by Kirk Withrow
Though Ethan understood his point about being unable to see in the woods, he shook his head dismissively at the idea of trying to swim across the river. “Even if we could swim across the river, I’m not sure we would survive the temperature. It doesn’t have to be freezing to give you hypothermia with enough exposure time. Besides, we don’t know how wide the river is here or anything about the current,” said Ethan to back up his rejection of the idea. “The group ahead is about three quarters of a mile away. We can follow the road a bit farther to see if any better avenue of escape presents itself,” added Ethan.
After walking nearly a quarter mile, John began to get a little antsy about how close the approaching horde was getting. He was not keen on the idea of playing chicken with the infected mass bearing down upon them. At this distance, their collective moans could be heard with ease, and he could almost make out some of the individual revs comprising the horde even in the dark. John looked to Ethan who shared his concerned expression. “Reams, there appears to be a break in the woods just ahead on the right. We’ve got to get off the highway. They’re getting too close. With any luck, we can get out of their path before they catch our trail,” said John, hoping the big man would accept his words without protest.
As they neared the clearing, a gravel parking lot in front of a small building came into view. There were at least a dozen cars in the lot as well as a large passenger van. Even though there were no lights on inside, the building’s white walls seemed to gleam in the scant moonlight. The darkly contrasting cross on the white sign near the edge of the road made it clear the building was a church. As they grew nearer, they could read the fading text painted on the rustic, wooden sign: ‘Enoch Hill Baptist Church, Est. 1824.’
“Quick! Head this way,” said Ethan as he jogged toward the gravel parking lot about fifty feet ahead. He saw a glint of light reflecting off a chain link fence behind the building. “We’ll climb over the fence to the right of the building. It won’t be enough to stop them if they follow, but it will slow them down,” he added.
While the majority of the cars in the church’s small parking lot appeared to be parked in an orderly fashion, a dark colored Lincoln Town Car was smashed into the side of two parked cars near the door of the church. Ethan slowed as he reached the gravel, both to minimize the sound of his footsteps and to scan the immediate area for any sign of the infected. The burgeoning drone of the infected mass ahead could be heard clearly in the distance, punctuating the urgency in their situation. Finding no threat in the parking lot, the four survivors slowly advanced toward the right side of the church while remaining ever vigilant to their surroundings. Ethan and Reams passed the wrecked Town Car and could see no apparent reason for the crash. Most wrecks the group had seen were on open roads or at least in parking lots large enough to allow drivers to gain enough speed to lead to an accident. Reams considered this as he passed the cars with Kate and John trailing behind him. The side doors of the parked cars were smashed in such a way that Reams surmised the Town Car would have had to hit them, reverse, and hit them again. Envisioning the tire tracks in the loose gravel, he realized they would go along with that as well. Why would someone smash into those cars not once, but twice?
No sooner than the question flashed through his mind, the horrible answer hit him as Kate let out a scream. Walking past the crash scene, her curiosity got the better of her, and she eased over to take a closer look at the tangle of vehicles. As she rounded the capacious Town Car, a gnarled hand shot out from under it snagging her ankle. The unexpected jolt knocked her off balance and sent her sprawling to the ground. The previously torpid thing managed to keep its grip on her ankle and tried desperately to pull her struggling leg to its maw. Its fervent effort was severely impeded by the prodigious Town Car that had pinned its lower body on the first night of the outbreak. As that was over two weeks ago, decomposition was well underway. Combined with the weakening of the mid-portion of its body due to multiple pelvic and spinal fractures sustained in the crush injury, a wet tearing sound like Velcro pulling apart underwater resulted as the weakest link in the ghastly game of tug-o-war gave way under the strain. Now free from its trapped lower body, the half-rev pulled heartily toward Kate’s exposed calf. Still dazed from her unanticipated fall, she had not yet fully processed the situation, and was oblivious to the true danger she was in. Just as its squalid mouth was in range to bite, the rev let out a dry, ghostly cry that caused Kate to jerk her leg toward her chest reflexively. The small movement was enough to loosen the infected thing’s grip, allowing her to pull her leg about six inches away from its searching teeth.
John watched in horror as the events unfolded, springing into action almost before Kate even hit the ground. He drew his razor-sharp knife from its sheath in a flash as he took a leaping step toward the contaminated mouth of the thing previously trapped under the car. In a single deft motion, John brought his boot down hard on the back of the thing’s head as he drove the baleful blade deep into the rev’s gelatinous grey matter. With a violent twist of his wrist, he felt the thing go limp as he watched its grip tighten reflexively before loosening around Kate’s ankle.
Struggling to squash her rising trepidation, Kate sucked in the cool night air as John helped her to her feet. Ethan and Reams made it back to their position as the first of the innumerable infected crested the hill beyond the small gravel parking lot. “We need to run! There’s no way they didn’t hear the commotion,” began John just as the ponderous front doors of the quaint church burst open.
A subtle, warm glow shot out across the dark, damp, and dreary landscape, piercing the blackness like the lights of heaven shining down from above. In the doorway stood an old man silhouetted by the flickering candlelight. To the alarmed survivors, he looked like Moses preparing to part the Red Sea. Urgently, the old man motioned for them to come inside, and when they did not immediately respond, he stepped out of the building seemingly unconcerned about the approaching horde.
“Y’all better get a move on. A man can find himself in a whole mess of trouble out here at night nowadays,” said the old man as he again motioned toward the open church door.
Moving with surprising speed that belied his age, the old man jumped into the church bus and backed it out of the lot where he parked it at an angle across the street. The bus was easily long enough to span the width of the small country road, and while this would not be enough to stop the approaching revs, it would funnel them to the side of the road beyond which was a steep embankment leading down to the river. This, he hoped, would at least buy them some time. The old man hopped out of the bus just as the first rev came within grasping distance. Being the last to enter the small church, John was amazed as he watched the unarmed, elderly man making his way through the throng of infected without them showing a hint of acknowledgement that he was even in their midst.
Heedfully, the old man edged his way around the back of the bus, careful not to slip on the wet grass carpeting the road’s narrow shoulder. Passing the rear door of the bus, he opened the door and wedged a sturdy branch into the jamb to prop it open. He realized this was likely overkill, as the weight of pursuing revs would be pushing the door open as they clumsily tried to maneuver around the rear of the bus. Satisfied, he picked up his pace as he rounded the corner of the bus.
As soon as the old man crossed the threshold, they slammed the heavy doors, and began barricading them against the pernicious storm bearing down upon them. Desks, tables, chairs, and anything else not bolted to the floor of the old, bantam church was added to the makeshift bulwark. Satisfied they had done what they could to shore up the front door, they fanned out to peer through stained glass windows like sacrosanct kaleidoscopes desperately trying to add beauty to the ugly world that lay beyond. Ethan took in the details of their surroundings with a tactical eye, looking for any advantage the sacred building afforded them, and began scouting out potential escape routes.
Paralyzed by the grisly scene spread out amongst the pews, Kate w
as rooted to the spot as images of her ordeal at Hermitage Estates swept through her mind. Heart racing and breath catching, she whirled around when a cold, skeletal hand clamped down firmly on her shoulder. The warm, albeit gaunt, face staring back at her was in sharp contrast to the face she envisioned attached to the hand in her mind’s eye.
“You look like you’ve just seen the serpent in the garden, child,” said the old man with a kind smile. “I’m Reverend Ezzard Mack, the preacher here at Enoch Hill.”
Upon hearing his soothing voice, Kate visibly relaxed, though she was still unable to find her voice as she stared vacantly at the old preacher.
“Seems like Peter was right when he said our adversary the Devil walketh about as a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour,” said Ezzard in a gentle tone that shone a bright counterpoint against the dark implications of his words. Since Kate remained silent, he continued, “You folks is the first I’ve seen around here since the first days. Seems like Old Scratch has come to collect his due and seeing as you folks still seem okay you must be among the righteous. Tell me child, have you been saved?”
As Ezzard’s words percolated through the coarse pores of Kate’s mind, her sluggish brain finally managed to compile her thoughts and fire them down her synapses to her waiting tongue. “Scratch?” she said in confusion, unable to add any context to the word.
“Yes, child, Scratch—Satan, Lucifer, the ol’ red Devil himself. Seems he and his minions walk the Earth in droves these days. I, being but a humble servant of the Lord, await the coming of His army of angels that I may don the helmet of salvation and take up the sword of the Spirit in His name,” said Ezzard in an attempt to resolve her confusion.
John peered through a stained glass window depicting Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, forbidden fruit in hand, and serpent coiled under foot. Seeing no sign of the infected through the partly opaque glass, he turned and walked over to Ezzard and Kate. With a reverent bow of his head, John shook the old preacher’s hand. “Thank you for risking your life to save us out there. I’m not sure we could have gotten away without your help,” said John.
Though not a devoutly religious man, John sensed something profoundly sacred about the old preacher. Maybe it’s the apocalypse? That always seems to bring out the hyper-religious sentiments in humanity.
“No trouble, young man, no trouble at all. We were just talking on about the great darkness that has spread across God’s green earth. Seein’ you folks out there on the good side of this great war I couldn’t do nothing but help so long as I’se able,” said Ezzard. “Name is Ezzard Mack. Some folks ’round here just call me Ezz, or at least they used to.”
With an appreciative nod, John said, “Good to meet you, Ezz. Do you mind if I ask you a question? When I saw you outside near the infected, they didn’t seem to pay any attention to you, almost like you weren’t even there. How’s that possible?”
In response to the question, Ezzard displayed a broad, white-toothed smile as his brown eyes glimmered in a way that hinted at a deeper truth hidden far beyond the glistening orbs. “Put on the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the Devil,” said Ezzard as if that completely answered John’s query.
Reams finished his sweep of the back of the church and ran to join John and Kate, who stood regarding the old man with looks of unmitigated bewilderment. The old man’s back was to Reams so couldn’t see what had his friends so perplexed. As he drew close, Reams ground to a halt as his hackles flew up in alarm. His head swiveled in every direction as his eyes frantically searched for the source of his consternation. The odor—a paper mill shit smell combined with the scent of raw pork bung left in a locked car on a hot summer day—wafted faintly through the air as if the turbulence of the big man’s movement had roused it from some dark lair of hibernation. Though it was not strong, it was distinct, and Reams knew the infected were never far behind that smell.
“You smell that?” asked Reams as he continued scanning the room, certain that the plague was already in their midst.
At that moment, the odor reached both John and Kate, who also began to search intently for its source. After several minutes of fruitless searching, the odor vanished as though the infected had simply moved past them taking their insalubrious scent with them. None of them, however, possessed the necessary optimism to believe such a thing could happen.
Cautiously, the three survivors converged to a point in the middle of the chapel where Ezzard stood like a shepherd keeping watch over his flock. As they moved, they checked under every pew, certain that one hid a pestilential harbinger of death. No sooner than the warning alarms in their heads began to die down, the smell returned with renewed intensity. This time it was Kate that spoke, “You said you took the bodies of the infected out back, how many bodies were there? That smell—you must have missed one.”
John saw something shift in Ezzard’s eyes before the old man spoke softly, as if only to himself, “Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all.”
Speaking more loudly, Ezzard continued, “I think you folks can stop searching around,” said Ezzard as he stepped forward and brought his arm up toward John’s face. “Reckon this might be what you folks is worrying ’bout?” he added.
Despite the knowledge that the smell seemed to emanate from Ezzard, it made the hairs on John’s arms stand on end in much the same way as the bell caused Pavlov’s dogs to salivate. Now even more befuddled by the enigmatic old man, John said, “I don’t understand.”
Anticipating the confusion, Ezzard explained it the best he could. “Blood odor. Seems the good Lord saw fit to give me a chemical imbalance in my blood that causes me to give off a smell something fierce. Been that way since I’se a baby. Didn’t nobody know what was wrong with me until a few years ago when the doctor told me I had something called dimethylsulfidemia,” said Ezzard, pronouncing each syllable of the last word slowly.
“You know that smell is the reason I’m standing here today? You see, I always loved the church, but couldn’t nobody hardly tolerate me there on account of my stink. I figured the only place for me was off by myself, and at church that meant standing up front preaching. Much like old Job, the good Lord saw fit to let Satan punish and test me and, like Job, I have been blessed for bearing my suffering and keeping the faith,” added Ezzard triumphantly.
Thoughts of the sewer drainage ditch and of Ethan walking unscathed through an infected horde by masking his scent with their own inundated John’s mind. I’ll be damned! Maybe Ezzard’s metabolic derangement provides him with a sort of olfactory invisibility cloak. The possibility left John’s brain reeling with the implications. Or maybe that’s just my attempt to use science to rationalize a purely spiritual phenomenon. One look outside will confirm that anything’s possible.
Before John had time to question the old preacher any further, Ethan returned to the group. The forlorn expression emblazoned on his residual face appeared in stark contrast to the static, emotionless expression projected by his prosthesis.
Taking notice of the man’s expression, John asked with obvious concern, “What did you find?”
“Some of the infected have already made it around the rear of the church. I don’t think we can head out through there without a hell of a fight, John. Plus there is a stream back there, and I’ve already seen a few revs stumble over the banks,” replied Ethan. “There doesn’t appear to be too many out front, but it’s hard to tell because of the dark.”
“Any good news?” asked John in a weak attempt to keep the atmosphere inside lighter than the grim reality outside.
“Yeah, I haven’t seen any revs inside yet,” quipped Ethan.
A low thud at the front of the church disrupted the falsely lighthearted banter as though contradicting Ethan’s statement about the front of the erstwhile chapel.
“Shit! Looks like a fight to get out of here either way,” said Ethan as he checked the load of his rifle.
Remarkably, Ezzard’s confident smile never wavered as he turned to address Ethan.
Again, John noticed something shift in the old man’s eyes, this time giving him a more stern, commanding appearance than he possessed moments before.
“Son, this is the Lord’s house, and I will not tolerate profanity within these walls. Do you understand?” asked Ezzard.
Flabbergasted, Ethan simply stared at the old preacher. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’ ” said Ezzard, shifting back to his former grandfatherly self. “Now there may be another way out of this pickle. Who knows, maybe that’s why the good Lord had me to stick around this old place—to help you folks out. You see, ‘man’s heart deviseth his way but the Lord directeth his steps,’ and the Lord – like a good shepherd – always takes care of his flock, don’t you agree, Ethan?” added Ezzard.
Still confused, Ethan said, “How did you know my name? What other way out?”
Again, John thought he saw the mysterious old man’s demeanor morph completely despite very little outward change in his actual facial expression.
Ezzard said in a hushed and rather conspiratorial way, “Follow me, for the Lord did say, ‘I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them.’ ”
The elderly man slowly hobbled past them to the back of the church where he instructed John and Ethan to move a small desk and a rug in the preparatory room. The thick dust under the rug concealed a two-foot square door set flush into the wooden floor. The hatch was so inconspicuous that neither John nor Ethan noticed it until Ezzard fished an ancient key out of his pocket and unlocked the heavy door that did not appear to have been opened for at least one hundred years. Other than the small opening for the key, there were no visible hinges, latches, or handles to indicate the presence of the door. Taking a sturdy letter opener from a desk drawer and sliding it into a crack between two of the floorboards, Ezzard began to pry the door open. Creaking and groaning, the wood finally yielded, and the old hinges began to move. Dirt, long ago trapped around the secret door, cascaded into the dark abyss below before a small plume of dust was pushed back into the room by the slightest, stale, musty breeze rising from the depths.