The Edge of Hell: Gods of the Undead A Post-Apocalyptic Epic

by Peter Meredith

  Pastor John whispered to Cyn: “Say amen.”

  “Amen,” Cyn repeated.

  The Monsignor crossed himself and then said, “You have been baptized and your sins have been forgiven, how do you feel?”

  “I feel great,” she gushed, grinning like a child. “Jack you have to do this. You have to.”

  “I will,” Jack said. “When I know that the church is strong enough to take over, I’ll be baptized and all of that. I..., uh, I promise.” His words had caught in his throat momentarily. In all the singing and light and Cyn’s smile, there was a sudden dark spot.

  Pastor John sighed, his brown eyes drooping in fatigue. “Jack, please. Death is like a thief in the night. It comes when you least expect it and it’s best to prepare your soul just in case.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Pastor. Death is coming for us right now. The demon is here, Cyn. I can feel it.”

  Chapter 32

  Central New Jersey

  The goodness radiating from the church and the people and the two priests had dampened Jack’s ability to feel the undead. The creatures were just a shadow in his mind and their exact location had been vague. The demon was, as always, different. It was a poisonous knife cutting through everything and now that Jack could focus, he sensed that the little town with the little church was surrounded by the creatures.

  It had been surrounded since before Jack and Cyn had arrived; he had felt it as they had come charging down the hill. But at that point, the ring around the town had been loose and distant. Now, with the coming of the demon, it was closing in tight; a noose around their necks.

  Jack wanted to jump in the Humvee and get out of there before it was too late, only he knew that Cyn wouldn’t leave with him. She had her new faith and trusted in the priests to protect her and to fight the monsters for her and to make everything normal again. It was a great idea, one that Jack wanted just as badly as she did.

  But he had nagging doubt, eating at his insides. The priests aren’t strong enough, it said. Maybe someday, but not yet, and if you wait here with the others, you’ll die like the others.

  It was such a powerful and logical doubt that he wanted to grab Cyn by the arm and drag her out of there. “It’s coming, Cyn,” he said. “It’s coming for us. Do you understand?”

  “You are safe here, my son,” the monsignor said. “They have tried to get in before, only they cannot contend with our faith and the power of the Lord.”

  Pastor John had a faraway look in his eyes. “I can feel it now. It’s coming from the southeast and it’s powerful evil.”

  The monsignor closed his eyes and grew silent except for his labored breathing, which was surprisingly loud. “Yes,” he said, swallowing. “I can feel it as well…but do not worry. The power of the Lord flows through me. Pastor John, help me up.” The monsignor grunted and made quite a production as he was heaved to his feet. There was sweat in his hair from the effort.

  “Pastor John, I will need the aspergillum, what you Lutherans probably call a ‘sprinkler’. Also fill the brass container that it comes in with holy water. They’re in the sanctuary, if you’ll please run and get them. My dear Cyn, if you would be so kind as to fetch the crucifix on the altar. Don’t forget to kneel before it. There’s a good girl.”

  Jack was now alone with the man and they eyed each other. The monsignor’s cheeks were red and his eyes bright. Jack thought that he was looking forward to the confrontation.

  “The demon is going to use his ability to generate darkness and fear right off the bat,” Jack said. “So far, they seem to lack imagination, but they do think and they do learn.”

  “If I were you, Jack, I would worry more about your soul than this demon. It is nothing but a fly compared to the power of the Lord.” He clapped Jack on the shoulder and then pushed out of the room.

  The people in the hall leapt up at his presence. The singing fell away and they pressed against the walls to let him through. A new fear was building and they looked to the monsignor. “Do not stop singing, my children. In fact, sing louder, sing stronger. Do not let this imp question your faith. Come! Mrs. Farnsworth let’s have Onward Christian Soldiers.”

  An elderly lady began flipping through her hymnal. “Here we go,” she said into a microphone. “Page 186 in the red books.” She touched the keys tentatively, finding her finger spacing and then lurched into the song in a clunky manner as if she had never seen it before.

  Pastor John came up with what looked like a brass bucket with a silver handled tool within it; the tool had a bulbous head with many holes. He was careful not to slosh the contents of the bucket. Cyn came next and with great solemnity, especially for her, she offered a twelve-inch tall crucifix to the monsignor.

  “Thank you,” he said. Jack could barely hear him over the singing which had erupted, yet still he thought that the monsignor’s voice sounded strained. The fear in the air was heavier.

  The monsignor walked to the front doors, paused and closed his eyes. He was praying, his lips moving and the sweat gathering even greater on his forehead and in his white hair. Finally, he pushed open the doors. Pastor John came behind him; Jack and Cyn came next, each holding their weapons, tightly; Jack the M4, Cyn with the shotgun.

  “Check the load,” Jack whispered and then he did the same thing with his rifle. There were twenty-nine rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber. He was a little embarrassed to see that the safety had been in the off position the entire time he’d been carrying it.

  He left it off as the cold of the night struck him, creeping in through the layers of clothing he wore, going right for his heart where it started a trembling that slowly grew worse and progressed outward until Jack was clutching the gun in his hands to keep the shaking from being seen.

  Not that anyone would notice. The coming demon had everyone’s attention. For the moment it was hidden behind the great clouds of darkness that swirled and blew. The darkness blotted out the stars and the town and then the parking lot next to the church and very quickly the Humvee that Jack had found was half-engulfed.

  “Father?” Jack said.

  The monsignor’s face had lost all color and only at Jack’s word did he hold up the crucifix. It was trembling as well. A bad sign since the fear was only just starting to ramp up.

  And yet the darkness stopped immediately.

  It seemed to buoy the monsignor. “Be gone imp of Satan,” he cried. It was a shrill cry, but there was power in it and the darkness retreated even more, revealing the cracks of the asphalt at the edge of the parking lot and uncovering the Humvee. Jack longed to jump in it and roar out of there.

  There came a moment of hesitation from the darkness and then a voice as deep as the abyss from which it was spawned, said: “Eta ah hror ey mota.” A bleak wind swept out of the darkness and the shaking in Jack’s body doubled and then tripled. The fear had come and it had the power of the demon and a thousand of the lesser undead creatures all working in concert.

  The music faltered, a baby screeched and someone screamed. Jack’s fear was a powerful thing, a huge thing. It was a snake writhing in his guts, making him want to piss himself. He almost did, too when the gun in his hand suddenly went off, sending a bullet zipping out into the darkness. In his fright, Jack’s trembling fingers had found the trigger.

  The shot seemed to jar Cyn who found her voice: “Do the prayer about the valley of shadow,” she suggested to the monsignor. She was surprisingly calm, embarrassing Jack into pulling his finger from the trigger of his assault rifle when he really wanted to start spraying bullets everywhere.

  “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want,” the monsignor intoned. “He maketh me lie down in green...” He spoke the psalm by heart from start to finish and the more he spoke the stronger his voice became and the better Jack felt. The music in the church never restarted but the child stopped crying and there was a sense of victory and elation coming from within.

  Then the demon showed itself; its copper eyes shining
, its gleefully evil child’s face grinning. It stepped out of the mad, swirling darkness bringing with it its horrible stench. Jack had forgotten the smell as a weapon and it smote him worse than the others.

  Again, Cyn seemed hardly affected. With the blessing still wet on her forehead, she blanched slightly and gritted her teeth, while Pastor John and the monsignor both gasped but otherwise stood the test stoically.

  Jack was astounded that only he went weak in the knees. Since the terrible ordeal had begun—it felt like days ago—he had been the strongest of any of them, able to withstand everything that had been thrown his way, but now he was gulping back the vomit that was coming up his throat.

  The demon had been gaining in strength and for some reason, he was the only one who was being affected.

  “Enough!” the monsignor cried. “Go back to your dank hole, imp. In the name of the Father and the Son and Holy Spirit, I command you to depart from this world. In Jesus’ name…”

  Just as Jack knew it would, the demon wasn’t going to sit still as it was banished. With fantastic speed, it rushed forward, it little legs a blur, its toothless mouth gaping wider than possible looking as though it wanted to stretch its mouth so wide that it could swallow the monsignor in one bite.

  At the last moment, the monsignor held up his crucifix, stopping the demon in its tracks, causing it to hiss.

  “I will eat you, priest of the dead god,” it said, and then blew out a green fog and now Jack reeled back. His skin burned where the fog touched it and his lungs seized.

  The others began to choke and cough, but they didn’t fall over, gasping for air as Jack did, his M4 clattering to the ground as so much useless plastic and steel. Pastor John had the strength and the foresight to hold out the brass bucket and although the monsignor looked on the verge of toppling over, he was able to grasp the silver tool and with a flick of his wrist, he showered the demon with Holy Water.

  The thing screamed and the sound didn’t come from its mouth, it only echoed in their skulls. More madness for Jack, but only an irritant for the others as if this was only a drunken friend being overly loud in their ear. The monsignor flicked the tool again and again, dashing the demon liberally and wetting the ground all around them. The demon backed out of reach and stood glaring, somehow showing hate through the copper pennies of its eyes.

  For a full minute, a wasted sixty seconds, the demon and the monsignor appraised each other. In that time, Jack was able to recover his strength and was able to stand and was able to look blearily down at the rifle.

  Just as he stooped to get it, the demon spoke: “Your God is powerful, but you are weak.”

  It was right, of course and Jack was about to nod in agreement, when he felt something pass between the demon and the monsignor. They were staring and silent, locked in a battle of wills. Everyone and everything watched in silence...all except Jack.

  “No,” he said, in a choked whisper. “This is wrong. Sing one your songs. You, priest,” he said to Pastor John. “Make them sing. Hurry, before it’s too late.” The monsignor was weakening in the battle he hadn’t prepared himself for. His lip was jerking up and down and there was a line of drool hanging like a forgotten and useless rope from a capsizing sailing ship.

  The singing began uneven and weak, two or three different songs going at once. Jack stepped forward and grabbed the silver-handled tool from the monsignor’s lax grip and splashed the little girl demon, breaking the connection.

  The thing hissed, while the monsignor blinked, slowly before turning on Jack. “This isn’t your fight. You are Godless, go hide someplace else.”

  “And you are a fool!” Jack cried. “Get into the church before it’s too late.”

  “I have God on my side. I don’t need to run away.” The monsignor calmly turned back to his opponent…the creature that Jack knew for a fact would kill the man. He did have God on his side, but God wasn’t there standing next to him with a shining shield.

  The monsignor lifted his sprinkler to splash the demon if it dared to come closer, but it didn’t—it didn’t have to. It opened its mouth, its little girl mouth, and blew out a cloud of white fog. The ground grew hoary and iced. The sidewalk froze and grew slick and the monsignor’s feet and legs became stiff as the intense cold swept up the man.

  “May the light of the Lord shed his loving warmth upon us,” the monsignor said and as Jack watched, the cold that was slowly freezing him in place, stopped and there was a hot breeze that swept down on them as if out of a desert night.

  The monsignor looked on it with delight—and Jack wanted to scream at him in fury. The man of God was going tit for tat. He was reacting. He was in a fight for his life and he was utterly placid about it. The demon was there to kill.

  Before Jack could plead with him to either run or fight for real, the demon spoke again in that dreadful, deep hell voice: “Isha raha morte aff.”

  Like the fool that Jack had proclaimed him, the monsignor waited on this next onslaught. It seemed innocent enough; the demon lifted its bony, skin-rotted foot up as if it was going to throw a tantrum, but when it brought that foot down there was a sound like thunder and the earth moved beneath them, shifting right and left as if on rockers.

  Jack was splay-legged and kept his balance. He grabbed Cyn to keep her from falling and she clung to him—feeling soft and fragile. Pastor John went to a knee and put one hand to the ground, looking ready to spring up as soon as the shaking stopped, which it did a second later.

  Too late for the monsignor. He had taken a fatal step back and slipped on the ice the demon had created moments before. He was on his back struggling like an upended turtle. The demon grinned that evil rot-stinking grin of its and was just about to leap full on the struggling monsignor when something odd stopped it.

  The church had shaken along with the rest of their world and now the bell in the belfry let out a far reaching gong! It was a strangely intense and stern sound that stopped the demon and its undead army in their tracks.

  Then there came an odd, expectant pause as though everyone thought something of importance was about to happen. Only the monsignor moved in that long moment and he was barely to his knees when the bell swung back on its arc to strike the clapper a second time. This time the sound hung in the dead air with a muted quality that lacked any emphasis.

  In Jack’s eyes, it was the perfect metaphor for the battle. What started out with such promise was clearly weakening and by the time the bell rang for a third time, it would be a death knell.

  Everyone had been staring up at the belfry; now they turned to see the demon child rushing at the monsignor. It moved with lightning speed, while Jack felt as though he was in slow motion. Too late, he hauled the M4 to his shoulder and sighted the gun—but the demon had already latched itself onto the monsignor’s throat and was drinking his life.

  Just as with Cyn’s mother, the monsignor aged a thousand years in seconds. Jack was spared the worst of the display. All he saw within the sights of the M4 was the monsignor’s hair as it withered, turned brittle and began to fall out.

  And then Jack shot the man of God in the back of the head.

  Chapter 33

  Central New Jersey

  Just as the bell rang a third time, a low sad tone, the monsignor toppled backwards to lay with the wrinkled remains of his eyes staring up at the night sky.

  “What the hell, Jack?” Cyn whispered. She was angry, but then again, so was the demon-child; it turned the burnished coins on Jack and screamed in awful fury. It was a scream that froze the bones of those in the church and pinned them to their pews with fright. It even halted the army of undead; they hung back as though they were equally afraid of the demon.

  Only Jack was completely unaffected by the power of that scream. The scream was vindication. In that split second between the sounds of the bell, Jack had acted when no one else had, and he had made an impossible choice that no one else would have dared.

  He took another step down the darkest of paths wi
th yet another murder, but he also kept the demon from stealing another soul.

  It was with a malicious grin that he flipped the M4 to three-round burst and swept the demon off the monsignor’s chest. The M4 didn’t have much in the way of stopping power and the demon was up seconds later. It opened its mouth, perhaps to scream again or perhaps to blast them with its cold breath, but they never found out which.

  There was the sound of thunder just to Jack’s right and the demon went flying back, pieces of bones skittering everywhere. It was Cyn; her face was lined with grief, yet her eyes were ice. “Why’d you do it, Jack? I had a shot at the demon.”

  Just before Jack had killed the monsignor, her gun had come up, but she was too new to guns to know that a shotgun was not a precision weapon. She likely would have blown the monsignor’s head right off and then she would’ve been the one adding dirt to her soul.

  “You would have missed,” Jack answered, “and the demon would have taken him. Now, the demon won’t be down long and I think it’s after me, so I’ll draw it off. And uh, I guess I’ll see you l-later.” He faltered, knowing that this goodbye would likely be goodbye forever. Jack wasn’t stupid. He had to try to raise Loret; this episode with the demon was proof that God’s soldiers weren’t ready yet to go toe-to-toe with a demon army, and Jack knew there was little chance of him getting into the city alone, or getting out alone either; and there was less of a chance of him overcoming the demon when it finally caught up with him again.

  Cyn seemed to know it as well. She looked at Jack, then back at the church and then at the monsignor lying on the iced-over sidewalk, a hole through his head, and a coppery-smelling steam rising from it. “I’m going with you,” she said after a shaky breath. “You need me.”