by Fuchs, A. P.
They ran into the field, Joe instinctively slowing down thanks to Tracy’s words. The ground was bad here, not at all like running on regular grass. It didn’t matter it was dead grass, but it’s sheer length and the way it was fallen over and interwoven with itself like a nest of dry noodles made it go up in parts and suddenly drop down in others.
He checked on their pursuers. The undead were entering the field, now way more than the dozen or so that had been following them on the road. He stopped, fired off a shot, striking the nearest zombie in the shoulder. The creature’s flesh burst from its bone, its body twisting back from the blow . . . and kept coming.
“Save your ammo,” Tracy said.
“Couldn’t help it.”
“We’ll need it.”
“I know.”
“Okay, then.”
A patch of forest—the most recent one they passed when traveling up the road—drew nearer.
“Know anything about woods?” Tracy asked him in between breaths.
“Just basic camping stuff, nothing fancy.”
They ran to the edge of the forest. Joe went into the trees. He glanced back over his shoulder; Tracy hesitated before entering.
“Let’s go,” he said.
She bounced on the balls of her feet a couple times then ran in. Once together, they continued into the forest, the calls of the dead echoing behind them.
“Go right,” Joe said. Doing so would take them closer to the road. It was the safest place to be since it made it less easier to get lost and, if they needed, would provide an almost immediate clearing should things get crowded within the trees.
The two ran toward the outer edge of the forest. They straightened their path once Joe saw the ditch that ran up to the highway not fifteen feet to his right.
Zombies groaned and growled, their distance closing.
“Is it just me or are they getting faster?” Tracy asked.
“I think they just might be getting more adept at hunting. I also think the ones that forced us in here aren’t the ones that are close. These ones were already in here.”
Joe scanned the tree line and canopy above, and the trunks and branches leading up to them. So far, none of the trees looked climbable. The trunks were so tall that even the lowest branch was well above his head and higher than his best jump. Best case scenario: he could boost Tracy so she could get up there, but he’d be too heavy and it’d be too awkward for her to pull him up.
Been there, done that, he thought, remembering the fire escape. “Just keep going straight for now.”
Her only reply was swallowing what sounded like a dry lump in her throat.
The crunching of leaves grew louder to his left. It seemed any and all undead in these woods were joining in the hunt.
“Think maybe we should head back to the main road,” he said, nodding toward the highway.
“We do that, they’ll come to the road anyway. At least here we have cover.”
A series of growls erupted behind them. Tracy looked back. So did Joe. Six zombies were not far behind. Quickly, two more revealed themselves.
“Faster,” he said.
They picked up their pace, digging down deep and weaved around trees, hopping over fallen ones, and rounding skeletal bushes.
The forest up ahead began to thin, then a gravel road running perpendicular to the highway appeared.
They ran up the small hill leading up to the road, crossed it, and were about to enter the forest on the other side when Joe grabbed Tracy by the arm and yanked her to the left.
“Easy!” she said.
He pulled her close to the edge of the forest along the road. A small brown structure hid partly within the trees. A couple feet later, it looked like a small house around five or six feet square.
A shed.
“How did you see that?” Tracy asked.
“Used to finding quick hiding places in the dark.”
The shed was made of wood, single door, the roof shingled. The door was locked with a padlock. Down the road to the right, zombies emerged from the woods and continued across the street.
Joe turned the X-09 around in his hand so it acted like a hammer and whacked down on the padlock. The faded silver lock was thick and didn’t budge or bend from any of the blows.
“No choice,” he breathed and shot it off.
Down the road, a couple zombies looked in his direction. Joe picked them off, same with the first two to emerge from the woods.
“Get in,” he told Tracy. He pulled the lock off and she went inside.
Other zombies emerged from the woods, walked past their dead kin, and continued across the road, not noticing Joe. He went into the shed, too, and pulled the door closed behind them.
He prayed they’d be safe.
The moans of the dead filled the air outside the door.
34
It’s Getting Darker
As if sleeping was an option.
Michael had led Billie and Nathaniel to a small clearing in the forest, one only wide enough to pitch a small campsite—if they had a tent, that was. Instead of a miraculous supply of sleeping equipment, Billie instead found a spot beneath a tree, one with a wide enough trunk so she wouldn’t be exposed to anything on the other side.
Nathaniel and Michael were on the far end of the clearing, talking beneath another tree. Billie couldn’t hear what they were saying. The two men occasionally moved their mouths, exchanging quiet words. The rest of the time they merely looked at each other and she could only assume they were communicating telepathically.
She couldn’t sleep despite being oddly comfortable here in the dark of the forest. She could only assume it was because she knew the angels were near and that she was in good hands should anything happen.
Eyes closed, she waited for sleep to come. Only thoughts of the events leading up until now played in her mind’s eye. Her heart ached for August. Such a sweet old man. She thought of Des and their friendship, his death in the stairwell of the Richardson Building back in their world, which somehow led to his resurrection as a shape shifting zombie in this one. Even with the knowledge of Time Travel being possible, there was little comfort. Could they go back and save August and Des? Would doing so somehow alter the Timeline so much the world they’d return to would be worse than this one? Would it be better?
Would she even have the courage to ask for such a thing?
This wasn’t the same game they were playing before. No more run-of-the-mill zombies ambling about, hunting the human race. This was about something bigger. This was about something that had spiritual and possibly eternal consequences.
Billie partially opened her eyes and watched the angels in the dim lighting across the way. Their expressions were ones of grave concern. She wondered what was wrong aside from the obvious. She stood, at first hesitant to go over there, then a calm came over her and she was comfortable with the angels once again. And that, too, seemed out of place. She realized she accepted them and their being around as almost natural. Perhaps Someone was making things easier for her.
She approached them and apologized for interrupting.
“It’s all right, Billie,” Nathaniel said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong other than I can’t sleep,” she said. “I’m just wondering why you’re so quiet?”
“We were talking. We communicate differently amongst our kind than we do with you.”
“That’s not what I meant. I can see you from over there” —she pointed to her spot beneath the tree— “and can tell by your expressions whatever it is you’re talking about is serious.”
Nathaniel looked down then exchanged glances with Michael.
“It is serious,” Nathaniel said. “The enemy is advancing in a way we didn’t expect.”
“Didn’t expect? I thought you guys knew everything?”
He shook his head. “We’re not omnipresent nor omnipotent. Any power we have is that which is given to us. Knowing everything, as you say, is something
that isn’t true. But it is interesting you say that because it was the desire to know everything that was one of the reasons Lucifer fell long ago.”
“You have a choice, then,” she stated.
“A choice?”
“To choose between Good and Evil.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. But angelic choices are different than human choices. There’s more to it in terms of what you’re talking about than choosing Good or Evil, up or down, left or right. To keep it simple: Lucifer and his followers’ choice to rebel against God Almighty went beyond mere intellectual decision. It simply wasn’t a case of him one day thinking about overthrowing God and then going that way. It involved an entire surrender of his will to darkness, one done with utter rejection of God Himself. Intellectual decision is one thing; deliberately letting all that you are succumb to darkness is another. That is what he and his followers did over time.”
She wanted to ask why Lucifer wasn’t just killed that day and that was that, but also wasn’t in the mood for a theology lesson. Not this late. Besides, her head was full enough as it was.
The two angels looked at her and appeared to not wish to speak any further and instead seemed to hope she’d return to her spot beneath the tree.
She couldn’t. Not with all that had happened and not with knowing that Michael knew where Joe was despite not yet saying so.
“What is his plan, then?” she asked.
Nathaniel locked eyes with her; his stern gaze made her steel herself for the news to come. “Word has reached the enemy that we have revealed ourselves to you.”
“To me?”
“Let me finish. I told you before they know who you are. They watched you and Joe and August witness their rise into the sky right before the Rain fell. They know you discovered the origin of the undead.”
Her mouth fell open, but not at the angel’s words. She and other survivors had been caught in the gray rain the day it fell. The ones who had been inside had not been changed into zombies at all—based on the stories she heard—but whoever was outside had except for a handful here and there. “Why did I survive the Rain?”
“I said let me finish, Billie.” She felt compelled to listen all of a sudden. “You must understand an important truth: the supernatural war between Good and Evil remains hidden from view for many reasons, one of which is simply it is an angelic battle. It is our issue. Unfortunately, you humans are caught in the crossfire and your being caught has caused problems for your race almost from the moment of creation. Now pay attention because this bit is very important: the devil can and does use human beings apart from their own sinful nature to do his will. So do demons. They hate you and all of humanity because your very image is of the One who created you. You remind them of the One who banished them from Heaven eons ago. Just your presence is enough to drive him mad with hate. Lucifer’s revenge on God is simple: bring as many souls to Hell with him as he can before his time on Earth is up. It’s the only way he can truly hurt his Maker. His latest ploy was to infiltrate the human race and possess the bodies of those who have already chosen to reject Redemption. Those who survived were God’s own people. Others who survived, in His wisdom, were those who would become such before their time on Earth was done. But the enemy hopes to stop the redemption of those who have not yet given their lives to Christ and kill them before they can make that decision. If a person dies without Jesus, they are doomed.”
Her heart beat rapidly in her chest because those last words, she knew, were directed at her. “That’s why I survived,” she said softly. She didn’t mean to say it out loud.
“Yes.”
“Any . . . any other reason?”
“To complete your earthly assignment given by the One who created you.”
Suddenly feel like I’m in Sunday school, she thought. What Nathaniel said made sense, except for that last part. What did a Guy who lived roughly two thousand years ago have to do with anything?
Billie suddenly felt split in two. She wanted to know what Jesus had to do with any of this. The other part wanted to move on and talk about something else.
Torn, she merely said, “What do I do?”
“Give your life to Christ and be preserved. That is the first thing.”
“I’m not ready for that.”
“Despite all we told you? Despite all you’ve seen?” He said it as a statement rather than a question.
“Don’t be foolish, Billie,” Michael said. “We are trying to save your soul here.”
“It’s not what I meant. I am ready to give my life over as you’ve stated it seems the choice has been made for me, my survival and all.”
“Maybe it’s not yet time,” Nathaniel said to Michael.
Michael nodded. “Perhaps.”
“It’s a lot to process,” Billie said, “and, frankly, up until all this, God and I never really got along.”
“It’s an affliction inherent in all humans.”
“What of the enemy?” Billie said, her heart sinking at changing the subject, yet too embarrassed to get back to the previous topic.
“As I mentioned,” Nathaniel said, “and was explaining, sometimes the devil uses humans to accomplish his tasks. God also uses humans, too.”
“Like Jesus?”
“Not quite. He isn’t a man, but the Creator of all.”
“I thought God was the creator of all?”
“You’re confusing her,” Michael said.
“It’s not complicated,” Nathaniel said.
Michael merely held his gaze.
Nathaniel put his hand on Billie’s shoulder. His touch was comforting. “We’ll watch out for you. The enemy is coming not just for you, but for Joe as well, same with the woman he is with.”
Woman? she thought.
“Your witnessing of the undead’s birth and their knowledge we have shown ourselves to you has elevated you to a position of power in his eyes. He will stop at nothing to see to it you perish, especially before you’ve trusted Christ to save your soul.”
“And since you’re now a perceived threat, they have increased their activity in this world and are amassing an army. Their number has grown significantly since the Rain first fell. Very few humans are left. They also know we stand beside you and all of humanity. Their first priority is to destroy what’s left of humanity. The next is to come after us. The final step, we believe, will be to try and overthrow God again, using their sheer number to their advantage.”
“How many of them are there?” she asked.
“Right now,” Michael said, “billions.”
Billie understood the math. Those who have died before rose. Those living were changed. Others were infected and transformed after that. Billions.
Heart thumping wildly in her chest, she asked, “How do we stop them?”
“We remain alone no more,” Michael said, the warrior within rising to the fore. “We meet Joe and the woman he is with, and join with the other angels and saints and stand against the evil one.”
“It’s time to retake this planet,” Nathaniel said.
Billie was about to ask how long this would all take when a series of low raspy groans rose from the woods around them.
35
Night in the Hub
That night Mark didn’t want to sleep alone. Michelle couldn’t blame him. It was just him and his mother, the rest of the family having died the day the Rain came. Strip away the “other” in “other family members,” and what was left was a sheer interdependence between the surviving parties. The two had spent nearly every moment together, and when they were apart, it was for a very short time. Rhonda even once confided in Michelle that on some nights, she would allow Mark to sleep with her on her cot, the boy needing the constant presence of someone who was family to help fill the gap left by his father and sister.
Michelle, at first, thought Mark would stay in him and his mother’s room. What was she thinking? Things would never be the same for the boy again. As it stood, aside from a few othe
r friends Mark had in the Hub, she was his only link to a time when his mother was still alive.
They had first gone back to Mark’s room when they returned and gathered some of his things. The boy started crying when he saw his mother’s belongings heaped in a pile in the corner of the room. He fell down upon a mound of her clothes and just lay there for over half an hour, grieving. Michelle stood by the door and shed tears of her own.
Later, they bundled up Mark’s blanket and pillow and the two pairs of clothes he had, a couple action figures and his mother’s sweater, then went to Michelle’s room for the night. She promised him they could come back in the morning and go through his mother’s things and decide what they would keep and what they would share with the others in the Hub.
In Michelle’s room, Mark stood close to the door, seemingly at a loss for what to do. Michelle started to get things ready and asked if he wanted the cot or the floor.
“Don’t be shy,” she said. “You can sleep on the cot if you want. I really don’t mind.” Besides, she was sore from the day’s events and sleeping on a nice hard floor would be good for her back.
There was silence between them.
Then, “I don’t snore,” Mark said, his tone such that as if saying so would somehow alleviate the awkwardness of them sharing her room.
“I’m not worried about that,” she told him. “I’m worried about you.” Even she was amazed at her own tenderness, especially toward Mark, who reminded her so much of her own son, both in mannerisms and in appearance. It was why she had such a hard time being around him. She suddenly felt ashamed at her selfishness of trying to put her own feelings above those of others.