The Rising: Selected Scenes from the End of the World

Paul shut his eyes against the booing and hisses, preparing himself for what was about to come. They’d offered everyone in his group a choice as to their method of execution. Firing squad. Hanging. Drowning (what one leering soldier had referred to as a “Liquid Noose”).

All of them had chosen the arena. After all, they’d already planted the bomb.

Paul stood in their blood and tried not to slip. He wondered how much time he had left.

How had he ended up here? He’d once been a productive member of society. Believed in Conservative values. Voted Republican. Paid his taxes. He’d once stood in the ashes of September 11th. Now, he stood in a post-apocalyptic arena, ready to play gladiator against a zombie, branded as a terrorist, the leader of the resistance. Rumor had it that General Dunbar’s forces controlled wide swaths of northern California, after eliminating the dead there. They had careful measures to dispose of the dead and dying before they could turn into zombies. Now Dunbar’s despotism was spreading south, picking up new recruits and eliminating any and all resistance—

living and otherwise.

Paul had supported them at the beginning, eager for things to return to normal, even if under a police state. Sure enough, soon Corona and Riverside were both safe. His support ended when a platoon tried to rape Shannon. They’d been on the run since, eventually joining up with others who opposed the outof-control military; Rhodes, Neil, Osbourne, Coverdale, Tate, Ian, Dubrow, Mustaine—many others. Paul had joked that so many of them had the same last names as famous metal musicians, and they’d begun calling themselves the Down Boys, after the song by Warrant.

Dunbar’s rule sickened him. Yes, there were no zombies, but this wasn’t how Americans behaved. This wasn’t how the military acted. This wasn’t human. Dunbar’s forces were worse than the zombies. The undead simply killed. The soldiers did much more.

He glanced around at his friend’s body parts. Where were they now, he wondered? Paul had never believed in an afterlife, but a month ago, he wouldn’t have believed the dead could walk again, either. Where did the Down Boys go, after they’d died?

The far door opened, and three zombies skated into the rink, their faces covered with hockey masks. All were armed with hockey sticks.

The crowd’s cheer thundered through the arena. Paul crouched, waiting. The first zombie sped towards him. The second tried to flank his left. The third hung back. Paul could smell the rot wafting off of them, even from the other side of the rink. Closing the distance between them, the first zombie raised its stick and swung at his head. Paul ducked, sidestepped, and wrenched the stick from its grasp. He turned the weapon back on the creature, breaking its legs first. As it collapsed, Paul clubbed the head. The face imploded behind the hockey mask. Blood and pulp squirted out the mouth and eyeholes like Play-Doh.

The second zombie tripped over a severed arm and fell to the ice. As it scrambled to rise, the third darted forward. Paul ran towards it as fast as he could without slipping.

Their sticks clashed like sabers. One blow smacked into his side, and Paul felt his ribs crack. He struck the creature in the side of the head, and its mask flew off.

Shannon stared back at him.

“Hello, Paul.”

Paul gaped. Behind him, he heard the fallen zombie getting to its feet.

“Surprised to see me?” It spoke with Shannon’s voice, but Paul knew it wasn’t Shannon.

“Wifey,” he gasped, his voice thick with emotion.

“What did they do to you?”

“They tortured her, Paul. Made her drink acid. Injected gasoline into her veins. She died croaking your name.”

Paul grimaced. The zombie laughed.

The crowd grew louder.

Paul lowered his stick. “Do it. I don’t want to live without her.”

The zombie’s laughter ceased. “You don’t wish to fight? It’s more fun when you fight.”

“Just do it.” His stick clattered across the ice.

“Make it quick.”

“If you insist. I’m so hungry.”

He embraced Shannon’s corpse. Her teeth closed around his throat.

At that moment, the bomb they’d planted exploded, filling the arena with heat and light and wind. A moment later, the sound followed. Paul and Shannon shared one last kiss as the ice melted beneath their feet.

Then they both found out where the Down Boys go.

WALKABOUT

(Part Two)

The Rising

Day Twenty

Melbourne, Australia