The Rising: Selected Scenes From The End Of The World

“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?”

The driver pulled into the parking garage, and turned off the engine.

“Hey,” Jamie protested, his skin beginning to crawl. “What are you doing?”

“Freeing up your body, so that one of my brothers can inhabit it.”

“What—”

Without another word, the cabbie crawled into the backseat and fell upon him.

WATCHING THE

WORLD END

The Rising

Day Six

Snyder, Oklahoma

Wolf Blitzer told William King that the following footage was going to be graphic, but Will had seen it all before, so he changed channels. He clicked to MSNBC, but they were still off the air, and Fox News was re-running the same footage as CNN. In it, the Secretary of State was giving a press briefing, sweating profusely and looking nervous, assuring the assembled reporters that the President, Vice President, and cabinet members were all fine, and that the crisis was passing. The Federal Emergency Management Agency would soon have it under control, and everything would return to normal. Until then, martial law would remain in effect as a cautionary measure.

The Secretary of State mopped his brow, called upon another reporter, and then, suddenly, all hell broke loose. The President darted onto the stage from somewhere off-camera, and sank his teeth into the Secretary of State’s arm. He chewed through the immaculate, tailored suit and came away with a mouthful of flesh. The Secretary of State screamed, the reporters shrieked, and then the President looked at the camera and unleashed a string of obscenities—all of which the media were beeping out. A Secret Service agent pulled his weapon and pointed it at the President, and then a second agent shot the first. Gunfire and chaos erupted in the room, and the screen faded to static, as Fox News joined the leagues of those no longer broadcasting. So Will clicked back to CNN and Wolf Blitzer. What else was there to do? He’d decided yesterday, after he’d killed his mother, Carol, and his sister, Pari. They hadn’t shown any signs of infection yet, but how could he be sure? He’d made the choice. He was going to sit here and watch the world end, via satellite, on his 20-inch television. Snyder was Will’s home away from home. Here, they called him Will, rather than William, which was what they called him back in Portland. The threebedroom rancher sat on the outskirts of town. It was easy to defend, surrounded by plowed fields and rural countryside. The two-car garage had been converted to a den, and after dispatching his mother and sister, Will had barricaded himself inside the den, constructing a plywood and cinder block wall between it and the rest of the house. He’d brought along a rifle, food and water, a first aid kit, and his cats—Hunter, Boo, and Ally.

He reached down and scratched Hunter behind the ears. The gray tabby arched its back in appreciation. Perched on the shelf, Ally looked at him reproachfully.

“What kind of a name is Wolf Blitzer, anyway?”

Will asked the cats.

Hunter purred in agreement, Boo continued napping, and Ally kept staring at him.

“I’m not crazy,” he told her. “So quit looking at me. They could have been infected. The news said that it might have been caused by biological or chemical warfare. Or some kind of virus.”

Ally didn’t blink, and Will tried to read the small calico’s mind.

Yes, it could have been those things. But the news said it could also be government testing, alien invasion, the Second Coming of Christ, and radiation from a meteor.

“That’s ridiculous,” Will insisted, and sipped warm beer from a can. “There’s no such thing as aliens. This was obviously some kind of contaminant.”

He grabbed the remote and flicked through the dwindling number of channels that remained on the air— surfing chaos. In Pennsylvania, a National Guard Colonel named Schow had reportedly ordered the death of civilians by firing squad. They were accused of looting. In Baltimore, zombies overran the entire airport. The Reverend Pat Robertson had committed suicide, believing that the Rapture had occurred and he’d missed it. In China, the dead had seized control of a nuclear reactor and intentionally caused it to meltdown. Chicago was on fire. The military had retreated from New York City after losing control.

“And this just in,” Wolf Blitzer told him as he returned to CNN. “You’re looking at footage from the London Zoo, where The Rising, as it’s come to be called, is also affecting the animals. This thirty-year old elephant died just an hour ago, and now it seems to be infected by the same symptoms as—”

Will froze.

“My apologies,” Wolf Blitzer told the camera. He looked scared. “There seems to be a disturbance outside the studio. As you know, we’re broadcasting from Atlanta, rather than New York, and—”

There was an explosion and the anchorman’s throat exploded in a wet, red spray. A black-gloved hand appeared, blocking the camera. A voice shouted, “Turn it off! Turn it off now! We’re shutting you down!”

There was another gunshot, and then the picture dissolved into snow.

He changed channels, and found the local news broadcast. A county official was wringing his hands, pleading for the populace to remain calm. The reporter laughed at him, but the official continued. But Will wasn’t paying attention. He was still thinking about the zoo—and the zombie elephant.

“The animals, too.”

He stopped scratching Hunter, and picked up the rifle. Ally didn’t move. She cocked her head and continued staring.

Will didn’t meet her eyes when he pulled the trigger.

The blast frightened Hunter and woke up Boo. Both cats scrambled for cover, howling and spitting. Will reloaded and then finished the job, shooting each of them in the head, just as he’d done his mother and sister.

Then he stood panting in the middle of the floor, tears streaming down his face.

“I’m not crazy. I’M NOT FUCKING CRAZY!”

Clutching the rifle by its still smoking barrel, he collapsed into the recliner.

“They could have been infected,” he muttered.

“What else was I supposed to do? I’m not crazy.”

The man on the television agreed with him.

“I’m not crazy,” the official snarled at the jeering reporter. “None of us are safe. There’s no rhyme or reason. Any one of us can become one of these things. And sooner or later, we all will. Sooner or later, we all have to die.”

Will blinked. The guy was right. Despite what he’d done, he still wasn’t safe, not even here, barricaded inside the den. He could become one. Eventually, he would.

So he put the rifle in his mouth and pulled the trigger, while the world ended on the television screen.

With the gunshot still echoing inside the garage, the power went out and the screen faded to black.

THE FALL OF ROME

The Rising