Free The Rising: Selected Scenes From the End of the World by Brian Keene Page B

and come back.”
    “You idiot!” Mean resisted the urge to hit him. And then, with a roaring, unanimous shout, the zombies poured forth.
    “Run!” Mean pushed Sally ahead of him and squeezed off a shot, dropping a corpse—the effect of taking an ounce of water from the ocean. Ross froze, staring at the onrushing masses.
    “There’s so many.”
    The others ran. When Mean looked back, the undead tide had engulfed the fat butcher. Three down. How far can we get?
    He decided to save one bullet for himself. Sally was the first to fall beneath the hordes. She tripped and a zombie dog ripped off her face. She was still screaming when Mean ran by. Greenberg went next, felled by a bullet to the spine. Sid turned down an alley.
    “This way,” Rachel called.
    “No,” he insisted, “It’s this way.”
    He darted down the alley. They heard him screaming a second later.
    Mean, Charlie, and Rachel reached the steep goat track that wound down to the narrow beach. The zombies charged down the hill after them. Charlie pushed aside the brush and dragged the boat out.
    “Hurry,” he cried. “It’s heavy.”
    Grunting, Rachel helped him. Mean turned and opened fire, dropping a zombie with every other shot.They leaped into the boat and cast off. The zombies stood on the beach, waving their fists. Some walked into the water, sinking beneath the surface, pursuing them along the bottom, but eventually, the boat was carried too far from shore.
    “They can’t reach us now,” Charlie shouted.
    “We’re safe. Nothing can get us out here!”
    The two teenagers hugged.
    Mean looked back at Mount Egmont. The old saying ran through his head again.
    If you can see the mountain it’s going to rain, if you can’t see it, it’s already raining.
    “We’re safe,” Charlie repeated.
    Mean couldn’t see the mountain. Not from rain, but from the flock of birds swooping towards them across the sky.
    It began to rain.
    * * *

YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE
    The Rising
    Day Sixteen
    Livonia, Michigan
     
    Things were better now. She had more free time on her hands, to do the things she’d always wanted. This was living.
    As long as you ignored the stench outside…
    The world was dead, but Jade Rumsey was finally alive; a second chance at living, another shot at life.
    A vehicle—military, judging by the sound—rumbled by outside. The vibrations were strong enough to send books tumbling from the shelves. Surprised, her sewing needle slipped, pricking her finger. Jade sucked the small bead of blood. It was the first thing she’d had to eat in four days. Her stomach grumbled. Jade made a face, disgusted. She was hungry—but not that hungry. Not yet.
    * * *
    The street outside fell quiet again, and she returned to sewing, trying to ignore the fresh hunger pangs, trying to look on the bright side. Yes, maybe she was out of food, and maybe she only had enough water for another three days—five if she was extremely conservative with what was left in the toilet and bathtub, but at least she’d finally lost weight. That had always been on her list of “Things To Do.” Lose fifteen or twenty pounds. Nobody could say she wasn’t on her way now.
    Jade smiled at her own gallows humor. She always wanted to make a quilt, and over the years, had collected an amazing amount of fabric towards such an endeavor. But she’d never seemed to have the time, until now. So there was that. She’d lost weight and was making a quilt.
    Jade got up from the chair. As she put the books back on the shelf, arranging them alphabetically, she considered her situation. What else had been on that list of “Things To Do?” Read more. She loved horror novels, especially works by Stephen King, Dean Koontz, M.M. Smith, Richard Laymon, Tad Williams, and Charles De Lint. She’d certainly found time to do that. In the last sixteen days, she’d re-read plenty of her old favorites.
    She’d always wanted to learn to shoot, but had never had the opportunity. Since the dead started