The Risen: Dawning (11 page)

“He was never hurting Mom. I shot the wrong one.”

T
he days at the cabin are mind numbingly uneventful. There are no more confessionals at dinner. There are times when the conversation lapses and those that have confessed their sins look to those of us that still hold on to theirs. We keep neutral faces as if oblivious to what they are looking for in us.

Then there are nights when I swear I can hear Lilly’s laughter. Her small feet dance across the wooden floors of the hallway in a swirl of white nightgown and blonde hair. Her tiny hands clapping along to a song only she can hear in her joy-filled moment. I watch her and my heart refills with hope. She notices me standing there in my silent worship of her and smiles at me with her shining blue eyes.

The room fills with the perfume of her baby shampoo and soap causing me to lose myself in the innocence of her. She never says a word to me, but her laughter fills conversations with my soul, and I forget how to breathe for a moment. I can feel her fragile hand in my own as peace with all that has happened begins to be wash over me. I want to stay like this forever, but even as I drown in the joy of it, I know something is wrong.

It starts so slowly. A small spreading of color against her all white floor-length gown that begins to take a life of its own. It coats her before dripping to the floor with a thick sound. Her smile never falters as her gown becomes soaked with the crimson. It never falters as her body crumples before me like a porcelain puppet with its strings brutally cut. It never falters as her baby blue eyes lose their light. It never falters as I wake screaming, still clutching her fragile hand in my own.

Some nights I scream her name. Other nights I just wordlessly scream. Every night I stare at my own hand, so empty now. Aimes is always there to talk me down. Lawless comes in some nights to hold me until I can sleep again. My tears become a lake of regrets upon his shirt as he shelters me in the strength of his arms. I become a small child holding on to the belief of magic, and I pray that he will keep the monsters away, while the sound of his heartbeat sings me to sleep. To their credit, they never ask what I see when my eyes close. They never question my demons. We just wait until the dawn comes to chase them away.

“Who do you think this place really belongs to?” Aimes asks from behind the wide-styled sunglasses that she swears is the rave of fashion. If bugs are now fashionable, then OK.

We are both wrapped in various moth-eaten quilts, trying to build a barrier against the battling weather, as we walk through the wooded paths before us. The sun provides the warmth of the last days of fall, but the wind holds winter’s vanguard with its chilling touch.

“You mean you don’t believe he kept this placed stashed in his pocket the whole time?” Lawless sways easily under low hanging branches of the trees before us with his normal ease of grace.

He is leading our little trio through the fall-kissed forest that surrounds the cabin we now call home. He turns to us with mock disbelief that we would hold J.D. in such a fashion before returning to the path. Our feminine laughter floats through the crisp air over the rustle of thick fall leaves under foot, causing him to smile at us.

“I just mean it is not exactly J.D. A little old lady J.D. maybe, but not this J.D. I mean come on, he is sleeping under a pastel painting of a barn. Pastel, people! Of a barn!”

We laugh over her punctuation. “He must have forgot to grab his pin ups on our way out of town. I guess you think you own the color pink now? Or is it barns?” Lawless teases her, tossing a handful of leaves in her direction.

Their ember hues float among her sharp contrast of white blonde and pink streaks, framing her in fall’s beauty. She returns her own handful, but he is too fast for her as the trees shield him from her attack. I watch the sun roll over his natural golden skin tone and dark close-cropped hairstyle. His lips hold their own soft colored hue of seduction with his teasing smile. He weaves in and out of the trees, taunting her with jests of girl aim and strength with faces to match, encouraging her playful wrath. Her mocking insults match his taunts until they are both using more laughter than words as the forest sky becomes a ballet of fall’s beauty with their mock combat.

I watch it all while selfishly holding my tongue. Their joy only reaches my surface, and I am envious of their abandonment in it. I am not sure when the numbness crept into my heart, and it is not even the coldness that scares me the most. What worries me the most, is, what if I can never find “me” again under the sun’s spying gaze?

I am lost in self-absorption when the first pine cone sails past me with a soft whistle. I look to see Aimes covering her face behind folded hands, holding her laughter at bay. Lawless is posed to throw the next cone at me with an exaggerated arch. I cannot stop the smile that slips over my face at his wiggling eyebrows and playful warning smile. I take a few steps back, pointing at him with the same mock warning as he tells me, “Better run, Hells.” I do.

My feet crash through the branch-bare forest. I can hear two other sets falling in fast behind me as we rush through the paths with child-like abandonment. Her laughter coaxes my own to come play with girl styled squeals. We slip and slide over the many leaves piled thick along the trail. I feel Lawless before I see him run past me. He pulls up short, spinning around to corner me, catching me in a giant bear hug of captivity. Kicking my feet, I am weightless in the air as we spin. The world tilts past me, lost in a smear of oranges and reds. His strong arms surround me and hold me close to his body as we spin. He heals my wounds with this time-stopping memory, and our laughter, but time always has to start again. It does for us with a scream.

Her scream is ear-shattering. The spinning stops so suddenly that we both have to stagger as our equilibrium attempts to catch up. Lawless pulls me instinctively closer to him as his eyes scan for the danger that made her scream. Her eyes are cast on something we cannot see from our vantage point. Whatever it is it, it makes her walk in a sideways pattern to us, too afraid to turn her back on it.

Lawless pulls me behind him, kissing my forehead as I pass, before he walks to meet Aimes. Each stride pulls the strings of a mood swing from him until his face melts down to one of blank preparation to meet whatever is beyond the trees. He never missteps, leaning down to take the gun from the top of his boot under his loose fitting black jeans in one fluid well-rehearsed motion. The click of the safety reaches my ears with a finalization of reality to what is about to happen. He reaches her, swinging the gun around in an almost choreographed single dance movement when they pass each other. He never flinches at facing down whatever she is seeing before them.

With Lawless as her shield, she finally gains the courage to turn and run. I reach out to her, but her eyes change from relief to panic as another scream escapes her very pink lips. It is she who now grabs me, pulling me to her, guiding my steps further sideways to the cabin’s path. I do not want to look. I want to stay in my ignorance, but as he begins to squeeze the trigger filling the very forest that was just our playground with echo after echo, I do.

We had allowed ourselves just one unguarded moment of happiness. We had been lured to an apathetic attitude about our safety with the amount of uneventful days having passed. The days began encasing us with a refusal of admittance to the events happening around us. They allowed us to be untouched by any more of the horrors that show on the small screen of the den with growing details. We are a cocoon of our own making: safe, secure, and turning into something beautiful with our new little family. Now surrounding us are the consequences of that in the forms of shambling shapes, and glazed eyes that are rimmed with hate.

Risen of various persona have filled our playground. They trample through our imaginary swings and pretend slides invented to stir childhood glee. They bring us childhood fears as the wind brings us their inhuman eagerness to come play. Some amble towards us as torn remnants of what they were in life. The missing flesh or limb tells their own horror stories.

Some have no marks upon them, and other than their glazed eyes, one would almost think they were still human. If you did not notice their graceless steps, their ignorance of any harm occurring to them. If you do not see their many layers of stained and torn clothing. Or, hear the sounds coming from somewhere deep inside them being inspired by the sight of us. No matter which group you see first, there is no confusion in either group’s ambitions.

His gun follows his eyes with a motion of memory synchronization while slowly walking back to us, one firmly placed step after another. The trigger squeezes and Risen twitch, falling as he already is picking his next target. He is trying to keep the edges from spilling around us while randomly aiming for the center cone at the ones nearest. His mouth moves with each squeeze in a silent whisper.

He is counting backwards, keeping track of exactly what is left in the clip. Keeping track of how long until we need to panic. The more that fall, the more that seem to materialize between trees in a horrific game of hide and seek. I do not know how many he has felled. I only know it seems to be hopeless, and when I hear him say to us “Move,” I know it actually is.

Aimes and I run together as our forest takes on a new, darker feeling. The leaves underfoot only hours ago that felt of Fall’s glory, now crack like brittle bones. Branches that we weaved through before, now claw at our hair and faces, trying to slow us down for their new friends to find us. The wind that brought winter’s greetings, now steals the breath from us with its bitterness. Even our once playful Lawless, now randomly stopping to send an echo through the trees, encourages us to move faster and faster until the cabin appears before us. Its occupants spill out towards us with rushed movements hearing our arrival.

They had already started prepping for our arrival when the first echoes reached them. Chapel and J.D. are pulling the last of the bikes around to the back door when we burst through the tree line. My own private warhorse is lined up with the length of the side windows and its chrome gleams like bared teeth. The steps are removed from the porch, leaving a shoulder high gap of space to overcome. Rhett and Marxx are kneeling with outstretched hands, encouraging us to jump. I slow to allow them to pull Aimes up first. My boots slip on the carpet of leaves under me with my sudden reverse of speed. Lawless steadies me, helping me with the motion of jumping into the waiting hands, before he lifts his own body up on the porch.

J.D. bars the door after we spill into the small main room. The men take formations, peering through aged curtains and chambering ammo in various dark barrels. Their metallic clicks and slides somber the room quickly. Chapel stands by the back door, keeping watch over what may become our only exit while keeping an eye on our room too for guidance from the one man Hell made for these situations.

“We should go. We should just go now!” Chapel shouts from his spot.

“Now just hold on, Son. Hold on.” J.D. says in his calm voice. “We just gonna sit tight and see exactly what is out there before we go running off anywhere.”

“How many are there?” Rhett asks with a sly grin, finally enjoying the thought of action while chambering the various black hand guns placed among the windows.

“A few.” Lawless answers, reloading his empty clip.

Aimes makes a baffled noise from our spot on the rug where we lay fighting to reclaim our stolen breaths. He smirks, inserting his clip and chambering his own gun. “A couple more than a few.” He shrugs, smiling at us.

J.D. lets out a sharp whistle, titling his head towards the front windows. He motions for Aimes and I to turn the lights off in the cabin. Night has crept its cloak over the area, allowing the perfect back-drop for Evil to make its way to our paradise while we were waiting. Aimes and I creep through the cabin turning off lights and pulling tight curtains with a deluding sense of covering our movements with such thin material. They never ask us to glance out the windows, or to keep watch. Sometimes it is good to be a girl.

The first shot is from a high-power rifle, and it rocks the cabin with its force. The shadows begin to shift at once with a silent mutual agreement to head in the direction of the noise. We share our own mutual agreement, heading to the side of the cabin where my warhorse is waiting.

There, in what has served us as our room, we find the many bags piled high by the window waiting for us. As the shots begin to ring out in closer patterns, we begin to gently toss the bags into the long bed of the truck. The after-market lining allows us to slide the bags in an OCD fashion of packing as we keep our minds busy, avoiding the truth of the monsters lurking in every shadow around us.

T
ruth does not like to be ignored. It will wait until you think you are safe before it creeps up on you with its jagged blade. A blade so sharp, that it slides into your flesh without any notice at first. The jagged edge doing so much damage, that the scar will forever linger to always haunt you with the memory.

Truth takes no prisoners. It has no interest in your longevity. It only wants acknowledgement in the moment to satisfy her bitter needs. Then, it will wait, as you grow lax, needing reminding yet again of its potent poison.

Our truth comes slipping around the corner in the dark. It is watching, waiting for Aimes to be the most extended from the window, allowing her to be the most vulnerable for his attack. We are on the last of the bags when it decides to strike. Her white blonde hair shines brightly in the night air as she leans under the window, reaching for the next bag that I am waiting with for her. I see her jerk backwards into the darkness beyond the plaid-framed window. Her eyes grow wide with the sudden movement forced upon her, she turns, and we both become acquainted with the level of horror that the monsters are capable of holding.

The truck is sitting so close to the cabin that it leaves only enough space to spare her paint. By the warm safe rays of the sun, this made perfect sense. Now that the darkness of night, with its cold sightless moon is upon us, there is no sense to be had. The male once had dark brown eyes, almost black, but now they are the color of dried mud. The left side of his face is sheered down to the bones. Wet gore drips from the raw wound splattering the dark thickness upon his body.

His chest is torn and tattered, exposing layers of glistening tissue that shine under the silver rays of the moon. He is so eager for her that he has forced his body into the thin space between the truck and wooden planks of the cabin’s wall. Since neither side of his captors were willing to give in to his demands, the wood took its vengeance on his soft, rotting flesh. Now he stands before us, holding on to Aimes with the only arm he is able to raise, with his body weeping its fluid upon the ground.

I cover her mouth with my hand as her lungs fill with air. If she screams, it will cause the shift of shadows to head our way, possibly blocking our escape. Most likely, it will also cause our deaths. Her hot breath screams into my hand as she watches the Risen try to tear at her flesh. She continues to tug against its hold, gaining no freedom, but the constant movement causes it to miss its mark as its body is wedged too tightly in place to gain any vantage point for its attack.

My hand fumbles with the sheath of my hunting knife. Its latch is catching, but it is refusing to unclasp, as I focus my coordination on keeping Aimes from harm. I remove my hand from her mouth praying she instinctively understands the importance for her silence. I need my body separated from her so I can firmly undo the stubborn metal snap that mocks me in my time of need. The risk of her screaming outweighs the thought of her coming to harm for me, even if it does mean my death.

I take the risk, and as luck would have it, she does not scream, but continues to fight maniacally against the dripping nightmare holding her. I am able to undo the closure, and firmly grasp the handle of the large gleaming blade, with memories riding my sanity with their own pointed teeth.

I lean around her, wedging my body against the wooden window, mimicking the mutilated man’s predicament. The first splinters bite into my flesh in a warning of what may be to come if I am not careful. The blade slides into his damp temple with ease. I push until my hand connects with its red raw film of flesh as red pigtails flash before my eyes. His body goes limp like a switch being flipped off. He does not fall so much as melt backwards against the bed of the truck. His mud colored eyes still stare at us.

We retreat into the room, falling upon its threadbare rug, filling it with our labored breathing. My side burns and I can feel the wetness on my palm thickening as it chills before it slides down coating my fingers. I swear his eyes are still staring at us, motionless, and judging.

How does one really know when the dead can no longer see you? I roll over onto my stomach, completely avoiding the mental debate that I feel beginning in a self-defense attempt to avoid dealing with what just happened. I look over at her trying to weigh her own responses.

“Did he bite you?”

“No. I don’t know how he didn’t, but no.”

“Well we can dangle you out the window again and let them try harder.”

A “precious pink” tinted fingernail is raised at me in response.

“Can I quote you on that?” I ask her with a smirk.

“You girls taking a nap? Want me to get you some pillows? Rub your feet?”

J.D.’s voice holds more power when it is soft like now, and we both startle, as if he shouted. I sit up watching his eyes slide over me before following a path to the window. Aimes’ arm is coated with her own war paint that she stares at now with shock. The large man kneels down beside her small frame to check her over with a blank, passive face. He smears the area with his thumb looking for any wounds. There are only many tender points, that cause her to wince under his examinations, which will surely bruise should we live to see morning.

He nods, satisfying his concerns with his findings, and still wordlessly, he walks to the window to stare at the corpse against the truck with its muddy eyes for a few moments. Grasping the handles of the last bag, he throws it into the bed, aiming at the dead male’s desecrated body. He manages to break its neck with a brutal snap from the force of his anger. Now those eyes stare at the heavens, and I wonder if it is as curious where God is lately, or if that thought is only left to us still enduring.

“Get ready. When we bring the bikes around, you two exit this window and get in that truck of yours.” He glides from the room with a grace that only the darkest of terrors can hold.

They slip in soundlessly, and escape just as easily, leaving only the sounds of your screams as witness to their appearance. Once again, I am happy I am on this side of the line of J.D.’s world.

“Oh and Barbie, I wouldn’t trust the driving to our girl here. We’re kinda of in a hurry and don’t have the time to track your ass down again.” His chuckle carries him into the deep darkness of the hallway where creatures such as he are the most comfortable.

I glare at her, and she gives me her bashful shrug at the memory, as the lights in the front of the cabin are coming on. The T.V. begins to blare random noise as they carry it to the front wide windows. They are trying to create the biggest distraction they can, coaxing the Risen to the front of the cabin. It finally sets in for us that we are truly abandoning the only safe place we have had for weeks. Our private haven in a world gone to hell.

We have fallen into a routine, finally, of a new normal. Laughter is free flowing again around us, healing our tears, and the wounds in our minds. Our memories have begun to shuffle the play-list of the past further away from the surface. Private jokes have been made with our days, and their exchanges bring hidden looks and smiles. Stolen late night moments under the stars’ winking eyes linger in desire-inspiring embraces in the aching search for comfort. Now all the monsters I had let slip away have returned, and they have brought back my tears.

We glance around the room we have shared, like teens in a prolonged sleepover, sharing a look of remorse. Up late, we giggled over the past days’ events under sheet-made forts to cover the flashlight’s beam. Some nights our laughter would invigorate the cabin, bringing life back to the many cobwebbed corners. Those nights a telling stomp would come from the loft above us, as J.D., like an annoyed father, would signal for us to go to sleep. Our giggles would turn into full laughter with his annoyance.

Other nights, Lawless would sneak into our room and we would all snuggle in a dog pile sort of way amid mocking innuendos. It was only then, when I was wrapped under the night’s seclusion, and surrounded by the safety of our little world, that I was able to find the ghost of the girl I used to know.

It was then, when the lights would return to my eyes, and that for just a small section of time, I was more than just half-alive, saved by their love for me. What was once just an attempt to bend the rules of our small town by forming our little bar-based club, has now become a new family for those of us under this rusting tin roof. We have tricked ourselves into the hope of this being our new future. In shared hopes of it to become our new home. Truth so hates to be ignored.

We lay here in silence, listening to the various sounds inside the cabin, as they prepare for our grand exit. We are trying our best to ignore the many sounds from outside the cabin that our imaginations are forming images to match. We hold the bravado of small children at night that wonder what the thing in the closet must look like, no matter how many times our parents tell us we are perfectly safe. Every child left by now knows, that no one may ever be perfectly safe again. We just don’t know why the monsters made it out of so many closets at once.

I grow restless waiting for them. We should already be in the truck when they come around. It makes no sense to me to be risking our exposure over their loud engine noises as we crawl about in the dark. The truck will also make a better path for them to follow behind, than allowing them to ride through the center of whatever is out there. If they are hoping that the noise will pull the Risen away from the roads, it may not be the best idea. I still remember the way the demonic dolls watched Conroy and I. The way they waited for us. They are not mindless husks, but pure predators behind those eyes that think, watch, and wait.

“I don’t know what you are thinking, but no.”

“I am thinking we need to be in that truck, before they come for us, so we do not end up playing pass the pixie again.”

“I hear it is a totally overrated game.”

“Certainly not a crowd pleaser.”

“You are going to make us do this, aren’t you?”

“Nope, you can sit here and wait.” I stand as my side protests the stretching. “I am tired of the kid gloves.”

“You know if I sit here now and wait you pretty much just called me a wimp?”

“I was thinking chicken, but if wimp makes you feel better…”

“No, being thought of as food, yet again, brings me the best sense of comfort ever.”

“I think you are more of a snack. A whole meal is a lot of pressure for that small body of yours.”

“Well, we can’t all be a four-courser like you.”

She dodges the pillow aimed at her with an exaggeration of the accomplishment. “Come on, Bok Bok.” I say to her, as cartoon styling of chicken noises follow behind me to the window, and I pray that Truth has had her fill with us for just a few moments.

The worst part about sticking your head around something, is the fact that you are about to stick your head around something. Your mind’s eye sees a thousand dangers just waiting for you. Each one of the dangers pictured for you, is worse than the one before it. They are hunching over waiting, with whispers barely containing their glee, for you to do something stupid. Like for you to stick your head out for them.

For a moment, I debate about putting Aimes’ head out first if it would stop the noises. My thoughts must have shown in my eyes as her noises are reduced to covered giggles. The night is oil black. The trees, even with their leafless arms, seem to cover the area in thick shadows. My eyes strain for any movements that would signal danger around us, but they see nothing. Now, to only find the courage to climb out past the broken body
sitting beside me. It all sounds so easy in my head, but my own body refuses to make the first move, it always sounds so easy in my head.

“Do you need a push?” she whispers behind me, and I jump, hitting my head on the raised window.

We knew it was going to happen to one of us. A raised window waiting with two frazzled girls? The Fates were stacked against us from the start. Lucky me. I glare at her again and she mouths the word “sorry”. Unfortunately, her giggles do not convey the best of sincerity for the matter.

The window of the cabin is only half the size of most modern bedroom windows. My upper body fills most of the space, as I slide out using the truck for extra leverage to pull against. The further out my torso slides past the Risen, the more images begin to play in my head of its sudden reanimation. Surely, he has already used his one free horror style pass of coming back to life. It would just be cruel if they are to have a pass for each form of “life”. Whatever Gods are still watching over us could not be that perverse. His glazed eyes do not encourage me to dare them.

The exit from the cabin was much more graceful in my mind than the actual belly flop into the bed it results in, bringing more giggles from behind me. Like a beast, the truck does not budge as I help Aimes through the same small window. Her eyes are staring at her near death experience, resting so close to us, as she passes it. I would pay money to see the body twitch right now. I never claimed to be a nice person.