I follow the slow progression everyone else has already started upon. Even in our descent to the sand, our group is segregated, divided into smaller sections. Except for April. She dances and skips through the divisions as if they were left to make room for her adventures, finding childhood innocence all around her.
If Leigh notices us following her, she doesn’t turn to acknowledge it. Her slow pace takes her to a clump of downed trees. She stands there staring into the space of an empty trunk. Reaching her hand in, she pulls forth a long orange tube.
“What’s that?” April’s small voice penetrates the silence.
Rhett turns his head, hearing her angelic sound, to smile at her. “Flare.”
“Is it loud?” she quizzically asks Rhett. Her brown eyes shine with her questions.
Leigh doesn’t give time for him to explain. Twisting the white cap from the tube, she uses one end of it to strike against the tube’s top. In an instant, orange smoke begins to pour forth in a dense, thick cloud. She tosses it onto the sand and then leans against the trunks of the trees which hid her summoning device, waiting and still bored.
Peyton seems confused. He is looking to Leigh and back at the giant cloud before glancing around us. “That’s it? We drove a whole day for a flare?”
Lawless shrugs, “Makes sense, actually. I mean, you could try shouting to some island out there and see if they hear you but most likely you’ll just gather every Risen from that day ride to here before they do.”
I’m watching Leigh listen to the men further debate the logic of it. Her eyes aren’t the panic-filled tennis match they once were. In fact, there is no panic. There’s nothing in them at all; not in her eyes and not on her face. She doesn’t even bother to move the dark hair the winds are churning around her face. With arms crossed, she’s simply here, and when our eyes meet, the same taunting creeps up my spine. The broken, hostage front has faded from her and no one seems to notice.
“So, we just are supposed to sit here until someone shows up?” Peyton’s shouting drags me back to this moment.
“You can always leave. Maybe go for a nice swim? See how well you fare alone,” Marxx answers.
“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Collin, my father, joins the verbal attempts of battle.
I’m not used to hearing him raise his voice. He always tip-toed around Carol, inserting himself between our passive-aggressive antics only when he was desperate to keep her calm. Unless putting on a show for her, not even to me did he raise his voice. Mostly, he just didn’t speak to me, at all.
Marxx smiled. He didn’t have to say anything. That smile, and the matching smirk from Rhett, was enough of a sentence without having to string a single word together. Whatever act of bravery Collin was attempting is instantly extinguished.
“Is this bi-polar?” Ashley’s little voice whispers to me, amidst their veiled threats. But like all children, it wasn’t really a whisper, at all.
“No,” I tell her, “this is moody. That’s why I’m bi-polar.”
April scrunches her face with confusion. She confesses, “You’re all making me bi-polar.”
“That’s fair.” Aimes nods with the accusation.
Genny steps from the shadows of the trees. She’s hugging herself as the early evening temperature begins to drop. “How much longer?”
Leigh points to something in the water. While the men were measuring their bravado, among other things, we had missed the boats heading our way. It’s still a black shape floating along the waves, but it’s heading towards us with certainty, using what is left of the orange smoke trail to lead it. Behind the nearest shape, is another close behind it. Two bobbing shapes headed towards us, but are they sanctuary or destruction? Like the sheep J.D. always preached about, have we just walked into a trap?
Leigh’s face tells me nothing. She wears her mask better than anyone I have ever known. Just the same, I can feel her trying to measure me, and for an instant, just a flicker, there’s a different shade to those bored eyes. For a moment, something flickers between her and me, and as I tilt my head to try to encourage more of her silent conversation, that flicker dies. It’s drowned in waves of black hair and porcelain pale emptiness.
Ginjer is already primping. She runs her fingers through her high, perfectly shaded ponytail removing any knots from its length. Fluffing it, she smiles. “Won’t be much longer, now!”
Aimes look towards me, making a fake motion of sticking her finger down her throat as she rolls her eyes. I would have joined her in the eye roll. I would have smirked, sharing in her assessment of the woman, but I didn’t have time. Just as the boats had, something else has slipped upon us. This time, I didn’t have to wonder if it was sanctuary or destruction. Destruction is all they have ever had on their minds.
I feel April’s tiny hand take mine. I look down, distracted from Aimes, to see wide brown eyes watching me.
“Monsters.”
It was a little word she said. A word too small to encompass the things she is talking about. A word too small to explain the damage about to be done. Such a small word. Such a small, small word.
Chapter 21
“Monsters,” April says.
Her eyes are locked with mine. She is refusing to move or look behind her at what she is certain is waiting just behind us. I look. I always look and there, amidst the many trees and overgrown roots are looming statues. Even from this distance, I can see their glazed eyes watching us.
“Go,” I tell her, handing her small hand off to Aimes.
Aimes doesn’t argue. She doesn’t pout anymore when we shove her off to the distance. After all we’ve seen, I think she’s grateful.
Lawless and Marxx come to stand beside me. Rhett takes the space between us and those fleeing for the boats. An enforcer till the end, Rhett knows he is the last defense. Whatever makes it past us, is his job to finish.
Dolph is trying his best to keep the fleeing groups in some form of formation, herding them to keep their natural responses from spreading everyone too far apart. Ginjer’s panic has caused her to leave a gap between her and the rest of them. Despite Dolph’s attempts to bring her back, she keeps running wide and he must finally choose to let her go to keep up with the rest. Even with how far I am standing from him, I can see his distress.
“You should head with them,” Marxx suggests. “You could help Dolph.”
He offers this with a hint of yearning, tossing in an ounce of guilt for leaving Dolph on his own to keep so many safe. Marxx hopes I’ll take the bait and avoid what may happen if I don’t. He’s never been hesitant before, but it’s easy to see he is now. He hasn’t pulled a weapon, yet. He’s waiting to see which one he’ll need first before committing to the act, as his doubts carry him along with their drowning current.
Lawless laughs. It's a short laugh, one born more from frustration than humor. “And leave the main action? You know her better than that.”
“The fact you two can carry on a conversation while we are being watched, makes me wonder about our sanity,” I tell them both.
My words are met with smirks and raised eyebrows. I guess I’m not the only one with doubts. Not having quite as many doubts as Marxx though, I do commit to a weapon. Some girls have teddy bears to comfort them, or journals filled with pretty scrawl to record every moment. I have a double-edged hand knife which would make a croc hunter envious and we both remember everything I’ve shoved her into.
“They aren’t moving,” Peyton stands a little to our right. He’s set himself up in the gap Rhett provides, adding another layer of back-up should we fall.
He’s right. These aren’t moving. That wasn’t their role to play. They did their part of the murder masquerade. Their dance card was simply to not dance, at all, but to distract. We may have never known if it wasn’t for the different degrees of screams now surging from behind us. As we pivot to face those sounds, I almost swear I saw one smile.
Behind us, the beach is being closed off by the sheer number of sh
ambling forms rushing towards the boats and our scattered family. I’ve done this run enough times to do the math in my head. We won’t make it. There is no equation that will allow us to reach those we sent ahead thinking only of their escape. Even knowing this, I still run.
Half of my life is ahead of me, fighting the waves to make it to outstretched hands waiting on the bobbing vessels. Half of my life is beside me, running as we always do to protect who we can, despite the odds against us. I don’t want to have to choose which half I lose today. I won’t have to. Fate will do that for me.
Dolph is fighting to get through the Risen to reach Ginjer. Her wide pattern of retreat has left too wide of a stretch. He knows it’s hopeless, but he tries. The constant screaming of his name is spurring him on, but the sheer number of Death’s army isn’t making it easy. I watch him stumble a few times, struggling to not be overtaken himself. I’m certain every time he fades from my view, he won’t be seen again, but he is, despite the sheer impossibility of his task.
My boots are in a constant battle with the sand below them. The sand pulls them down, holding onto one, before freeing it to grasp the other. Fighting against these invisible hands, my progress is slowed even more, eating precious seconds from minutes I don’t have to spare.
The men around me are separating, picking their targets to either save or attack. Peyton is heading towards Ginjer and Dolph. Lawless and Marxx are heading towards the center with Rhett close on their trail. I’m running towards the boat with Aimes. I know I cannot take on such a sheer number, but I can keep a path cleared. I can do that, at least. I can provide a space for them to run to once we know everyone has made it clear of the beach.
We collide with the confusion of sounds and panic. It threatens to engulf us, ripping our plans of action from our minds. The sheer volume robs us of bravery, and we slither into hopes for survival.
I can hear the high pitch of Ginjer’s voice begging for help. I can hear Aimes shouting for Paula. The sounds of hand-to-hand combat merge with the fear floating around me. Everywhere I turn there is an outreached claw, grasping for me, with its skin missing from the tips of the fingers from the deaths it has served. Jaws are snapping, surrounding me with hopes of just one little taste. Spinning in circles, I can’t focus on one. I don’t dare turn, losing sight of the others. I keep taking steps backward, shifting sideways and all it does is close the gap around me. Their choir of lethality hits octaves which trigger every last sense of panic I was holding at bay. It floods my brain. I’m paralyzed with it, and despite every effort not to, I feel, rather than see, my double-edged blade of comfort slide from my hand and to the sand at my feet.
The first body lands against my back. The attack sends me to my knees, unhinging them from under me. Bracing myself with my hands, the compacted sand connects with my palms. The vibration travels through me, knocking the air from my lungs and the panic from my brain. Rolling to face whatever is going to be above me, I bring those same jarred arms up to protect myself, but I didn’t need to. It’s who is above me I now need to save.
Genny stands there, swinging a small knife she must have stolen from the kitchen of the house we just left. The small blade will be of no use to defend her from what is encroaching upon her. If she knows it, it’s not apparent with how she stands, just as defiantly as I once did, facing down what could be her last moment.
“Get up,” she shouts. “I don’t know how to do this but even I figured out you don’t drop your weapon!”
Her pose is completely wrong. She’s exposing every inch of herself for the attack. She’s solid, knees locked, and the first shove will topple her just as she did me.
Rearming myself, I stand. Placing my back to hers renews my resolve. I’m reminded it’s not just me in this battle. Nor is it just me I’m fighting to keep alive, and I hate how Aimes’ words from before are washing me with scorn.
“Come on, you ugly piece of shit,” she mutters, jeering the nearest one, and from such a diminutive person, it is somewhat impressive.
“Start ‘em young,” I mutter to myself, recalling what Aimes had said just hours ago. “Be ready,” I tell her.
Until now, they haven’t forced their fight. They jockey back and forth, making sure we can’t escape, but they haven’t launched into their normal disorganized frenzy. This feels familiar. I’ve done this before, but it wasn’t a sand-covered serenity. It was a scream-filled courtyard with snow keeping it echoing among the silent, retreated trails of my past.
“They aren’t going to rush us,” I tell Genny.
She turns her head to see me better. “What?”
“They are hunters. A pack. They separated us making us easier to take down.”
“I didn’t think they were supposed to be this smart?” Genny looks at the ghouls around us with a new caliber of fear.
“They weren’t,” I tell her, already mentally mapping an escape route. Once the attack does begin, we won’t outlast this many. “Keep your back to mine and follow my lead.”
“Why?” Her voice is anything but trusting.
“Because we are still smarter.”
She makes some style of an annoyed sound. “Says the one who dropped her knife.”
I don’t reply. Instead, I just start a slow slide towards the floating promises of sanctuary. If their plan is to wait until we are weak before rushing us, I plan to get us as far from the center of the confrontation as possible.
The Risen begin to settle. Their minds are aware there has been a change. I keep a mental track of every one of them standing before me. I watch their eyes watching me as they try to formulate a new plan. Their voices are a low growl, a warning, but not on the offense. At least, not yet.
I pick the two weakest links of the mob as I plot my path. A man who was of thin build in life is now a composite of meat and joints. His white shirt is no longer the once bleach-beaming pride. It’s yellow and brown, and so much more than I want to identify. The smell from his oozing frame is acidic. He leaves blobs of black mud-like fluid to clot in the moist sand. The one next to him isn’t much better and my stomach is arguing with my brain.
My other pick is almost the complete opposite of his counterpart. His gelatinous shape seems to hold no real true style. As he rocks in place, his whole-body sways with the movement, rolling and sliding with gravity placed upon him. His clothing is fighting to contain him. It’s stretched and threadbare in shades of what was once grey sweats. His eyes are focused on me. As if he may figure out my plans, his eyes slide over me, pausing at my feet and their path before coming to rest on my face again. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn that I saw him smirk.
Fear and the pure smell of bile has my stomach rolling faster than the waves around me. I am almost in arm’s reach of the two, and whereas one is still glazed and waiting, the other has figured out where I am headed. His fingers begin to twitch.
Keeping my voice low and hushed, I whisper to Genny. “Ready?” She has kept tight to my pace, only now upon hearing my voice, do I feel her slow. “Stay with me,” I hiss. “If we become separated in the midst of all of this, we won’t make it.”
I don’t have time to elaborate on my words. It seems to happen all at once. I raise my blade to attack the mentally slower one only to be countered by the large force of the other. With nothing to hold onto, it feels like fighting a heavy, wet fog. Any solid plan is now forfeit. Using my elbow to connect with his face, keeping his mouth away from me, I use the small window of his recoil to slash at anything I can reach. Landing a long slice upon his torso, it erupts like the overflowing sack he has become in this life. I’m soaked in cold, thick fluids of which makes my stomach shudder. But like a deflated balloon, he sinks to the sand. His weight is shifted from so much sagging flesh. It pins him, rendering him unable to stand again.
Genny doesn’t need instructing. With the flexibility of youth, she kneels mid-step and finishes the glaring face watching her before standing back up to keep her presence felt behind mine. With t
he fears of youth, she kicks his head so that it no longer faces her. Monsters are less scary if you don’t have to look them in the eyes and I’m starting to rethink kitchen knives.
I waste no time putting down the oozing one. Just as I had expected, his body has already passed its limited expiration date. His face conveyed the message of attack, he was just unable to do it. The same method of defense with my elbow to the side of his jaw rotated his head just enough to expose the tender temple where I slid the blade. Gravity freed my knife. Genny’s foot freed his jaw from his face.
One-by-one we tunnel a path through them. Only the ones I confront become some form of alive with their nature triggered. The evil which stimulates them becomes rampant, rushing through their system with thoughts of hot blood and warm meat to feast upon. Each is disappointed as Genny and I dispatch their expired lives.
Genny lets me lead the way. I take the brunt of the fight and she, the ever-confident shadow, finishes those I leave scattered around us. She never breaks more than a whisper of space between us. For a moment, I hold hope we’re going to make it. For a moment, in that same whisper of space, I hold faith. Faith is damning like that. She shows you a promise and then drowns you in her denial.
The well-dug tunnel we have created isn’t holding anymore. Too many have sensed our possible escape. The same one-by-one logic we are using, now they use against us. It starts in front of Genny, the one of us seen as less of a threat. It was a slow flowing of tones. Tones of aggravations, and hunger that starts with the ones in the furthest back to slowly spread to the ones near us. I know this sound. My soul knows this sound. Every hair on my body knows this sound. Each one is now reacting in warning and fear of us escaping them.
I can see the boats. The path is technically cleared in front of us. It’s now or possibly never with their desperation overriding their nature.
The Risen Series | Book 5 | Defiance Page 14