The Rising

The chilling water splashed upon his face, shocking him awake from a nightmare of zombies trying to eat his brain. He sat up, looking around for the source of a leak, and mentally kicked himself once he saw his friend standing over him with a cup in hand. She was looking down at him wearily through her contacts, and wearing her favorite combination of orange and pink face paint. Her hand extended to help him up while the other dried his face with a hand towel.

“Sorry about that, but I had to wake you. This is kind of an emergency. We have to get you to a hospital immediately.” He looked at her confused, until the memory of him getting chomped on returned, and played in a loop inside his head. He had seriously hoped the event had all been a terrible dream. But the wound was very real, and now that all the blood was rinsed away, it looked twice as hideous. What scarcity of skin remained attached to the muscle looked rotten, greenish, and peeling away. It definitely still hurt, but not as bad as it looked like it should.

“I cleaned the wound while you were out,” she informed. Her lips bent upwards in a weak smile. “Good thing mom let me play nurse whenever Toni hurt himself when we were younger. Way more fun than dad forcing me to ride along in that dinky food delivery truck; I’d always reek of cabbage and eggs by day’s end.”

His eyes suddenly shot wide open in panic, and nervously scanned every inch of the room. “What’s the matter, dude?” He pulled his shirt up to cover his head, raised both arms and wobbled back and forth.

“Oh, don’t worry. I took care of her. It turns out they aren’t very dangerous without a head. I dragged her down to the basement and locked her in the deep freezer. She’s either frozen by now, or still wiggling around down there, but I’ll be damned if I go and check.” His nodding head concurred.

“Come check out the news. You aren't going to believe what's been happening outside.” She tugged on his left arm and led him to the living room where the television awaited to reveal the truth.

“Again, we repeat: The dead have risen from their graves to terrorize the streets of Karma City, fiending for flesh.” The news reporter wore a false calm like a mask so as not to elicit panic in any viewers of the broadcast, but the despair evident in his body language was obvious to Rupert.

“It is vital that you stay inside your homes at all times until this threat can be contained. Ration your food supply wisely and lock the doors. Arm yourselves and be ready for anything. I know it all sounds like some silly zombie movie, but I assure you that this is no hoax. This unbelievable threat is very real, and very serious. For a better explanation of this devastating situation, we have with us, Dr. Eric Fisher, an expert pathologist.”

The camera panned over to a middle-aged Middle Eastern man wearing a lab coat and glasses. The expression on his face made him appear bored, as if he had somewhere else he would rather be. Nodding to the reporter, the scientist cleared his throat before beginning his speech.

“After examining one of the corpses closely, my team and I have found that the cause of this phenomenon happens to be a highly contagious super virus transmitted through contact with either the blood or saliva of a host or victim. The virus revives the host's nervous system, sending electrical pulses to the brain. The victim's body is held hostage, acting purely on primitive urges and instincts while the virus thrives on cannibalistic nourishment. If there is no human meat available, to sustain itself, the virus will begin feasting on the host's inner organs, inevitably leaving nothing behind but rotted remains.”

To mask his fear, Rupert stood from the sofa and exited the living room to grab a glass of Dreamonade. He could not believe it, no matter how true the man on television made it seem. But regardless of his disbelief of this ridiculous, reality-shattering impossibility, he needed to face the facts. Any moment now, he was going to turn into a zombie.

More importantly, he could no longer stay here with Rapture; it was far too risky to involve her from this point on. He hoped it would be easy to explain, since there was no chance she would just let him leave.

“If you have come in contact with this virus and survived, it is crucial that you stay away from any loved ones, and make your way to the local Copeland hospital. The military is currently airlifting unaffected pedestrians by helicopter, as well as dropping off a newly developed antivirus.” This news appeased their joint feeling of hopelessness. He even dared to smile some as he returned with two glasses of refreshing lemonade.

“Ah, hopefully that explains it,” said Rapture. “I’ve been calling my parents’ home, cell, and work numbers all day but neither of them have answered. Toni’s school said his class was on a field trip outside the city. As far as the news has let on, this is only taking place inside of Karma, which means he’s safely away from the outbreak. Maybe they’re both stuck at the hospital without a signal, and the phone lines are really busy thanks to the crisis.” She gave a mournful sigh, and a tiny tear rolled down her cheek. Seeing her like this nearly caused a sobbing fit, but he held it together, giving her an optimistic nod.

“I did manage to get in contact with your mom and dad, though. I let them know you were here with me, which was a weight lifted off their minds. I told them you had fainted, but I didn’t mention you might be infected. Last time I talked to them, they were hiding out in the basement. Neither of them were bitten, so they were just going to wait it out down there. Do you wanna call them back and talk to them?”

He seriously considered her offer, and then declined half a second later. His mother was an ex-cop with several forms of protection in the house, and his dad was a big, burly bouncer at a nightclub. If anyone would be safe during this epidemic, it would be them. There was no need to make them even more paranoid and risk them endangering themselves trying to rescue him. Besides, his vow prevented any successful means of conversation over the phone. He would see them when this was all over, assuming he survived.

To distract the both of them, he made a few hinting gestures involving his injured arm, and she headed back to her bathroom to grab her stock of emergency bandages, all the while cursing her forgetfulness. As they watched the titillating broadcast, she tightly wrapped up his arm, making sure not to cause him pain.

“If you for some reason are unable to stay inside shelter, the military is also working on liberating the hospital of the deceased, as well as maintaining control of the streets. While avoiding populated areas, make your way to the hospital to be transported to safety. Otherwise, please remain indoors until this problem has been taken care of.”

Turning off the television, she went to her room in a hurry, leaving him to contemplate sneaking away before she had a chance to follow. Pensively, he rubbed the tenderly cared for injury, now cleaned and dressed, before finishing the last savory gulp of lemonade. Setting the glass on the floor, he jumped up from his seat and set off for the front door. Before he even took his first step, he knew he could not leave her without first saying goodbye.

Running his hands through his hair, he kicked the beanbag sofa over to relieve some of the building frustration that came with such a difficult dilemma. Grabbing his coat from the closet, he looked to her room, and then directly outside. The sun was already starting to set. It would be dark in an hour or so. He pondered how long he had been unconscious before remembering that the door was knocked down and she was no longer safe alone here regardless. This made the choice a no-brainer. It meant that if he was forced to face this harsh, dangerous environment, she was tagging along, because he was obligated to protect her.

“Hey! You weren't about to run away without me, were you?” She bounded back in the room with her hands hiding something behind her back, her teeth gleaming as she grinned. She now wore a different pink top from the night before underneath a violet vest that matched her track pants, and a curly orange wig planted atop her head. A part of him always laughed at her appearance; at least she kept her dignity intact by refusing to wear a degrading squeaky red nose. He shook his head with a discouraged look and pointed behind her back to express his curiosity.

“Ta-da!” She pulled out a case of face paint, disappointing him entirely. “This is for you. Consider it war paint. If you do end up dying, don't you want to go down miming?” Grimacing, because she honestly believed her words would cheer him up, he nodded and accepted her makeover.

“I’m sure you’re really eager to leave, but I bet you don’t even have a plan, do you?” she asked once decorating his face was complete. He crossed his arms, already annoyed she had to come with him, and now she had the nerve to give lectures.

“You do realize it’s most likely a bloodbath outside, right? How do you expect us to get there without our limbs being torn off?” He dug into his pocket to retrieve his car keys. “Fine, I guess riding in your crappy car is better than nothing. What about weapons, though? We need something to fight with in case we get cornered.”

Looking around for a weapon, he picked up the same broom he used to defend her the night before, twisted off the brush top, and held it over his head like a hunter would a spear. She doubled over in laughter at both the sight, and the idea of using a broom to ward off flesh-eating zombies. He was starting to think taking her with him would have its perks.

Remembering something, his expression read eureka as he snapped his fingers. He took off through what had formerly been the doorway, leaving the laughing clown behind confused.

“Where the hell are you going?” she half-shouted, half-whispered after him. Cautiously looking both ways for the living dead, he ran straight for his car, opened the trunk to lift out a box, and slammed it shut on his way back to the house, hoping nothing had seen him enter. Before she could yell at him for doing something reckless, he popped the top of the box open and showed off his prize: a collection of cherry bombs and a stretched out sock full of tiny rubber ducks.

“Dude, aren't these things illegal?” He nodded proudly. “Damn! That is so cool! Where'd you get them?” Simply shrugging, he picked up the sock and spun it over his head like a flail. “Ooh! This just gave me another great idea. Gimme a sec, I'll be right back.” She left the room, skipping to her bedroom closet, leaving her partner to think of something heavier than squeaking rubber bath toys to put in the sock.

“Now, you have to admit that this is flipping ingenious,” she boasted while dragging a trunk chest into the room. Flipping up the locks, she threw back the top and presented another disappointment to him: a chest full of whipped cream pies. “Cherry-pie bombs! If we're blowing people's faces off, we're doing it in style. Now get to stuffing, buddy!”

An unconvinced mime raised an eyebrow in question of her bright idea. There was no scenario he could picture where a whipped cream-covered zombie would be any less threatening. However, not wanting to cave in to the pressure of whatever form of puppy dog eyes his friend would apply to get her way regardless, he simply complied with her wishes.

Ten minutes later, the duo was ready for the challenge ahead. Traversing a chaotic city infested with insanity and death to reach the safety of an army-guarded hospital didn't seem quite as impossible if they were leaving together. He honestly believed they might even make it there alive.

Wielding a broomstick, a few dozen cherry bombs, and a sock full of nickels, the two were fully confident that a massacre awaited them outside. But if he were to survive, they had no choice.

“Heck yeah! Let's go kick some zombie a*s!”

BOOM!

Something heavy hit the ground outside, sending the clown into a frightened frenzy. “Oh crap! Oh hell! They're here! I'm not ready for this!” She ran frantically around the room, flailing her hands in the air until finally leaping into his arms like a spooked cartoon character. The shivering girl put much strain on his right arm, and he nearly dropped her on the floor. Looking down at her terrified expression, he shook his head at his would-be support, and was very tempted to carry her to the noise so she could check it out herself.

Laying her down on the sofa, he put a hand on her chest, insisting she stay put until he returned, and pressed a finger to her lips to hush her fearful sobbing. Grabbing the broom handle, he took one last look at her before pulling open the sliding side door, and slipping around to the back of the house where he suspected the startling sound had come from.

It did not take long for him to discover what had been the cause of the disturbance; a rather large tree branch had fallen in his friend's backyard, only a few feet off from hitting the house. If it had cracked a different way, it could have crashed through the roof and instantly buried the unsuspecting pair under a ton of bark and bricks.

Counting the near-death experience as a lucky fluke, he dismissed the incident entirely, and began scanning the area for zombies, trying his best to prevent being followed inside. Once he was certain there were no threats lurking around, he started his stealthy return to the living room, eager to tell his partner the relieving news.

That is, until her blood-curdling scream erupted from inside, followed swiftly by a small, but considerably loud explosion. Again he mentally kicked himself, this time for leaving her alone, and sprinted back inside with his homemade spear in hand, ready to confront the danger.

Reaching his destination, he found Rapture with her hands covering her mouth in shock as a body covered in blood and dirt hovered over her. Acting quickly, he leapt to her defense, swinging the broomstick with all his might to crack the assailant on the head.

“Ouch!” yelled the injured victim, taking the youth by surprise. He was still struggling with the concept of a talking zombie when it asked, “What the hell is wrong with you two?”

Hearing the familiar voice upset his stomach. Once the man turned around to reveal his slanted down eyebrows, twisted snarl, and the rimless eyeglasses hanging crookedly on his plainly pissed off face, the mime knew that he was in deep trouble for smacking Staniel Lee in the head; Rapture's father was going to kill him.

“Damn it, Connors, gimme that thing.” Groggily, the man snatched the broom handle away and proceeded to whip the eighteen-year-old on the shoulder, causing the mime to glower. “Who taught you it was acceptable to just bash guys with blunt objects in the back of the head?” The mime shrugged. “Hold on. What the hell are you doing here, anyway?”

“Hey! Don't be mean to Rupert, daddy. He was only trying to protect me.” The clown crossed her arms and pouted. Once she had her father's attention and saw the anger in his eyes, she backed away from him, hiding behind her friend with a frightened, “Eek!”

“And you, Vanessa Rapture Lee! You damn near blew my hand off just now. No need to ask where ya got those explosives from.” The death glare he received made Rupert wish he could just turn into a zombie now and gobble the older man up.

“Jeez, old man. Why you be so grumpy?” his daughter peeped in a silly accent from behind her human shield. The laughter in her voice made it obvious to both shield and disgruntled parent that her cowardly act was just for play.

“Well pardon me for worrying and running across a dying, disease-ridden town to check on my one and only daughter, who instead of saying thank you, tries to blow me to pieces while her friend clocks me on the head with a stick. All things considered, I think I deserve a little grumpy time!” he growled, rage fuming from his flaring nostrils.

“Well, you can't fault us for it. You're covered in blood and dirt and who knows what else. In eyes clouded by weighty paranoia, you're a dead ringer for a zombie. And to be totally honest, neither of us have ever seen you so… filthy.”

It was true that Mr. Lee had an obsession with cleanliness. Filth was his mortal enemy, causing him to be an overbearing, manipulative neat-freak with a quick temper that gave both the clown and mime chills. “Why are you so dirty, daddy? Didn't you drive here?”

“Of course. I drove here straight from work. I took the company van and zoomed through the chaos. I ran over a few people, crashed through a wall, and probably chipped a nail too.” He examined his finger to check. “Either that, or you blew it off just now being the reckless knucklehead I raised. And excuse me if I'm dirty, but I had to squat and crawl in the muddy grass just to reach my vehicle without being spotted. I endangered my life, and my hygiene, just to check up on you. I guess being a dedicated dad goes unappreciated these days.” Now that all his frustration was vented, the older man took a calming breath and looked at the two confused teen faces staring back.

“What?” he asked, tired of their dopey, painted faces gawking at him. Knowing her father to be mostly rational and sane, it was hard for her to believe his lapse in competence. She attributed this rarity to his primal concern for her safety.

“Did you say you took the company van? The one you use to transport food?” They all froze for a moment, and sure enough, the unmistakable sounds of glass shattering and groaning could be heard outside, sending the trio running to see a horde of walking dead busting through the van or chewing on meat. Any zombies still lingering outside the van turned to face the meal now presenting itself on the front porch.

“Okay, I guess in hindsight, it kinda was a dumb idea to drive a van full of freshly cooked meals through a city crawling with undead cannibals.” Looking at the pair of clowns who were hugging each other in fear, Mr. Lee put his head in his hands and prayed. “Please tell me either of you two goofballs has an escape plan.”