The Rising: Selected Scenes from the End of the World

“Open fire,” one of the zombies commanded. “He is just one human.”

With one fluid movement, the Viking pulled the pin and tossed the grenade toward the undead. There was a deafening explosion. Dirt and body parts splattered onto the grass. The Viking threw a second grenade, but one of the creatures snatched it up and flung it back. The explosive soared towards the bushes—the bushes concealing Chino and King.

“Shit…” King shoved Chino forward. “Move your ass!”

The grenade failed to detonate, but neither man noticed. They were too busy dashing from the shrubbery—and directly, they realized too late, into the firefight. The M-1 Garand roared, and the zombies returned fire.

“Motherfucker,” Chino shouted. “We done it now!”

Bullets plowed through the dirt at their feet and whizzed by their heads. Chino and King opened fire, helping the Viking mow down the remaining zombies. Within seconds, all of the dead were dead again.

The Viking turned his weapon on the men.

“Whoa!” King held up his hands. “We’re alive, yo. Don’t shoot!”

The Viking didn’t respond.

“Chino,” King whispered. “Put your gun down.”

“Fuck that.” Chino spat in the grass. “Tell that puta to put his down first.”

King smiled at the Viking. “We don’t mean no harm. Hell, we just helped you.”

“Why?”

King blinked. “Because you were in trouble, man. Why you sitting out here in the open like that, Mister…?”

“Beauchamp.” The Viking’s shoulders sagged, and he put the rifle down. “Mark Beauchamp.”

Chino lowered his weapon, wondering what King was up to.

“Why you out here on this bench, Mr.

Beauchamp?” King’s eyes flicked over the stranger’s arsenal. He licked his lips. “Wouldn’t it be safer trying to find some shelter? Come wit’ us, we can hide you.”

“No.” The Viking shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’m waiting.”

“Waiting? For what?”

The Viking’s eyes turned glassy, and King realized the man was fighting back tears.

“I had a job at the Ford stamping plant, just south of the city. Wasn’t what I wanted to do with my life, but it was okay. Fed my family. Had a wife, Paula, and four kids. My son’s twenty-one. My daughters are fifteen, fourteen, and five months.”

The Viking paused, and despite the tears welling up in his eyes, he smiled.

“I think raising my boy was easier than the girls.”

King nodded.

Chino shifted from foot to foot, his finger flexing around the trigger. Was King just going to talk the guy to death?

“I was at work when it happened. I heard it all started in Escanaba, but it spread to Detroit fast. By the time I got home, Paula and the kids were gone. No note. Nothing. The evacuation order didn’t go out until a day later, so I don’t know what happened.”

His face darkened, and then he continued.

“There was blood in our kitchen—a lot of blood. I don’t know whose it was. And one of the windows was broken. But that’s all.”

“Sorry to hear that,” King said.

“I spent the first twelve days looking for them. But then I got an idea. We used to come here. I’d sit on this bench with my daughter, Erin, and we’d play patty cake. So I’m waiting, see? They’ll come back. Paula wouldn’t just leave like that. She knows how worried I’d be. I’m waiting for my family. I miss my kids.”

“And just shooting zombies?”

“Yeah. I’ve become a pretty good shot. Used to have a kick-ass pellet gun.”

“What about the birds, man? How you gonna shoot them?”

“Haven’t bothered me yet. And my family will be here before the birds show up. You’ll see.”

King glanced at Chino, then back at the Viking. He tried swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Sure you won’t come with us?”

The Viking shook his head.

King slowly approached the bench. Chino tensed. Here it came. King had the guy off guard. Now he’d pop him, they’d grab the shit, and get the hell gone before more zombies came back. But King didn’t waste the guy. Instead, he shook his hand.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

King turned back to Chino. “Come on. Let the man wait in peace.”

Chino’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Say what?”

“You heard me,” King growled. “Let him be.”

King trudged across the grass, and Chino ran to catch up with him. He grabbed King’s arm and spun him around.

“The fuck was that all about? We could have smoked him.”

“No,” King said, his voice thick with emotion.

“We ain’t touching him.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” King sighed, “I miss my kids, too.”

An artillery shell whistled over the city. The explosion rumbled through the streets. Beneath it all, they heard the Viking playing patty cake.

IF YOU CAN SEE

THE MOUNTAIN…

The Rising

Day Fifteen

Hawera, New Zealand