Page 1 of Resurrection
Chapter One
Jax
They come at me in flashes; the images. A macabre scrapbook of blood, carnage, gore, and dread. Is this a nightmare? Or the bone-chilling truth of a memory?
I see Emma, my longtime girlfriend before the world ended. Her golden blonde hair blowing in the breeze. Her perfect grey-blue eyes going white as the living corpse behind her opens its gruesome maw and bites down on her vulnerable neck. The end of an era, and the beginning of my resurrected existence.
I see Hawk and Cole arriving at the estate, bittersweet expressions on their faces as we prepare to take on the apocalypse together. Brothers in arms, even at the end of the world.
I see Sadie, running through the orchard after a tennis ball, her tongue half hanging out of her mouth as she happily trots back with the hope that I’ll throw herfavorite toy one more time, seemingly oblivious to the lurking dead just on the other side of the fence.
I see Aly. My beautiful Aly—Ourbeautiful Aly—surrounded by my two best friends, talking, laughing,living,culminating with an explosion of lust and love and utter perfection. The ache in my heart is tangible as I take in the trio and how complete they seem to be together. The scene changes suddenly, however, now including me amongst that tangle of limbs, sleeping soundly with our girl in my arms as Hawk and Cole surround us, their large bodies on either side as we huddle together on the single bed my humble cabin offered.
I see joy as Cole and I try again and again to bake a cake, and the utter amazement on Aly’s face as we presented our finished project to her—because birthdays are just as important at the end of the world as they used to be before.
I see solemn resignation as we take in the crumbled remains of a life once known.
I see fear and determination as we force ourselves to run, the overwhelming numbers of the living dead as they surround us, beckoning us to join their horde.
I see courage in the jagged gashes spanning the length of his back, the steel in his eyes as he realizes his fate is no longer in his hands.
I see pain... and sorrow... and regret as we huddle around our fallen Doc—a final attempt to mend his broken pieces and ease his suffering.
I see the anger in my family’s eyes as they realize there is nothing... absolutely nothing they can do... but wait.
I see the exhaustion in us all, and the bitter cost of living during end times.
I see the—
“Mmmrrrrarrrgh…”
My eyes fly open at the sound, instantly terrified. Not because of any unforeseen danger. Not because I’m physically unprepared. But because Iknowthat sound. I hear it in my nightmares and in the worst of my memories. My heart beats a mile a minute at the haunting recognition.
No… Fucking hell, please no.
Last night, Hawk and I fell asleep curled around Aly and Cole on the floor, utterly spent and exhausted from watching over our fallen brother the entire day, as well as the prior day’s traumatic events. I remember we secured the house, locking every door and window imaginable, and extinguishing every candle we lit to ensure our safety throughout the night. What we didn’tmentallyprepare for, at least not enough in my case, was an attack from theinside…
I reluctantly turn onto my side, towards the source of the sound…
Towards Cole….
“Grrrrundagardaburger…”
Still lying on the carpet, in between Hawk and Aly, he twitches restlessly, murmuring nonsense in a deep, disturbing, gut-wrenching, soul-crushing growl. In the back of my mind, I try to stay rational. Maybe he’s just sleeping, having a bad dream. Fuck, I hope that’s it. But what I’m looking at makes no damn sense in the confines of that theory.
We moved him to the floor the other night when it was clear Aly wasn’t going to sleep anywhere else but beside him. Carefully propped by pillows, he was placed on his stomach, surrounded by the rest of us... but that’s not how he is now. How we didn’t notice his abrupt change throughout the night can only be left to utter exhaustion, both mentally and physically, on all our parts. But the fact that he's flat on his back, where his injuries are far more than substantial, should have roused him even from the deepest of sleeps. Not to mention, the fact that he’s actively writhing on the floor would put him in tremendous pain. Pain that would have immediately woken him up with the need to adjust to a more comfortable sleeping arrangement. Why he hasn’t done so is concerning to say the least.
“Cole?” I call out softly but he doesn’t respond, only continues jerking wildly and grumbling. I press on his shoulder, shaking him a bit, hoping the feeling of my hand will wake both of us from this fucking nightmare.
“Mmmmaaashabbaaaaragh…”
I jerk back at the low grumble, my heart racing,poundingthrough my chest as I wait for any sign ofcognition from my brother. A second or two passes as I wait to see what he does next.
Still not offering any coherent response, Cole raises his arms slightly and waves them randomly in front of him. It’s as if he doesn’t have full control over his extremities.
“What the fuck?” I push on his shoulder again, harder this time, but still receive no response. “Don’t you fucking do this to me you son of a bitch. Don’t you fucking do this!” The threat’s but a mere whisper in the room. More to channel my own insecurities rather than anything else. But the plea lingers as I hold back, watching and waiting for a positive change.
We didn’t want to move him to one of the beds upstairs when we first got here for fear of jostling him too much, but he’s flopping himself all over the floor without a care in the world for what it’s doing to his back or any of his other injuries.
