by Robert Kent
The rifle sounded again and I actually heard the smack of a corpse against the pavement under the snarls.
The back seat of the van was folded down to make space; they'd been piling the sacks of food in without any discernible organization. I shoved my sacks in, dodging the boy who came right behind me with another load.
Michelle grabbed her own load and between those of us not holding a rifle, we had the carts unloaded in about 30 seconds.
The man slammed the van doors shut and said, "Get in."
I walked around to the parking lot side of the van and two dead hands thrust toward my face.
I ducked just in time.
The zombie grabbed only the empty air above me.
We ran to the Wal-Mart side of the van. Michelle and the teenage boy slid in, then I got in and put Chuck on my lap.
The man slid behind the wheel. The fat woman was already sitting in the passenger seat.
Dead fists pounded the windows and hungry white eyes peered in at us.
"Drive, Daddy!" the woman screamed.
The man started the van and pulled forward only a few feet as our path was blocked by two zombies.
"Move, Brothers!" The man yelled.
In my lap, Chuck was shaking. I held him tight.
We backed up and drove forward again only to stop as a dead woman in a pink tank top stood in the van's path.
"Move, Sister!"
The fat woman bowed her head and prayed loudly. "Heavenly Father, do not forget Your children. Deliver Your faithful servants that we may go on serving Your divine will a while longer still. In Jesus' name, Amen."
"Amen, Mommy!" The man shouted and drove forward.
The van struck the dead woman hard enough to knock her over.
"Forgive me, Sister!"
He reversed to avoid driving over the woman, then drove around her, through the Wal-Mart parking lot, and onto the road.
As soon as we were away from the crowd of zombies, the fat woman reached over and fiddled with the stereo until it played a too-loud gospel song I didn't recognize. It was something about watching the lamb.
"Can we please turn that down?" the teenage boy asked.
The woman increased the radio's volume.
No one else said anything. We all sat in the dark listening to the singer crooning about the crucifixion of Jesus.
"Lucky we found you guys," I said, mostly to say something.
"There is no luck," the man said, his eyes firmly on the road. "There is only God's plan and it was His will that brought you to us."
"Yeah," I said. "Good thing."
"God is great," the man said.
"Amen, Daddy," said the woman.
I glanced over at the teenage boy as he rolled his eyes. He had short blond hair and patches of stubble on his cheeks. There was an earring in his right ear and beneath the sleeve of his purple cross T-shirt, I saw the start of a tattoo.
He offered his hand and I shook it. "I'm Levi," he said. "Levi Davis. And these are my parents."
"Ricky Genaro. Nice to meet you."
It would've been better for everyone if we'd never met.
62
THE STORM GOT BAD. FIRST the wind picked up, blowing the pages of this journal every which way so I had to stop writing. After the wind came the rain.
It was just little drops being blown at first. But by the time I opened the hatch and tied the strap of the first pack to the top rung of the ladder, it was pouring.
I tied the other pack and closed the hatch, propping Ernie's shoe beneath to keep the way inside the station open.
I looked over the edge of the roof to see how the dead were handling the storm. I hoped they'd head off in search of shelter, and wait to try and eat us again when the weather improved.
No such luck. There were still more than 100 corpses gathered below us. I'm not sure the zombies even noticed it was raining.
They staggered about, their collective moaning the same pitch it’d been for days. Chuck looked up at a particularly bright streak of lightning, then went back to wandering aimlessly.
Michelle and I huddled together to keep warm, and it worked at first. She wrapped her hands around my waist, and I put a hand in her hair to pull her close.
We put our heads together, cheek to cheek, and for a time I couldn't feel the rain or my hunger or anything else except Michelle's touch.
Then the rain came down harder as though Gaw-ed were washing the world under a faucet. Michelle shivered and her teeth chattered next to my ear.
She clung to me as the wind howled, the thunder roared, and the lightning flashed.
"Come on," I said, letting go of Michelle. She said something in response, but I couldn't hear her over the storm.
I went to the hatch and opened it. Michelle shook her head, but I ignored her.
I took a deep breath and started down the ladder.
My feet slipped out from under me a few times with the squeaks of wet tennis shoes rubbed against metal, but I climbed all the way down without falling.
In the wall between Ernie's office and the food mart was a window. Through it I saw four corpses staggering among the aisles of chips and soda, illuminated by lightning.
None of them looked at me as I slowly closed the office door, the thunder masking the sound. I motioned for Michelle to climb down.
She shook her head, but when thunder pounded so loud it sounded like a mortar shell exploding directly above us, she got moving and closed the hatch behind her.
I sat with my back against the door so if any dead tried to open it, I'd know. I motioned for Michelle to sit as well so the zombies in the mart couldn't see her through the office window.
I doubted we could stay down here for long, but it was good to be out of the rain. Michelle and I cuddled for a while, but then she stretched out on her back.
I don't know if it was worth the risk or not, but I climbed back up the ladder to get this journal, which isn't even damp. I saved one of the plastic bags from the boxes of crackers we ate to keep it in.
You're welcome.
From the sound of it, the storm is going to rage all night. If the dead knew we were no longer on the roof but instead in this office where it's dry, I'm sure I would've felt them pounding on the door by now.
So I've got time to write one more thing that happened, the last thing.
63
IT TOOK ONLY MINUTES TO reach our destination. We drove long enough to turn onto a gravel road bordered on either side by empty fields.
"We're going to need some gas, Daddy," said the fat woman who was probably named Mrs. Davis, though she never introduced herself. She tapped the gauge below the steering wheel and I could see from the back seat it was on 'E.'
"Not sure where we'd stop, Mommy. But praise His holy name, we're home." Mr. Davis pulled the van into the parking lot of a small white church.
A sign out front proclaimed this the New Life Christian Church. The letters were white against a purple background, so I could read them even in the dark.
There were about a dozen other vehicles parked in the lot. A circle of light hit the back of one of the church windows and then moved away: the beam of a flashlight.
Mr. Davis shut off the engine and left the keys in the ignition. We climbed out of the van.
With no light pollution, I could see a long way and what I saw in every direction was nothing but grass and the occasional tree. New Life Christian Church was in the middle of nowhere, which was good since there weren't likely to be any zombies out here.
But even then, something about this little white church so far removed from the rest of the world made me uneasy.
"There she is, friends," Mr. Davis said. "The bride of Christ. And she's never looked more beautiful. Will you help me get this stuff inside?"
It was a request so ordinary that at first it didn't register.
Mr. Davis opened the van's rear doors, and he and Levi each took as many sacks of food as they could carry. I gave two of the lighte
r sacks to Chuck, then Michelle and I loaded up as well.
"Careful, boy!" Mr. Davis shouted at Levi, who was already changing his grip on his sacks to keep from dropping them. "Them bags aren't the Ark and you aren't Uzzah. Your wicked hands may touch them bags in whatever manner they see fit without angering the Almighty."
"I've got them," Levi said.
Mr. Davis looked at me. "A boy my son's age is besieged on all sides by the alluring temptations of this sinful, secular world. Got his head so full of impure thoughts, he can scarcely focus on the task before him."
It was clear Mr. Davis expected me to respond, so I gave a half smile and kept walking.
Levi muttered something so low I couldn't understand him. It sounded like "duck cough."
"Boy, still your forked tongue. Speak not but praise for thy King."
Levi's mother waddled straight to the double glass doors at the front of the church and held one of them open for us. I followed Levi into the foyer and lingered there until everyone was through the doors.
Mrs. Davis flipped on a flashlight and led us down a hall with doors for Sunday school classes on either side, past the sanctuary, to a kitchen. As we were dropping the plastic sacks on the countertops, more flashlights shone from the hall.
"Peter!" a man said. "Ruth! You're back! And I see you've brought new souls to the house of the Holy Host."
And that was how I learned Levi's parents were Peter and Ruth Davis.
The man stepped closer and when my eyes adjusted to the new flashlights I saw he was in his 50s or maybe 60s. He had short black hair with patches of gray and a handsome, clean-shaven face. Bright blue eyes gleamed over a mostly white smile.
He was what Grandma Lacey would've called a silver fox.
Dressed in a royal purple suit complete with jacket, white shirt, and matching purple tie, the man looked like he was ready for Sunday morning, though it was late on a week-night. His collar was even buttoned up.
"This is the Reverend Hopstead," Peter Davis said.
The reverend waved a hand, flashing two expensive-looking rings. "You can call me Brian. Or Rev, if the Spirit moves you. And you are?"
"We ain't had time for a proper meet and greet," Ruth Davis said.
"I'm Ricky. And this is Michelle."
"I'm Chuck!"
The reverend smiled and knelt down to shake Chuck's hand in a way I'm sure melted the hearts of many a mother over the years. "Brothers and dark Sister Michelle," he said, "the King of Kings has led you here as He once led His people out of the desert, and I thank Him."
I looked the reverend (the Spirit never once moved me to think of him as "rev") up and down, not sure what to say to that. I decided to try out the local dialect: “God is great."
"Amen, Brother Ricky. Amen." He turned back to Peter Davis. "Are there more supplies in the van?"
Five other men whose names I was told and have since forgotten joined us. All five were wearing purple T-shirts with white crosses identical to the ones the Davis family was wearing
The reverend led the group out of the church and across the parking lot.
Just as we reached the van, a dead man in a purple T-shirt rounded the corner of the church. His wild blond hair reached down to his shoulders and his right eye dangled from its socket, resting against his cheek.
He raised his hands, which were missing several fingers, and snarled.
64
"DON'T MIND BROTHER MORDECAI," THE reverend said, taking a load of supplies from the van. "He means well."
The zombie growled and started across the parking lot, gravel grinding beneath his boots. Then the rocks beneath him shifted and he fell.
Even so, he never stopped clocking us with his hungry white eyes, never stopped snarling.
"Brother Mordecai is adjusting to his new life," the reverend said to the group. "This is his second childhood, and he's learning to walk again. But sweet Jesus holds his hand all the way, every hour, every day."
This was followed by a round of "Amen's."
I grabbed more sacks from the back of the van.
"I think he's upset because we got Sister Rachel inside, Reverend," said one of the men.
"You may be right at that," the reverend said.
"Fear not, Brother Mordecai," he called to the dead man struggling to stand and sliding back in the gravel, "you shall be reunited with your wife soon enough.
“And we'll all sit together at the great table of our Father for a feast in His palace on golden plates. Hamburgers, pizza, fried chicken, and mashed potatoes if you like. Whatever you've got a hankering for."
After a chorus of amen's, we took the last of the supplies from the van into the church. Michelle watched the dead man a moment, but no one else seemed concerned.
Inside the sanctuary, women were setting up lanterns. Beneath the lanterns were people stretched under blankets and sleeping bags.
I wasn't tired, of course, because I'd slept for two days.
Michelle looked sleepy, and Chuck was yawning in the exaggerated way he always had, shaking his head side to side to get it all out. Chuck's yawns were adorable and almost never went unnoticed by adults.
"Looks like this little lamb's ready to be put to pasture," the reverend said, tousling Chuck's hair. "I think we're going to have to save formal introductions for tomorrow. Brother Ricky, you and yours are welcome to stay with us, from here to the great unknown, if the Spirit so moves you."
"Thank you," I said, thinking we'd be staying the night only.
The reverend stared at me, as though expecting me to talk about what a miracle he and his church were for taking us in or how he was the answer to our prayers. When I didn't say any such thing, he frowned and waved Levi's mother over.
"Sister Ruth, will you show God's children a place to lay their weary heads?"
"Yes, Reverend."
Mrs. Davis led us into the sanctuary.
At the front of the room was a podium on a raised platform in front of an enormous white cross and beneath it a baptismal pool. Surrounding the stage were four rows of pews stretching to the back of the auditorium.
People lay in the aisles and between the pews. Not all of them were asleep, but everyone was quiet.
"It's a sleepover," Chuck said.
Mrs. Davis pressed a finger against her lips and nose. "We're out of blankets," she whispered. "But you can lie down wherever you find space. Anywhere except there."
She pointed to the stage. Behind the podium, three women and two men were on their knees, heads bowed and eyes shut.
All lines of communication were down except for prayers to the invisible man in the sky.
Beside the prayer circle were two giant cooler dispensers of Kool-Aid and plastic cups. No one said anything when I helped myself.
There was an area of clear floor at the back of the sanctuary. Michelle and Chuck lay down and I sat beside them. Chuck scooted over and put his head in my lap, using my leg as a pillow.
I wasn't the least bit tired, and I wasn't about to fall asleep until I knew more about these people, but Chuck was out within minutes.
Michelle reached into the back of her jeans and pulled out the gun we'd taken from the house. "Will you hang onto this?"
"Sure."
"Keep it hidden. I don't want people to know we have it until we know everyone."
I shrugged. "They haven't said anything about my bat."
"Keep it hidden."
"You don't trust this place?"
Michelle gave a half smile. "If a dark sister can't trust church folk, who can she trust?"
65
MICHELLE SLEPT BESIDE ME. MOST of the sanctuary was sleeping, save for the prayer circle at the front, which had grown to seven people.
I had to pee, so as gently as I could I slid Chuck's head off my lap and onto the carpet. I got to my feet and crept between the pews and sleeping congregation to the exit.
Lanterns had been set up around the sanctuary so I could see well enough until I got to the h
allway, which was pitch-black. Beside the door resting on a folding chair was a flashlight.
I searched the doors in the hall until I came to one with a placard on it reading "Men's." I did my business and washed my hands, then used a handful of water from the sink to swallow a hydrocodone.
I was hungry.
I knew where all the supplies I'd helped carry in were, of course, but I didn't want to help myself to them without permission.
The New Life Christians might not mind me borrowing a flashlight to go to the bathroom, but they probably wouldn't take kindly to discovering me eating their food.
I went back into the hall and decided to find someone awake I could ask for grub. Light was coming out from one of the doors near the front lobby.
As I got closer, I heard the voice of the reverend inside, and another sound I couldn't place at first.
"Heavenly Father, I ask that You show Sister Rachel the way. Be with her, Lord, and comfort her as You comforted Jonah in the belly of the great fish.
"Be with her as You were with Noah when the waters rose and You kept him and two of all Your magnificent creatures afloat their many months at sea.
"And as You were with Father Abraham when You commanded him to sacrifice his baby boy, Isaac.
"Yes, Lord. Hold Sister Rachel to Your bosom and do not let her wander astray in Satan's traps. Guide her path always. May her steps be as You would have them. May her thoughts be as You would have them. Take her from this imperfect, mortal coil, and remold her in Your Holy image."
When I worked up the courage to peer in though the office door, I gasped.
The reverend looked up at me.
He was on his knees in front of a chair grasping the hand of a dead woman in a purple shirt.
She snarled, but her head didn't move and I saw why. It was strapped to the chair with a leather belt.
Ropes stretched across her chest, binding her to the chair. She jerked against them, but they held.
"Sorry," I said.
The reverend grinned, flashing his all-white teeth. "Not at all. Brother Ricky, this is Sister Rachel. Sister Rachel, this is Brother Ricky."