World Memorial

by Robert R. Best

  "For now," said Elton. He stomped off. Those with him stared at Angie, the house, and those with her. Then they broke apart from the group, all going their separate ways.

  Angie put her cane down and leaned on it. She breathed out, and everyone around her relaxed. The wind whipped around them. She turned to look at those with her, grateful for the townsfolk who'd stuck with her. They looked back. Park and Dalton looked back. Her half of the Guard looked back.

  Galli of the Guard spoke first. "Should we form a search party?"

  "No," said Angie, choking through her tight throat. "Elton did have one thing right. There is a storm coming."

  Those with her looked uncertain, especially Carly. Angie stepped over to her. The wind was coming on strong.

  "Listen," said Angie, leaning in close to Carly, "Maylee's strong. She'll survive the night. We'll find her in the morning."

  "Yeah," said Carly. Her eyes told her she wasn't sure.

  "Let's get in the house," Angie said.

  She and the others turned and headed for the house. Just before she reached the door, Angie looked at the Guard.

  "We may need some protection."

  * * *

  Joel sat back in the pew, enjoying the feel of the worn wood on his back. This place had seen generations of believers, and Joel was here at the end. Joel was blessed enough to see the fulfillment of things. The Lord's wonderful plan. He gazed at the stained glass windows over the stage. It was dark outside, muting the ordinarily bright colors, but there was still beauty there. It brought Joel comfort.

  And old man and woman were on the stage, mopping up the remains of the ceremony. The old couple had been together as long as Joel could remember. They'd probably been part of the church for even longer, back before the dead had risen. Back before Joel had become the preacher. They were happy here. They smiled as they moved their mops back and forth, happy to serve the Lord. The mops were stained pink.

  The rest of the flock sat around him, basking in the afterglow of worship. A calm joy hung in the air. Some were still praising God, whispering low and fervently. Joel turned in the pew to gaze over them. They rocked back and forth, held their hands in the air. They looked to the floor, hands fervently clasped in prayer. For a moment, Joel wondered where the blonde-haired woman had gone. She never said a word, but Joel didn’t doubt her sincerity. He scanned the flock, looking for her face. Eventually, he assumed she was bent over in prayer, out of sight, and turned back to the front.

  Sister Elizabeth was at her piano, playing softly, slowly. Sometimes seconds passed between notes. It was the most beautiful thing Joel had ever heard. She'd played a medley of hymns and was nearing the end of the current one.

  She stopped, letting the last note ring in the air. The silence that followed was sacred. Carefully, reverently, she stood from her bench and shut the keyboard cover. She walked slowly across the chapel to Joel. She sat next to him and gazed at the stained glass.

  A few seconds passed before she spoke. "Was that the one?"

  The question hung there for a moment. Those around Joel fell quiet, listening. Joel felt the weight of the question. He reached out to the Lord with his spirit, asking. Was it? Had he and his flock received the blessing? Could they walk among the dead without fear? Would the protection they had during worship now apply to every moment?

  He reached out a moment longer. There was no clear answer, but the blissful feeling still hung in the ear, still hung on Joel's heart.

  "Perhaps," he said, finally. He felt—he could actually feel—the electrical jolt his word sent through the others. He knew why. He'd never said it before. He'd never thought it before. He'd only talked of one day, one day when they'd finally do enough, when the Lord's blessing would come forth.

  But Zach had glowed. None of the children had glowed. Maybe it was a sign.

  He stood from the pew and turned to look at them. "Perhaps."

  The flocked looked back at him. Even through the joy of worship, their faces were tired, weary, worn down by everything they had seen. By the horrors everyone had seen since the Lord's judgment had begun. But they also looked hopeful. Maybe, he knew they were thinking, maybe this was the one.

  He looked to the wall. The corpses were still chained there. They groaned, struggling feebly against their bonds. He considered them. The vessels the Lord had chosen to cleanse the earth. The same vessels Joel and the flock would overcome. One day. Maybe today.

  He stepped over to the wall, taking slow deliberate steps across the wood floor of the chapel. His footsteps echoed in the quiet still of the room. He could feel the expectation of the others. It hung like a weight.

  He stopped a few feet from the nearest corpse. It was a young man, his face covered in oozing sores. His eyes were white and his grey lips worked up and down as he chewed at the air. He reached for Joel, straining against the chain holding him. The metal band across his neck dug into his dead flesh, sending thin tendrils of black blood down his front.

  Joel stared at the corpse a moment longer. He reached his spirit out to the Lord one last time. "Is it time, Lord?" he prayed quietly. "Are we safe now?"

  No answer. The corpse strained against the chain, groaning and reaching.

  Joel lifted his hand, presenting it to the corpse. A few inches from the furthest the corpse could reach. The corpse gnashed its teeth at it. Joel let it hang there a moment, wondering if it was safe.

  He felt the expectation of the people behind him. He felt warmth spread through his spirit. It was time. They were safe.

  He moved his hand toward the corpse's mouth.

  The door to the chapel slammed open.

  Joel turned, dropping his hand. The corpse groaned in something that almost sounded like disappointment. The rest of the flock turned to look.

  Timothy stumbled in. Beaten, bloody and ashen. One arm hung limp at his side, bobbing uselessly as he stumbled. For a moment Joel thought he had turned, that Timothy had fallen prey to the dead and was now one of them.

  Then he spoke. "Joel....Brother Joel..."

  Joel rushed across the chapel, heading for him. The others stood up, looking to Timothy and each other, muttering nervously. Joel could now see the blonde woman. She remained seated, head down in fervent prayer.

  "Brother Timothy!" said Joel as he drew near. "What happened?"

  Timothy fell to the floor before Joel could reach him. He rolled over on his back. Joel knelt at his side. The others crowded around, looking down. Joel studied Timothy. He looked bad. His arm was plainly broken and he was covered in bruises, but he looked worse than those would account for. Then Joel found a bloody spot on one of Timothy's legs, torn skin underneath the cloth. The skin was grey and oozing black. Timothy had been bitten and didn't have long.

  "What happened?" said Joel. "Brother Timothy, where are the others?"

  "Dead... she left them to die...."

  "Who did?"

  "The girl. We chased them, like you said."

  "I'm so sorry, Brother Timothy,” Brother Joel said ruefully. “I never should have sent you good men out into danger."

  Timothy grabbed Joel's arm, his fingers digging into the fabric of his suit with surprising strength. Timothy shook his head. "No, no. Don't be sorry. God's plan..."

  Then he slumped back to the floor. For a moment Joel thought he was gone.

  Timothy stirred again, his head lolling on the floor. "The boy...the boy...." He pawed limply at the floor.

  Joel took his hand. It was cold. Not dead cold, but getting close. "What, Brother?"

  "The ones we followed. The girl. The boy. The boy is chosen. I followed them. I saw."

  "Saw what, Timothy?"

  "The boy, Brother Joel. The boy is chosen."

  Joel looked to Sister Elizabeth. Her face told him she shared his thoughts. She hurried to the piano. While Timothy moaned and Joel gripped his hand, Sister Elizabeth opened the bench at the piano and fished around inside. She pulled out a packet of papers and shut the bench. She hurried ba
ck.

  She knelt alongside Joel and Timothy. "Brother?"

  "Sis…Sister Elizabeth?"

  "Yes, Brother," she said, holding the papers in front of him. They were her sketches, the ones she'd drawn after the visions. Joel questioned why the visions had come to her and not him, and immediately chastised himself for his envy.

  Elizabeth flipped through drawing after drawing. All of the children. The precious children. Timothy looked as they went by, his mouth opening and closing silently. Joel wondered if Timothy was still with them.

  Then Elizabeth flipped to the next to last drawing. Timothy jerked his hand up, jabbing his finger at the paper.

  "Him," said Timothy. "The boy. I followed him. I saw where he went. Twenty dollars says the others are there, too." He chuckled and fell into a coughing fit.

  Joel chuckled, tears welling up. Timothy had been a gambling man, enslaved by his addictions before he'd been saved, before he'd known the Lord.

  Then Joel suddenly knew why the warmth had come over him. He'd thought it was confirmation to try the corpse's mouth. But no, it was because Brother Timothy was almost there. Timothy with his wonderful news. He'd found another of the children. One that had caused this much trouble to get. One that was this difficult. Surely this was the one. This boy. Joel gazed at the picture, now smudged by Timothy's bloody finger.

  "I followed them," said Timothy, coughing. The cough was deep and gurgling. Blood dribbled from his mouth.

  Joel knew he was losing him. It broke his heart to have to push the poor dying soul, but he had no choice. "Where are they, Brother? Where are the children?"

  Timothy opened his mouth and Joel leaned in to listen. With a loud crack Timothy's head snapped violently to one side, like something had shoved it. Timothy jerked as bone jutted from his neck, white and streaked with blood. He gasped, then slumped to the floor for the last time.

  Joel and the others pulled back, horror and confusion jolting through them. Joel's mind stumbled for answers. What had done this? What had happened?

  The blonde woman lifted her head and stood from the pew. "Enough. I tire of this."

  Joel looked at her from his kneeling position. He had never heard the woman speak. Several times he had entertained the notion she was mute. "Sister?" he asked. "Do you know what happened here?"

  "Hush primate," said the woman. The pews around her slid away, grinding across the floor of the chapel. Neither the woman nor anyone else had touched them.

  She stepped into the open space, her bare feet silent on the floor. "You want to know where the children are?"

  The older man who’d been mopping came down from the stage. His wife trailed behind him. The man stepped over to the blonde woman, his face excited and expectant. "Has the Lord given you a Word?"

  The woman held up one hand. The man stopped as though he'd walked into a plane of glass. He looked startled and confused. His muscles flexed as though trying to move. He did not.

  "No," said the woman. "And neither did the Easter Bunny. That's one you have here, right?"

  "Sister?" said Brother Joel, confused now.

  "I said be quiet!" yelled the woman. She closed her hand into a fist. The old man convulsed and pulled into himself. His screamed as his bones broke and flesh tore. He kept contracting inward until he was a bloody ball of pulp and bone, suspended in the air. Bones cracked and blood drained to the floor. The flesh stretched horribly, splitting apart as the woman squeezed her fist tighter. She had never touched him.

  She dropped her hand, opening her fist. The mass that was once the older man fell to the wood floor. It hit with a wet splat, sending a corona of blood outward.

  The man's wife screamed.

  The flock pulled away from Joel and the woman, horrified. The woman stepped across the chapel, heading for the stage. Pews slid away as she moved.

  A cold realization went through Joel. An agent of the Enemy was in their midst. Now that they were so close, the Enemy had sent a monster to stop them.

  "Demon!" he yelled, pointing at her. "I cast you out in the name of—"

  The woman flicked her hand at him. His arm snapped violently to one side with a loud “pop.” Joel felt bone snap and pierce his skin, and then saw the bone jutted out from his shoulder. He screamed and dropped to one knee, his arm limp at his side.

  The woman kept walking, slowly, across the wood floor. Her bare feet trailed through the blood of the old man, leaving red foot prints behind. She seemed to not notice or care.

  "In the name of whom?" she said as she walked. "Zeus? Odin? Horus? There is only me. There has always only been me."

  A man broke away from the flock, rushing at her. "Blasphemer!"

  The woman held out her hand, palm up. He stopped in mid-run, frozen in place. The woman lifted her hand and he rose up from the floor. She twisted and contorted her fingers. The man bucked, screaming as his spine rippled and snapped. He jerked violently as his neck broke and his head went limp. She twisted her fingers further and the man's spine jutted out from his mouth, trailing blood and stringy tissue over his lips. Blood spattered to the floor. She dropped her hand and let him fall. She kept walking as he crumpled.

  She stopped when she reached the stage. She looked up at the darkened stained glass. One large window held an image of the crucified Lord. It had always given Joel great comfort.

  "This primate?" she asked, looking up at the image. "I do like the violence of the imagery. You things need to remember you're meat. Still...."

  She flicked her hand at the window and it exploded outward, sending shards of colored glass into the darkness. Cold wind whistled through, blowing in bits of snow.

  "Stop her!" yelled Joel, struggling through the mind-killing pain from his shoulder. "Everyone! Stop her!"

  As one, the remainder of the flock ran for the stage. Toward the horrible woman. Joel stood from his knee and ran as best he could. His arm bounced, sending waves of pain through his neck and shoulder.

  The woman held up one hand, stopping all of them in their tracks. It felt to Joel like he had run into an invisible wall of thick glue. He tried to move but couldn't.

  "Now," said the woman, "let me introduce myself. My name is Sharon, and I have been here since long before you all dropped screaming from your mothers’ gut sacks. "

  Joel struggled against the force holding him in place. He made no progress.

  "Look at you," said Sharon, looking at each person in turn. "You think you're anything in the face of me? In the face of the real ways of this world? You think your miserable plans and stupid lives amount to anything in the face of the forces I command? The forces I am?"

  She fell silent, looking them over a moment longer. She kept her hand up, holding them all in place. Joel wanted desperately to move but couldn't.

  "You should be thankful, really," said Sharon. She raised her free hand and pointed to Elizabeth. "You especially. You want to know who gave you their faces? So you could make your scribbles? It was me."

  Next to Joel, Sister Elizabeth's eyes grew wide. Joel could see her straining against the force holding her in place. Her muscles tensed and flexed but she didn't move.

  "That's right," said Sharon, nodding and smiling. A cold, cruel smile. "I've seen the images that spark around that mush in your skull. I've seen how you long for him." Her icy eyes flicked to Joel, then back to Elizabeth. "How you dream of him sweating and grunting above you like the pigs you are. How you want him to put his seed in you so you can make another disgusting slug."

  Elizabeth’s eyes looked at Joel, her face still locked in its forward position. Joel looked back, not knowing what he would say if he could speak. Elizabeth looked back to Sharon.

  "But it won't happen," said Sharon, shaking her head. "First, because he actually believes the nonsense he says. And second, because of this."

  Sharon clenched the hand she'd been pointing at Elizabeth. Elizabeth's stomach twitched violently, in spite of the force holding them all in place. Her eyes went wide and her skin
grew pale. She clenched her teeth as tears ran down her frozen face. Blood poured from her mouth, through and around her closed teeth.

  Joel looked down, twisting his eyes in their sockets as best he could. Her stomach was twisting. Blood stained the bottom of her denim skirt. It was dribbling from between her legs. Then it came in a torrent. A mass of flesh and tubing fell from between her thighs. It splatted to the floor, followed by a gout of dark blood.

  "So there's that," said Sharon, dropping her clenched hand. She shifted the hand holding them all in place and Elizabeth crumpled to the floor, falling into her own blood and ruined insides. She was dead.

  A groan came from behind the still flock. Joel couldn't look behind him but recognized the voice. Timothy was back as one of those things. One of the dead.

  Sharon sighed. "Not know, please." She held up her free hand, the one she'd just used to kill Elizabeth, and pulled it toward herself. Joel heard movement behind him and struggled to look. He couldn't, but after a few moments a shape appeared at the edge of his vision. Then it passed in front of them all and was clear. The corpse that had been Timothy was floating a few inches off the floor, gliding toward Sharon. He groaned and clenched his mouth open and closed, his head hanging limply from his broken neck.

  When Timothy's corpse was between her and the flock, Sharon turned her free hand around. Timothy's corpse spun slowly until he faced them. He moaned and reached at them, his feet moving through the air underneath.

  "You fear these things?" she said, nodding to Timothy's corpse. "These are nothing." She flicked her free hand and Timothy's head exploded. Chunks of skull and thick gobs of dark muck shot out across the stage. She let the rest of him fall to the floor.

  "And so we aren't interrupted again..." said Sharon, twitching her hand. Elizabeth, still lying on her own insides, jerked as her head exploded. Blood and brain flew across the floor, splatting into the pews.