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 m
ust 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.
The truck door opens without so much as a sound, exposing the wide bench style seat of dark cloth. Her keys gleam in the ignition, sending a silent hint letting us know that even she is ready to be done with this place. The first headlight sweeps around the back of the cabin as we slide into this new metal safety net of mine.
Roar after roar of engines fires the yard into life. My heart begins to accelerate, not knowing what is ahead of us in the night’s thick darkness. I begin to shake with the fear of not knowing if our escape will really be our salvation or our tragedy.
My warhorse starts with the same deep roar, daring the bikes to outdo her. J.D. motions for me to take the lead of the charge into the dark wooded path after the duffels from Lee’s are dumped into the bed with the bags from earlier. I guess even the Boogeyman sometimes is afraid to be the first to step into the dark. The thought sneaks a smile onto my face even in the middle of these circumstances.
J.D. is not as fear resilient as I have always thought him to be. The man I felt was steel-lined, is now unable to meet my stare with the knowledge we have shared between us. Our rock has just as many ghosts as we do that walk with him daily. Has his blood-painted past finally caught up to him with so many new nightmares always stalking our deaths? With Death as our new consort, does he finally fear the payment due? His grimace shows how angry he is at letting his walls slip before me. His eyes dare me to question our new understanding of one another, but I do not need to ask him anything. I have seen the truth.
The very thing he is now afraid to do, I have already done before. I have faced these hell-tainted demons already on my own more times than my sanity will admit. I have already found myself in harm’s way to save the ones I love. I have ran with hell at my heels, and I am about to do it again. He no longer holds the power I have so easily given him all these years. I tell him so with my own smile, as I rev the truck into our exit, with my own dare to him.
Only once we hit what is left of the tire rutted road do I look behind me. Our paradise is crawling with dark masses and shapes. They have used each other as a ladder to climb upon the tall porch. Hands slam against the windows, silhouetted by the many glaring lights beyond them.
The ancient glass is already beginning to give against their assaults. I wonder if they will ignore the sharp edges of the glass they must slide through to gain entrance, or will their hunger-forced animation desist once they find the place empty of human life. Will our perfume of flesh linger for them long after our exit? What does the Devil do when one cheats him from his prize, again?
The woods are filled with their waiting eyes before us. They stand motionless until alerted to our passing. Eyes always find us moments before their bodies awake, resulting in a spine-chilling feeling of their stares. Their glaze is catching the light from my headlights in reflections that project an eerie glow. I push the truck to speeds unsafe for such a winding dirt road at the sight of so many of them staring at us. Their stained clothing, and decaying forms, brings the night alive with their spectral images.
The large tires bounce over, what I pray to be, ruts in the well-worn path below us, but I don’t look to see. The steering wheel fights to jerk free of my grip to further capitalize upon the known risks I am taking. My job is to clear the path for our family behind us. My panic sets in under the pressure of holding the risk of losing them all to the monsters that have already taken one family from me. I am achingly exhausted from the many failures I already hold guarded behind my high walls. I have no more mortar to build the bricks any higher shall I fail tonight.
They drive, almost huddling close together, avoiding any unneeded space. Their level of skill, and ease, with their motorcycles shows as I press them hard to keep up over the rutted and slick, leaf-covered path. Only Rhett has a sense of enjoyment with all of this.
He calls out to the hidden secrets the forest is trying to keep veiled, allowing them to sneak up on us. I almost see a smile on those lips as his “come what may” thrill-seeking side is finally finding a world in which to thrive. I cannot hear the words he is yelling at the desperate attempts the Risen take to reach them, but whatever he is shouting, it brings pure death daring male smiles to those around him. To all of them except Chapel. He is stone faced in our hell-themed amusement park roller-coaster of an escape.
J.D. uses his blinkers to tell me which way to follow the path as I try to keep my eyes on him, and the path before us. His headlights tell me when to speed up with a flash. Luckily for us, by the time the Risen have awoken to us, we are zooming past in a leaf covering cloud, but this ride of terror seems to take forever, even at such speeds. My arms are starting to ache from fighting the trucks natural responses, and I can only imagine what the motorcycles are doing to their riders’ bodies.
“There! There!” Aimes screams, pointing ahead on the path. Glorious pavement shines like a holy river of salvation ahead to our right, and on cue, I see the blinker flash in the darkness. I force the truck harder at the sight of our freedom. Her engine roars into the night like a beast announcing its victory, and her call is returned behind me in an answering chorus.
I do not know if I am happier to see the pavement, or to feel it, when the large tires grip and shoot us forward. I begin to ease off the gas for the first time since the trip began, allowing them to come around me. J.D. flies around us, giving a nod, before leaning his bike into the space in front of us. Lawless comes from the other side, giving a smirk, and one by one they file past until the leader is now the follower.
“Hey, want me to drive?” Aimes asks, breaking the tension and it is my turn to give her a single finger answer.
“Can I quote you on that?” Her laughter fills the truck as I settle into what I am sure will be a long drive.
Chapter 21
“Home sweet home.” Aimes says as she claims a spot in the back of the abandoned Welcome Center. Her voice carries the exhaustion the rest of us are feeling.
The glass doors had been nailed shut with various scraps of plywood. Litter floated along the night’s breeze. Empty cars stood parked, and abandoned, with no signs of their owners around. Once again, life was a snapshot of time. It was these clues that made J.D. assume it would be safe for us. Even thou
gh, he made Aimes and I stand in the shelter of the shadows of my truck while the men soundlessly secured the room. We have driven for what mentally feels like hours. My numb legs judge it to be days.
The inside of the building is an open floor plan best suited to allow for the ease of human traffic that had once gathered within its walls. The layout leaves plenty of space for the bikes to be brought in along the wall that once boasted the many reasons to stay in this town. Their headlights watch us like sentinels of darker times with the blacked out frames aligned in riding formation.
My truck blends with the other deserted cars forever left between diagonal white lines. Lawless has haphazardly reaffixed the wood that we took down to gain our access, giving no clues to any changes we have made. The butane lanterns cast only the faintest of glows, and provide just enough light, to ease the earlier visions from our minds. They form an almost night-light effect for grownups.
“Sleep sweet sleep.” Returns Rhett as it is decided that Marxx will take the first watch.
The only other room connected to this one is what once served as an office for the staff. It is secluded behind the service desk where smiling attendants once stood to greet people, and answer questions, about directions or nearby attractions. The only door is the one we came through, making it easy to spot anyone, or anything, trying to come in. Watching us sleep is most likely the only thing anyone on guard will do tonight. It is not an altogether unwelcoming thought.
The soft sounds of rustling fabrics float through the space as we prepare to rest our aching bodies and overstressed minds. Sleeping bags are unfolded, and zippers slide along metallic teeth, giving the illusion of security when the fabric shell closes around the occupant inside. I prefer to leave mine undone, minus the small amount needed to keep it held together. My blade, with its disobedient sheath, slips under my pillow for security. It is better than any teddy bear I have ever owned.
The Risen: Dawning Page 11
