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Rhinelander, Wisconsin
Day 32 of The Rise
There was a warm breeze that met Hannah Phillips’ face as soon as she left the house. She bounded down the rickety porch steps and saw Harry and her father throwing boxes and bags into the bed of their truck. Stevie Kohler stood nearby, but his actions were muted.
“Hi, Hannah,” Stevie muttered, not meeting her eyes. He stared at his laces and slid the toes of his shoes through the dry soil. Stevie was a tall and slender kid, same age as Harry. He had played on the town basketball team for three years before a knee injury sidelined him. There were talks of scholarships and whatnot, but Hannah didn’t know how much of it was true.
“Hey, Stevie,” Hannah offered back. She contemplated mentioning how sorry she was about his parents, and how utterly horrifying and heartbreaking everything was that was happening, and how she was sure everything would go back to normal soon, but Hannah couldn’t find the words.
Bill put a reassuring hand on Stevie’s slumped shoulder. “We appreciate everything, Stevie. You’re a good man, stronger than I could ever hope to be. And as long as we’re together, you got a family in us, ya hear?” Bill lowered his eyes to Stevie’s so Stevie knew the promise was real.
Stevie nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“All right, let’s go,” Bill said.
Off they went. The truck’s tires spewed up gravel in one gigantic cough as they headed north on Germond Road at speeds Hannah thought inconceivable. Stevie and Bill were situated in front. In the back, Harry sat next to Hannah, his hand in hers, but he never once looked at her; his eyes were fixed on the nightmare that was now their town.
As they turned left on Hilltop Road, they saw Stan Lusk’s house ablaze, a pack of Variants circling it like wolves in the night. Harry saw two people, their legs thrashing and arms flailing as seven Variants ripped and tore their flesh and limbs. The victims’ faces were indistinguishable either because of the night sky or their sudden lack of jawbones, but Harry suspected it was Mr. Lusk and his wife, Harriet.
Ruby Tenner ran across the street and Bill swerved the truck, the back fishtailing across the rocky shoulder before regaining tractions. Ruby Tenner was wearing a velvet red nightgown and had half a dozen curlers still stuck in her hair. The nightgown streaked behind her like a magic carpet as her old, vein-ridden legs worked like mad to escape the pursing Variants. Harry turned and saw one of the Variants leap on top of Ruby. Her legs gave out in crippling defeat shortly before her arms were pulled from their sockets.
“What are you doing?” Hannah yelled at her father. “Why aren’t you helping them?”
Nobody spoke.
“Turn around!” she cried.
“There is no helping them. Goddamn things are too fast and too strong,” Bill said. “We help ‘em, we die.”
“But…how do you know that?”
Again, no one spoke.
“How do you know that!” she practically screamed.
“Because my parents helped,” Stevie said finally. He was staring out the passenger window with a sort of thoughtful indifference. “Mayor Rigby helped. Thomas Muelton helped. Oly Ownst helped. They all helped, and they all died.”
Silence again.
“I’m…I’m sorry,” she said. But she did not garner a response. She felt like an outcast in her own family and the insanity brewing outside only added to the anguish. She felt Harry squeeze her hand and when she turned to look at him she saw how terribly sad his eyes were.
The truck made a sharp right onto County Road G and Hannah was surprised the truck hadn’t tipped over. Bill steadied the vehicle without a blink of the eye and punched down on the accelerator, lurching them in their seats.
“If we can get to the boat, we can take it down the Wisconsin River,” said Bill. “From there, well…I guess we’ll just have to make it up as we go along. Ain’t nothing better I can offer or do.”
The truck rattled on until they turned onto County Road 47, raced past town—a town that burning—and made a sharp left onto County Road 17. 17 was heavily wooded, but there were scattered docks through the dense lining of trees. The forth dock, wonderfully camouflaged, was where they kept their boat. It was nothing fancy, a simple single-engine, the kind with the steering rod attached to the back. It was maroon in color, but much of the paint had chipped away and a lining of rust had settled across the lower half of the bow. The Phillips’ used to take it out as a family and fish for hours on end, pulling up Sunnies and Crappies until their buckets were full. But they hadn’t gone out since their mother died.
They hadn’t gone a hundred yards down 17—one of the most deserted roads in the state, if not the country—to find a stack of Variants blocking the truck’s path.
Bill slammed on the brakes and the tires hopelessly clutched loose gravel. The tail veered left and the sweet smell of burning rubber plumed from the tires. Hannah hit her head on the back of the driver’s seat and she felt the warm trickle of blood run down her neck and seep into her shirt.
The swarm of Variants stood before them, stretched across the road, white line to white line, their eyes gleaming at prospective death.
“Back up!” Hannah screamed.
“Wait!” Stevie interrupted.
“What do you mean ‘wait?’” Harry asked. And that’s when Hannah realized it was the first time her brother spoke since they left the house. It was a welcome sound to her, otherwise, horrified ears.
“Run ‘em down,” Stevie said. “The boat’s a quarter of a mile away. If we turn around, we’ll backtrack for miles. Even then there’s no guarantee we’ll make it. We’re in here and they’re out there, so…run ‘em down.” His words were harsh, maniacal.
Bill shifted the clutch and revved the engine. Filthy exhaust billowed from the truck’s rusted muffler. The Variants remained very still, calculating their next move.
But there would move be no more moves.
Bill removed his foot from the brake and the tires gave a quick squeal before launching forward. Hannah felt her seatbelt lock into place. The thuds of the Variants spilling over and off the hood sounded like softballs dropping on blocks of wood. The truck swerved to the right and the back right tire caught one of the Variants, hurtling him into the ditch. Harry could see its twisted legs as it flew through the air to its inevitable demise. The bones were bent in so many directions his legs must have shattered on impact. Blood spurted onto the windshield in a glorious mist of red. Bill threw on the wipers, scraping the macabre across the glass like a streak of paint, momentarily blinding them. He grabbed hold of the wheel and the truck tilted to the left. Bill was losing control. He cranked to the right, but far too aggressively. The back tires caught the rocky shoulder while the front caught the fresh asphalt. Suddenly everything tipped upside down. Hannah watched as Harry’s hair flopped to the right and then seemed to stand on end. The truck had flipped, and there was no reversing it.
The brutal sounded of crunching metal and shattered glass ripped through her ears as she finally grasped what was happening. The truck landed upside down on the left side of the ditch. The engine was smoking and the one of the blinkers was methodically clicking. Bright orange, darkness. Bright orange, darkness. Bright orange, darkness.
Then came thundering footsteps.
The Variants…The…Variants…The…
“…Variants!” Bill was yelling.
Her eyes rolled around and she saw her father’s feet already outside the truck. He pulled open her door and saw his horrified face against the clicking glow of the blinker’s orange light.
“Come on, honey,” Bill said undoing her seatbelt.
Hannah felt the taste of blood in her mouth and a sharp pain on her tongue. She must have bit down on it when the truck rolled. It felt like it was hanging there by a strand of muscle. She opened her mouth to speak to him, but the words didn’t form. She tried again, but her father put a finger to her lips.
“Shh…” he whispered, “they’re almost on us.”
It didn’t take long for him to pull her from the car. When she was out, she realized there was a massive gash running along her shin, bits of glass embedded in the wound.
Hannah glanced across the cab and saw Harry reach down and grab Stevie’s shirt collar. Stevie moaned as Harry pulled him from the wreckage. “Come on, Stevie,” Harry said softly.
The footsteps amplified.
“Harry, hurry up! They’re coming!”
Harry pulled Stevie onto the road, dragging his calves through the dirt and broken glass. Stevie writhed in pain, trying to push Harry off.
“I got ya, I got ya,” Harry kept saying.
The sound of the footsteps changed. They no longer pounded against the pavement; they moved into the gravel and then over tall weeds and dead grass. The Variants were in the ditch and the vehicle was in their sights.
“I’ve got him, come on!” Harry called to Bill.
Bill slung Hannah’s arm across his neck and pulled her into the woods.
Harry and Stevie were just ahead of them, though they were mere outlines in the darkness; the towering trees had blocked all potential moonlight.
The Variants charged after them.
Wind skipped off the river and a cool breeze nestled alongside Hannah’s face.
They were close to the dock…
Then she heard the welcome, glorious sound of the boat motor purring to life. Harry and Stevie had made it. This ray of hope resonated with Bill as his pace quickened and Hannah felt the muscles along his back tense up in a magnificent rush of adrenaline.
They emerged from the wood to find Harry setting Stevie back on one of the boat’s dilapidated pleather seats. He grabbed a .22 rifle from under the side panel and placed it in Stevie’s hands. “Point and shoot, big guy, point and shoot,” Harry told him, turning back to the motor.
Stevie cocked the gun and aimed it into the darkness.
Bill picked Hannah up off her feet and stepped into the murky water. He handed her off to Harry, the boat wavering slightly, who put her in the seat next to Stevie. Bill climbed into the boat and the quick pop of the .22 firing a shot rang into their ears. Bill whirled around and saw a Variant fall forward, rolling down the embankment. A dozen more outlines appeared at the wood’s edge. Then, a dozen more. And so on, and so on, and so on…
Harry pushed down on the throttle and the engine growled its power (modest power, but power nonetheless). The front end nosed up slightly before splashing back down.
Stevie cocked the rifle in a furious motion and unloaded another round into a second Variant. He reloaded and fired until Harry made a sharp left and the current grabbed hold of the boat. They sped down the Wisconsin River, the Variants’ screams dissipating as they went.
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