“That and killing vampires,” Dudley said. “You two can join up with us and as soon as we find a ride we’ll get you out of here.”
“We can’t leave,” Joe said. “There are too many people in this city that need our help, but I bet we can hook you up with a car, and we can certainly make room for your survivors if you want to follow us back to the church. It’s on Mesa, not very far from here.”
“What exactly are you guys up to?” Dudley asked.
“Not us,” Claudia said. “We just work for the Priest. We gather supplies and look for survivors, but it’s the Priest that arranges everything. He’s the man in charge.”
“Do you have other survivors at this church?” I asked.
“About five hundred,” Joe answered. “It’s a tight fit, but we manage.”
“That explains why the team and I weren’t super busy while you were at the hotel,” said Dudley.
“I guess so,” I replied. “It also means that we won’t be leaving the city unless we can get a hold of Hardin. I’m not leaving any survivors behind while the rest of us run for the hills.”
“You think the vampires would attack the church?” Dudley asked.
“Don’t you?”
“Probably,” Dudley answered after considering it for a bit. “That’d be an easy way to make good on the Master’s revenge. I’m sure they already know that there are survivors there. I guess it’s best that we don’t take any chances. Maybe we can fortify this church and defend it.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” I answered. I turned to Joe and Claudia. “So, who’s this Priest you mentioned? And how long has he been rescuing people?”
“He’s been rescuing people since this all started,” said Claudia. “And his name is Father Miguel Monarez, but everybody just calls him the Chainsaw Priest.”
Chapter 8
Father Miguel Monarez
Aka
The Chainsaw Priest
I met with Father Miguel on a bright and sunny afternoon at a pleasant, quiet park. He was strolling along near a duck pond when I came upon him and introduced myself. Fortunately for me, he had read my book and had no problems speaking to me.
The man seemed to be in his early thirties with a jet black head of hair far receded from his forehead. The most noticeable thing about him is his height. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say his lack of height. Father Miguel stands a mere 5’5 inches. He’s a slight man with a warm, contagious smile. As I watched him walking along the banks of the pond, strangers would come up to him at almost regular intervals and speak with him. He welcomed all of them with his smile.
I wondered how a man like that would fit in with the Regulators.
Tell me, my dear. What would you like to chat with me about? I doubt I have anything to say nearly as entertaining as the others you’ve spoken with.
“I think I would like to hear your opinion of the General.”
The Priest gave me a somewhat confused look before he smiled shyly and slowly shook his head.
You came all this way to hear my opinion of the General?
“That and some other things. I’m also curious about vampires.”
Ah, now we get to the meat of your story. I’m just a little bit surprised that the story got out. I was under the impression that certain important people were not too keen on releasing that sort of information.
I’m sure there were a lot of people that didn’t want the world to know about vampires, but that doesn’t seem to concern the General. I have his ‘go ahead’ to pursue the story.
No, I don’t guess that it would concern the General. He seems to follow his own path.
“He does indeed, Father. He does indeed.”
You know, I’ve never given an in-depth interview about what happened in El Paso. I’m not sure where to begin. Shall I start with my schooling? I went to some very prestigious schools, you know?
“I’m sure that is all very fascinating Father, but I’m wondering if we could possibly skip ahead and discuss why they call you the Chainsaw Priest?”
Ah, now there’s a nickname that will haunt me for the rest of my life. Just recently I’ve been told that some company has begun selling t-shirts over the internet that have an image of a priest holding a chainsaw. A few years ago, I never would have believed you if you came out and told me that I would be popular with the teenagers wearing them.
“You were there from day one Father. Tell me what you saw. Tell me what happened.”
Very well, my dear, but please bear with me. I still need to talk about my education. It will help explain my state of mind and perhaps allow me to bear some of the burden weighing down my soul.
“Very well Father, please begin.”
I was born from a moderately wealthy family. A family that knew the value of an education, and because of my family, I grew to be a studious sort of fellow. It was therefore no surprise to anyone when I was accepted into the best possible schools, but it was a shock to all when I entered the priesthood after receiving my doctorate. Everyone imagined I would enter a profession that would grant me a fortune and great prestige.
You see, my dear, I’m moving along quite rapidly. I’m only touching on the important parts.
“Yes Father, you are certainly moving quickly.”
The where’s and why’s aren’t the important part of the tale. The important part is that I was a highly educated and ambitious man when I decided to become a priest. You see, I had always been a believer. I had always been fascinated with the Catholic Church. And, despite my excellent marks, I was bored.
The priesthood was the only thing that held some fascination for me. Again, I dedicated myself to my studies. I was an ambitious scholar when I became a man of God. Have you noticed that I’ve used the word ambitious twice?”
I shook my head that I didn’t.
Ambition was the key to summing up my desires. I don’t think I became a man of God to help people and teach them the ways of Christ. I believe that I entered the priesthood for selfish reasons. I had too much ambition. I had dreams of how far I could go. I wanted the Vatican.
I received El Paso.
A man of my intellect and skills was sent to El Paso probably because I spoke Spanish fluently. Of course, the church there was doing poorly. They told me that a man of my skills would have no problems turning it around, but I truly believe that I was sent to El Paso not to save the church but only because I spoke the language.
I detested El Paso. I hated the hot weather. A man could boil in his own skin just standing outside on a summer afternoon. I also resented the people. I never let on that I felt that way, of course, but I did.
I was an unhappy man stuck in a thankless job in a city that would do nothing to fuel my many ambitions.
Now, I believe that God sent me there for a reason. Why else would a man of my intellect be sent to such a place if not for the will of God? I must sound rather arrogant. It isn’t the most attractive side of me, but it’s important to know. It was the cause of my state of mind, my very frustrated and unhappy state of mind.
Sure, I did my duties and I did them well. I brought up attendance in the church. I made improvements. I did the work of God, but I would have abandoned all if the opportunity had presented itself. I longed to escape. I dreamed about going on to bigger and better things. It never once occurred to me that such a young and inexperienced man was more than lucky to have been given the opportunities that I was given. I was on the verge of becoming lost in my own arrogance.
And then the zombies came.
It was a hot, humid day that I will never forget. It’s funny how people so easily believe that the dead can walk, but they find the idea of El Paso being humid during the summers an impossibility. Well, others have told it true. El Paso can become extremely humid during the summers.
I never saw the news or heard the radio reports. I’m not too interested in those things. What I learned I heard from the worshippers pounding on the door of my church. There
were four of them, all elderly, all terrified. I allowed them entrance immediately. I recognized them all, of course. They were regulars at my services.
“The dead have come back to life, Father!” one of them cried out.
“They are attacking the living!” shrieked another.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
I simply couldn’t believe them. The idea sounded preposterous. I was beginning to wonder if they weren’t on drugs or perhaps suffering some sort of mass hysteria. They tried to explain, but they were all so excited they began talking over one another and I couldn’t understand a thing.
One of them men began trying to close the door. He seemed positively paranoid about leaving it open. I put my arms around the man’s shoulders and gently led him back to the others. He was in quite a state I can assure you.
My church was on Mesa. It wasn’t very far from the university. Now, Mesa is a high traffic road and it took me just a moment to realize that something was wrong. Something was missing. It was the traffic. There was no traffic outside the doors of the church.
I took a look outside just to be sure and sure enough, the street was empty. The only exceptions were some abandoned cars in the middle of the road. The emptiness was shocking. Then, I began to hear the screams. They weren’t anywhere close. They were off in the distance, but I could hear them well enough without the usual traffic outside the church.
I saw other people running down the street, and I called them over. The elderly man that tried to close the doors began to panic when I did so. He didn’t want anyone else to come into the church. He believed that I was inviting some great danger in by doing so.
“This is the house of God,” I assured the man. “He will allow no harm to come to his children in this house.”
For most of the morning I invited anyone I saw on the street to seek sanctuary inside the church. They all told me the same tale. The dead were attacking the living. Some of them even suffered bite wounds from the calamity that was going on out there.
I treated the wounded and calmed the frightened.
They had complete trust in me. I had resented them for so long and they all had such faith in me. It was heartbreaking. I felt completely ashamed of myself. I vowed right then and there to become a better man. I would become a man that deserved their trust and faith.
My new resolve was about to be tested.
The first of the wounded died. I had no idea why a bite wound on the leg would have caused the man to die, but I believed that possibly the mouth of his attacker possessed some type of toxin. At the time, I was still unable to believe that his attacker was a zombie. I hate that word, by the way. It reminds me of a horror movie. It eliminates the suffering the poor soul went through when they became a zombie. I believe it’s dehumanizing.
Still, it’s the only word available, so forgive me for using it.
“What about shambler?”
I believe that one is even worse. I’ve heard that handsome, polite young man named Dudley using it quite frequently. I’ve actually asked him not to use it in my presence and he was kind enough to refrain. Well, I believe he made attempts to refrain. He possibly takes after his uncle too much to completely abandon his enjoyment of irritating others.
I found myself laughing at his assessment. Knowing both Dudley and Jaxon I wasn’t shocked to hear it. He certainly wasn’t trying to be funny, but it struck me as hilarious nonetheless.
“They are quite the characters, aren’t they?”
They are indeed, my dear, but that isn’t necessarily a good thing.
“Tell me more Father. Don’t let me interrupt you.”
Well, the man came back from the dead and attacked me. At first he went after his own wife, but I intervened before he could bite her. I grabbed his shoulders as she fought underneath him. Finally, I was able to spin him around and throw him off.
He tumbled to the ground and came up instantly to his feet.
As his eyes met mine, I knew that the people were correct. The man was a walking corpse. The man was evil, or more accurately, there was something evil inside of the man’s shell. Evil has no place in the house of the Lord.
I reached for the gold crucifix around my neck and held it aloft. In that church, I commanded the power of the Lord and the Lord would never allow a demon to endanger his flock in His own house.
I commanded the demon to abandon the body. I commanded the demon to leave the church and go back to hell. Everyone began to panic. They were calling for me to run away. They were afraid for me. I was afraid as well. Yet, I held my ground and faced the demon. I called to God and asked him to banish the evil from His house.
The zombie charged me.
I was tackled to the floor. I didn’t feel the hand of God. I didn’t feel his love and protection emanating through the cross. I struggled with the zombie on top of me, but my mind was a million miles away. I felt that God had abandoned me.
I knew it was because of my ego and ambition. I knew it was because I entered the priesthood for all the wrong reasons. I was simply not worthy to be a man of the cloth. I was unworthy and the Lord had abandoned me.
I couldn’t accept my punishment. I just couldn’t. Because if I accepted his abandonment, the people I had brought into the church and promised safety would have no protection. I had promised them a refuge and I just couldn’t fail them.
I told this to God as I struggled with the zombie. I told him of my promise to be a better man and I begged him for the opportunity to prove myself. Still, God did not answer in the way that I was hoping for. No Godlike power vibrated down my arm and turned the zombie clawing at my face to dust.
It would have made things easier, but the ability to banish the evil never manifested. Instead, I felt the Lord’s strength. I have always been an active man. I have always enjoyed exercising and did my very best to stay fit, but this was something different.
I felt positively strong.
I realized in that brief moment that the Lord had heard my prayers. He was answering me. Not in the way that I wanted Him to answer me, but He was answering me all the same.
I threw the zombie off of my chest and stood up. The thing was instantly back on its feet again. This time when he ran towards me, I ran away. I led him away from the terrified people. I led him through the sanctuary and down a hallway through the back of the room which led to some offices. Right before I reached the offices, I left the church all together through the side exit.
The zombie followed me. He was unbelievable fast, but I had no problems maintaining a distance from him. Unfortunately, I had run into the church’s garden. The garden had only one exit and for that I needed a key. It was a square area enclosed by a high rock wall. I had trapped myself. Aside from the flowers, there was only a utility shed.
I ran to the shed.
The zombie followed, but I was able to close the door behind me before the zombie could reach me. All was right as the zombie pounded on the thin wooden door. I had saved the people inside the church. I had led the monster away from them. It wouldn’t take him long to break down the thin wooden door that separated us, but I saved the people I begged God to allow me to save.
Then I heard a shrill cry from inside the church.
The cry was unnaturally loud. I was able to hear it even through the pounding coming from outside the shed. I realized that it wasn’t human. I knew that there were others still inside the sanctuary that had been bitten.
I became frantic. I was needed. I was trapped. I was failing miserably, and I desperately wanted to succeed.
I saw the chainsaw.
It was lying there amongst other pieces of equipment. I probably saw it a thousand times but never paid it any attention. The gardening I had been doing since I moved into the church never required the use of a chainsaw. I wasn’t even sure that it would work.
I picked it up and noticed that it was too light. There was an old and rusted gas tank right next to it. Quickly I poured the gasoline into t
he chainsaw. The door to the shed was beginning to crack and splinter apart just as I resealed the gas cap.
I could see the pale hands of the zombie reaching through the cracks as I pulled the starter cord. The chainsaw rumbled but did not catch. I pulled again and again and again and again. I pulled till I was out of breath and thoroughly exhausted.
I pulled a final time as the door finally fell apart and the zombie entered the shed with bloody fists. The chainsaw started. The dangerous chain whirled and the loud sound of the little motor filled the room.
The zombie charged me.
That first battle was a bit of a lesson for me. I had to learn where my enemy was the weakest. How could I have known that only damage to the brain would put a zombie to rest? In my ignorance, I unfortunately made a mess.
But I emerged victorious from the shed. I didn’t have time to celebrate my victory, however; the screams were still echoing from inside the church, and I ran to meet them.
I had gathered about thirty or so people inside the church before the first man turned into a zombie. So, it was the twenty or so uninjured souls that saw me violently cut down with the chainsaw those that had been turned. Violence, by the way, was something I abhorred my entire life, but I felt not the slightest bit of guilt as I cut down our undead attackers.
That, my dear, is how I earned my nickname.
“I’m sorry, Father. I had no idea.”
Don’t be sorry. I’m not sorry. I did the right thing. I felt bad that the people who turned were made to suffer, but I have never felt bad about killing a zombie. In some ways, I think I was born to do it.
“At what point did you hear about the General?”
We heard about the General around the same time everyone else did. He was becoming quite the celebrity. At the time he had begun his rise to fame, I think my followers and I had rescued around two hundred and fifty people. Many of those people had laptops. None of them wanted to try and venture to the safe zone. They had no reason to do so. They were safe enough right where they were.
When the General finally took his group and escaped the city, we were happy for them. Yet, I personally couldn’t conceive of such an idea. To leave the city, we would need to drive. The streets were hazardous and the church was made of stone. It would have no problems standing strong against a siege from the undead.
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