by Matt Handle
“Sorry, Father,” Sawyer answered. “My name is Sawyer Bell. It’s nice to meet you.”
“I’m afraid you won’t find much at Kroger,” Lynch said as he turned to amble up the hallway and into the main room of the church. Sawyer followed a few steps behind.
Lynch gingerly took a seat on one of the pews facing the altar that stood in front of a giant crucifixion statue that hung from the wall. “I did a bit of shopping over there myself a few times before those things found me and made me a shut-in,” Lynch continued. “I’m not sure how many of us normal folks are left at this point, but seems there were enough over the past year or two to clean out just about anything still edible.”
Lynch looked up at Sawyer and offered him a friendly smile. “I’ve still got some things saved up in the pantry if you’re hungry though.”
Sawyer returned the smile and took a seat on the pew across the aisle. “No, that’s okay, Father. I guess I’ll just have to find another place to do my shopping.”
The two men spent the next hour talking, Sawyer in his typical low grumble and Father Lynch in the sonorous tone of a practiced public speaker, his sentences liberally sprinkled with references to Jesus and God. Sawyer had never been much for religion, but he liked the old man. Not only was Lynch the first human contact Sawyer had made in months, he found the priest to be refreshingly direct. So many of the people Sawyer had known in Miami before the plague had a habit of saying one thing but meaning another. Lynch on the other hand, said exactly what was on his mind. The two men spoke of their experiences since the first signs of the outbreak, how they’d managed to survive while so many others fell, and the conversation eventually turned to what they each planned for the future.
“I’m an old man, Sawyer,” Lynch said. “If you hadn’t come along, this church likely would have become my tomb. I’ve spent the past 46 years dedicated to my flock, 28 of those years in this very building. Without a congregation, I think the time has come for me to move on if you’d have me for company.”
“Mi casa is su casa, Father, but it’s just a trailer a few miles up the road,” Sawyer explained. “It’s got a perimeter fence and I could probably fix up one of the neighboring units for you, but it’s still not much.”
Lynch smiled patiently at the younger man. “That trailer is no more your home than this church is mine,” he said. “They’re relics of our past, memories of a different world. The plague and the demons it left in its wake saw to that.”
“What are you talking about?” Sawyer asked.
Lynch stood up and laid one gnarled hand on Sawyer’s shoulder. “You’re a soldier. And now you’re a warrior of God. We serve a higher calling than living out our remaining days in isolation, penned in by the Devil’s hounds. I’m going to go back to my room down the hall and lay down. Why don’t you sit here and think on it awhile. When you’re ready to lead, I’m ready to follow.”
Sawyer watched the old man as he shuffled down the aisle and disappeared down the hallway. Then he looked up at the pained gaze of Jesus as the scrawny savior hung from his place on the cross. “Now I remember why I never came to church on Sundays,” Sawyer growled. He stretched out on the pew, put his hands behind his head, and started to think about what the old man had said. His days in the Marines were over. There was no one left to hand out any orders. And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d just been recruited. The question was; what was the mission?
Two and a half hours later, Lynch ambled back up the hall and into the main room. He’d changed out of the dusty black robe he’d been wearing when Sawyer arrived and was now in a fresher one, the priest collar still starched and white. A silver rosary dangled from one hand. Sawyer was sitting on the small stage in the corner of the room, his back against one end of the simple but elegant church organ that took up the majority of the platform, and his duffle bag lying by his side. Lynch looked his way and smiled serenely.
“There’s nothing like a good nap,” the priest quipped as he walked to the stage and gazed at Sawyer thoughtfully.
“I’m glad someone got some rest,” Sawyer replied.
Lynch laughed softly. “Self-pity doesn’t become you, Mr. Bell. I’ve put my life in your hands. Where would you have me go?”
“I just met you a few hours ago and you’re asking me to leave almost everything I’ve got behind,” Sawyer explained. “Normally my answer would include some words you probably don’t hear much inside these walls.”
The priest offered the younger man a sly smile, but stayed quiet, allowing Sawyer to finish.
“I think it’s time I got some answers about what caused all this and I’ve got an idea of where we might get them,” Sawyer went on. “It’s not going to be easy.” He unzipped his duffle bag and pulled out one of his pistols. “If you’re going to come with me, you’re going to need some good walking shoes.” He lifted up the gun to make sure the old man could see it. “And you’re going to have to learn how to fire one of these.”
Chapter 2
The two men were up at dawn the next day. Sawyer stood in the open doorway at the rear of the church, an assault rifle slung across his back and a pistol in one hand as he surveyed their surroundings. Nothing was moving, not a monster to be seen. Sawyer spoke quietly over his shoulder.
“Last chance to back out, Father.”
Lynch snorted as he lifted up the bag of supplies the pair had scrounged from the pantry the night before. “Are we going to be on our way or would you prefer we put our hands together and pray about it first?”
Sawyer grinned despite himself and grabbed his duffle bag. “Just don’t tell me I never gave you a choice.”
Sawyer and Lynch set out for the road north, sticking close together as they watched for any sign of Afflicted lurking in the boarded up buildings or abandoned vehicles that littered the landscape. Sweat glistened on Sawyer’s thickly muscled arms and was already dripping from Lynch’s forehead down his deeply creased face. Sawyer looked over at the old man and shook his head.
“We’ll be lucky if it’s not pushing 90 by lunchtime,” he commented. “You sure you don’t want to wear something more comfortable? I bet we could find you a t-shirt around here.”
Lynch smiled grimly. “I’ve worn a priest’s robes for more years than you’ve been alive,” he said. “Don’t worry about me. Just keep us moving in the right direction.”
“I told you last night that SOUTHCOM is a ten mile hump,” Sawyer reminded. “Whenever you need a break, just say the word.”
Lynch nodded his understanding, but didn’t respond. Sawyer was a good kid, he thought, but the last thing he needed from the brawny giant was mothering. Jesus had spent six hours on the cross. Lynch figured he could muster enough strength to make it across town, 72 years and a bum ticker be damned.
Both men were struck by the eerie silence that filled the world now that almost all of humanity was gone. It didn’t matter how much time had passed since the plague had nearly wiped them out. There was just no getting used to it. Despite walking down a four-lane street lined with retail buildings, there wasn’t a single sound of traffic, of airplanes overhead, of people talking, of construction, or anything else that resembled what this thoroughfare would have sounded like just a few years before. Like the road that had brought Sawyer into town, there was nothing to fill the silence here but the sound of their footsteps on the pavement and the occasional buzz of an insect. Sawyer wondered at the older man’s enduring faith. If there was such a thing as God, he thought as he trudged along, surely He’d abandoned them in this desolate world long ago. There was nothing left but desperation and horror, two things Sawyer had gotten to know all too well.
The priest seemed to read his mind. “You gave up worshipping Christ long ago,” Lynch said between labored breaths. “I’m sure you saw terrible things when you were overseas fighting our President’s war and even more now. You probably questioned why he’d let those things happen if he loves us, then decided that if he didn’t, you didn’t
love him either.”
Lynch stopped and looked directly at Sawyer to make sure he was listening. “It is because he loves you that you’re still here, that you still survive,” he stated. “God challenges us, but only to make us stronger. Then he calls us home once we’ve done our part. I hope you’ll remember that.”
A traffic signal blinked stupidly in the intersection ahead of them, powered by some unknown miracle, flashing its yellow word of caution to the ghosts of commuters past. A gun store sat on the far corner of the crossing. Sawyer had no idea what to say to the old man without insulting him. Deciding there was no good way to respond, he pointed at the store instead.
“Let’s stop up here for a minute,” he said. “Some more firepower couldn’t hurt and if you’re going to get some practice, we’re going to need more ammo.”
Lynch nodded, too out of breath now to keep talking. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was thankful for the excuse to rest. He pulled a handkerchief from a pocket in his robe and dabbed the sweat from his brow. When they reached the drab storefront, Sawyer held a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture and then stepped quietly up to the door. Like the surrounding windows, it had been barred and papered over on the inside so he couldn’t see a thing within.
Sawyer tried the handle and discovered it was locked. As he held his pistol in front of him, he gave the bars across the door a solid kick, getting nothing but a loud banging noise for his effort. The door held firm. He kicked it again with the same result.
“Let’s go around back,” he told Lynch before leading the way in that direction.
A dingy alley ran along the opposite side of the store with a large rusting dumpster at the far end and a metal door that marked the only other point of ingress to the building. Sawyer tried the handle only to find it locked too. He stood and stared at the door for a minute in silence as Lynch waited patiently behind him.
“There might be easier opportunities ahead,” the priest offered.
“Maybe there will, maybe there won’t,” Sawyer replied. “Why don’t you go over there behind that dumpster for a minute?” he suggested.
Once Lynch had done as he was asked, Sawyer pointed his gun at the lock mechanism beneath the door’s handle and squeezed off a round. The noise boomed through the alley, echoing off into the distance. Sawyer gave the handle another yank and the door opened with a metallic groan.
“I like our odds better here,” Sawyer stated as Lynch remerged from his hiding place. The pair stepped inside the doorway, Sawyer in the lead.
It was dark inside, but the sound of a shotgun being cocked as it was pointed at their silhouettes in the doorway was unmistakable.
“One more step and I’ll blow a hole in you wide enough to let in more of that Miami sunshine,” said a female voice in a thick Cuban accent. “How do you like your odds now?”
Sawyer held still, but he couldn’t help but smile. “Seems like I’m meeting all sorts of interesting characters lately,” he replied. “How about you lower that piece and I’ll lower mine. Maybe we can talk like a couple of civilized people?”
“Shooting up my door and pointing a gun at me is your ideal of civilized?” she countered. “You ever tried knocking?”
Sawyer slowly kneeled down and laid his pistol, rifle, and duffle bag on the floor at his feet. “It’s a gun store,” he explained. “I was just looking for some more ammunition. I didn’t know anyone was inside. Look, I’ve put down my weapons. How about you do the same?”
After a few more tense seconds, Sawyer heard the girl place her shotgun on the countertop she was standing behind and then a bright light illuminated the room, forcing him to squint as his eyes adjusted to the change. When they did, he saw a twenty-something Latina with long, dark, wavy hair and fierce eyes staring back at him. Her full lips formed a suspicious frown but didn’t take a thing away from her beauty. Her tanned curves were clad only in a white halter top, no bra and a pair of tight black short-shorts. She had the type of body Sawyer had only seen in the glossy pinups he and his buddies used to pass around in the barracks. A battery-powered work lamp sat on the counter beside her shotgun. Sawyer looked at her dumbly, momentarily speechless.
“What, you’ve never seen a girl before?” she asked.
Sawyer snapped out of it and offered her an embarrassed grin, his eyes still locked on the diamond charm that clung to her pierced belly-button. “It’s been awhile,” he stated.
“I’d have worn more clothes if I knew I was going to have company,” she answered. “You’re not going to be a problem, are you?”
Sawyer’s eyes finally came back up to meet her less-than-amused gaze. “No. I’m harmless. I’ve actually got someone I’d like you to meet.” Sawyer then called over his shoulder, “Step up and let her have a look at you, Padre!”
Once the priest stood beside Sawyer, the bigger man tried to offer the girl an apologetic smile. “This is Father Lynch. I met him yesterday about a mile up the road. He seems to believe he’s got a line upstairs so we probably both ought to be on our best behavior.”
The girl looked at Lynch and then back at Sawyer before giving them a shrug and placing both her hands on the countertop. “I’m Angel,” she said. “Close what’s left of my door before those things out there come sniffing around for fresh meat.”
After spending another half an hour playing “get to know you”, Sawyer told Angel of their destination and asked if she wanted to come along. He thought she might put up an argument, but he felt like there was an easy attraction between the two of them. It didn’t seem right to leave her here without making the offer. He was only half surprised when she agreed it sounded more promising than sticking around the store alone.
The trio spent the next hour gathering guns and ammunition, knives, flares, flashlights, and batteries. The store was a treasure-trove and Sawyer was shocked that it hadn’t already been picked over. Angel told them how she’d found the place abandoned a few weeks ago and had made it her home. Sawyer and Lynch were her first two visitors, human or Afflicted. She’d had to kill a few of the monsters before finding this haven, but had been safe ever since. Once they were finished gathering what they wanted, the three sat on the floor in a small circle.
“How did you survive before you came here?” Lynch asked her.
A troubled look came over Angel’s face and she didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was low and her accent so thick; Sawyer had to listen intently in order to catch everything she said.
“I had a boyfriend named Mauricio. He was Cuban and worked at the same club that I did before the plague. He was nice. I moved into his place when things started getting really bad. He said he’d protect me. Until about a month ago, we both seemed okay. Then he started acting weird. He started twitching, pulling his hair out and scratching at his skin until it bled. He’d scream at me for no reason and throw stuff around the apartment until I could get him to calm down. Then one day he just attacked me…”
A tear rolled down Angel’s face and she sniffled before wiping a hand across her nose and cheek.
“He was like a rabid dog,” she sobbed. “He did this,” she said as she showed them what looked like a scar from a healed bite mark on her upper arm. “He turned into one of those things and was going to kill me and eat me in the same room we’d shared for two years!”
Angel looked down at her hands before she finished her tale, not wanting to look the two men in the eyes.
“Before he could do it, I managed to grab a frying pan and I hit him in the back of the head with it,” she said. “He made me beat him to death. There was so much blood, all over the countertop, all over the floor. He looked at me as he lay there dying and God help me, it wasn’t him. Whatever was in his eyes, it wasn’t him.”
She sniffled again and then looked up at Sawyer and Lynch as they sat there in silence.
“After that, I packed up my things and wound up here,” she finished.
Father Lynch stood up and gently placed one hand
atop Angel’s shoulder for a moment.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted,” he said solemnly before walking past her, deeper inside the store.
Angel didn’t move, but gave Sawyer a questioning look.
“Don’t ask me,” he smirked. “I haven’t been to church since I was a kid.”
Sawyer got to his feet and then offered Angel a hand.
“The sooner we get moving, the better,” he told her. “Put all that stuff behind you.”
Twenty minutes later, the trio was trudging down the road, loaded with guns and ammunition, the sun beating down on their backs as they headed toward the Department of Defense’s southern command center. Sawyer had never been to SOUTHCOM and his two companions had never even heard of it. It was a strategic planning base for joint operations in South America so it was far removed from the time Sawyer had spent humping it across the deserts and shanty towns of Afghanistan. Nevertheless, it was the nearest military outpost that he was aware of. If anyone knew what was going on or was putting up some form of organized defense here in southern Florida, he figured they’d be inside the gates of SOUTHCOM.
The trio reached the main highway about a mile further up the road and discovered that what they thought would be a straightforward paved trek would be anything but. The highway looked more like a junkyard. Wrecked and abandoned vehicles were smashed and piled up to the point of blocking their route completely. Thick brush, kudzu-covered trees, and marshy vegetation bordered the pavement so tightly that skirting the road along the edges wasn’t possible either.
“What do we do?” Angel asked.
“I don’t guess either of you have a tow truck or a few machetes handy?” Sawyer joked without a hint of a smile.
Father Lynch merely raised an eyebrow and Angel frowned.
Sawyer placed one calloused hand on the raised median and then shaded his eyes with the other hand as he scanned the jagged landscape ahead. “Then it looks like we’ll have to climb,” he stated.