The Rising: Selected Scenes from the End of the World

Reichart’s voice thundered from upstairs, “then is Christ not risen; and if Christ is not risen, then is our preaching in vain, and your faith in vain?”

“They’ll come looking for us soon,” Dawn warned. “We’ve been gone too long.”

Klinger’s face turned pale. “Probably nail us up on one of those crosses, just like the others who dissented.”

“Let’s do this, then.” Chris took his wife’s hand and squeezed. “You okay?”

Dawn shook her head. “No, I’m not. Look at us, Chris. We’ve changed. You were an accountant for Genworth Financial. I taught fifth grade math and history. I played the violin for twenty-six years. Gardening, target shooting—and now…”

“You can really shoot?” Klinger asked.

“She can put a grouping of six tight enough to cover with the bottom of a soda can.” Chris pulled Dawn close and kissed her forehead. “Things have changed, honey. You know that. It’s not the same world out there. We’ve got to worry about us.”

“What about the others. Are we just going to let Reichart and his followers do this?”

“He’s probably killed them already. Right now, they’re turning into zombies.”

“But what if they’re not,” Dawn whispered.

“What if they’re still alive on those crosses?”

“We don’t have a choice. It’s just us now. Mom, Dad, Bryan, your folks, April, even Scotch and Sandy—they’re all gone. We’ve got to live. Me and you.”

“And me,” Klinger added.

Chris grinned. “Yeah, and our new friend Klinger, the ex-pro surfer.”

Weapons drawn, they left the Sunday school rooms and crept up the stairs. Reichart’s mesmerizing voice swelled louder as they entered the narthex.

“See now, brothers and sisters. See how they rise!

Behold the mystery. There were asleep, and now they are changed.”

“Release me.”

The raspy voice from behind the sanctuary doors wasn’t the preacher’s or anyone in the congregation. It belonged to something dead.

Finger to his lips, Chris led them to the front door. Heavy pews had been stacked atop one another to form a barricade. While Dawn covered them, Klinger and Chris sat their guns aside and lifted the top pew.

Inside the sanctuary, someone screamed. Startled, Chris lost his grip. The pew crashed to the floor, reverberating throughout the building. Reichart stopped in mid-sermon. A second later, the sanctuary doors banged open. Parishioners flooded into the narthex, wide-eyed.

Dawn raised her pistol. “We don’t want any trouble. We just want to leave.”

Inside the sanctuary, Reichart shouted, “Who dares disturb the resurrection?”

“It’s the Shackelford’s,” a man yelled. “And that stranger we let in earlier in the week. Say they’re leaving.”

The preacher squawked. “Oh, no they aren’t. Bring them to me.”

Chris and Klinger sprang for their guns. Several more members of the congregation poured through the sanctuary doors.

“Get back,” Dawn warned, spacing her feet apart. “I will shoot you.”

“You won’t kill us, sister.” The speaker was a fat man, an atheist four weeks before, now one of Reichart’s most fervent followers. His eyes darted from the gun to Dawn’s breasts. He licked his lips. Dawn shot him between the eyes. Her wrists snapped backward from the recoil. She drew a bead on the next.

The fat man collapsed. Some of the believers rushed them while others ducked back inside the sanctuary. Dawn and Chris opened fire, dropping six attackers in as many shots. Klinger fumbled with his weapon, and the crowd fell on him, dragging him inside.

Chris and Dawn pursued them into the sanctuary. At the front, twelve makeshift crosses had been mounted around the communion rail. Former members of the congregation—those who’d spoke out against Reichart—hung crucified, their throats cut. Blood still jetted from the fresh wounds. The corpses twitched, reanimating.

“They were asleep,” Reichart shrieked, “and now they are changed. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed!”

Chris grabbed Dawn’s arm. “Let’s go! We’re too late.”

“Klinger.” She shook him off. “We can’t just—”

One of the zombies tore free of its cross, the nails ripping through its wrists and feet. It landed on an elderly woman, crushing her to the floor. Then it began to feed. Chris and Dawn couldn’t see it, but they could hear the tearing sounds.

The other creatures followed its lead, freeing themselves, ignoring the damage to their bodies.

“Go,” Klinger shouted, swept along by the panicked crowd. “Don’t worry about me!”

“They should worry.” Reichart slammed his fist down on the pulpit, ignoring the rampaging zombies. “Worry about their souls.”

Chris aimed his handgun at the crazed preacher.

“Shut the fuck up! I am sick of listening to your bullshit.”