River's Rising Page 4

  Praying, like mispronouncing his "Rs", was one of those habits that Raymond gave up trying to break Po of. Some battles just weren't worth fighting. As Po threw his Superman doll high up into the air (Po's unique way of making sure his messages were delivered) Raymond stood up, looked around to make sure Rowdy was still lying down next to Po and walked over to the cottage across the street.

  The Alamo cottage. Even though Raymond made it a point never to get too personal with the cottages he had to scrounge through for supplies these past three years, the Alamo cottage was different. It seemed to want him to explore it.

  With the small and inviting wooden walking bridge that crossed the creek running in front of the home, the Alamo cottage was Raymond's retreat. After a long night hunting, it was a place to hang up his burden of responsibility for a few minutes.

  Raymond headed around back, right through the arched walkway that led up to the gazebo. The last of the gardenia's were starting to die off and the wild flowers that grew around the wooden arch had already turned to dried leaves. He'd have to get back here before it got too cold to clear away more of the brush. Out of control house fires. Just another real danger Raymond was responsible for protecting Po from.

  Forgetting that for a moment, he stepped up into the gazebo, taking a seat on one of the interior benches. Bending over, he picked up the silver flask he kept hidden there, unscrewed the cap and took a swig. As the warmth of the whiskey trickled down his throat, he threw back his arms and stared up at the pictures lining the inside of the gazebo.

  Everyone. Grandpas, grandmas, aunts and uncles. Pictures of nieces and nephews playing near the creek and a wide-eyed toddler holding onto a toad that managed to evade capture by Connor and Po. Birthdays, weddings and family reunions, the Alamo's celebrated it all.

  Of course, Raymond had no idea who any of these people really were. Back before the virus, he was aware of the Alamos only in a general, small town kind of a sense. The kind of knowledge you'd pick up by saying hi to each other in the grocery store or waving at as you partied on a pontoon boat. About the only thing Raymond really knew about the Alamos before the Rap came was that they were an old retired couple from Illinois who had a seriously hot granddaughter named Lauren.

  Lauren was a dark-haired Italian beauty a couple years older than Raymond who played touch football with him and his friends one year on the beach. During a break in the game, he and Lauren made out behind the concession stands. Raymond remembered just one thing when they got back to the others to finish the game. He didn't get to do nearly as much touching as he wanted.

  Raymond looked at more of the pictures, taking another sip from his flask before closing it back up. He didn't know what it was about this place, about these faces and memories that he found so absorbing. It just rang of life. It buzzed. On most days, Raymond was happy the way things were. Life was tough but he and Po got by well enough. He didn't need anyone coming around to muck that up. But sometimes, on some days, he missed the buzz. Or maybe he just missed Lauren Alamo.

  Just as he placed the flask back underneath the wooden bench, Rowdy let out a sudden deafening growl. Responsibility came flooding back.

  “Waymond!” The scream from Po’s faraway voice punched him in the gut. There was a tremble to it. A sickening desperation.

  Raymond ran. Ran like he was running down field with two seconds left in the game and had to score to win.

  He couldn't believe how fucking stupid he was. Why did he think it was ok to leave him alone? Why did he wander off? Did he really need to get away? Maybe he was just like his dad, a big prick who'd do anything to avoid being with his family. Raymond was running furiously back to the water pump when he heard Po scream again.

  “W-Waymond!” He was sobbing. Stinging, sobbing tears that Raymond couldn't see but could sure as hell feel.

  But when Raymond arrived at the water pump no one was there. Not even Rowdy. Frantically, Raymond looked around in all directions, noticing footprints in the grass which led into the forest. Clutching Remmy in one hand, Raymond punched through a patch of daisies growing criss-crossed along a small hill and tore into the woods.

  He was running blind, the faint glimmer of sunlight blocked fully by the tall trees and overgrown towers of brush. There was a once well-traveled footpath here that Raymond could barely make out. Raymond followed it, close enough to hear his older brother’s whimpers while dodging branches. Where was he!

  Then, there he was. But he wasn’t alone.

  For a brief frozen moment, Raymond was stunned. He and Po hadn’t seen a single human being since Abe ran away nearly three years ago. Raymond made sure of that. But now, as Raymond hid behind the thick cover of a giant maple tree, he stared silently as three figures marched along.

  Covered in tarnished white armor, a diamond-shaped cape with pointed tips was mounted to their backs. The cape appeared to be made from some sort of glass or a thick plastic. Where the curves rose above their shoulders, the cape pulsated in soft blue, spreading out wide like wings giving them the appearance of angels.

  But these were no angels. A branch near Raymond’s foot snapped, causing the creatures to freeze. Lights on their faceplates suddenly shot violent laser red in all directions, scanning for the sound. The lead soldier pointed its arm in Raymond’s direction. Its hand now changed to a fluorescent flashlight which beamed blue over the dark forest floor. Raymond stayed quiet, pressing himself so hard to the ground that the prickly spikes of sticker bushes jabbed through his worn out Levis.

  The creatures moved on, increasing their pace as the clangs of their white armor beat faster. It was then that Raymond noticed there was a fourth angel. This one was carrying something. Something large. Realizing what it was, Raymond's heart dropped while his fists, by instinct, clenched up, ready to attack.

  There, no more than four or five yards away from him, was Po, being dragged like a carcass, drooling and stuttering with fear across the forest floor while the other three soldiers marched closely behind, their weapons drawn.

  Po seemed to catch site of Raymond’s eyes staring at him through the branches. And he began to sing.

  “H-happy birthday to y-you..." he cried out. It was Po's favorite song. And also one that he sang once to the bullies at Glenside when they'd try beating him up. In Po's mind, Happy Birthday was a song that made everything right. Not that it ever did with the bullies at Glenside.

  Though in this case, it appeared to be working. The robots stopped. One of them even cocked it's head in the direction of Po's voice. But only for a moment. Before Po could begin the final verse, they were off again. He clutched his Superman in his hands, his two under-grown front teeth revealing themselves through a hopeful smile. He spotted Raymond again. His brother was here to save him.

  Raymond knew he only had one shot at this. Ditching Remmy, Raymond rushed towards the monsters dragging away his brother like he was trying to make that game-winning touchdown. Five seconds left...Four…

  He pushed through the anarchy of competing forest brush, a mixture of ivy and willow leaves piled amongst three years of untended weeds. Three seconds… The creatures still hadn’t taken notice. But Raymond didn’t care. He was ready. Two seconds. For anything. Just feet now from the goal. Time to fly.

  Midway into a flying leap, warm hands grabbed solidly around his ankles and pulled. The last thing he could see before landing face-first on an old pavement brick was Po, reaching out in desperation as he let Superman fall from his hands.

  Chapter 3

  It was right after the final game of the season. Beaver Creek beat them but it was close. Really. Close. It sucked. If it wasn't for a screwed up play call during the last drive, hell, they probably would have pulled it off. Ray wanted to go out with his friends to blow off steam and maybe harass some pukes from Beaver Creek. But no, mom came to the game. So mom and Po and Ray were going to Nick's Deli for a hot pastrami. Could have been worse. Dad could have been there too.

  So they get there and Ray run
s into a pack of players from Beaver Creek. They're wanting to blow off steam too. Only it's Ray they're running into. Ray knew as soon as they walked into Nick's that it sure as shit wasn't going to end well. Nope, it wasn't going to end well at all. It was going to be crazy town.

  Of course it was their quarterback that started the inevitable. Goddamned quarterbacks. All they do is throw a ball around and they think they're irreplaceable. So this one decides to throw a can of pop at Po, trying to be funny.

  "Think fast!" the prick says. Then when Po drops it and laughs it off because that's what Po does, Joe Quarter-bastard starts laughing too. Only it's not a real laugh. It's a, this-slanty-eyed kid-must-be-a-retard-so-let's-laugh-like-assholes kind of laugh. Po turned red, mom started to cry and Raymond swung a bar stool across Joe Quarterback's backside.

  Then things got really crazy.

  Crazy town.

  Slowly, Raymond opened his eyes. The pungent smell of dog drenched in lake water wafted over his nostrils and his head pounded like a hangover. Next to him, all needy-like, stood Rowdy, nudging Raymond nervously with his wet nose. Lying on his back, staring at the wispy clouds floating past the brightness of the morning sun, he strained to look at Rowdy while his head wanted to do nothing but explode.

  “Stupid dog!” Raymond shouted. “Where the hell were you?”

  “Quiet!” a woman’s voice whispered shrilly back. “And I'll have you know that stupid dog just saved your life muchacho! Drew away two drones before I showed up to save your sorry ass last night!”

  Raymond looked over in astonishment to see a young woman, somewhere close to his age. Wearing a camouflage hoodie with the sleeves pulled up, her olive skin matched the trunk of the sugar maple tree she crouched behind. Specks of forest-hidden sunlight bounced off her shoulder-length jet-black hair, which fell in straight bangs about her face. As she cautiously approached him, Raymond could see a wild yellow daisy tucked behind her ear, a stark contrast to the brooding dark eyes that currently surveyed him. Forgetting his headache, he jumped to his feet.

  “Where is he?” Raymond shouted. “Where’d they take him?”

  The young woman pushed Raymond back to the ground. “Sit down you idiot!” she whispered assertively. She poked her head around the base of the tree and then stared back at Raymond. “They’re close!” She pulled out a pair of bulky binoculars from a pouch she carried around her waist, quickly scanning the surroundings.

  “Damned drones. About a dozen more just showed up this morning, rolled into downtown Lake Geneva and setup a perimeter.”

  Raymond was feeling anxious and scared. He reached for Remmy but his old friend was gone. "Where is it?" he said with a snarl.

  The woman shook her head, flashing a wry smile. Reaching down into a pile of leaves, she pulled out Raymond’s rifle. “Doesn’t much matter right now, does it handsome?” Examining the rifle, she tossed it to him. “If the drones come back, this ain't gonna do shit.”

  Catching the rifle, he cocked it, pointing it straight out at the woman’s face. But instead of backing off, she just smiled at Raymond, stepping away.

  "Ooooooh!" she said, taunting him. "A rifle cock! That supposed to scare me Dirty Harry?" Laughing harder, she continued to look back out into the surrounding woods.

  Raymond whistled for Rowdy. Holding his still throbbing head, he started off back towards the last thing he remembered. The Laughing Well.

  “Just where the hell do you think you’re going?” the woman said, grabbing Raymond by the arm.

  Raymond again shook her off. “Back home. I’ll need supplies if I’m going to find him.”

  “Home? You got no home!”

  “Shut up and leave me alone!” Raymond shoved her back hard. He picked up the pace as Rowdy let out a howl.

  It was the only sound he heard before the woman tackled him to the ground, shoving him face first into a pile of leaves surrounding the sugar maple tree. Raymond tried to break away but couldn’t. The woman held him down firm, jabbing him in the side of the gut when he tried to struggle.

  “Listen dumb ass!” she whispered fiercely. “You can say adios to your little cottage hombre! It's history! Jehu burned it down!” Slowly, she released him. “Now if you ever want to see your friend again, we need to get out of here, before they come back! I know where they took him!”

  Raymond got back up slowly, looking at the woman long and hard to determine what she was and if she were a threat. Feeling his bruised sides, he slowly slung Remmy over his shoulder.

  “Smart choice,” she said. “Now, about your, uh, friend.”

  "Not my friend," Raymond hissed. "My brother. And his name is Po.

  Ignoring him, she reached back into her pouch and pulled out a hand drawn map. “Your brother then," she said, "must have been pretty special. The Chosen flew him out of here last night by helicopter. But I know where they took him.”

  Rowdy ran to the woman’s side, looking back to Raymond as if to say it was ok. Rowdy lifted his snout to the wind and began sniffing madly. Then he started to howl.

  Raymond could smell it too. Sweat. An acidy odor of human perspiration, but different. More concentrated, like the stink of an old high school locker room after a grueling practice.

  “The 19 be with us!” the woman said, turning to Raymond with a frightened gasp. Her olive skin suddenly seemed a shade paler. “He’s found me!” she bellowed. “Run!”

  She tore off into the woods while Raymond and Rowdy blindly followed. Raymond knew the area here well. It was a favorite hunting spot for him, deer mostly but it also gave him cover to pull down the occasional duck and goose. He turned briefly to see what it was the woman was running from.

  It was hard to make out, especially with Raymond trying hard not to lose site of the woman leading the way. Like a strobe lamp in a haunted house, moments of sunlight piercing between red and gold leaves briefly illuminated something. Human. Fast. Wearing some helmet. Wild hair. Smiling. Muscular. It could jump cars. It was no more than twenty yards back. Gaining fast. It didn't tire. If Po was out there, alone, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

  And just like that, Raymond went away. He stopped. Time itself seemed to stop. Or slow. Raymond could see everything. Sense every possible outcome. It was Wonderland.

  That’s what Po called it anyway, when Raymond tried explaining it to him two years ago. It’s the place down the hole that Alice went to, Po would tell him. A place of talking rabbits and queens and tea parties, and when you came out, no one knew you were ever gone.

  It began after the Rapture. Raymond still hadn't figured out why. He thought at times it could be some side effect of the plague or the pressure of protecting Po. Maybe some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder like his Uncle Tommy "Big Whiskey" Walsh had suffered after he came back from Afghanistan. Raymond just didn't know.

  Whatever it was, Wonderland was a place he would disappear to during times of danger or distress. Intense times. Situations like this. Dire situations where the odds of death were greater than the hope for survival. Raymond went into the rabbit hole. And he couldn’t control it.

  It’s where he found himself now. A place where dangers became shadows. Erasing the face of danger erased the fear. Erasing the fear brought that feeling of punk-ass invincibility. With the danger closing in, Raymond became the real lion of his mother’s stories.

  He wished he had this when he played football. A slowing down of time that gave him the chance to see the best of all possible outcomes. He stopped and pivoted. Mid-spin he had already slid Remmy from his shoulder. With the vibrations of the creature’s footfalls and the crunching of the branches, he felt his target without even having to see it. He fired. One shot. That’s all he would need.

  The semi-automatic rifle recoiled and Raymond made no move. He watched stoically as the bullet ripped through the man’s chest, sending him to the ground. Raymond could see the blood and chunks of flesh blow back like a wet sneeze. The clouds passing by the sun up above cast a bright white glow over
the smoke from the shot. The man remained face down in the grasses. Raymond sensed no movement.

  But then, ripples. Waves in the dark weeds and grasses. Within seconds, impossibly, the man pushed up from the ground. He stood straight now, his howls of laughter echoing madly between the barren homes as he resumed pursuit.

  “No!” Raymond yelled, nearly tripping as he stumbled over a branch. He was out of Wonderland. Hands grabbed him before he fell.

  “What's wrong with you! He's one of the fucking Elected you idiot! They don’t die! Now run!”

  Years of wind sprints in football practice made Raymond quite the runner. He tailed inches behind the woman now, close enough to hear her rapid exhalations and notice her frantic sideways glances.

  “You have no idea where you’re going, do you”, Raymond yelled, running at a crouch to avoid the low-hanging branches. He slowed to glance back at their pursuer. If anything, getting shot in the chest almost seemed to make the man run faster. “Follow me,” Raymond commanded.

  He made a sharp turn, into a deeper thicket of trees that hugged the south shore of Lake Como. Lake Como was the shallower of the two lakes in the area, the other being Lake Geneva, which was more popular with the tourists. Because of that, Raymond and his friends were able to do a lot more uninterrupted exploring. Raymond knew where they had to go.

  Maher’s Bar. A popular pub and eatery during the tourist season, Maher’s Bar had been a Lake Como landmark since the 1920’s, and it showed. Old and neglected even before the end-times drop-off in tourism, Mother Nature had made herself at home here. Weeds and overgrown shrubbery had all but covered up the place where Raymond had tasted his first beer. It had been so long, he almost couldn’t find what he was looking for.