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 ==