The Rising: Selected Scenes from the End of the World

He glanced back down at Penny. Her breathing was shallow, her expression frozen in a grimace. He had to try.

The closest drug store, located at the Forest Hill Chase Shopping Centre, was two kilometers away. Surely he could make it that far. They’d have medicine there, if the looters hadn’t cleaned it out. And if he needed to, perhaps he could even make it as far as the Box Hill Hospital. Find a doctor or a nurse. Antibiotics. It was only ten kilometers. When he looked at his sleeping wife, and felt his love for her stirring in his breast, that didn’t seem far at all. He could do it. He had to do it. Leigh searched the house for weapons, and found a wooden mallet and two long, sharp kitchen knives. They’d have to do. He embedded the blades into each side of the mallet, fashioning a crude but effective double-edged axe, and swung it to test the weight.

“Fucking Conan.” He grinned. “Have at thee, dogs!”

He whirled the weapon over his head, and accidentally hit the lamp.

“Shit.”

On the couch, Penny stirred, mumbled, and then went back to sleep.

He went to the window and peeked outside. An undead cat lay twitching in the road, unable to move. Its spine had been crushed and a fresh tire tread stood out in its burst stomach. There were no other zombies in sight. The flock of birds, living or dead, had vanished.

Leigh considered his options. He could sneak into the garage and drive his Honda Integra to the drug store. After a moment, he decided against it. Not only would the engine’s noise wake Penny, but also, it would draw more attention from the things outside. Better to go on foot, stealthily, moving from one hiding place to another. It would be easier to avoid detection that way.

Leigh wrote a note to Penny, and laid it on the table next to the sofa. He kissed her forehead, and whispered softly in her ear.

“I love you. I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

Then, taking one last look out the window to make sure the coast was clear, he unlocked the door and crept outside.

The street was quiet.

“I promise. An hour. Maybe less. Just like nipping off for some smokes or the newspaper.”

Gripping his weapon with both hands, Leigh Haig took a walk through Hell.

HELLHOUNDS ON

MY TRAIL

The Rising

Day Nine

King’s Lynn, England

It wasn’t a good plan. He knew that. But it wasn’t an awful plan either. In fact, it wasn’t so much a plan as it was a final option. Reach the Boal Quay docks without getting killed or eaten, steal a fishing boat, and be well away from land before dark. The docks were three miles from the Queen Elizabeth hospital, where they both worked. Going on foot would take just over an hour. It would be tough with those things outside, but what choice was there? They had to try.

Before they left, Jason Houghton wished (and not for the first time) for a gun. Nothing fancy, just something to even the odds a bit. It wasn’t that guns were non-existent in England. They weren’t. But you had to know somebody who could get you one, and he hadn’t. He was a hospital computer system administrator, not a criminal or a soldier. Even if they reached Boal Quay, neither of them had any idea how to pilot a boat, but they’d learn fast. Hopefully. Still, the open sea was better than staying here. King’s Lynn (or just “Lynn” as the locals called it), located on England’s east coast, was a historic port town with a population of just over 36,000 souls. Now, most of those souls had departed, and something else had taken up residence inside their bodies.

They’d left the hospital fifteen minutes ago. Catherine, his girlfriend of nearly ten years, was armed with a meat cleaver from the hospital’s cafeteria, and Jason carried a makeshift propane bottle blowtorch.

The hellhounds had followed them every step of the way.

Jason had encountered plenty of zombies in the last nine days. The first, on day two of what society called “The Rising,” had emerged from a restroom stall when Jason was at the cinema. He hadn’t even realized it was dead at the time. The fat bastard suffered a heart attack while sitting on the bog. Then he’d tried to eat Jason and another patron. Since then, he’d seen hundreds more. But nothing like what cornered them now.

Jason froze, but his pulse raced. Catherine squeezed his hand. Her nails dug into his flesh, but Jason barely felt it.

The largest of the pack, a mix of Labrador, Beagle, and Rottweiler, stepped forward and growled. A tag around its collar indicated that the dog’s name was Sam. Despite his terror, Jason almost laughed. Sam wasn’t what you named an attack dog. They had proper names like Killer or Lucifer. Sam was what you named a good dog. Perhaps a timid dog, the type to inch towards a stranger with its tail tucked firmly between its quivering legs and ears hanging down, to offer their outstretched hand a timid lick. Now, in death, it was the fiercest of the lot, and would quickly tear off any hand offered its way.

“Good dog,” he stammered. “Hello, Sam. There’s a nice dog.”