The Rising: Selected Scenes From the End of the World (2 page)

He shoved people out of the way and entered the eye of the storm.

The girl collapsed to the floor, and somebody landed a solid kick to her head with their steel-toed boot. Don slammed into the attacker and knocked him sprawling.

The band stopped playing in mid-song, and the lights came up. Groans of dismay and angry shouts gave way to silence, and a hush fell over the crowd Don knelt beside the girl, cradling her head in his lap. “Call an ambulance!” he yelled.

* * *

He checked for a pulse, and found none. Her skin was pale, and Don was shocked at the amount of blood. It was everywhere—on her clothes, her face, the floor. He put his ear to her mouth, but she wasn’t breathing.

“Yo,” a concert-goer behind him asked. “She okay, dog?”

“No,” Don said. “She—I think she’s dead.”

“That’s fucked up.”

Don checked her wrist again, but there was no pulse. The warmth was leaving the girl’s body. He laid her down on the mosh pit floor, just as two beefy security guards pushed their way through the crowd to him.

“Clear a hole,” one of them shouted, eyeing Don with suspicion. “What happened?”

“Somebody kicked her,” Don said. He looked around for the guy with the eight ball tattoo, but the attacker had melted into the crowd.

“Hey,” one of the bouncers suddenly shouted.

“She’s alive. She’s moving!”

The blonde sat up, her blood bright and garish against her alabaster skin. She grinned, and then sank her teeth into Don’s crotch.

Surprisingly, there was no pain, just a dull, cold sensation. He looked down and saw her burrowing into the streaming wound, like a dog burying a bone.

His last thought was one of quiet dismay. He’d never get to see Necessary Evil’s mosh pit for himself.

* * *

The Rising

Day Two

Ghost Island, Minnesota

Terry Schue yawned and said, “Where are they?”

“Maybe they got delayed,” Chip suggested.

“Traffic could have been bad.”

“No.” Terry shook his head. “They would have called.”

“This is your family we’re talking about,” Chip grunted. “Do you really expect your mom or stepfather to pick up the phone and let you know they’re running late? That would indicate common courtesy on their parts.”

“What are you saying?”

“I mean your mom was mentally abusive to you all these years, and your stepfather used to beat the shit out of you both. Why would they feel the need to call and let us know they’re late?”

“Okay,” Terry replied. “But they’re still my family, and I do love them, despite everything. My step-dad has been trying to make up for all of that ever since he got diagnosed with prostate cancer. And Mom has mellowed with age.”

“They’ll have to prove it to me. We’ve been together eighteen years, Terry, and I’ve seen just what your family is capable of. I hate the way they treat you sometimes. Just because Bob has suddenly been humbled by his own mortality, doesn’t excuse the fact that he’s a bully.”

Terry watched the pier through the rain, looking for his mother and stepfather’s car, or his sister’s van. “Besides,” Chip continued, “if your mom is as psychic as she claims, wouldn’t she have seen whatever delayed them in advance?”

“Chantal would call at least. She’s got Dad with her.”Terry’s real father, Mike, had his leg amputated the year before, and now spent his time in a wheelchair, popping pain pills and drinking himself into oblivion. He was coming to the reunion with Terry’s sister, Chantal.

The raindrops whispered against the boat’s deck, and plunked into the waters of Lake Vermilion. In the distance, they could see the town of Virginia. Terry’s family was supposed to arrive around dawn, after driving all night, for the annual family reunion. The gathering was held each year at Terry and Chip’s place on Ghost Island. The lakeside dwelling was accessible from the mainland only by boat. Chip reached out and squeezed his hand. “The weather probably slowed them down. That’s all. Everything will be fine.”

Terry smiled at him, and tried to relax. That was easy to do with Chip at his side. They’d met when Terry was nineteen and Chip was thirty-two, and Terry still thanked God every day for putting Chip in his life.

The boat rocked slightly as Chip walked over to the radio and turned it on. Terry watched him as he moved past—the Richard Gere type, with thick, gray hair and a solid, healthy build. The past eighteen years together had been wonderful, and Terry looked forward to many, many more. Chip had helped him get over so much from his past. Were it not for Chip, he’d never be able to host these annual reunions. Some things never stayed buried.

His past—his family—was one of those things. Chip turned the dial, searching the airwaves. Curiously, there was no music, no traffic reports, no zany morning show antics. Each station featured announcers talking in the same grim, somber tones. Federal authorities were not commenting on why a government research center in Hellertown, Pennsylvania had been shut down overnight. The Director of Homeland Security assured the reporters that the situation was under control, and that there was no danger to the public, but due to national security concerns, they couldn’t say more at this time. Terrorism was not suspected.

In Escanaba, Michigan, over twenty people had been killed, and dozens more injured, when an apparent riot erupted during a rock concert.

Stranger still, some form of mass hysteria seemed to be springing up at random across the country, and according to some reports, throughout the world. The reports didn’t make a whole lot of sense, and it was apparent that some of the newscasters were skeptical as they read them. Stories were told of the dead coming back to life—in morgues and at funerals and in the back of ambulances and on the battlefield.

“Sounds like those movies you always watch,”

Chip laughed. “Where the corpses run around and eat people?”

“Yeah,” Terry replied, shivering. “Weird, huh?”

Headlights pierced the early morning gloom, and a moment later, his sister’s van pulled up, followed by his mother’s car.

Terry took a deep breath. Goosebumps dotted his arms, and he wondered why. He chalked it up to the dampness in the air.

Chip led him across the deck. “Come on. Brave face. It’s only one weekend.”

They climbed onto the dock and slowly walked towards the parking lot. Nobody got out of the vehicles. As they got closer, Terry grew alarmed. There was a jagged, splintered hole in the car’s windshield, and the van’s front grille was crumpled. A splash of red covered the white hood. Terry broke into a run. “Oh God! There’s been an accident!”

He could see his sister’s silhouette behind the rain-streaked van windshield, but couldn’t tell if she was hurt or not. As he dashed around to the driver’s-side door, Chip opened the sliding door on the side.

Terry’s father rolled out on top of him, and sank his teeth into Chip’s ear.

Chantal burst from the vehicle, slamming the door into Terry’s legs. He collapsed to the ground, skinning his palms on the wet asphalt. Chantal giggled. Somewhere out of sight, his parents’ car doors creaked open.

“Sorry we’re late, Terry,”
Chantal croaked.
“There
was a major fender bender in Duluth, and then we
stopped for a bite.”

His sister was a grisly sight. Her nose was a swollen, broken bulb, and a portion of her scalp had peeled back, revealing the pink meat between it and her skull. She reached for him, and Terry gaped in horror. His sister’s hand was broken at the wrist, and twisted into a deformed claw.

“Chantal,” he gasped. “You’re hurt!”

Chip shrieked.

“Wow,”
Chantel snickered,
“I haven’t seen Dad
this active in awhile.”

Terry stared in horror at Chip’s ear dangling from his father’s clenched teeth.

His mother, stepfather, and sister advanced on him. His mother’s right arm was missing from the elbow down, and his stepfather’s face was split in two.Terry cast one last, shocked glance at Chip. His father had his face buried in Chip’s neck, burrowing into the flesh.

Then Terry fled. Eighteen years of comfort and bliss were forgotten, overridden by blind panic. Chip’s agonizing final screams echoed in his ears. Terry jumped onboard the boat, started the engine, and sped away across the water.

Back at the house, the radio and television talked about the chaos spreading across the world—worsening by the hour. Later that day, Chip and the others arrived on the island, dripping wet from their walk along the bottom of the lake.

And then they had a family reunion.

* * *

(Sisters, Part One)

The Rising

Day Three

Belleville, Illinois

Shannon Wuller’s father loaded her younger brother, Dashiell into the car seat. The three-year-old kicked and fussed.

Shannon frowned, and her father noticed.

“You’re in charge until your grandparents get here.” He gave her a hug. “Take care of your sister.”

Well, of course she was in charge. She was the oldest. Shannon was ten and Allison was six. That wasn’t the point. Her father was fibbing, and Shannon knew it.

“It’s getting dark out,” she said. “How long will you be gone?”

“Not long.”

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Nothing, honey,” her father fibbed again, quickly glancing away. “Your Mom worked a double shift at the hospital, and she says she has to stay a little longer. But I think she should come home now, so I’m going to pick her up. Dashiell can help me convince her.”

He smiled, but Shannon heard the fear in his voice. Her father was scared.

And that terrified her.

“I called your grandparents. They’ll be here in a few minutes.”

Allison piped up. “Can we go play in the secret clubhouse after they get here?”

“No!”

Both girls jumped at the exclamation.

“Sorry,” their father apologized. “I didn’t mean to yell. Daddy’s just tired.”

“Why can’t we go to the woods?” Allison asked.

“We’ll be back before dinner.”

“I don’t want either of you to go outside, okay?”

He offered no further explanation. “And don’t open the door for anybody other than your grandparents. You promise?”

Shannon and Allison nodded in unison. “We promise.”

“Good.” Their father gave Allison a hug and a kiss, and then turned to Shannon.

She hugged him, and before he could pull away, she whispered in his ear, low, so that Allison wouldn’t hear. “Dad, something bad is happening, isn’t it.”

Her father was quiet, and Shannon didn’t think he’d answer. When he did, she had to strain to hear him.

“Yes, sweetie. Something’s happened. Stay inside and don’t answer the door. And don’t turn on the television. It’s better for your sister not to watch.”

Shannon hadn’t planned on TV anyway. There was nothing on but news. Even the Disney Channel and Cartoon Network were showing news reports—something about dead people.

Her father kissed her head, and walked to the car. “Now back inside. And lock the door.”

“I love you, Dad,” Shannon said.

“Me too,” Allison echoed.

“I love you, too.” Their father climbed into the car, backed down the driveway, and waved goodbye.

He didn’t return.

Their grandparents never showed up, either. She was worried about them all, her parents and little brother, her grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. None of them came to the house. But others did. Strangers.

Though they were sisters, Shannon and Allison were best friends. They played games and watched a DVD. Shannon told herself it was to keep Allison’s mind off of things, but deep down inside, she knew it was to keep her own self from thinking about the situation as well.

The Wuller family’s two-story, French country home sat in a subdivision on a big lot, and was spread far apart from the other homes. Shannon and Allison shared an upstairs bedroom. The house had a half basement and a crawl space. The backyard held a pool, Jacuzzi, and outdoor fireplace, and beyond it was a grape vineyard.

“I’m thirsty.” Allison got a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Get me one, too,” Shannon said.

Allison handed her a cold bottle.

Shannon wiped the condensation on her pants.

“I hope Grandma and Grandpa get here soon.”

Her sister didn’t respond. Instead, she stared out the window into the backyard. Shannon’s eyes followed her gaze.

A naked man stepped out of the vineyard and into the yard. As he got closer, Shannon saw that he was covered with dirt and blood. And there was something else wrong with him, too. She couldn’t pinpoint it, though.

Giggling nervously, Allison pointed. “That man doesn’t have any clothes on.”

Shannon’s heart began to pound. “Go to the basement.”

The man passed the pool, and now Shannon saw what was wrong with him. His insides were hanging out of his stomach.

“Get downstairs,” she repeated. “Now!”

Allison seemed frozen. She didn’t respond, just continued pointing, her mouth hanging open. Then the water in the swimming pool splashed, and a woman stood up in it, surprising both the girls and the naked man. The girls screamed.

“Who are they?” Allison’s grip on the water bottle tightened.

“Bad people. Come on. Go to the basement.”

“What about you?”

“I’m going to make sure the doors are locked.”

In the backyard, the woman climbed out of the pool. Her white skin looked like a prune, and her clothing was plastered to her emaciated body. She fell in step with the naked man.

Shannon picked up the phone and dialed 911. She got a recorded message that told her all circuits were busy, and slammed the phone down in frustration.“Stupid phone.”

Allison’s lower lip trembled. “What do they want?”

Shannon didn’t reply. Instead, she grabbed Allison’s arm and dragged her along. Already, a plan was forming in her mind.

The house to the right of theirs, an American Southern, had a never-developed cul-de-sac with woods at its end point. The girls liked to play on the cul-de-sac, and called it the “secret street.” Their topsecret clubhouse was located in the woods beyond the secret street.