After The Rising (Book 1): The Risen Storm

by A. R. Daun

  “But my point is that we have to get some transportation to take us southwards, perhaps to Florida, and we have to do it now.” He looked around. “I'll get some volunteers to scout around and also bring back food and other supplies. You and Ms. Vega will remain here and make sure those creatures remain at a distance. I would also like you to canvas the group and get a good head count. I think there are some pen and paper in the office to one side of this building. Is that clear?”

  We nodded. I may have had major problems with Marco as a person, but there was no question that he knew what he was doing. Out of all of us here, he offered the clearest and best choice that led to our continued survival, although the devil's advocate in me wondered what the ultimate cost of our acquiescence to his authority would be.

  Over the next several days, a rather motley collection of vehicles that would later make up the caravan were assembled in the expansive warehouse parking lot. Most were four wheel drive SUVs, with a preponderance of those that had demonstrated off-road capabilities such as Range Rovers and Land Cruisers. There were also the occasional vans, which could sit more people, but one foraging patrol hit the jackpot when they came upon a fleet of yellow Bayonne school buses, most of which were is good working condition.

  And so it was that barely a week and a half after Marco's decision to head south, he finally announced to the group that we had gathered sufficient supplies to last for awhile on the road, and enough vehicles to ferry the entire surviving population of the Odyssey with room to spare. My official tally with Diwata placed that number at 1278, which was a surprisingly large number to me, with a preponderance of families and slightly more women that men, along with several dozen children.

  I would be lying if I said there were no sighs of relief and even a few wan smiles from the crowd. Our stay in the warehouse had been an uncomfortable one, with little sanitary or sleeping facilities. More importantly, the place reeked of the unfortunate episode with Mr. Lambert, and the night flight from the Odyssey, when so many of our fellow passengers and crew had been snatched in the dark. We all longed for a new start, and one far away from the scene of our unwilling initiation into this strange and terrible world. Quite a few, for lack of a better word, were bored doing nothing all day, and the transience of our existence in this vast building weighed on our spirits.

  The old fellow who pilots our rig is a veteran NYC bus driver who retired from the MTA just last year, and was probably thinking he could spend the rest of his life cruising and not having to shepherd people around. Well, life is funny sometimes. Mr. Drake has wisps of gray hair sticking out from a conductor's cap that he found and which he now wears like a badge of honor, and his lined plump face and bulbous reddish nose makes him look like the world's last Santa Clause, but he is a kindly soft spoken man who talks fondly of his days driving the much larger MTA buses in New York City.

  I do not dissuade him from his rambling tales about the past. It's his way of mourning perhaps, his attempt at coping with the drastic changes that have swept through our world like a tsunami and wiped the slate clean. We all cope in our own way, and I have yet to find my own path to serenity, so who am I to judge?

  We have much bigger problems now.

  We lost people a few hundred miles or so back, somewhere south of Raleigh. We were passing through the center of some no-name North Carolina town in order to bypass a particularly clogged portion of the interstate, and were winding our way slowly along its main street when one of the buses behind mine had a sudden flat tire. For some reason it had then moved to the side of the road. Perhaps it was to allow the others to pass, or perhaps it was simply some ingrained part of the driver peeking through from the time when such an action would have been the automatic and right way of handling the emergency.

  No one noticed it leave the group. And when someone became aware of the missing bus and we had stopped the entire caravan, an intricate process that required a lot of honking of horns and the use of the few walkie-talkies that we had scavenged from a Radio Shack all the way back in Elizabeth, NJ, the wayward vehicle was a full 500 yards or more behind.

  They came from a boarded up brownstone that we had passed a block or so back. Perhaps a dozen flickering figures that hugged the shadows of the towering apartment buildings before exploding out into the morning sunshine. The cries of fear started about this time, moving from vehicle to vehicle and spreading forward in a heartbeat as occupants of the forward cars, their nerves taken to the breaking point, strained to see what had caused the commotion in the first place.

  I was out of the bus by this time, my sneakers pumping a sharp staccato on the cracked suburban asphalt as I rushed back to offer whatever help might be needed. In hindsight, it was a stupid thing to do, an action which could have had deadly results if there had been more of them waiting for a chance to rush the middle caravan in my absence.

  I didn't care, or even think about it. I used to do track in high school, the nerdy kid who also jocked up on the side, and I covered the distance to the end of the line and passed the panting (and hell, let's be honest here, much shorter legged) Diwata as the screaming in the distance dwindled then stopped abruptly.

  I could see the bus by this time. It was still parked on the curb, though the front was angled slightly towards the street, as if the driver had at the last moment tried to escape from whatever nightmares had been pursuing them. Most of the windows were broken, the jagged edges smeared with a pastiche of dark blood and bits of flesh that drooped out like deflated slugs. The front windshield was likewise a wild Rorschach of splintered and cracked glass liberally decorated with splashes of red. Spread around the vehicle were shapeless lumps, their identity only obvious from the occasional leg or arm lying akimbo from the violated bodies.

  I put my head down and vomited. It seemed at the time like the entire contents of my stomach, and perhaps even the stomach lining itself rushed out of me in one torrential eruption. The world spun, and I believe now I would have passed out right then and there if a calming hand had not suddenly lain itself on my shoulders.

  It was Diwi. She was panting audibly and clearly out of breath, but her face was a study in calm determination. When she realized I was going to be fine, she nodded encouragingly and then walked steadily towards the scene of the massacre. Now you have to remember that Diwi is a tiny wisp of a woman, fragile bones wrapped in a slender frame and topped by an astonishingly luxuriant cascade of long jet black hair, but as I watched her stride purposefully towards the bus, her back straight and head held high, she looked like she was over 6 feet tall.

  One of the attackers hissed at her as she approached. It had been hunched over a decapitated body in a cardigan and dark slacks, its open maw glistening with slaver and rows of triangular teeth that were tinged a dark red hue, matching the rust red color of its own body. It stood up and moved forward threateningly, one taloned foot planting itself on the chest of the deceased woman it had been preying on, then through it as the ribcage collapsed with a loud splatting sound that made me want to puke all over again.

  Diwi never flinched. She bent down and picked pieces of rubble from the street, then started chucking them at the thing, all the while yelling what I took to be obscenities at it in some melodious dialect that had to be her native tongue. Most of the the crumbling pieces of asphalt failed to even reach the intended target, and the few that did simply bounced off its reddish hide, giving off puffs of dust. Seeing this pathetic display, I remember thinking ruefully that perhaps the creature would develop an allergic reaction and at least give us a sneeze or two for all the effort being expended by Diwi.

  And yet that same reaction that we encountered during the attack on the ship manifested itself. The rest of the creatures had ceased their predatory activities and were now watching warily as their comrade, a fierce elongated monstrosity of blood red ropy muscles and curved spikes that erupted from its armored body, and which at 3 meters in height towered over its diminutive tormentor, seemed to visibly flinch as Diwi
continued to approach and shout imprecations at it. Then all at once, as if from some invisible signal, they blurred, a furious collage of frenetic motion that made my eyes water, and just like that they were gone.

  I collapsed. I fell to my knees and wept as the stench of evacuated bowels and acidic piss from the blood-soaked charnel house that had once been a city bus finally reached me. I buried my face in my hands and reached out blindly to embrace Diwi as she came to comfort me, and we were still clutching each other, two survivors in a world gone mad, when Marco showed up to reclaim us.

  I wish I could say that last cathartic fit of weeping was one that was never repeated again, and I wish I could tell you with all honesty that I am becoming tougher from our continued encounters with these demons that have been loosed to plague the world; that I am somehow becoming inured to the signs of destruction and desolation around us, and that my nights have been cleansed of dreams of claws and teeth and torn flesh.

  But all I can say is that we continued on, as our hopes flickered like sputtering candles against the onslaught of high desert winds.

  CHAPTER 26

  Day 4 (8:40 pm EST)

  Cape Liberty Cruise Port, Bayonne , NJ

  Humanity is mind-controlled and only slightly more conscious than your average zombie.

  - David Icke

  It was a nightmare. Miriam and James had been holed up in their room waiting for some sort of indication that they could start disembarking when the lights went out and they were suddenly engulfed in darkness.

  They groped their way blindly to the door and opened it slightly. The corridors were illuminated by a soft green glow that emanated from the walls and floors of the ship. Some had arrows pointing aft, and Miriam knew that path would take you to the midship stairs and from there to the designated emergency exits of the Odyssey.

  The door across from their interior state room opened, and a pudgy older man with several days growth of beard and weak squinty eyes peered out. He looked at her questioningly, and Miriam returned the stare, shrugging slightly as if to say how would I know what we're supposed to do next?

  All across the darkened corridor Miriam sensed other passengers tentatively opening their own cabin doors, and probably wondering the same thing. She decided they only had two options: they could go the passive route and stay in their rooms until someone with authority came along to tell them what to do; or two, they could try to find out what had happened. She had never been the passive sort, and she figured now was not the time to start.

  She opened their state room door fully, and stepped out.

  “What are you doing, Mir?” James whispered urgently and gripped her wrist. “We should stay in here and wait until the lights are back on.”

  She faced him.

  “We can't just sit here, James,” she said in a deliberately loud voice. “Something major is wrong with the ship if all the power goes out. We might be sinking for all we know, and unless we'd like to drown like rats in our rooms we'd better get up on deck.”

  This had gotten to the nearby listeners, and more doors swung open. A growing hubbub filled the air, and Miriam moved quickly past the growing crowd with James in tow. The loud voices of the people as they walked slowly along the corridor had the effect of galvanizing others who were still skulking in their state rooms, and within minutes Miriam was at the head of several dozen passengers, with more coming out of their rooms by the second. They continued this way until they reached the central stairway, the impromptu conga line getting louder and louder as the line grew longer.

  Someone screamed. They had reached the midship elevators, where the wide central stairs spiraled like some carpeted beanstalk up to the higher decks and down towards where she remembered lay safety and the embarkation deck. Miriam knew it hadn't been her screaming because she was too stunned to do anything but gape at the disemboweled body of one of the ship's crew.

  The unfortunate man lay sprawled next to an elevator door. His ripe entrails were bulging out of his torn abdomen, strewn about like coiled tentacles, and his throat had been a wide gaping maw filled with clotted blood. Splotches of black had decorated the carpeting and walls around him, and Miriam realized they were blood. She closed her eyes, willing the horrible image away. But when she opened them again the man was still been there, and he looked deader than ever.

  More people behind her joined the chorus of screaming. It made her head hurt.

  “Quiet!” She yelled, then again. “Please be quiet!”

  The din subsided, and she cocked her head to one side, listening intently.

  “What is it?” James asked, and his query was echoed by several of the people behind them.

  “I can hear something,” she replied, and stepped gingerly past the dead man to lean against the stairway railing. “Someone's shouting at us from down below!”

  “Someone's telling us to come quickly down!” She looked excitedly back at him.

  “Is it a trap?” He asked.

  “I don't think so.” She replied. “And anyway, the embarkation and debarkation deck is that way, so we really have no choice.”

  Miriam turned to the crowd of people behind her.

  “Please, there's someone down there who's yelling at us to come quickly. Finding out what happened here, and what caused this...it's something for later...for now, we have to get to safety.”

  She started down the stairs, picking her way slowly. Photoluminescent strips outlined the stair edges clearly, but it was still quite dim all around and she did not want to end the night by tumbling helplessly down and perhaps breaking her neck. Behind her, the crowd carefully followed her lead, and they were met by a sight she could not have imagined in her wildest dreams.

  The Royal Promenade on Deck 6 was filled to capacity with people. The wide interior boulevard stretched for more than 100 meters and was bound on both sides by endless rows of dark and empty restaurants, bars, and retail outlets that sold shoes, clothes, jewelry, and all the other products that a consumer could possibly need on a week-long cruise. Giant arched skylights loomed above the entire cavernous structure, but these were now dead and dark, replaced by soft green lighting emanating from photoluminescent strips and signs that cast an eerie glow on hundreds, perhaps thousands of passengers and crew as they milled nervously in the grand concourse. The people who had followed her down merged and disappeared into this giant conglomeration like paramecia absorbed by a preying amoeba.

  “What's going on?” James whispered to a nearby man who sported radically long sideburns and curly brown hair that must have boosted his height an extra 5 inches.

  “It's crazy man.” The man replied in a high-pitched rather nasal voice. “They're saying some things, some creatures, attacked the ship, and that we gotta leave and find shelter outside.”

  “I'm Henry, and this is my girl Sarah,” and he gestured to a short dumpy brunette next to him. “She had to go, you know, but then she saw dead bodies scattered in one of the ladies restrooms. Right Sarah?”

  The girl beside him nodded in the gloom, but said nothing. She clung tightly to the man's arm, and the thick glasses she wore glinted dully in the dim ambient light. Sarah seemed almost catatonic to Miriam, but then again who could blame her?

  Miriam herself felt claustrophobic. The crush of bodies around her and the heavy musky odors they gave off contributed to give her an overwhelming feeling of entrapment and paranoia.

  “We have to get off now,” she said. “Who's in charge?”

  “Some big guy in crew uniform shouted instructions earlier,” the man gestured again, this time vaguely at the silhouette of the crowd towards one end of the promenade. “He said we needed to remain calm and disembark in an orderly fashion, and that whatever those creatures had been, they've been temporarily driven away, but that they might come back. They've been herding people out for several minutes now, but there's just so many of us it'll take some time.”

  “There was so much blood,” a whispered voice said suddenly, so softl
y that Miriam at first could not catch the meaning. But then she realized it had come from Sarah, who was now looking nearsightedly at her as if for some reassurance.

  “Oh honey,” was all Miriam could say. “It's gonna be ok.”

  “Sure it is,” Henry pronounced breezily. “We're going to find someone in authority, and once everything is sorted out we'll sue the pants off this cruise line.”

  He chuckled, then actually winked at James, as if to say girls, what can you do?

  Miriam had the sudden urge to slap his pimply face, but restrained herself. A commotion had started in the distance, where she knew the debarkation point lay. There was a sudden movement, a ripple of excitement in the crowd as people started shuffling out, and then shouts and cries of alarm as some of the more aggressive passengers tried to push their way towards the front.

  “Looks like we're getting out of here,” James muttered. “And it's not a minute too soon if you ask me.”

  Miriam looked at him.

  “What is it James?” She asked.

  “Think about it.” He said, looking worriedly around. “Sarah here says she saw dead bodies up there, probably killed by these creatures people are talking about, and we saw that mutilated body near the elevators. And now here we all are, getting ready to disembark.”

  He stopped and looked her straight in the eye. Even Henry and Sarah were staring intently at him.

  “What is it James?” She repeated, and gripped one of his hands in both of hers.

  “Mir,” he said. “Where are all the other passengers? There's a lot of people here, but I read that there were up to 6000 passengers on the ship, plus another 2000 crew, and there is nowhere near that number in this room. So where are the rest of the passengers and crew Mir?”

  They looked at one another in fear, then just as quickly averted their eyes. No one spoke out loud, but Miriam felt a chill as the answer slowly dawned on her and probably to the others as well. They were not here because they were all dead. It was as simple and frightening as that.