The Rising: Selected Scenes from the End of the World

When it was all over, Michael Bland and his son, Kyle, were grateful to be alive. Before they’d gone underground, Mike, a 46-year-old divorcee, was a professional geologist with the Florida Department of Environmental Protection. His entire world had revolved around 14-year-old Kyle. When they saw each other (every other week as ordered by the court) they spent time playing World of Warcraft and going to the movies and just hanging out. When Kyle was at his mother’s, Mike, who had been married for nineteen years, enjoyed his independence. He didn’t date, and had no desire to start. One of his co-workers had once suggested that he “come out of his cave.”

Mike stood blinking in the sunlight. He remembered the comment, and laughed.

“What?” Kyle asked.

“Just thinking.”

Kyle glanced back at the cave entrance and then to his father. “Do you really think they’re gone?”

Mike nodded. “Sure looks that way. Maybe they’re all dead.”

“They were already dead, Dad. They can’t die twice.”

“Well, whatever it is that happens when you destroy their brain—maybe it’s finally happened to them all.”

Mike and Kyle had taken shelter in the caves (only an hour from Mike’s home in Tallahassee) on the second day of The Rising. They’d burrowed deep into the subterranean network, hiding among the dazzling formations of limestone stalactites, stalagmites, soda straws, flowstones, and draperies. The cave was dry and air-filled, and a small spring fed by the Chipola River, provided them with water. They had sleeping bags and a kerosene lantern and other survival gear. By the second week, they’d run low on food, and Mike went out to find some. Despite the warm sunlight, he shuddered, remembering the horses.

Florida Caverns State Park was also popular for horseback riding, and offered stables for equestrian campers. Some of those animals must have been left behind, starved to death in their pens, and then reanimated. While Mike had been hunting for food, the zombie horses attacked.

He rubbed his forehead, which still bore the scabbed, crusty imprint of a hoof.

“Dad?”

“Hmmm?”

“What if we’re the only people left alive? What about Mom?”

Mike felt a pang of regret. What if, indeed?

Could they possibly be the last living humans? No, there had to be others, maybe hiding underground like they were, unaware that the zombie plague was over. He wondered if there were other fathers out there, battling to get to their sons or loved ones. If so, he wished them luck.

“I don’t know, Kyle. But we’ve got each other. If there is anybody else left, they probably can’t say the same.”

“I love you, Dad.”

The boy rarely said it anymore, and Mike’s eyes watered.

“I love you, too.”

“So what do we do now?”

Mike shrugged. “We go home. Carefully, until we’re sure the zombies are dea—gone. We’ll see if our car is still in the parking lot. If it is, we’ll take 90

to 71, and then hop on I-10.”

“Good. I’m sick of these caves.”

They stepped out of the shadow of the cavern mouth and started down the trail. The treetops and grass swayed back and forth, rustling softly.

“You know what I want?” Kyle asked. “Pizza.”

Mike chuckled. “Yeah, now that you mention it. Beat’s those cold beans we’ve been eating.”

They continued on. Twenty-seven days of living in the cave had hardened them both, but Mike was still tired. Sweat ran into his eyes and he wished for a cool breeze. Despite his exhaustion, he felt good.

“Everything’s going to be okay.” Mike mopped his brow. “We outlasted them.”

Kyle didn’t respond.

The plant life continued rustling.

How, Mike suddenly thought. There’s no wind…

“Dad?”

Mike stopped. Kyle was pointing at something ahead of them. Mike looked. At first, he didn’t understand what they were seeing. An armadillo, still alive and not a zombie; lay twitching on a rock. A black cloud swarmed around it. The cloud buzzed.

“Mosquitoes,” Mike said. “What the hell?”

Kyle screamed.

His legs had turned black, as thousands of ants crawled up them, covering his shoes and pants. Kyle slapped at the creatures and his hands came away covered.

“Dad, get them off me!”

Stunned, Mike beat at the insects, brushing them from his terrified son’s legs. Smashed ants littered the trail. Crushed, their bodies still impossibly twitched.

“Oh Jesus…” Mike moaned. “They’re zombies. Kyle, run! Back to the cave!”

Pushing Kyle ahead of him, Mike glanced back. The mosquitoes forgot about the armadillo and darted towards them. The trail was covered with ants. When he looked back toward the cave, the insects blocked their path, surrounding them.

“Dad—”

“Get off the trail.” Mike shoved him onto the grass. “Keep running!”

The zombies didn’t disappear, he thought. They just changed. It’s not the humans and animals anymore. It’s the fucking bugs!