The Rising: Selected Scenes from the End of the World

Terry watched the pier through the rain, looking for his mother and stepfather’s car, or his sister’s van. “Besides,” Chip continued, “if your mom is as psychic as she claims, wouldn’t she have seen whatever delayed them in advance?”

“Chantal would call at least. She’s got Dad with her.”Terry’s real father, Mike, had his leg amputated the year before, and now spent his time in a wheelchair, popping pain pills and drinking himself into oblivion. He was coming to the reunion with Terry’s sister, Chantal.

The raindrops whispered against the boat’s deck, and plunked into the waters of Lake Vermilion. In the distance, they could see the town of Virginia. Terry’s family was supposed to arrive around dawn, after driving all night, for the annual family reunion. The gathering was held each year at Terry and Chip’s place on Ghost Island. The lakeside dwelling was accessible from the mainland only by boat. Chip reached out and squeezed his hand. “The weather probably slowed them down. That’s all. Everything will be fine.”

Terry smiled at him, and tried to relax. That was easy to do with Chip at his side. They’d met when Terry was nineteen and Chip was thirty-two, and Terry still thanked God every day for putting Chip in his life.

The boat rocked slightly as Chip walked over to the radio and turned it on. Terry watched him as he moved past—the Richard Gere type, with thick, gray hair and a solid, healthy build. The past eighteen years together had been wonderful, and Terry looked forward to many, many more. Chip had helped him get over so much from his past. Were it not for Chip, he’d never be able to host these annual reunions. Some things never stayed buried.

His past—his family—was one of those things. Chip turned the dial, searching the airwaves. Curiously, there was no music, no traffic reports, no zany morning show antics. Each station featured announcers talking in the same grim, somber tones. Federal authorities were not commenting on why a government research center in Hellertown, Pennsylvania had been shut down overnight. The Director of Homeland Security assured the reporters that the situation was under control, and that there was no danger to the public, but due to national security concerns, they couldn’t say more at this time. Terrorism was not suspected.

In Escanaba, Michigan, over twenty people had been killed, and dozens more injured, when an apparent riot erupted during a rock concert.

Stranger still, some form of mass hysteria seemed to be springing up at random across the country, and according to some reports, throughout the world. The reports didn’t make a whole lot of sense, and it was apparent that some of the newscasters were skeptical as they read them. Stories were told of the dead coming back to life—in morgues and at funerals and in the back of ambulances and on the battlefield.

“Sounds like those movies you always watch,”

Chip laughed. “Where the corpses run around and eat people?”

“Yeah,” Terry replied, shivering. “Weird, huh?”

Headlights pierced the early morning gloom, and a moment later, his sister’s van pulled up, followed by his mother’s car.

Terry took a deep breath. Goosebumps dotted his arms, and he wondered why. He chalked it up to the dampness in the air.

Chip led him across the deck. “Come on. Brave face. It’s only one weekend.”

They climbed onto the dock and slowly walked towards the parking lot. Nobody got out of the vehicles. As they got closer, Terry grew alarmed. There was a jagged, splintered hole in the car’s windshield, and the van’s front grille was crumpled. A splash of red covered the white hood. Terry broke into a run. “Oh God! There’s been an accident!”

He could see his sister’s silhouette behind the rain-streaked van windshield, but couldn’t tell if she was hurt or not. As he dashed around to the driver’s-side door, Chip opened the sliding door on the side.

Terry’s father rolled out on top of him, and sank his teeth into Chip’s ear.

Chantal burst from the vehicle, slamming the door into Terry’s legs. He collapsed to the ground, skinning his palms on the wet asphalt. Chantal giggled. Somewhere out of sight, his parents’ car doors creaked open.

“Sorry we’re late, Terry,” Chantal croaked. “There was a major fender bender in Duluth, and then we stopped for a bite.”

His sister was a grisly sight. Her nose was a swollen, broken bulb, and a portion of her scalp had peeled back, revealing the pink meat between it and her skull. She reached for him, and Terry gaped in horror. His sister’s hand was broken at the wrist, and twisted into a deformed claw.

“Chantal,” he gasped. “You’re hurt!”

Chip shrieked.

“Wow,” Chantel snickered, “I haven’t seen Dad this active in awhile.”

Terry stared in horror at Chip’s ear dangling from his father’s clenched teeth.