The Rising Read online

  “She will be here! And I’m not going to leave until she shows!” Like a small child, Sherry stamped her foot down. In her rational mind, she knew what an idiot she was being. But Susan was her sister, in every way but blood—unless an unsanitary blood oath in tenth grade counted.

  “This is fucking lunacy!” Juan turned to Marty; the little boy was listening to the argument intently, his eyes wide and his mind absorbing. We’re grownups, thought Juan, and he’s the only one acting sane. “Marty, big man, hop back into the RV while Auntie Sherry and I discuss what to do”

  “You two shouldn’t yell at each other like that, it’s not nice,” was Marty’s reply; it was soft, nearly a whisper, like he was having trouble finding his voice in the madness.

  “I know. Sorry, kid.” Juan rubbed a hand across his face, fighting off the emotional exhaustion that wanted to dull his senses. “Listen, we’re not mad at each other. This is just a tough situation and we’re trying to decide what to do. Just do me a favor and wait in the vehicle with Frank. We’ll be heading out any second.” Juan expected Sherry to argue at that last statement, but she doesn’t. Maybe he was making progress in getting through to her.

  Juan watched as the little boy nodded his head and moved back inside the safety of the motor coach. They were low on fuel, even lower on supplies, and Juan was certain they were attracting a lot of attention. The kind of attention a person doesn’t want in a damn apocalypse. He just wanted to get the hell out of this marina and back on the road where he felt safer.

  Turning back to Sherry, Juan picked up where he had left off.

  “I’m going to give you and your friend five more minutes and then I’m pointing that motor lodge north. I’m not having us die after coming so far. A short-lived reunion isn’t worth it.” Juan’s ‘r’s were beginning to roll, his voice curving around the edges of his words. That happened when his anger level rose—his accent thickness was in a direct relationship to his blood pressure.

  “We will go when I say we will go!” Sherry didn’t stamp her foot this time, but she might as well have. Her voice sent Juan’s blood roaring to his head and there was nothing he could do to quell his ever-rising temper. When Sherry crossed her arms in further defiance, he lost it. Even a disciplined martial arts teacher had his limits. As Juan’s abuelo used to say—Puerto Rican anger was nothing to toy with. And democracy isn’t a Mendoza strong suit.

  The sound of a naval fog horn ripped through the marina, bouncing off the low buildings and echoing down the street behind them. Its wailing sound jarred both Juan and Sherry back to reality. They’re argument halted in a blink, their bodies shifting to stare past the few bobbing boats left tethered to the dock.

  Across the water was a beautiful sailing ship of at least 40 feet. Even from a distance, they could read the boat’s name: Nancy-Grace.

  ***

  JUAN

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” I murmured; surprise plastered across my face. I hadn’t really thought we had a chance in hell of our saving grace showing up in the gray-blue waters. But there it was, cutting slowly through the waves and proving me wrong. It seemed too good to be true. In my life, I’d learned to distrust anything that came easy.

  “I told you so,” Sherry said, self-satisfaction warring with her utter elation at the sight of her friend’s boat. She was pretty even now…when she was being an irrational ass.

  “Yes, you did.” The words sounded mechanical coming from my mouth. Despite the supposed rescue, despite Sherry being right, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we needed to hoist our asses back in the RV and get the hell away from this place. But who was I to argue with the woman jumping up and down and waving her arms like a crazy person?

  From a distance, the boat looked more than sea-worthy. I thought it was an old Pearson cutter, but Dad was the sailing enthusiast and I wouldn’t bet good money on any guess I made. It was moving closer and there’s a woman on its deck. She was also jumping up and down like an aerobics instructor waving her hands over her head. Mirror images from shore to sea.

  “I knew it! I just knew it!” Sherry’s cry was full of jubilation this time, all hints of our disagreement gone.

  Watching her, I could almost pretend that everything was going to turn out alright. We were going to get on that boat and sail off into safety. Still though…something wasn’t sitting right. A stone in my belly making me uncomfortable.

  I looked at Sherry, still bouncing up and down and waving in unison with the mad woman on the boat. Disbelief was the only thing I felt. Disbelief that we had come this far, disbelief that the boat was really there, but mostly disbelief that the crazy woman on the boat had just let the whole zombie world know we were damn sitting ducks with that loud as hell horn ripping through the once still air.

  Sitting ducks.

  I’d been worried when Sherry and I were going at it, worried that our voices were too loud and that there’d be something nefarious waiting in the shadows, ready to strike, but now that the amplified sound of a horn had rocketed through the air around us, I knew, without a doubt, that something must be on its way. How could it not be? Jesus.

  No one could be that lucky. We couldn’t be that lucky—that we could throw a party on shore and not have any of the monsters come calling for punch and fucking cookies. It’s a goddamn zombie apocalypse. Danger is as common as the average cold now.

  “Sherry,” I said in a quiet voice. “Mamacita, we need to get back in the RV.” I waited, but no response came from the excited woman. She was still too busy staring at her friend, happy tears running tracks down her face. I hated to break her happiness. But, shit, if I didn’t, we’d all be broken. And not emotionally. I didn’t feel like getting munched on by miniature monsters today. “Sherry, we need to get into the RV now,” I repeated the words in a calm voice, reaching out to grip her forearm.

  “Why? What’s wrong?” Sherry’s smile faltered as she looked at me.

  “You and I might have been fighting, maybe being a little too loud, but that fog horn…” I looked past her and noticed then that the woman on the boat had stopped jumping and a man had walked to her side. “Mamacita, that fog horn’s going to have alerted every zombie in the area that we’re here. And we have to go.”

  “What?” Sherry’s voice, which was still holding traces of the excitement that had bloomed at the sight of her friend, wilted and died. Her smile finally faded, the last bit of joy to go. I killed her happiness with my truth. She shook her head, taking a small step away from me. “No. That’s not right. I mean, even if it is, they’ll be to shore in no time. It will only take a few minutes to load up. It’ll be fine.”

  “We have to be as careful as possible, Sherry. Let’s just get back into the coach and make sure that nothing’s going to show up. If we sit it out and everything seems fine, we’ll head out to the dock. I promise.” I let the lies fall from my lips as my eyes scanned the surrounding land and buildings. I could feel them out there; they were stalking forward, slowly and surely. The tension in my body was so fierce that I felt it must be coming off of me in seeable waves. I knew in my gut that we weren’t going to just hang out in the RV, decide everything was fine, and then stroll out on the dock.

  I couldn’t tell Sherry that though.

  “No, Juan. Let’s just go out to the dock now. They’ll be here in a minute and we can help tie them up. Nothing’s coming. The sound wasn’t that bad.” Sherry’s nervously biting her lip; even she knows that she’s just clinging to hope.

  “No.” I could hear my voice. It was stern; I tried to control the anger that wanted to bleed in at the edges. “We have to get into the RV, the horn…”

  She turned slightly away from me, her body faced toward some point between a weathered gray building and her friend’s boat. I focused on her profile a few moments longer than I should have. I ignored my surroundings as I watched the rosy hue run out of her face. Her eyelids parted impossibly wide. She understood. But what’s more, she understood too late.

&n
bsp; “Oh, my God, the horn. Oh, my God, oh, my God. Juan…” My name was a whisper, the end to a fear-filled utterance.

  I watched the panic take hold of her and then I pulled my attention towards the bait shop she was staring at—the bait shop from which a mangled adult Z had just stumbled out from the shadows, its shoulder hitting the askew door of the building. The expanse of wood was jarred from the singular broken hinge still keeping it attached to the frame and it landed with a loud clatter against the wood walkway.

  Another noise.

  Another dinner bell calling the monsters.

  “You were right, Juan. Oh, my God. I won’t leave Susan, though. I won’t. We’re so close to her.” Her words are frantic, expelled fast like water from a sieve. “She’s right there, Juan.” She pointed as if that will make it clearer to me that our salvation was so close, yet so unreachable.

  “Just get in the vehicle. It will be all right,” I said slowly and confidently. I leaned forward and I tried to be gentle as I gripped her upper arm. Tried being the operative word. She didn’t respond to my touch or my words immediately, which caused my fingers to grip just a little tighter. “Just move now, Sherry. Move now and we’ll figure out how to get to her once we’re safe again.”

  The adult Z stumbled, leaving the sun-cracked wood decking to walk on the sparsely grassed field that led to the parking lot. Moments later, it was followed by a teen-sized Z weaving to and fro as if trying to determine what to do. The movement reminded me of someone on a skateboard—the leaning of the body to change direction, the smoothness of the action. At least these are older. At least these aren’t the small children that are too intelligent and too quick. I want to kick myself as I think that. It’s like teasing fate to do its worst.

  “Please, Juan.” Sherry pulled her arm away from me. Everything about her pleaded with me to make it so she didn’t have to leave the sight of her friend out on the water. She wanted me to change our situation. I can’t snap my fingers and make all the bad shit in the world disappear. I’m not a fucking magician.

  “We can’t stay.” I can’t quell the anger now, it seeps into the words like gut-rotting battery acid. I didn’t wait for Sherry to protest this time. I pushed her toward the open door of our home on wheels, ignoring her gasps and fresh tears. I watched the Zs realize that we were here as Sherry stumbled onto the first step into the RV.

  The Zs lifted their heads, smelling the air, their mouths gaping open like fish out of water. They begin stumbling towards us like puppets on a string. The teen had lost its fluidity of movement. They were now both lifeless, mobile creatures with little focus save for flesh.

  I followed close behind Sherry. She didn’t get far before she collapsed dramatically. She wasn’t thinking straight, not seeing the severity of our situation. She had blinders on, her eyes focused firmly on the boat in the water. She was going to get us killed if she didn’t wake up and focus.

  For my part—I focused. I saw everything as I closed the door to the RV.

  I saw the ones that should be feared most. One that was once a little girl. One that was once a boy, a kid only dreaming about puberty and shaving with his dad’s razor. Neither of the kids were taller than three feet. They were wearing tattered fishing outfits complete with little deck shoes. Hers pink with a white stripe. His navy blue. A weekend fishing trip gone terribly wrong. I wondered if the adult male was the father once. I wondered if the teenager was an older sibling. None of that mattered though, as they moved faster and I could feel my pulse banging away inside my throat.

  “Sherry, what’s wrong?” Marty moved to kneel on the floor, Frank sticking to his side like glue. “Sherry?” He shook her shoulder, but the woman was quietly sobbing on the beige carpet with no thought for the scared little boy whom she’d promised to protect.

  People did that sometimes. I’d seen it, during the more traumatic moments of my life. Men and women collapsed in on themselves and forgot the world. It was an all-consuming, mind-arresting grief. There’s no time for grief though, not at the end of the world.

  I was in the driver’s seat, staring out the RV window. If I looked slightly to the right, I could see the Nancy Grace. If I looked to the left, I could see three more of the vile monsters, heading straight for us. At the sound of the vehicle cranking, Sherry bolted up off the floor, her face frantic. “No, no! We can’t leave. We can’t!”

  I was going to say something, as I shifted into drive, but Marty beat me to it. “Sherry, what is wrong with you?” His voice sounded so small, so scared, that it had the immediate aftermath of sobering the woman in front of him. I turned to look at them when her wailing and keening stopped. Her face had cleared, her mouth was now still, and she was looking at the boy with embarrassment plain on her face. I turned around to focus on the road, breathing a little easier now that Sherry had pulled her head out of her ass and come back to reality.

  “I’m fine, Marty,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you scared?” he whispered back, hiccupping on the last word.

  “Something like that. Come here.”

  I didn’t have to turn around to know that the woman and boy were hugging.

  Frank was in the passenger seat now growling and barking, his deep bellowing voice adding to the chaos. He didn’t know how to help, but the fur on his back indicated he was ready for a fight if it came to that. He was still injured, though, still recovering. God, it hadn’t been that long since he’d nearly gotten himself killed for us. I wasn’t going to let him die. I already had a weird sense of duty to the dog. I wanted to protect him just like I wanted to protect Marty and Sherry…even if the latter had just lost her mind a little bit.

  The Z children were fast, converging on us like lightning; their larger counterparts struggled to keep up. They couldn’t of course, their mangled limbs and bloody bodies ill-equipped to move at killing speed. I maneuvered the RV as well as I could, trying to back up and get out of the narrow space we’d parked in. Finally, I gave up, and allowed the side of the big vehicle to scrape into the wood posts and cream rope that acted like parking lot barriers. The sound was dull, yet still nauseating, still that ear-piercing screech of nails down a chalkboard that makes your spine tingle and your stomach juices roil.

  The RV was freed quickly in this devil-may-care way. It didn’t mean we were home free, though, of course it didn’t.

  The door closest to where Sherry and Marty held each other swung outward, pulled by greedy, clawing hands. One of the Z children stuck their head in, its vicious little mouth opening and closing, teeth gnashing together as if they were already chewing through blood-gushing raw meat.

  I couldn’t leave the wheel, couldn’t stop driving, but I also couldn’t let the monster fully enter the vehicle. Sherry was screaming, pushing Marty behind her and shuffling across the carpeting of the RV floor. The shotgun was too far for her to get to. I didn’t even think she’d be able to shoot if she got her hands on the weapon. She was still too dicked up from our fight and fleeing from the marina.

  I still had the .38 pushed into the waist of my pants. I leaned back, continuing to depress the gas and turn the wheel to point the front of the vehicle towards the marina exit, and I pulled the gun out.

  I had to keep looking forward.

  And back.

  Forward and back.

  It was like I was walking through a darkened fun house, only catching a glimpse of horror when the blinding lights flashed on for seconds.

  Frank had positioned himself between his humans and the Z standing in the threshold, he had the paw of his injured leg slightly lifted and bent so it wasn’t supporting any of his weight. With the door opened behind him, I could see that the scenery was moving way too slowly for my liking. I could also see the second Z child, just biding its time and waiting for its kin to move so it was able to enter the RV.

  We were close to the marina exit. Close to the main road. What the fuck was up with being just out of reach of safety?

  A muffled g
rowl brought my attention back to the scene unfolding behind me.

  I lifted the gun, pulling the hammer back with my thumb and positioning the barrel towards the Z. It had moved further into the interior. Another step and there’d be plenty of room for demon number two to come in.

  The small gun felt like a lead weight in my hand as I tried to make the bullet count. My target was moving minutely, rocking back and forth with the shifting of the vehicle floor beneath. Just a fraction of an inch. Right. Left. Forward. Back.

  Always maintaining its balance.

  Before I could pull the trigger, the Z kid launched itself forward, leaping over a surprised Frank and heading straight for Sherry. Her ankle was bare above her shoe, pale and sending out a ‘come bite me’ bat signal.

  “Fuck,” I breathed the word out, glancing back at the road, making sure we weren’t about to slam into anything. The ‘fuck’ was an exhalation that wanted to be louder and stronger. All I could think was Sherry was about to die and I couldn’t stop it. I looked back again, even though I didn’t want to see what was happening.

  Despite his injury, Frank had moved his body quickly. Before the Z’s mouth could find her leg, he had clasped his strong jaws around the pint-sized monster’s forearm. The Z screamed and it was a horrifying, high-pitched sound. Nails on a chalkboard, but infinitely worse.

  A thousand nails against a hundred chalkboards, racing down the black surfaces in discordant anti-rhythm.

  I cheered the dog on in my head and simultaneously thanked god we’d found him and the RV.

  My eyes looked back at the road again.

  Then back at my companions facing the bestial boy in the blue shoes. The Z girl with pink shoes still waited, her face almost curious. Was she wondering if the other monster would make it? Was she waiting until the hard part was sorted and she could just snack to her little dead heart’s content? My last vision was of the Z girl turning her head and tilting it curiously. She was staring at something neatly stored on the small table the previous owners had bolted to the wall to support their entertainment system devices below the mounted television.