The Rising: Selected Scenes from the End of the World

Trygve shook his hand. “Wasn’t there an American singer with the same name?”

Don nodded. “Yep. ‘Bye bye Miss American Pie, drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry.’

I think he spelled his last name different though.”

Trygve’s stomach rumbled. “I could go for some American Pie right now. Any kind of pie.”

Don laughed. “I don’t have any food, but there’s water, if you’re thirsty?”

“Please.”

Trygve brought the canteen to his lips. The water was warm and oily, but it was the sweetest he’d ever drunk.

“So,” Don asked. “Any ideas on what to do next?”

“They are dying off.” Trygve sealed the canteen and wiped his lips. “The zombies. The people and animals stopped moving a few days ago. They’re just regular corpses again. And the same thing seems to be happening with the plants and insects now. They’re moving slower, not attacking. The last few miles here, I wasn’t attacked by anything.”

“What if they come back? Maybe this is some form of hibernation, or transformation.”

Trygve shrugged. “My plan all along was to make a wilderness walk up Kjøsterudjuvet. Get high up into the mountains, where there is snow all year, and live there.”

“But the zombies would find you there, too. The mountains are just as dangerous as the cities—

maybe more.”

Trygve shrugged out of his beekeeper’s outfit and coat, and leaned back against the wall. He performed a cursory check of his weapons: flamethrower, two pistols, and a long, sharp knife.

“I don’t think they would,” he said. “What are the zombies? Reanimated corpses. Cut off an arm or a leg, and they keep coming. They’re dead. But yet they move. Function. My theory is this—if I get to some place where the temperature is below freezing, the zombies can’t move. After all, since they’re dead, they have no body heat, nothing to keep their blood and tissues from freezing. If they tried to invade such a region, they’d stop in their tracks, frozen into place.”

His stomach rumbled again. It had been five days since Trygve had last eaten, and fourteen days since he’d had more than a mouthful at a time. He’d lost weight, and looked much older than his thirtythree years of age. The last month had been hard on him, to say the least.

Don looked thoughtful. “Well, I’m not a biologist or a scientist, but I guess that makes sense. If their blood and stuff freezes, then they can’t move. Could we make it into the mountains?”

Trygve nodded. “As long as they stay in hibernation, yes. We can find a vehicle and be there in a few hours. Then we’ll climb.”

“Climb?”

“I’ve hiked in the Himalayas. I can teach you how.”

“Well, shit!” Don grinned. “Let’s go now. I’m tired of hiding out in this gift shop.”

“Sleep now,” Trygve suggested. “We’ll leave tomorrow morning. Find some food first, and then set out on our journey.”

Don rubbed his stomach. “Food. That would work. I miss pancakes and bacon. God, I’m hungry.”

“Yes,” Trygve agreed. “Me, too.”

They made small talk for a while longer. Trygve sharpened his knife and Don prattled about all the foods he missed. After a while, the American’s eyes grew heavy, and he stifled a yawn. Trygve smiled.

“Sleep, my friend. I’ll stand watch.”

Don didn’t argue with him, and soon, he was fast asleep, snoring softly.

Trygve waited for ten more minutes, making sure the American would not wake. Then, when the hunger pangs in his stomach grew unbearable, he slid forward, put the knife’s blade to Don’s throat, and sliced. Blood spattered across Trygve’s face. Don’s eyes flew open. He grasped at the gaping wound, his fingers coming away slick with blood. Trygve held him down, and waited for him to die. It didn’t take long.

When it was over, Trygve stripped off the man’s clothing and went to work, skinning and cleaning the body, cutting him up like a cow in a butcher’s shop…steaks, chops, thighs—meat.

He drooled through the entire grisly task. Finished, he pulled some plastic freezer bags out of his backpack, and slipped the meat inside. He left a large section of breast out, started a fire, and cooked it over the open flame.

“I’m sorry, my friend, but it is a long journey into those mountains, and I don’t know how much food I’ll be able to find.”

Whistling the tune the American had been singing, Trygve Botnen sank his teeth into the flesh, closed his eyes, and sighed with delight. He slept soundly that night, his belly full. Outside, in the night sky, a new star appeared. It grew brighter and bigger by the hour. The temperature began to rise.

TWO SUNS IN

THE SUNSET

The Rising

Day Thirty-One

Oconto, Nebraska

Big R wondered if he was the last person left alive on Earth.

He wondered a lot of things. First and foremost, was his name really Big R? Why was he here? Where the hell was everybody else?