know what the smell is attached to - the dead. The main problem is the dead are no longer aware they should be dead.

  The men’s arrival buys my nerves and stomach some time. I’m not stalling. Like well-armed back up, I’m just waiting on them, as they have asked of me a thousand times. A little smudge of the truth for male pride is something women do all the time.

  “Here are our Prince Charmings now,” I say, with my previous thoughts coloring my greeting when their Harleys go silent.

  It’s cute how they ride in a formation, park in a formation, and even cut the engines in the same boring, and predictable formation, I think to myself with acidic sarcasm.

  It used to never bother me before, but as of late, their little world with their little rules and unspoken meanings strips me raw. I used to be envious, even proud of it. The sight of their patch passing me on our town’s roads would bring a smile to my face. The only thing that smiles anymore is their skull and it seems to be taunting me more every day.

  Rhett is the first to the porch, as expected. His stride is his normal relaxed smoothness, but there is a bit more of a hurry to it than normal. Either his fight with Marxx has stirred another demon or it’s the sight of Aimes so close to the unknown. Either way, the last thing any of us need is more of Rhett’s personal demons motivating him into action.

  “Never was much of a fan of Cinderella,” he says to me, and a part of me wonders if he even remembers that was the nickname J.D. held for me as he is talking. “More of an Ariel fan.”

  “Why?” Aimes asks him before any of us can stop her.

  “At least she’d be more honest about her smell,” Rhett answers, keeping his eyes open for the first movement from inside the school.

  Rhett doesn’t shrug or smirk with his answer. It’s just Rhett’s logic, but the rest of us shake our heads or roll our eyes, glaring at Aimes for making it so easy for him. If Rhett notices, or cares about our responses, he doesn’t show it. He is peering into the darkened building with anticipation.

  “What am I? A urinal?” Aimes asks him, trying to mock him with what she perceives as a concealed insult.

  I’m pretty sure she means one thing, hinting at Rhett’s jokes of feminine scents Too bad everyone, but her, is already bracing for where Rhett is going to take us now that she has opened the way.

  “Don’t know,” he says, still wi
th his empty voice of lackluster emotions, “how many men have you let use you?”

  Rhett doesn’t wait for her answer before he takes the first fear-filled step into the unknown. He didn’t ask her for one. He asked her to shut her up. That Rhett, always the charmer.

  “Do you even know?” Lawless whispers to Aimes, resulting in her and I both jumping from his voice so close to us.

  “Do you?” I ask him.

  My question and my tone bring his friendly jest to a different level. I watch the friendly spark in his eyes ignite to a different pool of brown.

  Lawless says, dropping his voice to the same emptiness as the man who slipped ahead of us, “Men? None. Some of the girls I wish I could forget at times.”

  Just like Rhett, he doesn’t wait for any comeback. He slips into the darkness as he too was aiming to just shut me up. It does the job, but unlike Aimes, I’m not about to just stand here with my jaw hanging.

  At first, the things around me are nothing but dimmed shadows hovering along the walls as I wait for my eyes to adjust to the lack of light. Rhett and Lawless are already easing their way through the abyss. Their guns are pointed to the ground with their well-trained finger resting and waiting to pull the trigger should there be a need. They move without sound over the layers of papers, which were once neatly amassed on the reception desk or waiting in the many cubbies with their crayon-like colored names scrawled above them. With my eyes still fighting to really see, I still sense something is very wrong.

  Papers wouldn’t hold such a heavy smell. The depth of the scent is too thick; too many layers to it to be just from the many scattered sheets about us. When my eyes finally adjust, I see how correct I am.

  The same papers I had thought were only scattered randomly are actually stuck to the floors and walls like large pieces of confetti in the dark, dried blood smears. Some of the papers have slid, dragging its glue-like bonder with it. It mimics the outlines the bodies would have left - if there were any. There is just blood and wordless echoes of chaos. Even if we can’t hear the screams, we can see what has happened because we have become so familiar with it ourselves.