The Rising: Selected Scenes from the End of the World

The guy behind Jamie shouldered his way forward. He stank of sour sweat and cigarette smoke.

“Where can we catch a train?” he demanded.

“This is bullshit.”

The woman didn’t look at him either. “All trains have been stopped as well. Nothing is running. The President just declared martial law a few minutes ago, and the country is now under a national state of emergency. There’s—”

A commotion broke out three counters down from them, as a wild-eyed young man vaulted over the counter and shoved a ticket agent out of the way. He grabbed the computer monitor and shook it.

“I’ve got to get home,” he snarled. “You don’t understand! My wife is pregnant!”

Jamie watched as the fallen woman rose to her knees. The young man reached down and grasped her hair, clenching it in his fist.

“I need to get home,” he screamed. “Tell me how, god damn it!”

Around them, a few bystanders watched the scene unfold, but no one stepped forward to intervene. More people ran by, screaming at each other, shouting into cell phones, or just looking generally dazed.

Earlier, after the first cancelled flight, when Jamie was stretched out in a hard, plastic chair and trying unsuccessfully to sleep, somebody had mentioned that the world was ending. He’d scoffed. But now he thought they might be right. The crazed man picked up the computer keyboard and slammed it over the ticket agent’s head. Blood flowed. Several people screamed. A few ran away. But most just watched, as if it were a movie or a play.

Jamie wanted to help her; he felt compelled to. But his feet remained rooted to the floor. He could only stare as a National Guardsman finally materialized from the crowd and, without one word of warning, raised his rifle, sighted, and then squeezed the trigger. The attacker’s head splattered against the wall. A moment later, his lifeless body tottered over.A woman standing next to Jamie fainted. Her newspaper fluttered across his feet and he glanced down at the headline. MASS HYSTERIA GRIPS NATION. THE DEAD WALK. BIO-TERROR NOT RULED OUT. Martial law. State of emergency. He needed to call home, needed to check on Joann and his kids, Travis and Leslie, as well as their families. His cell phone battery had died during his extended stay here at the airport. He glanced around in desperation and spied a bank of pay phones. Jamie pushed his way through the crowd, and waited ten minutes for a phone to become free. He had to elbow a fellow traveler out of the way when the man tried to step in front of him. He brought the phone to his ear and heard a dial tone. He pulled out his credit card and dialed his home in Rowland Heights, California. There was a pause, and a series of electronic crackles, but that was it. There was no ring, no answer. Just silence.

“Damn.”

He tried again, and got the same thing. Then he dialed Travis in Buena Park, California, and was greeted with more dead air. Calling Leslie and her husband, Martin, at their new home in Nampa, Idaho. This time, he got a recorded voice that told him all circuits were busy.

Frustrated, he slammed the phone back onto its cradle. His ears began to ring, and his skin felt flushed. Heart attack? Panic attack? He didn’t know but he realized that he needed to calm down. He’d never get home if he were hospitalized here in Baltimore.

The fear in the air increased, becoming almost tangible. Somewhere, a woman began to shriek. Jamie forced his way through the masses again, and exited the airport. He stood on the sidewalk, breathing in car exhaust fumes and cigarette smoke, and tried to think.

A taxi sat next to the curb, the driver slumped backward in the seat, his eyes closed, his mouth slightly parted. Maybe he could get a ride to a friend’s home—he had several that lived in the Baltimore area.

Jamie banged on the taxi’s window, and slowly, the driver opened his eyes.

“You in service?” Jamie asked.

The driver grinned, flashing yellowed teeth. He turned slightly, and unlocked the back door. Jamie hopped in, and closed the door behind him.“How much to take me to Cockeysville?”

The driver paused, considering the request.

“That’s a forty-five minute drive. And everything else is shut down. I can get you there for fifty bucks.”

Jamie grimaced. The cabbie’s voice sounded odd, gravelly. And now that he was inside, he noticed the man’s skin pallor, a sickly, pale color.

“Sounds like you’re my last chance to get out of here. Fifty is fine.”

The cabbie grunted, and pulled away from the curb.

“Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” Jamie offered, feeling guilty for waking him.

“Not at all,” the driver hissed. “My host had just suffered a heart attack, and I was still taking stock of his memories. You’re my first customer of the day.”

“What?”