Dawning (The Risen Series Book 1)

by Marie F. Crow

  I have only so many options left to me now. My anger slips over any fear as easily as slipping into a warm coat. My anger is incited by the screams of my name from a little boy who is drowning in pain and pleading for me to save him; a little boy that they have taken from me for their own delights just as they took Ashley. I am desperate. I may not be their mother, but they are mine. They are mine to protect. They are mine to keep. They are mine, also, to so brutally fail.

  The danger before me does not matter anymore. The only option left to me now is getting through these demonic dolls to reach him. Margaret just doesn’t seem to understand she is the first in my path. The solid wall of the stoves behind me stops my steps short. I am not so brave as to turn my back to her. It forces me to quickly glance over my shoulders for any type of weapon, keeping her in my sight. I look to find anything I can use against her. I feel around to find some clue to our survival as time is running out for us both. I remember, rather than see, the magnetic strip over the stoves and begin to slap the wall for its location.

  I know the moment my palm lands upon a solid handle of some- thing dangerous as the eyes before me glance past me for the first time since turning around. Her face melts down to pure animal at my discovery. She drags herself at a faster pace towards me. Her sounds signal some unspoken event with her classmates. Pairs of arms retreat from their abuse on the door, falling limp and still at their sides. My eyes glance from the child behind me to the children beyond her and back. The finale is cued.

  The knife slides off the strip with ease. The scraping sound it causes serves as its own battle cry, making their heads turn to- wards me with awareness of my actions. Margaret’s lips pull back to expose small white teeth in a snarl that should be impossible for such a face to wear. I am conflicted with the fact that these are children before me and that my child is beyond them. I asphyxiate with the doubt and uncertainty of how to do the next horrible act. Despair washes over me and I know what I must do. These children must die so that my child may live.

  The dam breaks inside me. I scream my first sob and bring down the knife upon pigtail-swaying Margaret as she reaches for me. The blade slides into her at the tender juncture of her neck and shoulder. It does not cause her to flinch in the least. She does not even stagger with the blow, but instead uses my closeness to latch onto my arm. Her head turns to sink those tiny white teeth into my exposed flesh, and I kick her, using the stove as my brace. Her small body falls upon the ground with her eyes never leaving me, her target. Dark blood pours from the wound at her neck and yet she still stands up angry and ready to try for my death again. I stare at the delicate white flowers discoloring from my attack on the blue dress when she comes for another round. There is no form of recognition on her face to the state of her body and the shoebox of misshapen clues is opening inside me with this final key-like fragment.

  They are not real. Some freak form of animation is left, but they are not human anymore. Even as her tiny heart pumps itself out of her body, she feels no pain or panic over it. I stand crying from the clues presenting themselves to me and end the little form before me.

  Her death is simple. She feels no panic. She holds no pleading cries. Just the simple fact of she is, and she was. My mind settles into a state of numbness as her classmates begin to run at me in waves of their mayhem. I climb up upon the stoves to keep me safe from them rushing me as my Ashley was, and with no remorse, I take aim at each little body until there is no longer anything to aim at.

  They finally lay still before me on the floor. They are a pile of holocaust-like imagery formed of small, delicate, still bodies. I can no longer tell if the blood they wear is theirs or another’s as shades slowly blend upon them. I am certain any moment swift judgment will rain down from above upon me for such a sin.

  The room is finally silent. The stoves no longer hold their pristine glaze. The once shining tiled floor is now a slippery mess of dark fluids. It takes me a moment to understand what is missing, to understand what I should still be hearing. This realization spurs me into action and coats me with desperation. I ease past the pile of corpses, fearing any movement or twitch, but every- thing lies horribly still around me.

  “Conroy?” I call out in the silence.

  What should only be a few steps before me turns into miles to reach the dented and marked door.

  “Conroy?” I whisper against it, pleading for him to answer me. My hands are slick with the blood of those I have killed. They slide along the handle before making enough traction to allow me to open the door. There are ghosts waiting for me inside these doors. They cause a haunting that shall never be exorcised from my mind with any level of prayers or holy water. The ghosts whisper to me what is beyond the door before I fully open it with sounds and smells that seep out to greet me.

  I have come to know them like well-hated friends. They spare me from the vision of torn blue cowboys trying to escape on horses spread before me by tearing hands and chewing mouths. I don’t have to see the sightless blue eyes that will be staring beyond to a world I cannot see as Lilly’s were. Like a coward, I slide down the door, refusing to open it any further.

  My last fragile one is beyond my help now. He no longer screams for me or from pain. He is deep in sacrificed dreams and hopes. I let the door slip shut on my failure. I close the door on my final murder.

  We told them monsters are not real. They are only in your minds. There is nothing to fear in the dark. There are no monsters in the closets. They are only in stories. They only live in books. They only seem real in the movies. They are fictional. They cannot hurt you.

  Their final moments were realized by those lies. Monsters are now real and there is very much to fear from them. I have failed my Angels. One after another, I was there and could not save them. I tremble with the weight of that truth. Grief pours from me in silent screams as I rest against his tomb and listen to the hands beating against the other side of the door for my flesh, having already destroyed his.

  Chapter 11

  In mindless abandonment, I drive with no idea of what to do. I don’t let my mind think of the things that have happened. The last thing I want is to be aware of what I have lost as the town is turning upside down all around me. The streets are becoming active with the madness missing from this morning.

  Cars are piled upon each other as wrecks fill the streets from panicked people. The stranded people fight for the cars trying to wedge through the destruction as they pass by only causing more wrecks or worse. Many drivers, so afraid of what is happening, never stop when those stepping out in front of their cars try to stop them for help. I scream as I watch families mowed down or flung into the air by the cars in front of me only to see them land broken and dead beside my car.

  Houses stand open with thoughtless escapes from their occupants as possessions become meaningless. I watch as the few who have barricaded themselves inside become victims of people looting. There is gunfire everywhere and I reactively swerve the car with each shot.

  There are screams for help from various areas, but I never look. I never let off the gas because it is worse when the screams become just wordless octaves ringing through the air. Through it all, everywhere stands the calling card of Death, from the scents of his heavy perfume to his mind-numbing visuals. He is everywhere today, and every demon is wanting its pound of flesh with their tearing teeth or in dripping handfuls of those they steal it from. It’s not a stroke of genius I ended up at Grit. My autopilot with nowhere else to go drove me here. One by one, to the roaring of motors or the gentle hum of cars, we all made the connection that safe harbor might be here. If the dead are walking, then what better place than here where the Devil is believed to be, J.D.? With their black vests donned, even today with the many events that have unfolded, the men welcome each other, glad to see another brother is still alive.

  Haunted eyes and warm embraces meet each new arrival as we all wear our clothes like badges of triumphs and defeats from the trip here. A few share their stories in
whispers in the dark corners of the bar, but most just sit in private hells of their own making, with their eyes cascading from what they have lost. Conversations rise like the seas to a roar before being washed away over and again as the same questions float among all the tables. Why? What? How? It’s what we are all asking.

  Aimes and I have begun to do what we normally do when at work in our own attempt to block out the events the day has held for us. Shot after shot, beer after beer, we pour as the jukebox plays between the gaps of suffering shown around us. Aimes pink-streaked blonde hair bounces with our forced laughter. Her blue eyes used to shine with sexual innuendos everyone knew were false hopes to be had. All laughter has faded from her eyes and conversation is mumblings of disorientation.

  Her outfit was just as damning as mine when she had arrived. Her hands tremble as she pours the drinks, giving hints to her unspoken words with punctuated clarity, and no one has the courage to press the matter. Nor did either of us ask the other in private when we showered and changed in our employee area about any details. Her body shook with silent sobs at the family pictures taped to her locker as she suffered in silence. I could fill in the blanks with enough imagined horrors on my own. I did not need her confirmations.

  Now, as a majority of our bond-formed family is gathering around static screaming TVs and radios, we look to J.D. for answers. If this rag-tag of a bar-formed motorcycle club were to answer to a leader, it would be him.

  His calm exterior is always holding back a force to fear. It can ignite in seconds and extinguish just as fast. His eyes hold the depths of someone always watching and weighing, not only your actions, but also your words. His stillness is not of nonchalance, but of preparedness. His smile can melt your heart or freeze your blood when he fixes it upon you.

  For most of us, he has become the father that life has neglected to give us, with his strength that allows him to not only control, but also to comfort such a diverse collection of souls. We form our self-value around his approval. He feeds us our daily bread of encouragements and our wine of confidence. Among all of us, no one is this truer for than our Lawless.

  He and J.D. sit huddling together at a table, trying to appear calm in their whispering debate. With false smiles lingering in their conversation, they are attempting to reassure those watching that everything is okay.

  J.D. is doing a better job than Lawless. Lawless’ eyes are darting too quickly from table-to-table around them. The muscles of his honey-tinted arms are twitching with every sudden sound as he plays with the flame of his metal-encased lighter. The two of them are as confused and lost as the rest of us, but the only difference is they will not admit it, male pride at its best.

  Lawless’ deep brown eyes keep mine for short seconds of time. My heart drops with each connection at the depths of their sorrow staring at me. It is heart breaking to see Lawless so broken. His boyish grin and normal one-liners sync well with his normal laid-back attitude. There is nothing he will not do for those he cares, and if the dare is big enough, for those he knows.

  He flirts with Danger as if she is a favorite lover. He knows just where her breaking point is but encourages her anew each day with ease. The sound of his Harley makes women melt from miles away just knowing who is rushing towards them on that blacked- out machine of his. I have watched married socialites primp at the roar and mock pose as he rode past them. At most, they only earned a smile or wink from him for their efforts. Life is a game for him, and they played well together until today. Today life has broken the rules, all of the rules.

  He runs his hands along the path of his dark, close-cropped mohawk as he stares up at the ceiling before sliding from their shared table. Whatever J.D. has said to him has rattled him. He comes in our direction, and even with the events around us, I feel the familiar stirrings within me as he slides over the bar counter with the strength of his arms to support him.

  Falling into those arms to the sounds of whistles around us, I wordlessly seek his comfort. We are the favorite joke of the club. Even today’s horrors could not change that fact.

  Today though, his defined arms are trembling as they hold me close. His hands rest on the back of my body, pulling me in tighter than normal. As I melt into the heat of his body surrounding me, I know his mind is not with me. I am taking reassurance from him, but he is taking strength from me. Whatever chore J.D. has asked him to do his mind is already running through it.

  “You done?” J.D.’s strong voice shakes us back to the world we so want to escape from together.

  I feel, more than see, Lawless pull himself together, slipping away from me slowly and reluctantly. The light from his eyes dims and his smile melts to blank serenity. He wraps both hands around my head and places a lingering kiss on my forehead before following J.D. out of the bar. Aimes and I both stand watching the two men who have become our universe slip out wordlessly.

  We both have learned in our early days not to ask questions. No matter how loudly those very questions may echo in our minds. When I hear my voice doing just that, I am not sure who is shocked more by it.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, and my annoyance is not even the least bit masked.

  “Disney World,” J.D. answers, slowly with a mixed smile of amusement and reprimand. “So, why don’t you and Alice there keep the dwarfs happy while we are away?”

  The door swings shut behind them, but not before Lawless gives me a wink so full of false hope my soul hurts for him.

  “If I am Alice, who the hell are you?” Aimes turns to me with her mock anger expressed on her face.

  “Since the dwarf mention, I guess I’m Snow White.” I shrug, filling another glass with ice.

  “I can see it. He is not the most creative, but I can see it.” She smiles her signature smile. “I suppose we should just be happy he didn’t ask us to give them all free rides with the theme park analogy he was trying to rock there.”

  We both wrinkle our nose at the thought, causing a roar of disappointment among those sitting at the bar and the flow of joking begins. The world may very well be ending, but still the familiar male thought is constant. Under the mounted replica of the club’s grinning skull, we continue our games of flirting and pouring. Life goes on because it has to. What other choice do we honestly have?

  Chapter 12

  “You sure this is the way to go? It feels wrong. Just, wrong,” Lawless asks.

  His dark jean-clad legs are holding his motorcycle in place as he lights the end of a cigarette. The glow burns bright from the first rush of inhalation. His black tee shirt clings to the many contours of his arms and wide shoulders under the club’s signature leather vest. The grinning skull upon its back is a little more fitting than normal today. Staring across the lot from behind dark sunglasses, he scans the area watching the shapes move around them. “Dunno man. These are our people,” he says to the older man beside him.

  J.D.’s hand grasps the back of Lawless’ neck, bringing his focus roughly around to him. “Says who? How many of those in there do you really know? Huh? Gimme their names and we will save them all. Blaze of glory. The whole deal.” His voice echoes with the heavy acid of sarcasm. “Look around you, son. You see any of them big saviors heading in our direction? You hear any of those loud sirens screaming towards us? They have all left, son. None of those big brave saviors left around here now. No, we are on our own. It’s just you and me to see this through. Whatever the hell is happening, we are on our own here. I am not letting a room full of weak-willed excuses drag us down.” J.D. leans in close so that they are almost eye-to-eye with each other and says, “We take care of those that care about us. You know that. The rest, well fuck ‘em. I never wanted to save the world and I ain’t about to now. You let me know when those balls of yours drop so we can do this. Those pound puppy eyes of yours only work on your skirts and this ain’t no time for skirts.”

  J.D. lets Lawless go with a small shove before leaning back to his own motorcycle. Its chrome glares under the sun’s rays, moc
king any need to hide from the world. He waits with a relaxed stance, finishing his own cigarette as if the other man has all the time in the world to come to a conclusion about the road they are going to take. There is no going back for J.D. It is just a matter of when they start down the path ahead.

  J.D. knows Lawless will do as he asks. He has become his right-hand replacing Rhett. It happened not out of need, but out of the respect Lawless has earned.

  Lawless knows the depth of J.D. like no other ever will. They have become so well-tuned to the other that a simple shift of his face or a roll of the shoulder can give answers as well as any vocal conversation.

  J.D.’s desires in life are simple. Keep the ones you love safe. Destroy the rest. With Lawless at his side, and the MC backing his actions, those desires have become that much easier to obtain. It is one of those very desires they are going to conquer now. The knowledge brings a grin of anticipation to J.D.’s face as he looks to one of the few trusted men beside him.

  Lawless nods as he starts his Harley, more out of male frustration from being called out than the belief in their actions. He is still nodding as he takes one last glance at Grit before following

  J.D. out with his own echoing engine roar. His machine is lean and low profile, allowing him to easily catch and out distance his father of necessity.

  Their destination is one of future preservation for the club, and personal satisfaction for J.D. J.D. always knew there would be a day for his style of reckoning for a well-known man in town. He has waited, biding his time, looking for the perfect day to strike out. Now the world has given him a golden invitation with calligraphy script telling him just how to do it and he wastes no time putting his R.S.V.P. to the invitation.