Rise of the Governor

bouncing against their backs. Nick perks up.

“There they are!”

“Thank God,” Brian says, lowering the Marlin shotgun until the butt rests on the floor. He’s shaking. He shoves his left hand in his pocket, and he tries to get a grip on himself. He does not want his brother to see him shaking.

“Let’s get the door open,” Nick says, leaning his shotgun in the corner.

He gets the door open just as Philip and April are roaring up the walk, a multitude of Biters on their heels. April roars through the doorway first, shaking and hyperventilating with adrenaline.

Philip follows her in, his dark eyes aglow with testosterone-fueled mania. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”

Nick slams the door just in time. Three Biters crash into the outer glass, rattling the steel-impregnated door, their drooling mouths leaving streaks. Several pairs of milky-white eyes gaze in through the greasy glass at the people in the foyer. Dead fingers claw at the door. Other Biters are staggering up the walk.

Brian has his shotgun raised at the figures outside the door. He backs away. “What the hell is going on, man! Where were you guys?”

Nick ushers them through the inner door and into the foyer. April drops her bulging duffel. “That was—that was—Jesus, that was close!”

Philip sets down his pack. “Girl, you got some cojones, I’ll give you that.”

Nick steps up. “What’s the idea, Philly! You guys just disappear without telling anybody?”

“Talk to her,” Philip says with a grin, shoving his Ruger inside his belt.

“We were totally freaking out!” Nick rants. “We were about one second away from going outside to look for you!”

“Calm down, Nicky.”

“Calm down? Calm down! We were turning the place upside down looking for you! Tara was about to have a shit fit!”

“It’s my fault,” April says, wiping the grime from her neck.

“Look at our take, man!” Philip indicates the loot stuffed into the bags.

Nick has his fists clenched. “Then we hear a fucking explosion? What are we supposed to think? Was that you guys? Did you have something to do with that?”

Philip and April exchange a glance, and Philip says, “That idea was kinda both of ours.”

April cannot stifle her victorious grin as Philip takes a step toward her, raising his hand. “How about a high five, darlin’?”

They high-five each other, with Nick and Brian staring in disbelief. Nick is about to say something else when a figure appears on the other side of the foyer, pushing through the inner door.

“Oh my God!” Tara storms into the room and goes to her sister. She pulls April into a bear hug. “Oh my God, I was so freaked! Thank God you’re okay! Thank God! Thank God!”

April pats her sister. “I’m sorry, Tara, it was something I had to do.”

Tara lets go, her face flashing with anger. “I ought to beat the shit outta you. Seriously! I’m telling that little girl you’re just upstairs, but she’s getting as freaked as I am! What am I supposed to do? That was a goddamn stupid, irresponsible thing to do! Which is so goddamn typical of you, April!”

“What the hell does that mean?” April gets into her sister’s face. “Why don’t you say what you mean for once?”

“You fucking bitch.” Tara winds up like she’s going to slap the younger woman when Philip suddenly steps in between them.

“Whoa there, Tonto!” Philip gives Tara a reassuring pat. “Hold on a second. Take a deep breath, sis.” Philip nods toward the duffel bags. “I want to show you something. Okay? Just cool your pits for a second.”

He kneels down and unzips the bags, displaying the contents.

The others stare silently at the supplies. Philip straightens back up and looks Tara in the eyes. “That ‘fucking bitch’ there saved our asses today—there’s food and water in there. That ‘fucking bitch’ risked her ass, not knowing if she’d be able to pull it off and not wanting anybody else to get hurt. You ought to be kissing that ‘fucking bitch’s’ feet.”

Tara looks away from the duffel bags and looks down at the floor. “We were worried, that’s all,” she says in a feeble, low voice.

Nick and Brian are now both kneeling by the duffel bags, looking through the treasures. “Philly,” Nick says, “I have to admit: You guys kicked ass.”

“You guys rock,” Brian mutters almost under his breath with awe as he rifles through the toilet paper and the beef jerky and the water filters. The emotional atmosphere in the room begins to shift with the slow certainty of clouds parting. Smiles appear on all their faces.

Soon, even Tara is throwing grudging glances over their shoulders at the contents of the duffel bags. “Any cigarettes in there?”

“Here’s three cartons of Reds,” April says, leaning down and digging out the cigarettes. “Enjoy them, you fucking bitch.”

With a good-natured smile, she hurls the cartons at her sister.

Everybody laughs.

Nobody sees the small figure standing across the room, in the inner doorway, until Brian glances up. “Penny? You okay, kiddo?”

The little girl pushes the door open and walks into the foyer. She is still dressed in her pajamas, and her little peaches-and-cream face is chiseled with seriousness. “That man in there? Mr. Chah-merz? He just fell down.”

* * *

They find David Chalmers on the floor of the master bedroom, amid a litter of tissues and medications. Granules of broken glass from a fallen aftershave bottle sparkle like a halo around his trembling head.

“Jesus!—Daddy!” Tara kneels by the fallen man, pulling his oxygen tube free. David’s grizzled face is the color of nicotine as he involuntarily gasps for air, a fish out of water trying to breathe the poisonous atmosphere.

“He’s choking!” April hurries around to the other side of the bed, checking the oxygen tank, which lies on the floor on its side near the window, tangled in its tubing. The old man must have pulled it off the bedside table when he fell.

“Daddy? Can you hear me?” Tara gives the man’s ashen face a series of quick, light slaps.

“Check his tongue!”

“Daddy? Daddy?”

“Check his tongue, Tara!” April rushes back around the bed, the oxygen tank and a coil of tubing in her hands. While she does this, the others—Philip, Nick, Brian, and Penny—watch from the doorway. Philip feels helpless. He doesn’t know whether to jump in or just watch. The girls seem to know what they’re doing.

Tara gently levers open the old man’s mouth, looking down his gullet. “It’s clear.”

“Dad?” April kneels on the other side of him, positioning the tiny breathing apparatus under his hooked nose. “Daddy, can you hear me?”

David Chalmers keeps silently gasping, the back of his throat clucking painfully like a record skipping. His eyelids—as ancient and translucent as a mayfly’s wings—begin fluttering. Tara frantically feels under the back of his skull for signs of injury. “I don’t see any bleeding,” she says. “Daddy?”

April feels his forehead. “He’s ice-cold.”

“Is the oxygen running?”

“Full blast.”

“Daddy?” April gently repositions the old man so he’s lying supine with the oxygen tube across his upper lip. Again they give him little slaps. “Daddy? Daddy? Daddy, can you hear us? Daddy?”

The old man coughs, eyes fluttering. He blinks. He tries to get a good lungful of air, but his shallow breaths keep hitching in his throat. His eyes are rolled back in his head, and he appears to be only semiconscious.

“Daddy, look at me,” April says, her hand gently turning his face toward hers. “Can you see me?”

“Let’s get him on the bed,” Tara suggests. “Fellas, you mind giving us a hand?”

Philip, Nick, and Brian step into the room. Philip and Nick take one side of the old man, and Tara and Brian