Once the bin was out of range from his window he set off at a rapid pace, heading for the church. He found himself getting winded far too quickly and he cursed himself for letting his physical conditioning slip so low. Forcing himself to maintain his pace, he was panting and his forehead was glistening with sweat by the time he reached the tall doors of the church. He pulled on the handle. Locked.
With a strong kick, the door burst inwards and he stepped inside, pistol drawn and ready. It was silent, except for the dim echo that was still ringing out in the large, spacious room. He walked inside, squinting to see. Without electric lights, it was unbearably dim, with only a little colored light streaming through the stained glass windows.
Nobody could be seen and the place was in decent shape, except for a few overturned pews, and the confessional booth, which was broken to pieces. He headed towards the back wall, where a door could be seen. Turning the knob, he found it unlocked and swung it open slowly, leading with his gun. It was an office, nothing more. No food to be seen.
He closed the door and started investigating the area. Around the corner was a thick wooden door sitting off its hinges. He peeked inside. Darkness. He couldn't see anything, but he could smell it. Slightly rotting food and the yeasty smell of alcohol.
Thinking for a moment, he decided on the obvious solution and grabbed a candle off the altar, lighting it. It let out a dim glow and using it, he navigated down into the stone cellar. Debris was scattered about. Someone had clearly barricaded the door before, but the barricade had since been removed. Moving more cautiously than before, he kept his pistol drawn and readied.
The darkness was stifling and the dim glow of the candle seemed insignificant. He stumbled over a broken shelf and fell to the ground hard. The candle went out and he lay there, frozen in the darkness. The click of a gun cocking came from above him and he stayed still.
“Who are you?” A voice echoed.
“I'm just looking for food.” Dante waited for an answer and struggled to pinpoint the sound of the voice. “Trying to steal food from the church? Sounds like the actions of a sinner.” The echoing made the location of the voice hard to determine and he desperately sought more time. “I'm no more a sinner than any man. Won't you have pity on a hungry traveler?”
“ Only God can judge, but -” Dante finally got a lock on the stranger's position and his strong arms darted out, grasping at the legs of his assailant. The man fell with a heavy thud and he heard the gun clatter to the floor. He straddled the man and grabbed him by his throat.
“ You made a big mistake. Shoulda stayed quiet in here, and we wouldn't be in this position.”
“Please, I'm a priest, a man of God! Don't kill me!”
Dante hesitated. “A priest?”
“Yes!” He thought for a minute, before he got to his feet and dragged the man out of the cellar. Once he reached the light, he looked and saw the man's robes. “So you really are a priest.”
“Yes, please have mercy on me!” “ Now you know who I really am. I too am a man of God, chosen by the Lord to do his bidding. It's only by His will that I am here.”
The priest climbed to his feet and nodded vigorously. “Yes, I can see that now. God clearly wanted us to unite, so that together we may act as an extension of His will.”
Dante studied the man briefly, before smiling. “I agree. As a priest, you're well-suited to helping me figure what I should do next. I'm struggling to maintain purity, but I need help.” “And how may I help you?”
“I struggle with alcohol, and I fear I'm losing the fight.” “ Don't worry, my son, there's nothing wrong with alcohol. The Lord gave us the drink for a reason. And truly, aren't there greater issues to deal with?”
“Really?”
“Yes, now don't worry.”
“Well, you'd know better than me. The next problem is my lack of food.” “ I can remedy that. I have some hidden in various places throughout the church. Wait here.” He walked to his office, while Dante waited by the altar. He studied the giant crucifix hanging overhead and knelt to pray. Father MacKenzie entered his office and closed the door firmly behind him, silently sealing the latch. How dare this imbecile intrude on me! He plotted ways to kill him, but quickly decided against it. The man seemed easily influenced by religious authorities and he could use that to his advantage, even if it cost him a little food. Anyway, he had enough supplies to last over a month.
He grabbed an empty box and loaded it with dried foodstuffs from the desk drawers. Carrying it out, he found the man in prayer. He waited patiently for him to finish and set the box by his side.
“Here, my son, this should keep you going for a while.”
“Thank you, Father.” Dante bowed his head slightly. “ No, thank you for giving me the chance to help in the Lord's great work. For I see it clearly. You are God's right hand, sent here to smite the wicked and protect the innocent. And I will help you.”
“ Thank you. I too have seen that as my purpose, and you just confirmed it. Please guide me on the path of righteous retribution.”
“Of course. And what is your name, my son?”
“Dante.”
“Like the divine poet! How perfect. And I shall be your Virgil, guiding you to Paradise.”
“What shall I do first?” Father MacKenzie smiled humbly. “Return to your home, and cast the Lord's judgment upon all who cross your path. Let only the pure survive, and then bring them to me.”
“Will you not come with me, then?”
“No, I must remain here.”
“Can I stay with you?”
“It is best if we split up, and spread His word further.”
“I see. When shall I visit you again?”
“Come again in two days.” Dante nodded and picked up the box of food, heading for the door. Father MacKenzie, fingered the trigger of the pistol he had hidden on him and contemplated shooting him in the back, but was fearful of missing. The man seemed far better trained than he. He watched him leave, and returned to his study. Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise. At the least, he'll be safe from him.
Over the past few weeks, many people had come to the church, seeking solace and safety. He'd killed them all, usually instantly, although some he toyed with first. Especially the young ones. He needed something to satisfy his lust, and now nothing stood in his way of letting loose every desire he'd kept pent up all these years. And now Dante would be his willing assistant. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
Dante returned to the bar and celebrated his success with a drink. He limited himself to just one and then pulled his armchair up to the window, and waited. He would be a good disciple. And so he waited for passersby, and when he saw them, he cast down the Lord's judgment, on both infected and survivors alike. So far, they were all guilty. But he knew that soon, an innocent would come.
Chapter Twenty One
Thief in the Night
James walked down the hallway and froze. Voices. He listened intently, putting his ear to the door. It was hard to make out what they were saying, but there were definitely at least a few of them. And where there were people, there was food. He'd already searched the first two floors of the shabby apartment building and found them all looted clean, or the little bit of food left was rotten. He was hungry and there was no point in waiting. Cocking his pistol, he raised his foot high in the air and kicked the door in.
He saw four people sitting around a card table, drinking and eating. They all paused and stared at James. Two of them were about his age, but taller and leaner. The third was a grizzly looking old man, and to his side sat a young woman. They stared at his gun and a tense silence passed, before the old man spoke up.
“What do you want?”
“I just want your food.” He inched in the room. “Give it to me, and nobody has to get hurt.”
The woman spoke up. “But we only have one can of food left.”
“And now you have none. Hand it over.” They sat still, before the old man stood up and grabbed t
he large can off the counter. He handed it to James and sat back down.
“There, now you can leave.” James hesitated, eying the pretty young woman. He put his gun to her head and jerked her out of the chair. “I think I'll also be taking this sweet thing with me.” He laughed and stepped backwards out the door, using the girl as cover.
“ Eileen!” The tall man stood up and drew a pistol. “Don't fucking move, or I'll put one right between your eyes.”
James laughed again. “And risk hitting her? I don't think so.” He edged out into the hallway and made his way downstairs.
Paul looked to John and they both nodded. Slinging a rifle around each shoulder and double-checking their pistols, they headed for the roof.
“Be careful, boys!” Isaac called out after them.
The brothers climbed the stairs to the rooftop and were greeted by the rapidly setting sun. “ We have to catch up before nightfall, or we have no chance of saving her.”
John nodded and ran to the edge of the roof, looking down. The intruder was already one block away, dragging a struggling Eileen with him, before turning the corner.
“He just turned on to Brackett. Let's go!” The two men slid down the ladder, skipping several rungs at a time and hit the ground running. They both realized that mere minutes stood between rescue and failure, and they pushed themselves as hard as possible. Lungs crying out for air, they turned the corner and saw their attacker pull Eileen into the church. Paul started slowing down and grabbed John by the shoulder.
“He's got nowhere to go now. Let's be careful.”
“What do you have in mind?”
Paul hesitated a moment. “I think we only have one option.”
“Which is?”
“Well, I don't think you're going to like it...” Dante rummaged through the church cellar, with only the soft glow of his flashlight to assist him. Father MacKenzie asked him to find the last of the wine and he would not let the man down. The cellar was trashed, though, and finding anything proved to be a greater undertaking than he had anticipated. The sound of doors bursting open made him stiffen and he stopped to listen intently. Voices. Followed by a scream.
He crept towards the staircase and moved up, struggling to identify the sound. Father MacKenzie's voice echoed out, but he couldn't make out the words. He sounded scared. Something was threatening him, and Dante would have none of that. Not on his watch.
Drawing his pistol, he cocked it quietly, using his hand to muffle the noise. He rounded the corner and peered into the darkness. A man stood at the doors, gun drawn, using a woman as a shield. He squinted and a dawning realization came over him, as the face came into focus. James. So, he had survived. Not for much longer, though.
Dante stepped into view and opened fire on the man. He knew there was a risk of hitting the woman, but that wasn't his problem. James, startled, shoved the woman aside and dived behind a pew.
“Kill him!” Father MacKenzie cried, running back into his office. James popped his head up and let loose several shots, before ducking back down. Dante aimed carefully at James' final position and waited. Sure enough, he rose again, and was greeted with a well-placed bullet in the shoulder. He fell back, screaming a string of obscenities. The woman took the opportunity to run and she burst through the doors. Dante didn't bother stopping her, she was nothing to him. James, however...
A shaky gun came into view and started firing. It was covering fire and Dante wasn't fooled. The bullets went in every direction, none coming close to him. He started advancing, grimly determined to finish the job.
James staggered towards the door and Dante aimed carefully, hoping for a head shot. The man tripped at the last moment and the bullet missed its mark. James crawled through the open door and vanished from sight.
Shit. Dante darted for the door, leaping out of the way as a gunshot rang out. He listened carefully. Silence. Resuming his advance, he headed for the door.
John whispered angrily. “So you're telling me that we should wait? That's your bright idea? What if he doesn't come back out, what if-” Gunshots rang out, and raised voices could be heard inside. The brothers stepped aside, just as a volley of shots pierced the door.
“What now, genius?”
Paul grimaced. “I don't know. It's too risky to open the door, but we just can't-” The doors burst open and Eileen staggered out. She jumped at the sight of them, before falling into John's arms, crying. John
embraced her tightly and he whispered in her ear. “Shh... It's okay now.”
More screaming came from inside and the shooting continued. Paul heard the scuffing of shoes,and aimed his pistol at the door. A loud thud came from right behind the open door. Eileen's captor crawled into view.
The man looked up, and started swinging his gun up in panic. Paul stood over him and squeezed the trigger. The man's arm fell limp and he clutched his wounded throat, staring vacantly into space while the blood gushed from his neck. Paul stared into his eyes and saw the light in them dim.
“Let's go. We've attracted enough attention. The infected could be here any moment.”
John nodded, and the three took off at a brisk jog. Dante peeked around the corner. James lay there in a pool of blood, eyes open wide. Footsteps echoed in the distance and he chanced a glimpse of James' killers. The woman was there, along with two men, each with rifles slung around their shoulders and pistols in their hands. Whoever that woman was, she had well-equipped friends.
He supposed he owed them a dept of gratitude for taking care of James. But, in the end, he had no way of knowing whether or not they were as steeped in sin as the man lying at his feet. If they ever crossed paths, he'd judge them appropriately. For now, he had the priest to worry about. He turned back inside and walked towards the office in the back.
Father MacKenzie's head was framed in the doorway and a look of relief passed over him.
“Is he dead?” “ Yes. It's taken care of.” Dante didn't feel the need to mention that James was killed by hands other than his own. Unnecessary information, and he relished the respect he got from the Father, even if it was
undeserved. His thirst for salvation ran deep and he knew it was to be found at the hands of the priest.
“ Bless you, my son. You are truly the right hand of God himself, and he will look kindly on you for saving this poor agent of his.” “You are no poor agent of the Lord, but his greatest servant, and as long as you serve Him, I'll serve you.” Dante lowered his head and dropped to his knees.
Father MacKenzie laughed. “Rise, for you have no reason to humble yourself before me. I must ask you, though, to leave me for now, so that I may pray.”
“Of course. I'll return tomorrow, to check on you.”
“God be with you.” Father MacKenzie watched as Dante walked out the door and breathed a sigh of relief. If the man's mercenary talents were not so sound, he'd have killed him in a heartbeat. Not that he minded the assistance, but the guy was crazy, mentally unsound. He knew that he'd have to keep him on his side and on a very tight leash. As long as he maintained his religious fervor, he would find safety with him.
His years as a priest taught him that
newfound piety was often short-lived, and disillusionment hit people hard. So he'd use Dante for now, but once he had a clear shot, he'd take it. He was not very good with a gun, but nobody needs accuracy at close range. All he had to do was catch him unarmed, come up from behind, and bang! Problem solved.
Until then, he'd use him. He was useful, in his own simple-minded way, and if Dante could keep him supplied in food and wine, so much the better.
All he knew was, Dante's days were numbered. And he had a feeling that the last grains in the hourglass were about to drop.
Eileen was shaking uncontrollably, from fear and exhaustion, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the top rung of the ladder, swinging over onto the rooftop. Paul and John followed, and they all sat quietly for a few minutes, catching their breaths. It was John who finally broke th
e silence.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, thanks to you two. I was so scared, I didn't know what he was going to do to me.”
Paul shook his head. “Try not to think about it. You're safe, and that's what counts.” “ You're right, I just- I just can't shake it. Maybe it's the adrenaline, but I feel like my nerves are on fire.”
The rooftop access swung open and Isaac walked through. “ You're back! Thank heavens, I was so worried. Is anyone hurt?”
Paul grinned. “That's us, alright. Superheroes, caped crusaders.”
“No, we're alright, thanks to my new heroes.”
“I think you left your cape at home.” John laughed.
Eileen smiled. “Well, all I know is, thank God for you two.” Isaac helped her to her feet and motioned for the boys to follow. “The sunlight's fading fast, so let's go on inside. We still have a little vodka left and I think the successful rescue operation merits a toast.”
They walked into their tiny apartment and felt more at ease than they had in weeks. It was a good night, and they were safe. More than cause enough for a little celebration. Drinks flowed heavy and it was only the drunken haze that kept Paul from noticing that Eileen seemed rather close to John.
They slept easy, and Paul dreamed of her. In the dream, he held her tight, but she slowly drifted away, out of his arms and into the arms of a shadowy figure in the distance. He cried out for her, but she turned her back to him and kissed the shadow man. When he awoke, the memory of the dream quickly faded and he fell back asleep, smiling, confident that his love would be returned.
Chapter Twenty Two
Christine
Vincent paced the corridors of the prison, trying his hardest to ignore the tormented screams of the surviving inmates. There was little he could do to help them, so he did the next best thing: ignore them and hope that he could forget.
The Outbreak Page 10