The Risen: Dawning (24 page)

Aimes is covered in Marxx’ blood, that is now escaping from underneath the pad on his arm. Her shirt is as covered as his, from keeping pressure on his wound, making it hard to tell if she is wounded as well. Marxx is worse. His normal rich ivory skin tone is now a pale ashen grey. The wound has left a trail of blood from his arm, to his chest, and down one side of his leg from the amount of time it took to treat it and now its new seepage. The pad has been pushed to its limits. It is painting a bright shade of red upon him where it sits and from what is spilling around it. Aimes is not the only one bathed in Marxx’ wound. The act of the bite, and the refusal to let go, has left his blood where he held onto me. Together, we must paint a pretty picture of our morning. No amount of coffee will make this less depressing.

Shelia stares at us, her knees growing weak from what she sees. “I told them not to do it. I told them it wasn’t right.”

J.D. lets her go. She is in a new prison now. A prison that does not need his arms to keep her secure. She is trapped in the sight of us. Trapped in the conclusions her mind is forming over what she is seeing.

“Do you know what they did? What they wanted to happen? They wanted them dead. Your boys wanted us dead. Led us right into a room of trapped Risen while they sat here waiting to see what happens. How many of us were meant to make it back?” J.D. whispers his tormenting words to her. Every word he says hits its intended destination. She is a protector. She has spent these past many months keeping everyone safe under this roof. Now the very men with whom she has formed a family, attempted to jeopardize it all.

“They said they wanted to see if you would get the list. If you would do what we needed versus what you wanted. That’s what they told me. I thought it was wrong to trick you. To test you at all. It wasn’t supposed to be this.” Her words are a soft whispering of regrets. Looks like I am not that only one the needs a vest around here.

J.D. has applied the correct pressure again. Richard may not care as much as Simon about her screams, but the look in her eyes that she now sends him makes a ruin of his face. The anger and the hate she sends their way makes even Dolph look away from her.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way.” Simon tries to reason with her from across the space between them. “The girls were supposed to stay here. They were never supposed to go.”

“So you just planned to murder the men?” She screams back. “Murder is murder. You sent Ross to do your dirty work because you were too afraid of them. Too afraid to just trust them and try to work out your differences and your ego. Is this how we solve our problems now? If you don’t like someone, are they your next target?”

“Shelia, come on. Look at them, they can handle a couple of those things. It was just supposed to prove a point. See if they would go through with the list versus wimping out. We needed to know if we could trust them to stick by us when it gets rough or if they would revert back to “theirs first” mentality.” Richard is pleading for her to understand. His eyes though keep floating behind her to Aimes who seems smaller than normal with her blood soaked clothes and despaired face.

In one moment of glory, J.D. has reversed the roles we have been playing. Now their girl sits on our side of the room where before his girls sat on theirs. He has to keep the pressure going to keep this play in action. To let up for a second may cost him his finale.

“He is right about that. We could have handled it, but he knows what Hells is like. It was her that saved your boys after all, and look how they repay her. They try to kill her. If Helena had not risked her life at that Center, your boys may not have come home to you. How much more trust does a man need?” His words sink into her. You can see it on her face. I would clap with his performance, but my hands are busy holding me up.

“Now, we have us some wounded here Shelia. My people need your help. Marxx might die over there while your boys keep us out here. You going to let that happen?” He does not ask for her help for himself. That would be too easy to refuse. To refuse a wounded group, that is not in her nature.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll make my boy there release Smiley. A show of good faith. To show that I can still control this. I can make it all go away. But you, now you got to get us back in there so I can get them help. You OK with that?” He asks her. He is removing her fear of him by showing her how desperate he is to help his people. He is making her the savior and the mediator with one request. A role her heart loves to play, and cannot pass up.

“Paula will be in the kitchen. We do not even need to go past them or have their permission.” She smiles with triumph as she pulls a key and its pretty blue ribbon from around her neck. “I can get you in.”

Seriously, all together now, standing ovation for the man.

J.D. looks to Lawless with his silent command. The first kink in his plan is happening though. He didn’t count on Lawless’ rage. Lawless stares at Ross with eyes filling with anger over having to let him go. There is no more mocking or taunting from him. I watch his hand holding the gun, that is still embedded in Ross’ mouth, tremble. The tremble spreads through his body, and I hear his sharp inhale. Lawless is no longer daring; he is about to take the dare.

In two steps, J.D. reaches him. He is whispering in his ear words that do not reach anyone else. J.D. will not take the gun from him. If he wants this, J.D. will allow him to take it. J.D. plans to make sure it is what he really wants though before ruining his well played performance.

Father figure and son stand locked in a whispered debate. Ross’ eyes swing from one to the other with the exchange going on above him. His face gives us a better understanding with its many expressions as the state of the debate, versus the body language of the other two men. Rhett stands there watching as well. His face is missing the smile it has worn for most of the morning with the turn of events the day has taken for us. I know with the look in Rhett’s eyes that Ross may be safe today, but tomorrow is another story. The small word change will be the death of Ross.

I missed Lawless releasing Ross from his hold while I was watching Rhett. Lawless is squatting, covering his head with his hands, as he tries to collect himself. His gun is still grasped in his hand as if he is still rethinking his decision. A part of me wants to go to him and tell him everything will be all right. Another part of me wants to take the gun from him myself and shoot them both, and still another part of me is just waiting on that nap I was promised. Not sure yet which side will win.

“No hard feelings, right?” J.D. says to Ross, pushing him towards the men across from us with whom he conspired to set this plan in motion.

Rhett watches Ross walk by with his one timid step at a time. Every muscle shows how much he wants to run, but pride will not let him. Rhett is not the only one that is watching him though. Lawless watches the man’s back with such anger I am not sure how Ross does not twitch with it. It is the look that Lawless shares with Rhett that causes me to worry. Lawless’ anger strips Rhett of his calm exterior until they both are sharing the same rage over having to let Ross go.

I have never pretended to know what the men do behind closed doors or what they do when not around me. That is not to say that I hold no illusions to the type of men they can be, I just prefer to not admit it. Now as I watch the two of them, I know how well-sheltered Lawless has kept me from this part of him. The same hands he has used many nights to heal my soul, inflame my desires, and fill the air with music have done so much more. From Rhett I have always expected such things, but not Lawless with his gentle eyes and charming smile.

I had hoped I had my fill of truth for one day from Lawless. Now as I watch him and Rhett, another truth he gifts me, and each one becomes more of a curse. The most obvious truth is how much danger Ross is still in as both men look to him again. His days are numbered and the timer started long ago.

P
aula’s domain is not only the kitchen. She and Shelia have brought us to what once served as the sport’s medicine area for the gym. Now it has been converted into a makeshift triage to help those that call this school home. Its many doctor-office style benches are still covered in the thin noisy paper waiting for use. We are not going to disappoint it.

“How bad is it?” Shelia is hovering over Marxx like a mother with a wounded child. She even holds his other hand, either in the attempt to give him comfort or to find it for herself. Marxx has gone past caring to refuse her as Paula cleans and tends to his wound.

“It’s pretty deep. A lot of muscle damage.” Paula’s voice has lost that playfulness. I guess stitching up a human’s bite on another human’s arm kills the mood for “girl time”.

“Is he going to turn?” Aimes’ voice is small and nervous from risking her question. I have forgotten about her with my own issues. She is being cradled in Rhett’s thick arms and their size difference resembles more of a Father and Daughter than two adults. I am annoyed with how they treat her. I am mostly annoyed that no one is holding me, but I am not going to admit it.

“Turn to what?” Paula is half listening to us around her as she concentrates on repairing the damage to Marxx’ arm.

“He’s been bit.” Hurrah for Captain Obvious with her pink streaks of perception.

“I can see that.” Paula answers with the same tone I am holding mentally for their conversation.

“So is he going to turn into one of them?” The question sets the room at unease. Even Marxx now opens one of his eyes to gauge Paula’s response.

“If a raccoon bites you, do you turn into a raccoon? You’ve watched too much T.V. girl.” Have I mentioned how much I like Paula? No? I like Paula.

“It doesn’t work that way?” Marxx’ nerves make his voice weaker than its normal deep gravel.

Paula gives him a reassuring smile, stopping her stitching long enough to look at him. “No, it doesn’t work that way.”

“How do you know?” J.D. has been silent this whole time in his normal “watch and see” fashion and to give Shelia room to recover from their encounter. His concern for Marxx keeps him from being too close, unwilling to risk showing his emotions.

“I just do.” She is back to being annoyed now. Apparently, only Marxx gets a free pass to talk to her.

“That’s not good enough.” Rhett is watching every inch of the thread pulled through Marxx’ wound. Each stitch is serving as another memory for him in his own locked chamber. It is a chamber different than mine and it unsettles me with his fascination. As much as I feel I know the man, it is moments like this when I see a different light in those eyes, reminding me how very little I do actually know.

“Didn’t think it was going to be.” She answers. Her deep sigh tells us there is a story to be told. Our stilled breathing lets her know we are waiting.

“I used to be a nurse at a drug clinic. I had a little girl of my own. I thought I was going to help change the world for the better for her. I went into the research of vaccines. I thought I was helping to stop the spread of illnesses. So noble.” Her voice is bitter. She is focusing on Marxx’ arm like it’s a raft in a storm. He winces with the needle now more than before.

Something about the words she said tries to spark a fuse of a memory. It sputters but goes out before the flame can catch. At least for me, Chapel though seems to be remembering something with how he stares at her.

“Years of research went into this new vaccine. It was supposed to be the wonder and cure all of the many different strands of the flu but also many other winter aliments in one dose. Think of it, the common cold, strep throat, and pneumonia being nothing more than another mention in history books. It was supposed to be amazing, ground breaking even. It was. It has broken all sorts of new ground.”

“It was fully tested on all levels. Some levels that I was not even cleared for but documented the passage. No one had any clue to what was about to happen. We were offered the option of having one dose for our own private use. I wanted my little girl to have it. I wanted her to be healthy just like every mother does. To avoid the many illnesses that winter seems to bring with it. How could we have known?” Her voice has fallen in its pitch with each word as a new emotion comes forth from her. It almost sounds like shame, but I can’t imagine why.

All eyes are on her now with her weakness so exposed. We all stare at her with confusion over where her story is taking us. All of us, that is, but Chapel. He is not confused. He is torn between anger and grief. That spark keeps sputtering for me, but it has caught fire for Chapel.

“It was the children first. All of them. One by one. We thought maybe that was because they received most of the vaccines, but we will never know. There was not enough time for testing. The results varied depending on how it was administered. The shot had the fastest onset, doing the most damage to them. The inhalant still had the same effect, just a few days slower, and a longer timer of degradation of their minds once the fever took hold. Once again, not enough time for the research.” Her voice is neutral now. She might as well have been giving a lesson of studies with the lack of feeling she now has.

“Not feeling well, fever, and then death. Then they become what they are now.” Chapel has put the pieces together and he is calling her out with them.

“Not exactly, but yes those are the basics of it.” She does not flinch from his anger. She has faced her own anger over this and survived it. Chapel’s does not frighten her.

“The shots put the children into a feeling of unease within minutes. Their bodies are telling them something is not right, but their inexperience makes them think they are just ill. Nothing really stands out as being wrong so it is ignored. Within hours, the vaccine takes hold of the host. The antibodies react, causing a high-grade fever as it attempts to fight it off. This somehow feeds the vaccine, allowing, what we thought of as the weakened virus, to mutate. This new mutation attacks the brain. It shuts down all normal life supporting activity allowing the host to appear dead. They aren’t. They never really die. The vaccine literally becomes alive. It becomes the host.”

Her words leave more questions than answers. They cause more panic than comfort, but she is not finished yet.

“They no longer need their organs to sustain them the way we do. They can go months without food or water. Their bodies in essence die, but the vaccine turns the brain into a self-sufficient machine, only functioning at the level it needs to for its survival. They still have their basic logic and function. They can still hold on to some piece of their personalities. Some can even have memories and can recognize people from their past. There is no cookie cutter mutation. It seems to all depend on who they were in life as to what they will become. Leaders are still leaders. Followers are still followers.”

The image of another school comes to mind. A room full of tiny bodies matching up into smaller groups. It was not a game of “Follow the Leader”. It was not a game at all. They really were following clues and commands from another that took the lead as their socializing had taught them to do. But, why had so many transformed at school to begin with?

“Why wasn’t it pulled? Why did they release it if they knew?” Chapel’s voice shakes with his emotions. He is remembering two small children that might have been saved.

“It was too late by the time we were aware. It was fully tested and ready for use. Something fatal happened when it was mass-produced. Something we didn’t have the time to correct. All we could do was alert the proper people about a possible reaction. Schools all over the country pulled students into localized locations to wait and see. They were told to be prepared for reactions ranging from illness to extreme rage. How do you tell people to watch their kids go through what was really going to happen? What they were going to become?” She is looking to us as if we could offer her any answers.

We have none. We have not had any for a long time.

“One by one we were getting reports of whole school’s being wiped out. Elementary seemed to be the first to report symptoms. The shots were part of a school government health wellness program. Parents were asked by the school nurses to keep their kids in school “under the weather” because there was nothing really wrong with them. We have been told as parents to expect certain off behaviors after shots. It didn’t raise any parental alarms.”

“The fever would hit after the shots that morning. School nurses did the best they could, but they were not prepared for this. Whole schools were transformed and disappeared from the grid before we could offer any help. It’s why I am here at this school. This is the school I was sent to.” She is silent with the thought.

I do not need to wonder what it may have been like. I was there. I wish I could forget.

“If it was just the kids, then why the others, too?” Shelia asks. I guess this is the first time Paula has shared the story.

“Because not only the kids received the vaccines. Every medical professional, Moms, Dads, older siblings, the elderly as is the normal routine.” She is watching me as she talks now. She has finished with Marxx’ arm as best one can do in this facility. I almost squirm under her gaze wondering what it is she is seeing.

“There should be a set number of them then? If we just wait it out, we can make it through this?” Shelia asks with hope radiating through her voice.

“Did I forget to mention the military was also signed up for the first round? Which means the whole government, as we know it, also was going to be included. So yes, if we find a few groups of people willing to go out and fight who knows how many of the transformed that are out there, it could happen. That is, if those groups do not become food, chicken out, die of basic injuries, run out of supplies, or just stop giving a shit.” Her cold tone pours icy water all over the hope Shelia held.

All we need is a little pixie dust, and flamethrowers. It could happen. I am not volunteering, but it could happen.

“How do you feel Helena?” Paula asks me. I feel as if I have been caught doing something naughty with the way her eyes are watching me.

“Like I need a flamethrower.” Is what I hear come from me. It is not what I told my mouth to say. My confusion must show on my face, making her come over.

Why does every medical person have one of those tiny flashlights with the retina burning light? And why do they never warn you before waving it in front of your face?

“Let’s lay you down. “ She tells me as I am helped onto my own crinkly paper bench.

With how disobedient my mouth is being, I simply nod. I want to tell her how cold I am. How I keep missing pieces of time and facts. How tired I am. How I should not be feeling this much confusion and this agitated. How I never meant for Marxx to get hurt. How very sorry I am for everything. I do not trust my voice, so I say nothing.

“She didn’t get bit.” It is Lawless who comes into my view. He holds himself apart from me, but close enough that I can see his distress.

“Shock.” J.D. comes over and pushes a stray piece of hair from my face. “She seems to be coming out of it though. Not so bad now. She’s tough, aren’t you Barbie?”

“You promised me a nap.” I close my eyes to refuse the scene before me. His tenderness will undo me.

“You go right ahead.” Paula tells me. The blanket is warm. It lulls me to the sleep I have been fighting against this whole time. I give in to my weakness and escape the pain.

“What was her name?” I ask Paula before I finally slip into the comforting arms of sleep.

“Emily. What was yours?” She is tucking the blanket around me, sealing in its heat.

“Lilly. Ashley. Conroy.” I let their names escape from me like a whispered prayer. I let their images form behind my closed eyes from happy memories long gone. I let my tears fall like a river of regrets from which I now bathe.