/ Two months earlier /
“Ally!?” Lou exclaims, water rushing through the spaces between his toes with each step, his damp shoes splashing atop the asphalt. “Jenn!? Halston!?” Lou continues exclaiming, his clothes covered in sand just as one half of his face is, hair soaking wet, leaving a trail of water in his wake. “Terry!? Jules!?” Lou continues shouting, his voice echoing through the abandoned city centre, his hope depleting with every name he calls aloud. “Elsie!? Lee!?” Lou continues, stood in the middle of a three-way intersection, surrounded by dark buildings and debris-strewn roads, “anyone?” Alone, Lou feels his chest grow heavy, each breath becoming harder to come by, the wishful thinking he walks through eerily empty streets dying with the recognition of his honest, unchangeable loneliness as night begins to fall. Sat beside a fire in the middle of the road, Lou waits out the night sky that covers him from above, huddled in a jacket to ward off the unfamiliar chill of Western Canadian autumn. “Aaarrrggghhh” a hiss emerges, departing it’s cloak beneath the sightless night as it approaches Lou, the fire having taken its eye with ease. The breath he lets leave his lungs now floating in front of his face, Lou looks to the fire for protection, removing a partially-burned log from the brick-surrounded pit. Letting his puffy jacket fall from his shoulders, Lou steps away from his firepit, his bare feet gently walking upon the poorly-maintained road, his path lit by the persistent flame in his log-carrying hand. Moistening his lips with a lick, Lou lets a whistle graze his teeth, guiding the corpse closer toward him, hungered growls egged on by the young man’s display. Close enough for his liking, Lou takes the burning post through the frosty air, his force snapping the corpse’s neck. Laying there, hobbled, the zombie suffers Lou’s beating, the half-naked man repeatedly crushing it’s skull with a flaming two-by-four. His frustration boiling over, Lou mangles the body at his feet, grunting with every strike before stopping himself, one glance taken to puddle of blood surrounding his feet convincing him to end the senseless attack. Encouraged to travel at the first sight of morning, Lou packs a knapsack with essentials and leaves his campgrounds. Still barefoot, Lou begins walking down the third road, its sidewalks adorned with tall office buildings, whilst the snow-touched mountains stand before Lou’s sight, covered in a foggy haze. *knock, knock, knock knock knock* Lou hears to his right, surprised at the smooth, rhythmic tapping of glass never intended for him. “Hello?” Lou whispers to himself, quiet enough so as not to be heard, his sights set on a glass tower piercing the sky. Invested in this source, Lou squeezes through cars to reach the skyscraper, shuffling to the side of the road before reaching a set of stairs, each step leading to the building’s entrance, where a man aimlessly knocks at the glass door. Opening his mouth to speak, Lou holds his words back, his eyes squinting at the rugged man waiting below. *knock, knock, knock knock knock* The tapping continues, the man’s body covered with a well-fitting work jacket, his hand a pale white. A feeling deep within his core urging him to leave, Lou chooses to distrust his instincts, walking to his right for a few steps in hopes of seeing the man’s reflection. “Hello, Cheryl?” the man groans in a strangely high pitched voice for someone of the man’s appearance, “can you buzz me in?” *knock, knock, knock knock knock* “Hello, Cheryl?” the man at the door repeats, the same tone as before, at the same time as before, no expectations held just as before, “can you buzz me in?” The door’s glass reflecting sunlight, Lou fails to earn a decent view of the man below, any visible features of his face rendered to nothing more than a dark, featureless figure. “Are you looking for someone?” Lou finally asks aloud, too perplexed to leave the situation alone. “Aaarrrggghhh!” the man suddenly growls, his beady eyes turning toward the one-armed man standing above him. “What the fuck!?” Lou exclaims, backing away from the stairs as the fresh corpse begins to ascend, running with the speed of an olympian despite the pale complexion of a sickly hermit. His lips puckered, Lou retreats to the instincts he’d earlier taken for granted, allowing the zombie to rush at him. Standing his ground, Lou lets the corpse close in before dodging the suit-clad corpse’s attack, his outstretched leg sweeping the corpse to the ground with a heavy thud. The end of his burnt log sharpened, Lou drives his weapon through the back of the reality-challenging zombie’s skull, it’s sharpened point emerging through the face. His look one of curiosity, Lou pulls the log from the undead’s head and stares in disbelief, unable to truly comprehend what had happened. = RISE and REVOLT is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series from Season 1 onwards belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 = / One week later / “Aaarr-” a corpse growls, a heavy boot pressing its neck to the ground as an axe is buried into the back of it’s skull. With a grunt, Lou removes the weapon from the cranium, struggling to wield the heavy weapon effectively. Stretching his aching back muscles, Lou rests the axe upon the ground as he reaches for a canvas pouch over the body’s shoulder, it’s straps fastened by hefty metal hooks. Unzipping the sack’s top, Lou retrieves the contents within, a curious look on his face as his fingers graze metal and heavy rubber. Continuing to feel around, Lou wraps his fingers around what feels like a hand, his eyes rolling as he removes the item from its vessel. “Ain’t that funny?” Lou mutters to himself, taking a prosthetic left hand from the cylindrical container, shaking his head as his quickly returns it. “I’m sure Ally would tell me to take this as a sign, so that is what I shall do” Lou grunts, pulling the sack from over the corpse’s shoulder as he hoists it over his own. Reclaiming his axe, Lou returns to his stroll, defying the darkness overhead by clasping a flashlight in his few remaining free fingers. Dressed for the winter, Lou steps over broken glass and broken asphalt, his eyes taken to anything worth paying a close eye to. Continuing to walk the road for another five hundred metres, Lou’s sights find something to fall upon, a once-eleven story residential building rendered to rubble, ash, and manageable pockets of persistent flame. Severed, a downed hydroline lays across the street, the brief spurts of light that pop suddenly from its disconnected end signifying is danger. “This place has electricity?” Lou whispers to himself, walking toward what remains of the ravaged building until a noise emerges closeby. “Hello!?” Lou proclaims, turning his entire body toward a broken storefront, the signage on its window made incomplete by the missing shards of glass. “If you’re alive in there, please make that clear” Lou explains, holding a chuckle beneath his breath, “I’ve nearly made that mistake once, and I’d like it not to happen again.” Met with silence, Lou continues to keep his patience in order, the hope he’d arrived on the island with finding its way back to his heart. “My name is Lou” the man greets, his flashlight still pointed at the ransacked barbershop, “I’m looking for my friends.” As obvious as he can make himself out to be, Lou’s suddenly revitalised hope softly fades, his eyes falling ever so slightly. “I don’t mean you any trouble” Lou persists, resting his axe upon the ground in a show of good faith, giving up on the desire to find a familiar face on the other side of the darkness. “I washed up on the beach a few nights ago, I’ve been looking for my friends ever since” Lou continues, steadying the flashlight on the broken window, “they all probably look like they’re in high school and equally as in need of a shower as me, so if you know-” “Put your hands up and give me your shit” a feminine voice remarks, her words aimed at the back of Lou’s head, just as her handgun does. Slowly pulling his hand into the air, Lou cooperates with the woman’s request, a bitter truth unfortunately keeping him from showing good faith. “I don’t have anything other than a prosthetic hand, miss” Lou replies, worrying over the display this leaves him casting. Kicking the young man in the small of his back, the unfamiliar woman brings Lou to his knees, his hand painfully falling to the ground. “Stop lying and give me your shit!” the woman repeats, this time not wasting time in raising her voice. “I would give you everything I have, but I don’t have anything” Lou responds, as quick to reply as the woman is to raise her voice, his answer still failing to fall in the woman’s favour. “I don’t want to have to tell you again” he woman warns, triggering the ‘fight or flight’ response in Lou’s mind by pressing the barrel of her weapon against the man’s skull. Swinging his elbow around, Lou knocks the firearm from the survivor’s hand and pushes her away, creating the separation needed to regroup. “I don’t want to fight you, please-” Lou exclaims, reclaiming his axe as the soles of his boots return to the ground. Throwing himself to the side, Lou watches the woman fly past him, failing to tackle him as originally planned. “I have nothing to offer you, miss!” Lou exclaims, stepping away as the woman stands up once more, seething with anger, “if you want me to leave you alone, I will!” Refusing to listen to reason, the woman makes another run at the young, handicapped survivor, his efforts to side step her not prevailing as they had once before. Knocked off his balance, Lou is spun to the ground, the axe falling from his hand as the side of his head meets the road. “Ffuuc-” Lou groans, his hand guiding itself to the road-burnt corner of his brow momentarily. Putting his pain aside, Lou crawls away from the pebble-grinding steps he hears nearing him, scrambling from leverage. “Ma’am, I’m not trying to hurt you!” Lou desperately pleads, watching the woman take his own axe into her possession. “Please, stop!” Lou exclaims, holding his hand out at the woman, her rabid desire to end his life not subsiding. Letting the woman take his axe into the air, Lou rolls away from her initial swing, scrambling to the opposite direction with little plan. “I am not a threat!” Lou shouts once more, yet to accept the woman’s refusal, his hope still held out for her actions to cease. Left to rest on the ground, the silver finish of the woman’s handgun reflects the sparse flames of the nearby eyesore once considered an apartment. Taking the gun into his hand, Lou crawls onto his back and stares at the woman, offering her the final chance he has to propose. “I don’t want to hurt you!” Lou exclaims, watching the woman ready a swing with as much intent as she had many times prior. *pop* With one squeeze of the trigger, Lou fires a single bullet through the woman’s face, the bullet entering beneath her chin before tearing through the top of her head. Stumbling back five steps, the woman topples backwards, the axe bouncing free of her grip the moment she slams into the ground. Gasping for air, Lou looks with dejection at the woman’s corpse, the twitch in her left foot forcing the young man to look away, unable to stomach what was necessary of himself. Pushing himself to his feet, Lou retakes the axe into his hand without paying another look to the woman, too distraught to endure the body’s sight. Letting his breath fog the air as it lulls, Lou’s eyes take back to the road he’d intended to travel, whilst his ears suddenly take back to the barbershop. Lou’s face fills with dread while his eyes slowly return to the building he’d originally become so infatuated with, the sounds that emanate from within prompting his heart to sink. “Waaahhh” | / Four days later / “It’s alright, I’ve got you” Lou whispers, carrying an axe in his mechanical hand whilst cradling a crying baby in the one that remains, calming it down gracefully. “We’re gonna find you some formula, and then we’re gonna find a nice house to stay in” Lou continues, whispering hopeful thoughts to the infant, his warm breath purposefully aimed into the child’s face. “I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to raise you, but I’m gonna try my best” Lou continues to whisper, keeping the child close to his chest, “I don’t know how to feed a baby formula either, but I’m sure I’ll screw up enough to figure it out eventually!” Putting on a kind face to mask the deep fear he still carries deep within himself. “Everything will be okay as long as I say so” Lou whispers, the crying now coming to a stop, its restless whimpering finally put aside. “Where’s the mom, Lou?” a distinctive voice calls nearby, the exact tone, reflection, vibrato and cadence prompting the man to stop in his tracks, the tremble in his core prompting the baby’s crying to begin again. “You gonna say ‘hello’ or am I supposed to stand here waiting all day?” the domineering voice wonders aloud, Lou’s face returning to its orbit. “Come on, old friend- at least give me a wave” Matt jokes, aiming a rifle at Lou, a man he once incorrectly considered a close friend. “Matt, there’s-” Lou begins, his words ordered to halt by the rifle-wielding, scorned apocalyptic-profiteer. “Yeah, a baby. I don’t care” Matt replies, bobbing his head to the side, “there was a conversation had in that crow’s nest, and I want it ended.” “Then we can have that conversation without aiming guns at each ot-” Lou responds, the warning shot Matt fires into the air rendering him silent, the baby’s crying beginning once more. “These streets are going to be littered with the dead of the twelfth biggest city in Canada within minutes, so I’d suggest you follow my instructions very closely” Matt explains, an arrogant look on his face, “there’s a building to your right. Climb every stair until you reach the roof, don’t stop until then.” “And where will you be?” Lou replies, keeping his eyes away from Matt’s face, struggling to portray confidence when the sickeningly familiar man urges nothing but grave worry. “I’ll be right behind you” Matt responds, turning the gun back onto the man in front of him, “and I’ll have the barrel of this gun aimed at the back of your head every step of the way, slayer.” Trying to lull the baby to sleep, Lou’s attention is called for once again. “The decaying process doesn’t really kick in for a few weeks, so the dead still have a little bit of pep in their step” Matt explains, keeping his rifle locked onto his sworn enemy, “I wouldn’t want to be on ground level when they get here, Lou. I’d start walking if I were you.” Relenting, Lou steps to the rundown building, ducking through the entrance before embarking on an eight-story ascent to the roof. “I don’t see what the point of this is, Matt” Lou explains, finally reaching the rooftop, axe still carried in a prosthetic hand he’s yet to master the advantages of. “You don’t have to worry about dying, my intention isn’t to kill you” Matt replies, shutting the door they entered through. “As the crow’s nest went under water, I vowed to take from you the future you’d stolen from me” Matt explains, leaving the door unlocked, “and that’s precisely what I’m going to do.” Taking in a huff of the cold air filling the streets of Victoria, Matt lets a smile come over his face. “Put the axe and the baby in the corner” Matt orders, aiming his rifle at the man the instant reluctance presents itself. “Do as I said, or you’ll die today” Matt proclaims, leaving Lou no option other than compliance. “Do you know how things are going to unfold from here on out, Lou?” Matt inquires, watching the young man walk away from the still-crying baby, the head of the axe resting just beside it’s small, frail body. “No, I don’t” Lou responds, taking a low tone to every answer Matt demands of him. “Of course not, you’ve never truly experienced this world!” Matt replies, his humor slowly beginning to die out, the realization starting to creep in, “none of us really have.” Disgruntled, Matt shakes his head in disappointment, his eyes trailing back toward the one-armed man across from him. “After all we’ve been through, and after everything that’s happened, I sometimes forget how young you are” Matt explains, a frown emerging from a chuckle. “You- you should be in Chemistry class or something right now” Matt explains, almost in disbelief at the scene that’s unfolding, “I mean, yeah, my life was taken away- But you never even really got to have one... That’s not fair.” Grimacing, Lou becomes uncomfortable with the sentiment shared, almost as if Matt is coming to more of a realisation than Lou was intended to be awoken to. His eyes lowering, the tension in Matt’s body eases, the anger he’d greeted Lou with now twisting into sorrow. “You’ve been forced out of your home, you’ve lost an arm, you’ve had to fend off death prob- I me- Holy fuck! How many times have you had to fend off death!?” Matt rattles off, arriving at the same conclusion as before, the weight heavier now than it was before, “you’re just a kid!” The silence confining him to an odd hesitation, Lou holds his hand a few centimetres from himself, lowering his voice to a gentle tone. “I’m sorry for what I did, Matt. I’m sure you already know that” Lou explains, watching Matt’s rifle fall to the ground, his face somberly drifting off into the distance, “but neither of us has to die, today. We can both move on with our lives and-” “You’re wrong” Matt responds, still looking at the mountains in the near distance, the faint sound of hungry savages below only helping his emotionally deranged thoughts flutter in. Pressing his lips together, Matt looks to Lou with a tear in his eye, a sudden embrace of humanity coming over himself. “When we carted the dead onto the Euronam, we stuffed them into those deep, deep caverns- so they’d decompose quicker” Matt explains, a laugh leaving his mouth, “it was like we’d done it for years.” Shaking his head, Matt tosses his rifle to the ground, seemingly welcoming the change of heart clarity has brought upon him. “It shouldn’t have been that normal, Lou. It shouldn’t have been that normal, but it was” Matt explains, his hands falling upon his waist, “and the scariest thing about it, is that nothing about that ‘normal’ is going to change. This is the world now, and the people in it are, for better or for worse, the people now.” Clearing his throat, Matt takes in the sounds of the baby crying, again shaking his head in disbelief. “To think neither of us has to die is foolish, Lou. It’s foolish, it’s reckless, and ultimately, it’ll be what kills you” Matt remarks, every word he speaks further dragging Lou’s fears to the forefront, “it’s a naivety that you can’t afford. You need to know when people are worth being left alive, and if you can’t see that, you’re going to get yourself, and the people you love, killed.” “What is this, Matt?” Lou finally interrupts, the man’s motivations too puzzling to understand, “I don’t understand what’s happening, and I’m not sure I want to.” Dropping to his knees, Matt looks at the ground, disassociating from himself. “You need to kill me, Lou” Matt replies, the profound answer only further losing Lou’s patience. Reaching for Matt’s throat, Lou presses both thumbs to the man’s shirt collar, pulling him back to his feet whilst screaming in his face. “What game are you trying to play with me, Matt!?” Lou exclaims, the boiling aggravation sending spit flying from his lips, “you’re talking like a fucking lunatic!” Shoving Lou away, Matt matches the young man’s screams, his finger pointed at Lou’s face. “The world is fucked, Lou! F-U-C-K-E-D, FUCKED!” Matt screams, the veins in his neck popping. “For the last week, I’ve held onto the hope that I’d find you, and I’d kill you for ruining my great, big plan! You, I was going to kill you, a kid!” Matt persists, gasping for the breath he forces from his lungs with such desire, “I’m as fucked as the rest of the world is, and you need to kill me!” Throwing himself back to his knees, Matt bows his head, openly inviting Lou to squash the broken life he begs to let end. “I will not kill you, Matt!” Lou exclaims, again shoved away, this time with enough force to take him off his feet. Slamming into the cedar finish, Lou watches Matt sprint across the roof, taking the crying baby into his hands. “NO, DON’T!” Lou growls, watching Matt’s body swing, the infant launched eight-stories to the collected herd below. Slamming into the concrete lip, Lou watches the child plummet to the ground, disappearing into the swarm with a squeal. Dismayed, Lou watches the dead clump together, struggling to process what he’s just witnessed. “Y- Yo-” Lou whimpers softly, too stunned to react. The dead now preoccupied, a chilling silence comes over the rooftop, only the sudden, forceful collision of knees to the panels below left to interrupt. “I told you I was broken-” Matt grunts, the sound of his voice sending Lou into a rage, his face shaking with life-shattering vigour, “-and now you need to act accordingly.” Trembling, Lou takes his face away from the dead below, staring off at midday sun just overhead. In quick succession, Lou pushes himself from the ledge and wraps his hands around the axe handle, its head dragging against the cedar beneath his feet. “Yes!” Matt shouts with excitement, eagerly anticipating the inevitable demise that approaches him, “I’ve shown y-!” Pulling the weapon over his shoulder, Lou swings the axe as if it were a baseball bat and buries the blade in Matt’s chest with enough force to knock him off his knees before he can finish his final words. Pressing his foot on the man’s stomach, Lou rips the weapon from Matt’s insides, continuing to bludgeon the man’s corpse with no remorse. His face painted with splatters of Matt’s blood, Lou continues to dissect, disembowel, and disassemble the man’s torso, leaving it a bloody husk. | “Aaarrrggghhh” Matt groans, his reanimated jaw propped open with a brick, his arms and legs having been carefully removed post-mortem. Taking a knee beside the fresh corpse, Lou stares into Matt’s beady eyes, a disgusted look on his face. “You taught me nothing, and you died for nothing” Lou hisses, letting the man’s sniper rifle join the prosthetic arm over his back. “You haven’t taken into account how I see the world” Lou explains, his nub resting against the wall’s ledge, “and I still see the world as I always have. It’s gruelling, it’s remorseless, and as you noticed today, unfair.” His words now carried in a whisper, Lou takes another look at the mountains, the snowcaps along the very summit bringing a smile to his face. “I’m going to find my friends, Matt. I’m going to find all of them” Lou promises, resting his axe on the ground, “Jenn and Halston, Terry and Jules, Elsie, Lee, Theo and Ally.” Leaning his face close to Matt’s ear, Lou departs with a whisper, taking solace in the confidence he speaks with. “You’ve changed nothing, and I hope that there’s some part of you in there, helplessly trapped that can hear me” Lou explains, rising to two feet with a grin, “because that is how I’m leaving you.” Picking up a gore-covered raincoat from the building’s ledge, Lou throws the jacket over his shoulders and retrieves his axe, leaving the man behind in favour of moving forward. “I’ll see you all soon” Lou whispers, taking one last look at the mountain, holding onto the hope that it beckons for him on their collective behalf. Groggily stepping through the door at ground level, Lou steps into the horde, traipsing through the dead without hesitation, not a single beady eye concerning themselves with his presence. Emerging from the horde, Lou walks with the dead, leading the horde through the streets of Victoria without a second thought. Looking to the same mountain he eagerly works toward, Lou’s heart is taken to another decimated building, the concrete walls of its first floor blown to smithereens. Shaking his head, Lou moves on, one foot cautiously put in front of the other until the tip of his boot kicks something unusual along the paved sidewalk. Squinting, Lou stops his walk, taking his eyes to the ground at the luring call of grazed steel. “Hmph” Lou groans, letting the axe fall from his hand at the sight of something more favourable. Distancing himself from the dead, Lou crouches to the ground with a smile, his fingers wrapping around the familiar touch of thin, cylindrical rebar. “Hello, old friend” Lou whispers, a chunk of concrete still encapsulated around the pipe’s very base. Surrounded in silence, Lou takes the pipe over his shoulder and swings it at the ground, freeing the bar’s end from its concrete confinement. “Everything’s going to be okay” Lou mutters to himself, turning back to rejoin the horde in Victoria’s streets, the pipe proudly returning to its rest upon his shoulder. == RISE and REVOLT ==
0 Comments
Season 3 Premiere
“Where is it, where is it?” a man in his early forties mutters to himself quietly, a shotgun cradled in his arms as he huffs for breath, each puff of air visible through the crisp air in a pale white, “fuck, where is it?” Back to the wall, the man presses his ear to the nearby door, the focused groans of an undead army bellowing one wall over kissing his ear with unnerving worry. Tapping his foot, the man wraps his red hands around his firearm’s fore-end, silently encouraging himself. “Sebastian, are you in?” the man’s radio abruptly cries aloud, the quiet frost that had permeated the air now ravaged with noise. “Shit” the man grunts to himself, the momentary calming of the neighbouring room’s undead driving his anxiety through the room. Running his finger over the dial, Sebastian lowers the radio’s volume as he rips it from his side, whispering into the receiver. “Wrong fucking time, Kim. Wrong fucking time!” Sebastian hisses, letting his weapon lower to his side, his legs carrying him away from the door, waiting for the deceased one wall across from him to form their conclusions. Sucking in air, each exhale forms a cloud before his eyes, the late-November air warmed by his fear-driven breath. “I think I might-” Sebastian begins to speak into the radio, hoping the many seconds that have passed would clear him in the eyes of the dead. “Aaarrgghh!” the dead suddenly groan, slamming their weight into the door. Interrupted and surprised, Sebastian stumbles back, his weight pushing a fragile, partially-broken shelf to the ground, metal pots and pans slamming into the ground with insurmountable noise. In a frenzy, the dead succumb to their mob-mentality, trying feverishly to remove the wooden stopgap standing between themselves and their prey. “The plan’s a no-go” Sebastian replies to the radio, dashing to the window on the other side of the room, “I repeat, the plan is a no-go.” Not taking care to the dissatisfied groans from the radio, Sebastian steps upon snow-covered bits of glass as he returns to the frigid, outside air. “We should still have two hours before solar noon” Sebastian remarks, his every step digging into a near half-metre’s worth of snow. “The amount of daylight we have doesn’t matter, Seb” a man’s voice remarks, Sebastian’s eyes encouraged to roll, “we might have three days of wood left, and that’s if we’re lucky.” Shaking his head, Sebastian returns the radio to his lips, following his own footsteps. “We’re gonna have to get real-fucking-lucky then, Silvano” Sebastian responds, the beads of sweat that run down his face beginning to freeze to his skin, “there’s no getting in that shop without letting the dead out.” “Alright, I don’t care anymore, let them out!” Silvano hastily replies, the frustration clear in the tone of his voice. “We’re not filling these streets with the dead, Silvano” Sebastian responds, his aggravation forced to remain at bay, rational thought consuming his mind. “No one is coming to save us, Sebastian. It’s nearly been three months and we haven’t heard a helicopter since day three” Silvano replies, slowing his speech, “it doesn’t matter if the dead are set free.” “Silvano, I’m not having this argument with you” Sebastian responds, redirecting his irritation toward the radio-travelling voice. “Lose all the hope you wan’t, I said ‘no’” Sebastian replies, stepping onto the main road, it’s pavement blanketed in enough snow to hide it from the unfamiliar eye completely, “we’re not letting this town look like it’s-” Looking back at the town he leaves behind, Sebastian’s eyes travel to the decoration-clad building he’d recently left, assuming to find his spirit crushed with the reminder of another failure. “Kim, I have to go” Sebastian instead responds, hooking the talkie to his side as a lone figure wanders out from the overrun soup kitchen interior, more lively than he’d assume any of the dead to be. Removing a gore-ridden raincoat from atop his frame, the indescribable man ruffles snow through his overgrown head of hair. “What do you mean you have to go? What did you find?” Kim asks through the radio, the volume just loud enough for Sebastian to make out the question asked. “Our culprit, I assume” Sebastian whispers to himself, dragging his feet through the snow, each move taking him closer to this questionable man. Resting the gore coat atop a near-submerged postal box, the ominous form throws on a thick, beige trenchcoat and begins trudging through the snow, a skinny, silver rod carried in his right hand. “Hey, stop!” Sebastian exclaims, aiming his shotgun whilst advancing upon the mysterious survivor. Coaxed by the voice he’d not intended to hear, the survivor brings his walk to a conclusion, waiting for further instruction. “Are- are you-?” Sebastian stutters, the farthest reaches of his mind struggling to process the meaning of what he’d just seen, “are you one of the dead?” His arms still at his sides, the anonymous survivor keeps his eyes forward, the tip of neighbouring mountains helping hide the sun from his eyes. “If I was, I wouldn’t be speaking or cooperating” the man replies, his voice calm and unconcerned, yet youthful in tone, all of this helping add to Sebastian’s astonishment. “Th- that building is riddled with the dead. How are- How- How?” Sebastian’s stammering continues, his curiosity so grand that the word ‘how’ alone offers more answer than any specific question. “If you look like, smell like, and act like the dead, they’ll be none the wiser” the wanderer responds, letting out a short laugh, “I swear, blending in with them has given me some of the best nights of sleep I’ve had in my entire life.” His scrunched face shaking with the rest of his head, Sebastian remains alert, unsatisfied with the carefree attitude he takes from the man’s answers. “Put your hands up, and drop that stick” Sebastian orders, stepping a few feet closer to the man, his shotgun well within fatal range. With a nod, the man raises his arms into the air, his right hand raised without issue, whilst his left offers what it can, the amputated nub in particular intriguing Sebastian. “Drop the stick” Sebastian commands, holding his safety to a higher priority than his curiosity. “I’m aware this is Canada, but I’m fairly certain you have a gun pointed at the back of my head. So out of respect, I’m sure you’ll understand that I’d prefer not to drop my stick” the man replies, listening to the man’s feet drag closer, the jittering mechanisms within the shotgun plenty audible, “and for your information, it’s a rebar pipe, not a stick.” “I don’t care what it is, and I don’t care if you feel safe” Sebastian responds, touching the back of the survivor’s neck with his shotgun’s barrel, “drop the stick.” His cooperation fading the moment his gunman’s weapon grazes the back of his neck, the survivor slams his rebar against Sebastian’s head, watching the anxious man collapse into the snow, his head gashed at the point of impact. “Please answer me, Sebastian” Kim pleads from afar, her faint voice through the radio barely audible. “Sebastian’s fine, but he’s going to wake up with a little headache” the wanderer replies, snatching the radio from his unconscious victim’s hip, “I’m sure he’ll be back at, wherever the hell you are, soon enough.” “Who is this?” Kim responds, aware of the difference between the wanderer’s youthful voice and Sebastian’s grizzled, exhausted tone. “I promise that is none of your concern” the wanderer replies, sticking a small piece of paper on a large box, dozens of gasoline containers packed inside. “Wha-?” Sebastian begins to groan, his open wound sanitised and bandaged over, the wanderer placing the talkie into his open hand. “What did you-?” Sebastian wonders, pressing his hand against the covering on the side of his head. “Why did-?” Sebastian wonders aloud once more, cutting himself short when the bells atop the entrance jingle, marking the wanderer’s exit. “Hey, come back!” Sebastian shouts, climbing to his feet before quickly falling back down, not yet present enough to carry himself home. Pushing himself back to the counter he was left resting against, Sebastian glances at the cardboard box, stumbling his way through the note left. “I could have killed you if I wanted to, so remember that in case we meet again” the opening line reads, “your radio is on your hip, your shotgun is next to the front door, and the gas I heard you talking about are all yours. Thanks for the warm welcome. -L.” = RISE and REVOLT is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series from Season 1 onwards belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 = / Five days later / “There, you’re all set” a pleasant face responds, taking humour in pinching Sebastian’s cheek between her index finger and thumb. “Thank you, Dr. Golden” Sebastian replies, gently tapping her knee with his open palm. “Is he going to live?” Silvano calls out, both hands resting on opposite sides of a pinball machine. “Sonya is a brilliant doctor, I’m sure I’ll be fine” Sebastian responds, trailing through the house on his way to the backrooms. “I’m a bus driver, but close enough” Sonya replies, returning bandages and rubbing alcohol to the medical kit she’d taken them from. “You were almost a doctor” an older man responds, stepping through a small archway, running a dry rag over his wet hands. “No, dad. I was almost a DPT” Sonya replies, returning the kit to its original hook on the wall. “Same thing to me” the man responds, his hands staining the white rag a dark orange, his face carrying a welcoming smile. “Every parent blows their kid’s accomplishments out of proportion, Rudy” another man jokes, his hand rubbing his teenage daughter’s shoulder, “ain’t that right, ski team all star?” “What?” the young girl replies, removing her earbuds with no recollection of the conversation being had. “Marta, your dad called you a ski team all-star, Adrian, your daughter heard nothing you said” Sebastian remarks from afar, carrying a pitcher of orange juice in his hands. “I finished seventh in alpine” Marta blindly responds, suspending her earbud in the air, still clueless to the original conversation. “Why does it smell like Mexican food?” a woman on the younger side of thirty asks aloud, dressed in a one towel whilst patting her wet hair with a second. “How are you going to call fajitas ‘Mexican food’ in front of me, a Mexican?” Silvano jovially cuts off the question, a smile on his face as Sebastian’s hand finds the back of his neck. “Because Kim is from Texas, mi hermano” Sebastian replies, setting the pitcher of juice on a nearby table. “Then I guess I know where you got that shotgun from now, don’t I?” Silvano jokes, watching Sebastian spin around and mime firing revolvers at him, high-stepping as if he were in a western film. “Alright, back to the important conversation” Sonya calls out, stepping into the centre of the room and occupying the empty recliner, “what’s the word from Courtney?” “She’s touching down tomorrow last I heard” Sebastian responds, reaching into a basket of shirts before tossing an empty white one to the near-nude woman across the room. “And the bandits?” Adrian replies, his question earning a greater pause than Sonya’s. “That question is more difficult to answer” Sebastian responds, filling a glass with juice. “Why is that?” Adrian replies, his tone less enthusiastic than it was moments earlier, “we’re not just gonna keep letting them steal our food, right?” Lifting the glass to his lips, Sebastian remains silent, savouring the beverage’s taste as he releases a satisfied sigh, still unable to answer Adrian’s concerns. “You’re not answering my question, Sebastian” Adrian declaims, still curious for an answer. “How would you like me to answer, Adrian?” Sebastian responds, quickly turning back with a tired wonder, his empty hand held at his side. “I want you to tell us that there’s a plan” Adrian replies, his words no longer carried with curiosity or good favour, but rather with agitation, “I want you to tell us we won’t have to hunt in the snowstorms for food.” Returning the glass to the table, Sebastian turns back to the man, answering his concerns with the truth. “We’re going to have to do that eventually” Sebastian proclaims, speaking the truth no one wishes to acknowledge, “we can’t live off frozen corn and soup until help comes.” “But we can keep our food from being snatched in the dead of night, Sebastian” Adrian responds, his draconian tone clinching Sebastian’s attention, “we shouldn’t have to worry about people stealing our stuff!” Approaching Adrian, Sebastian tries his hand at bringing reason, clinging to the common ground they already share. “I agree with you, but how exactly do you suppose we handle the problem?” Sebastian wonders, his question prompting Adrian’s head to lower, unable to answer. “We don’t know who they are, where they live, or if they’re dangerous” Sebastian explains, already reciting the obvious, “we can’t call the police on them, we can’t blackmail them, we can’t stop them.” “What if we set up traps?” Rudy wonders from afar, raising his voice loud enough for it to be heard from within the far-reaches of the kitchen. “We’re in a cabin in the woods, people set traps up here all the time” Rudy exclaims, those in the other room left staring at the empty arch between themselves and the kitchen, “we’ll catch one of the thieves red handed and trade him back in exchange for being left alone.” Emerging from his food preparations, Rudy steps through the archway with a steaming pan, a smile on his face warmer than the cooked chicken and vegetables in his cast-iron cookware. “We can save the chit chat for after dinner, let’s enjoy a warm meal while we have it” Rudy explains, disarming the argument of opposing sides where they stand. | / One day later / “I don’t understand. You came out here seven days in a row, and kept approaching it from the same angle every single time?” Kim questions, the recent increase in temperature having melted a good amount of snow. “I’m one person, what did you expect of me?” Sebastian replies, pressing his shotgun close to his chest, “the back entrance is the easiest way in, but the dead were never preoccupied enough to let me get in and out.” “They’re slow idiots, I’m sure it’s not that hard” Kim responds, slamming her fist against the large metal doors at the building’s front, letting a few seconds pass before the dead begin surrounding her fist’s noise. “Okay, but go ahead and show me how effective that is when we’re on the inside” Sebastian replies, carrying himself around to the building’s rear, the shattered window offering him easy entry. “Hey, whatever happens in there, look out for a guy with one arm” Sebastian pleads, taking the woman’s hand to aid her entry. “Why do you think he’d be in here?” Kim wonders in curious fashion, placing her foot on the windowsill. “I don’t know, it’s just in case he is” Sebastian responds, taking a second to consider his answer. “Well, if I see a one-armed zombie, I’ll be sure to let you know” Kim replies, ducking her head through the hole, “but I don’t think it’ll do you any good.” Without a word, Kim leaps through the building’s wound, following Sebastian with ease. “Are they still across the room?” Sebastian wonders, watching his friend place her ear to the door, listening for the distant growls. With a nod, Kim reaches for the doorknob and pushes the wooden barrier in, revealing herself to the gathered horde within the soup kitchen’s concrete walls. “To the kitchen, let’s go” Kim whispers, aiming her flashlight at the plastic covers lining the counter. Setting his worries aside, Sebastian accompanies the woman into the gathered centre, following her to the counter. “Everything in the bag, hurry!” Sebastian remarks louder than Kim had hoped, her whispered hiss requesting his volume be lowered setting the final nail into the coffin, the dead now turned from their original infatuation, their beady eyes settling upon the real prize. “Look what you did!” Kim exclaims, shovelling cans and coups of frozen goods into a regular knapsack. “I’m sorry, I’m not used to this!” Sebastian responds, his volume only increasing now that their cover has fallen through. “Apologize later, let’s get our shit and go!” Kim exclaims, taking the sack into her hands, her fingers pulling at the strings to fashion the sack shut. “Kim, we need to get going!” Sebastian remarks, taking aim at the dead with his heavy-duty piece, offering his fellow mountaineer cover. “I’m trying, Sebastian. I don’t exactly have control over-!” Kim exclaims, pulling the last string into place as a set of fingers wrap around her exposed calf, the sweatpants she’d worn having rode far enough to expose her skin to the frigid air. “Seb-!” Kim exclaims, unable to bring her thoughts into words before her balance is taken, her hands pulling the knapsack against her chest as she topples forward, landing to the ground with a thud. “Kim!?” Sebastian calls out, turning back to find the woman having vanished from her original place, shrieks of pain emerging from near his feet instead. The wooden panels lining the windows supplying the room with a cloak of darkness, Sebastian’s flashlight points its way to the ground, Kim’s horrified expression, matched with her cries for help, the first thing Sebastian sees. “Kim, wh-?” Sebastian shouts in horror, running the flashlight further up the woman’s spine, gradually reaching her legs, where her skin hangs from the jaws of a corpse, one having been lucky enough to slump over in a corner until it’s meal walked right into its reach. “Do something!” Kim shouts, desolately trying to rip her gormandized leg from the dead’s reach. Spending seconds in a frozen terror, Sebastian’s instincts suddenly take over his actions, his arms taking the shotgun to the corpse’s face, it’s face fragmenting like ice as the bullet tears through its skull. Her pain audible through the shouts, Kim tries to pull herself up, a gesture Sebastian is unable to do more than stare in disbelief at. “Behind you!” Kim shouts from below, only able to see Sebastian’s calves, the set that approach closely behind proving to be an easy situation to recognize. Taking the woman’s warning seriously, Sebastian spins around, watching the cadaverous face from nightmares reach out for his awestruck frame, unable to muster the sense to defend himself. “Aaarrg-” the corpse groans, its wide eyes staring through Sebastian’s horrified soul until the end of a rebar pipe rips through its socket. With a sickening crack, the pipe rips itself from the corpse’s face, allowing the body to crumble to a heap on the floor, revealing the youthful face he struggles to recognize. “Take the knapsack and run” the familiar, yet equally exotic voice orders, a gore coat covering the man’s frame. “Go!” the man shouts, pointing his finger to the door Sebastian had once entered through. Following the instructions given, Sebastian takes the knapsack from the ground and races for the backroom, holding the door for Kim and his all-too familiar guardian angel. “You were in there!” Sebastian remarks, shutting the door behind himself as he leaps through the window, taking Kim from the wanderer’s hands, and leading the rush back to his woodland-surrounded cabin home. | “All I’m saying is that I don’t think he knows what he’s doing” Adrian explains, seated in a soft, cushioned chair, his hands gently resting atop the armrests, “I think he’s planning for the future, and not for right now.” Pressing her hand against the back of the chair, Marta swipes her thumb across the screen of her phone, a disappointed look stretched across her face as Silvano responds. “Sebastian’s holding out hope, I still don’t see why that’s a problem” the man replies, his finger pressed to his lips, “sure, our spot isn’t ideal right now, but is it worth it to take away his optimism?” His legs crossed, Adrian’s eyes take onto Silvano, the conversation beginning to isolate their trade off from the greater discussion. “It is. He’s making snap decisions in hopes someone’s coming to rescue us” Adrian returns, “it’s been almost three months, and we’ve seen no one.” “The island’s infested with zombies, I think the government has bigger problems than a few stragglers in the woods” Sonya interjects, drawing the focus of Adrian. “I’m not talking about the government, I’m talking about anyone” Adrian responds, his hand waving at the living room’s depths, “we’re stuck on the edge of the Pacific, running out of food, in a cabin owned by someone that can’t distinguish expectation from reality!” “If you don’t like what Sebastian decides, you don’t have to live in his home” Sonya replies, repeating a gesture Adrian seems to be annoyed at the persistent reemergence of. “Where do you suggest I go?” Adrian responds, the tone of his voice calm, even half-sociable in better circumstances, “it’s Vancouver Island. Everywhere we look is either forest, mountains, or dead city.” “Where you go doesn’t concern me, but you can’t stay in someone else’s home and make your own decisions” Sonya replies, drawing Adrian’s hands to his eyebrows. “I’m not trying to make my own decisions, Sonya” Adrian responds, his words spoken slowly, spaced apart for added emphasis, “I’m just trying to leave the door open for, if it does happen to come, a direction we can take if this optimism Sebastian’s carrying onto withers off.” The room having grown silent, Adrian looks around for a reaction, waiting for someone to counter his opinion. “I’m not trying to be a hard-ass, I just want to be prepared for the worst” Adrian explains, tired of the need to defend his intentions, “I don’t want my daughter to be caught in a mess that we could all avoid if we- Oh, Jesus!” Dashing from his chair, Adrian hurries through the front door, racing through the wintery mix beneath his boots at the sight Sebastian’s return brings. “What the fuck happened!?” Adrian exclaims, the rest of the group gathering on the front porch, uncertain of how to respond. “Get every bottle of alcohol you’ve got!” the third, unfamiliar voice orders, “get bandages, get ice, and get a big fucking knife!” “Sonya, Marta!” Adrian exclaims, waving them off to do as instructed, assisting the fabled, one-armed survivor in leading Kim’s unconscious body through the door. “What are we going to do!?” Adrian calls aloud, the only person willing to answer with ease being completely anonymous from his perspective. “We’re gonna cut her leg off at the calf” the survivor replies, his face covered below the eyes with a red bandana. “What!?” Sebastian exclaims, his eyes widened from shock, “why the hell would we do that!?” Resting Kim atop a table in the centre of the room, the wanderer quickly answers. “Take a good, long look at my arm and tell me why the fuck we’re doing that” the man shouts back, ripping the bandana from his face to reveal a thick, dark beard, his skin soft and smooth from youth. “Jesus!” Sebastian exclaims, looking at the man in the eyes, a piece of his heart nearly breaking the moment his folkloric saviour’s face comes to view, “you’re just a kid!” Swallowing the buildup of spit the cold climate has left in his dry mouth, the man shrugs, extending his hand. “I’m not so sure those exist the way you’re used to, I assume” the man responds, ending the banter once Sonya returns from the home’s unseen parts. “Are you saying she’ll survive if we cut the leg off?” Adrian inquires, a haste in his voice. “No, I’m saying if we don’t, it’s a guarantee she dies” the young man replies, throwing his muck-covered coat from his shoulders, “if we do, it’ll still be a long shot, but she’ll have at least some chance.” “I’ve got bandages, booze, and a knife” Sonya remarks, Marta trailing closely behind. “Thank you, thank you, and-” the man remarks, resting the equipment on the ground whilst unscrewing the vodka cap, raising the rim to his lips and downing a quarter of the bottle, “and thank you.” Wiping his lips, the man runs the vodka over the large kitchen knife and the unconscious woman’s leg, a big sigh leaving his lungs as he steadies his hand. “What’s your name, kid?” Sebastian inquires, looking the young man in the eyes with the same agonizing look he wore when first seeing the man’s face. “Unimportant right now, let’s focus on the basics” the man explains, stopping himself at the distant buzzing sound of fan blades, “what the fuck are those?” “Shit, Courtney’s here!” Adrian exclaims, removing the belt from his waistband as he ties it above Kim’s knee. “Alright, that’s good- whoever that is” the wanderer responds, letting another deep breath leave his lungs, “anyone that isn’t interested in watching your friend’s leg get cut off, go greet Courtney.” Removing himself from the room, Rudy takes Sonya by the hand, intending to leave with Silvano and Marta until his daughter’s hand presents reluctance. “No, I should oversee this” Sonya declares, her father’s eyes turning back toward her with a reluctant frown, “I’ll be fine, go look after the others.” Puckering his lips, Rudy releases his grasp with a nod, following the others through the door. “Alright, this is going to get messy” the man replies, his nub placed in the missing chunk of the woman’s leg, his knife-wielding hand swinging through the air with precision. Relentless in his efforts, the man severs the calf, the brutal force beneath every swing enough to instantly break the bones in his way, allowing the chunk of muscle and flesh to fall sickeningly upon the carpet. “Fuck!” the wanderer shouts, repulsed at the touch of the leg’s muscle resting against his knelt knee. “Get the booze on that cloth and-” the wanderer explains, holding the nub over his mouth to keep from throwing up, “-and wrap it over the leg.” Letting the knife fall to the ground, the wanderer stands from the table and turns away, keeping his sick down as he approaches the front door. “What the fuck is all of this!?” a woman bursts through the door asking, an unfamiliar man with one arm and covered in blood standing before her. “Kim was bit, this guy, whose name we still don’t know, is trying to save her” Adrian explains from afar, helping Sonya swiftly dress the amputation with gauze. “If you’re getting involved while you’re here, help them get this girl into bed” the survivor explains, letting Courtney brush past him, taking the wanderer’s offer. “Are you gonna tell us your name now, or is this a waiting game?” Sebastian asks from afar, wiping his hands as Courtney and Adrian lead Kim toward the bedrooms. His tongue running over his bottom lip, the wanderer makes peace with his thoughts, settling the sickened reaction as he attempts to answer. “It’s Lou” the young man responds, looking back at Sebastian’s aching expression, “Lou Jack.” == RISE and REVOLT == |