And in those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.
—REVELATION 9:3
“WHAT’S GOING ON?”MICKEY ASKED in the silence of the elevator. His grip finally loosened on her shoulder.
“I don’t know.” She wanted to say more but couldn’t think.
The elevator came to a rest on the first floor, and the metal doors pulled open again. The lobby elevators were located in a hall full of offices and the chapel. There were no patient rooms in this area, but still, the sound of wailing and moaning had increased in the direction of the emergency room.
“Jennie, is that you?” Across from the elevators, the windows of the chapel revealed a few dark wood pews. The door stood ajar, and Pastor Billy Crawford stood in it.
He was taller than her dad and had wide shoulders. It was rumored that he had played football in high school but went to seminary even though he was scouted to play for a college team. His close cropped grey hair shone in the florescent light next to his head. His wife stood a little behind him, her usual tight bun loosened.
A twinge of guilt flicked the back of her neck. She hadn’t been to church in over a year – since she’d started college. But overriding that guilt was her desperation. “Pastor Billy, do you know what’s going on?”
Mickey loosened his grip and turned around to face the pastor, too. It was the first time he’d released his tick-like cling. He wiggled in Jennie’s arms as though he wanted down.
“Miz Crawford!” he exclaimed and ran over to her the minute Jennie set him on the ground.
“Hi, Mickey. You doing good?” Mrs. Crawford scooped him up in a hug. “We’ve missed you in the preschool class lately.”
Jennie’s arms ached from holding Mickey so long. She rubbed her biceps and was thankful for the relief.
“I honestly don’t know what’s going on,” Pastor Billy said. “But if you want to wait here in the sanctuary with Mrs. Crawford, I’ll go see.”
He didn’t wait for an answer but immediately started off toward the Emergency Center. Happy to not have to find out for herself, Jennie nodded and headed into the chapel behind Mrs. Crawford.
“I’m here to see my mommy. She’s been hurt.” Mickey pattered away to the nodding older woman.
As they stepped into the dimly lit chapel, the door automatically closed behind them, shutting out the wailing screams from the hall. Jennie began to feel very tired. She remembered her cell phone and took it out of her pocket. A red ‘x’ stood in place of the cell service she normally had, and her battery bar blinked red.
Great, she thought. Now I can’t even find out if Jessica's okay.
There were three rows of pews on each side of the sanctuary. An altar sat at the front with well-worn knee padding. Standing in front of the altar was a plain cross, almost as tall as Jennie herself, with track lights beaming down on it from the ceiling. Two speakers in the corner played instrumental choir music that Jennie recognized as Blessed Redeemer.
Jennie chided herself for being so selfish. When was the last time she’d thought about Jesus, or God, or anything spiritual? She decided to change that right now. She bowed her head and said a short, simple prayer. She didn’t want to be one that came to Him only in crisis, but she honestly needed Him and His assurance right now.
Pastor Billy came rushing back into the chapel with his eyebrows knitted together and sweat on his brow. His hands fluttered to his neck, and he yanked his tie loose. He shot a glance behind him. “We really need to go. Something…”
The pastor looked at Mickey in his wife’s arms before meeting eyes with Jennie. “Maybe you should come with us.”
“No, we’re here to see my mommy. Jennie says she’s been hurt!” Mickey yelled, his eyes fixed on Mrs. Crawford instead of Pastor Billy.
“I’m sure your mother’s going to be fine, Mickey,” she said, but Mrs. Crawford’s eyes grew wide as a wordless message passed between the married couple.
“What is it?” Jennie asked, her eyes darting between them both.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure, but I don’t think it’s safe to stay here. You two should come home with us.”
Jennie remembered the sick-looking people who were on the third floor, and the corresponding wail that came from the Emergency Center. She wanted to do the right thing, but indecisiveness gripped her. Her father would want her with him, but she had no idea where he might be. And what about her mother? She couldn’t just leave her last conversation with her as it was. Tears burned the back of her eyes.
Mickey squealed. How could she take him back to the danger on the third floor? She didn’t want to go there again. Besides, she couldn't even remember the room’s number anymore.
Her first priority was to keep her brother safe. Her heart strained to go with the Crawfords where Mickey would be out of harm's way. Her eyes grew wide as she determined her only course of action.
“Pastor Billy, could you take Mickey with you? My parents are on the third floor, and I think I’ll go to them.” Her voice wavered just as her decision did.
Pastor Billy blinked hard. “I can’t let you do that.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“But you don’t know what’s going on…I don’t know what’s going on.”
“What did you see?” Mrs. Crawford’s shaky voice interrupted.
“I’d rather not say right now.” Pastor Billy gave a small nod toward Mickey.
“Oh.” She hugged Mickey closer to her.
“My dad and mom are up there, and if they need my help…” Jennie didn’t finish her sentence because she didn’t know how.
“Okay.” Pastor Billy set his jaw and turned toward his wife. “Do you think you can take Mickey home—actually, the church is closer.”
“Sure.”
“Jennie, I’ll come with you. But first, let’s walk Mickey and Mrs. Crawford to the car. When we know they are safe, we’ll get up to the third floor.”
Relief washed over Jennie. She wouldn’t have to go alone.
Pastor Billy pulled his blue striped tie off and handed it to Mrs. Crawford who put it in her purse without looking. He pushed the sanctuary door open and looked both ways down the hall.
“All right, let’s go.” Pastor Billy stepped into the noisy hallway. The doors to the chapel slipped shut, silencing Blessed Redeemer. He unbuttoned his blue shirt sleeves and rolled them up. Sweat dripped from the tip of his nose. “Quickly, now.”
He rushed to the side exit only a few steps away. Mrs. Crawford dashed after him with Mickey in her arms. The wailing was closer, and the hairs on Jennie’s neck stood on end. She couldn’t help but look down the hall toward the emergency center. On the floor, not far away, lay a middle-aged man with his face bloated and red. He dragged his legs behind him and crawled down the hallway, digging his nails into the beige industrial carpet.
Though he progressed inches at a time, Jennie couldn’t help but stare for a moment. His eyes were wide and intent on reaching them. She shook her head and turned toward Mickey. His face was buried in Mrs. Crawford’s shoulder.
Outside, the wind bit Jennie’s face and threw strands of her hair into her eyes. She pulled her hair back and took the band off her wrist to twirl it into a quick, messy bun. Pastor Billy jogged straight ahead toward the white church van sitting in the parking area for chaplains and pastors. Jennie looked both directions. The parking lot was crowded with cars, but no people milled about this time. At the emergency lot, where her own car sat in the grass, people spilled out of the emergency room in terror.
People ran toward their cars, as if the building were on fire. But behind them were the others. Even from this distance, the red of their bloated faces glowed like neon signs. They limped after the running populace in stiff, stilted gaits, and the sounds of their suffering filled the parking lot.
What was happening to the people who’d been attacked? Did the aliens’ saliva invoke some kind of strange reaction?
Jennie remembered the open wounds on the legs of the man who had crawled toward her. Just like her mother, there were huge, shark-bite type injuries on his calves and thighs. A bite victim. Her mother. What if her mother was like this?
“Hurry!” Pastor Billy hopped into the van and started it up. He stepped out of the driver’s side and slid open the back to put Mickey in.
“He doesn’t have his car seat!” Jennie called out as she drew near.
“I don’t think we’ll worry about that right now. Considering…” Pastor Billy didn’t need to finish.
Mrs. Crawford slipped into the driver’s seat while Pastor Billy buckled Mickey in. A black Volvo slammed into the back of a Jeep Cherokee. Car alarms sounded all over the parking lot, drowning out the rumbling thunder of the monsters in the distance.
“Dear Jesus…” Pastor Billy’s color drained from his face. “Jennie, do you mind if we say a quick prayer?”
“Of course not.” Jennie shook her head.
Pastor Billy placed a hand on Jennie’s shoulder and one on his wife’s. They bowed their heads, and his deep voice gained confidence. “Dear Jesus, we don’t know what’s going on, but you do. We know that you never sleep and that you are watching over us even now. Keep us safe while we’re apart. Amen.”
“Amen,” Jennie and Mrs. Crawford repeated in unison.
“Amen!” Mickey yelled from the back.
“Drive safe,” Pastor Billy commanded his wife, then leaned in and gave her a quick, chaste kiss. He turned to Jennie and nodded.
The doors they’d escaped through now opened and closed, over and over, on the body of the man who had crawled down the hallway. His crying out could be heard over the sound of the car alarms. Scarred and bloody hands covered his face, His nose scrunched to the concrete.
“We need to help him.” Jennie said without thinking, but fear clenched her stomach even as the words escaped her lips.
“Yes, we do.” Doubt clouded the pastor’s eyes. He rubbed his hand through his sandy grey crew-cut. Sweat beaded on his forehead even though the wind whipped through his shirt. Jennie shivered for him.
When they reached the bloated man, his hands had moved to his hair. His forehead pressed against the pavement, but his cries were not muffled. As they stepped up to him, the man ripped his hands from his hair, pulling out huge chunks. Hair attached to skin dangled freely from between his fingertips. He dropped the hairs, and his hands returned to his scalp.
Jennie’s jaw dropped. Pastor Billy cleared his throat, and his hands tightened in stiff fists at his side. “Sir, can we help you?”
The man’s cries subsided, and he drew himself to yoga’s cobra position. His foggy, glazed eyes fixed on them. The skin from the tip of his nose hung by a flap, abraded by the sidewalk. Bloodshot eyes narrowed to thin slits, animal-like. A garbled voice forced its way through bloody foam bubbling from his mouth. He sneered, fell onto his chest, and clawed at them.
Pastor Billy jumped back and held an arm out to keep Jennie behind him. His voice shook as he said, “Sir, will you let us help you?”
The man clawed the concrete of the sidewalk and dragged his way toward them. The middle finger on his right hand lost a fingernail, but the man continued his desperate struggle. Jennie gasped.
Pastor Billy pushed her behind him and backed up. “Jennie, I don’t think he’s going to let us help him.”
“I’d say.”
They backed to the street until the man crawled clear of the door. Then they maneuvered around him. The man tried to turn with them, but his dragging legs twisted and flipped him on his back. The huge bites taken from the man’s legs had stained his jeans black from the blood.
Grabbing Jennie’s hand with his own sweaty one, Pastor Billy pulled her to their right and hopped over one of the man’s tennis shoes. The door swung open. She followed the pastor’s lead, and they slipped past the poor man. He gurgled a screechy lament of their escape. The doors slipped shut, and the distant moans from the emergency center greeted them.
They rushed to the elevator, keeping a close eye on the hallway. Relief came when the doors opened immediately, and they hurried in. At least they were safe for a few moments in the enclosed metal box. The pastor removed his glasses and rubbed his sweat on the shoulder of his shirt. Glassy fear and exhaustion reflected in his blue eyes.
“What do you think is going on?” she asked.
The elevator bonged as they passed the second floor, and she winced. Their safe time was half over.
He replaced his glasses and took a deep breath. “I honestly don’t know, but it has something to do with the people who were attacked by those aliens.” He swallowed hard, and then continued, “It seems like they were infected with something that is making them…sick, to say the least.”
“And they are all attacking people?”
“It seems like it.” He shuddered.
The elevator bonged again, announcing the third floor. A scream did the same. Jennie almost wished Pastor Billy would take her hand again.
HUGH HARRIS STEPPED OFF THE elevator and glanced down the empty corridor. At the end of the hall, white light flooded into the apartment complex. Because the weakened sun reflected off the James River, it created an illusion of bright sunlight. Hugh was not fooled. No reason, really, to wear the four-hundred-dollar sunglasses his girlfriend had bought him. Ex-girlfriend, that is.
On his high school biology teacher’s salary, he couldn’t keep up with Clarissa’s needs. Daddy’s girl. No way could he spend money on her the way her daddy did. Maybe that’s why she grew tired of him. Maybe that’s why she moved on.
He shrugged out of his short pity party. Why was his mind even going there? Well, at least he got the apartment out of the deal, a nice waterfront condo on the eighth floor—if he could afford to keep it.
Juggling the two plastic grocery bags to his left hand, Hugh dug into his right pocket for his keys. A yawn made his eyes tear up, and his jaw clicked as it reached its limit. He made a growling sound and closed his mouth. “Insomnia sucks!” he yelled into the empty hall.
When he decided to go to the grocery store at six in the morning, he had hoped to avoid the throng. Even so, a small crowd had milled through the nearly empty shelves. He made do with what he could scavenge: a few boxes of Hamburger Helper but no meat, olive loaf, and a jumbo-sized carton of powdered milk.
Tiger, his silver tabby cat, met him at the door with a meow. Hugh narrowed his eyes at the cat and quickly shut the door before the cat escaped. “Better luck next time, Buddy.”
The cat turned up its nose, trotted past him, jumped to the window sill, and slithered behind the curtain. Hugh set the bags on the kitchen counter. The strain from the bags left his fingers bound, and he flexed them to relieve the pressure. He yawned again. The muted light from the closed curtains called him back to bed.
One at a time, he set the bags into the fridge without unloading them. He promised himself he’d do it later and headed for the bedroom. He rubbed his watering eyes. After undressing and snuggling under the brown duvet, his breathing became even.
The thin veil of sleep broke the moment the room started to shake. Bolting upright, Hugh stared at the red numbers on the alarm clock. 9:49. The angry numbers glared at him and the lamp fell from the nightstand. Hugh’s heart was in his throat as if to escape the rumbling that seized his chest.
“Earthquake? Impossible.”
Earthquakes just didn’t happen in Virginia, not like this. The thought occurred to him that it was probably jet noise, but the planes at Langley rarely came this close to his apartment complex. Though his apartment building was only twelve stories, it dominated the waterfront along the James River. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he remembered 9/11.
He padded along the carpet and yanked the curtain open. The sky was the same milky blue that it was everyday—faded and subdued from the lack of reflective sunlight. There was not a single jet or contrail in it. His cat still slept soundly on the windowsill, co
mpletely unperturbed by the shaking building.
Pressing his cheek to the cold glass, he looked down at the bridge and blinked hard. Even from this distance, he could see animals crawling over cars, and people running away from them on foot. Hugh counted twenty of the four-legged beasts. They moved in a dog-like way but looked like lions from this distance. The wild animals attacked everyone on foot and ripped people from cars.
What on earth?
Hugh backed from the window. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and woke him completely. He snatched his jeans from the computer desk chair and rushed to the kitchen. As he grabbed the cordless from the charger, he tried to slip his shirt on. He dialed 911, setting the phone in the crook of his neck, and pulled his pants up.
Without ringing, the automated female voice told him: “All operators are busy at this time. Please stay on the line and the next available operator will take your call.”
Shaking his head, Hugh hung up and attempted to call his parents, but instead of a dial tone, the phone line remained in a perpetual loop of busy signals. Furrowing his brow, he set the phone back in its charger. His neck felt tight. He’d put his shirt on backwards. Television. He darted back toward his living room while he spun the shirt around his neck.
The buttons on the remote needed unsticking before he could even push the button. He threw himself to the couch as the screen warmed up. A subdued scream poured through the speakers before the picture showed. He clenched his jaw. Once the screen blinked into place, the video showed the front of the Washington Monument. Those same alien dog-type things littered the otherwise pristine lawn.
“We’re receiving reports and footage around the world. In all places, it seems the same. Again, we ask that if you are hearing this report, you should remain inside and lock, even bolt, your doors.”
Sanctuary Page 3