The Rising: Selected Scenes from the End of the World

Eddie grinned. He didn’t know what type of gun this was, but he liked it. He’d gotten the rifle three days ago, during the siege at the hardware store. A burly man in a straw hat showed him how to use it. Three seconds later, a corpse clambered over the sandbag barricade and stabbed the man in the eye with a knitting needle. Eddie shot the zombie, and then shot the man who’d given him the rifle. Rome was located 65 miles northeast of Atlanta, and had a population of roughly 80,000 people. Three rivers, the Etowah, Oostanaula, and Coosa, surrounded the city’s historic downtown district. The townspeople had tried to make their stand there, cutting off all bridges and roads crossing the rivers, and blockading the streets and buildings. It hadn’t helped. The creatures raided the area’s two National Guard Armories, and then attacked the fortifications with heavy weapons and artillery. Now, as Eddie watched through the scope, a group of zombies drove by in a commandeered halftrack. A pimply-faced teenager in a Slipknot shirt darted from an alleyway next to the post office and tossed a Molotov cocktail at them. It exploded in front of the vehicle, but the creatures paid it no mind. They opened fire with a mounted fifty-caliber. The kid’s body jittered and danced as the rounds punched through him. Then he collapsed. The halftrack rolled on. A few minutes later, the teenager got up again, trailing blood and pieces of his insides. Eddie put him back down with another shot. Located in the middle of the Bible belt, Rome had an overabundance of churches, but God had deserted his people. God was gone. He’d left no forwarding address, and His answering machine was on the fritz.

But that was okay. From his vantage point, Eddie felt like God, looking down upon Creation. Or Hell.

Yeah, definitely Hell.

He could see it all.

Myrtle Hill Cemetery sat on a large hill to the north, just across the Etowah River. It dated back to the Civil War, but the recently deceased would no longer find peace there. Instead, they hammered through their coffins and crawled from the dirt to join their brethren.

The fighting spread to every street, every alleyway, every building. Fighting? More like a massacre. At Berry College, the zombies lined up captured humans like livestock, and cut their throats one by one. Several blocks away, a group of survivors fought a running gun battle with their dead loved ones. Police headquarters was on fire, and the flames were spreading. A pack of undead dogs ripped an infant from a fleeing mother’s arms, and tore it apart. A zombie shot the mother in the back, and then fell upon her.

Rome had survived General Sherman’s march, and the great flood of 1886, but it hadn’t survived The Rising.

Some determined good old boys sped down the main thoroughfare in a camper-covered pick-up. They made it two blocks before the zombies rammed them with a dump truck. Eddie watched as the rednecks were pulled from the vehicle and devoured. He picked one off just as a zombie’s yellow teeth bit into his throat.

So far, the zombies hadn’t discovered him. He’d remained hidden, masked beneath the fighting in the streets, the chaos and screaming and gunshots and dying. Eddie wondered what he’d do when they did find his location, and then decided it didn’t matter. Instead, he pulled the trigger and watched rotting brains splatter across the brick wall of a clothing store.

A large group of corpses gathered around the convenience store. Eddie wondered if there was somebody trapped inside. He lined the crosshairs up with the large propane tank in the store’s parking lot, and squeezed the trigger. The hammer fell but there was no kick, no explosion.

“Shit. Empty.”

The fires spread, engulfing the downtown district, and creeping closer to the Tower Clock. The smoke curled through the window, and Eddie coughed. When he looked up, an undead sparrow sat on the window ledge, staring at him with one remaining eye. A maggot fell from the empty socket. Spinning the rifle in his hands, Eddie swung the weapon like a club. The bird darted out of the way, and the wooden stock splintered on the hard stone windowsill. The impact sent shockwaves up his arms. The zombie bird zipped forward and pecked at his hand, drawing blood.

“Fucker!”

Eddie swatted at the zombie, but it flew away, vanishing into the smoke.

He went to the window.

The flames licked at the edges of the hill. The fire would reach the Tower Clock soon. But he was okay. Stone couldn’t burn, could it?

He looked out over his town. The zombies stared back at him, pointing and shouting. The bird. It must have told the rest of them. Now they knew where he was.Heedless of the flames, the undead began converging on his location, encircling the Tower Clock. Eddie glanced down at the broken, empty rifle, then back to the zombies.

Sighing, he leaned out, looking straight down. He put the headphones in his ears and let Pink Floyd take him away.

Then he leaned out further, and kept leaning until his feet left the floor.