Praise the Dead

by Gina Ranalli

  Jaws dropped as he quickly rounded the front of the van and approached the zombie from the left. The undead woman was just barely turning, her milky-white eyes searching, then there was a deafening crack as Jackson fired the weapon into her skull, exploding it from a mere three feet away.

  The zombie dropped and didn’t move again.

  Remarkably, no one inside the van screamed, though every one of them flinched. They were still staring at the blood and brain-splattered driver’s side window when Jackson got back into the van and slammed the door.

  “There,” he said as he re-holstered the gun. “Now there’s nothing to debate. Drive, Sebastian.”

  It was a long while before anyone spoke again.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Because he enjoyed his life so very much, Andrew was once again laughing, lost in his own uproar. He and Jude were in, of all places, a football stadium where he’d gathered together a bunch of zombies with the wild notion he was going to make them play football with each other.

  The idea hadn’t gone particularly well; controlling so many of them at the same time was not something he had enough skill to do.

  At least . . . not yet.

  There had been far too many things to concentrate on and he became frustrated by the experiment in barely an hour. Angry, he’d instead focused his attention on only two at a time and made them fight each other.

  This was proving to be much easier and, more importantly, greater fun as well.

  “Look at the fat one,” he shouted to Jude, who sat high up in the bleachers, bored as usual. “Watch him!”

  A long-dead fat man in checkered boxers and a wife-beater stained down the front with a mixture of blood and what might have been vomit, lunged at an older, but more fit man dressed in the blue uniform of a postal worker.

  With fingers curled as hooks, the fat man reached up and began to claw the eyes out of the postal worker’s head.

  In retaliation, the postal worker threw his head back so it was out of reach of the short, stubby arms and grabbed hold of the fat man’s lower jaw, yanking down hard with the obvious intention of ripping it clean off the other man’s face.When the fat man clamped his mouth closed, severing the postal workers fingers, Andrew was somewhat disappointed with the amount of blood that spewed from the stumps. The lack of agonized screaming was also distressing to him, but he forged on and the postal worker used the heel of his remaining hand to slam the cartilage in the fat man’s nose up into his brain.

  The fat man immediately sank to his knees, severed fingers falling out of his gaping mouth, and then he fell over, truly dead at last.

  As Andrew spun the postal worker in the direction of new prey, grinning and lost in his entertainment just as surely as any other boy his age would be lost in the excitement of a video game, the rest of the world faded into the background. Which was why it took him a while to hear Jude calling him.

  “Andrew!”

  The albino had come down to the sidelines where Andrew sat; Jude stood beside the bench, warily watching the undead.

  “Andrew?”

  The boy looked up with annoyance. “What now?”

  “I understand you’re honing your, um, skills, but I’m not sure how safe it is here anymore.”

  “What are you talking about?” Andrew asked, obviously half-paying attention, his eyes back on the fighting zombies.

  “I’m talking about them.” Jude took off his sunglasses, his eyes trained on the rafters high above them.

  Andrew looked up then dismissed what he saw. “Birds. Big deal.”

  “I think it might be a big deal, in fact.”

  “Oh, now you’re gonna say you’re like your sister, right? That you get a vibe about birds and they tell you where people might be or something like that?”

  “No, not quite,” Jude replied carefully. “I don’t get any vibe from them other than what any other person might.”

  Impatient, Andrew said, “Then what’s the problem?”

  “Well, the first problem is they’re crows, which you don’t usually see in a place like this. Pigeons, sparrows, yes, but seldom crows.”

  “Big deal.” Andrew shrugged. “They eat meat, right? They’re probably waiting for the minions to die.”

  Jude crinkled his nose in distaste. “I suppose that could be it.”

  “You bet it is.”

  “Actually, I wouldn’t bet on it at all. I’m just saying it could be possible. Not likely, but possible.”

  “What do you think is likely then?” Andrew snorted in an attempt to make sure Jude knew just how preposterous anything he was about to say was.

  “I think it’s much more likely those birds were sent to spy on us.”

  At last, Andrew pulled his attention away from the zombies and focused solely on his companion. “Sent . . . by her?”

  “Who else?”

  “But . . . that would mean . . .”

  Jude smiled bitterly. “The circus has come to town.”

  Andrew felt his pulse quicken. He swallowed and asked, “What should we do?”

  “Why, Andrew,” Jude replied, “you sound almost frightened.”

  The boy glared and stood. Though Jude was easily a foot taller than him, Andrew puffed his chest out in a clear attempt to be the alpha-male. “Keep it up,” he warned, “and one of my minions will eat the nose off your face and then, when you come back, I’ll dress you in pink tights and a tutu and make you bend over for them.”

  Jude looked shocked. “I—” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Sure you didn’t,” Andrew said sarcastically. “But it’s okay. I forgive you. It’s natural for a freak like you to want to be in charge, and it must suck to play second fiddle to a kid. I totally get it.”

  Beads of sweat began to form on Jude’s upper lip, but he remained still and silent, his almost-white eyes not daring to blink.

  “Anyway” —half of Andrew’s mouth curled up into a smile and his tone became conversational again— “I have all my minions to protect me. She’s the one who should be scared.” He glanced back at the careening zombies on the football field and felt something almost resembling love. Cocking his head to one side, he said, “And you never know. This might actually be fun.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  They hadn’t found a gas station in time, which, in a way, was just as well, because the further into the city they moved, the more congested the streets became with vehicles that had either broken down or been abandoned. Traveling by car would have been impossible within a couple miles of where they’d encountered their first zombie anyway.

  Weapons strapped to their backs and moving in a small crowd with Lindy at its center, the group had passed many hysterical people, all of which Dusty had wanted to stop and console. She would have, had any of them wanted to talk to her, There was one evidently clueless girl at a bus stop, listening to her iPod, who appeared to not notice anything except for whatever it was that held her attention as she stared down at her feet and blew big bubbles with her gum.

  “Look,” Monty said. “A grocery store.”

  On the next block over was a Stop-n-Save, its parking lot a huge snarl of mostly-abandoned vehicles parked every which way. Shopping carts were overturned and grocery bags and other trash littered the ground.

  “I don’t know if it’s even worth checking out, kid,” Jackson said. “Probably most of the food is gone anyway.”

  “You never know unless you try,” Monty replied. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll go inside and check it out myself.”

  “No,” Jado spoke up. “We stick together no matter what.”

  They stood on the sidewalk, watching the store for any signs of life. When five minutes had passed and nothing happened, they agreed as a group they should check it out. If they found anything edible, it would be worth the time.

  Moving with slow caution, they crossed the lot, Lindy once again in the middle. She was beginning to feel not only
ridiculous, but also that they were babying her.

  Aside from a rumbling belly, she felt strong and confident now. Unafraid. She was fulfilling her destiny and sooner or later the rest of the group would have to step aside and let her lead. She hoped when that time came, she would know what to do. Maybe then her life—and the lives of everyone—could go back to some semblance of normality. As much as would be possible anyway.

  Once they’d entered the grocery store, they all stopped just past the threshold, waiting to see if anyone—or anything—would come lunging at them.

  Nothing did.

  All was quiet, though the interior of the store was much like the exterior. Garbage was strewn everywhere and upon entering they were instantly assaulted by the foul stench of rotting meat and produce.

  Dusty covered her nose with her hand and said, “Good heavens. The electricity must have gone out days ago.”

  “Yeah,” Sebastian agreed. “It’s pretty pungent in here.”

  “Smells like putrefied flesh,” Monty said, causing everyone else to give him looks of disgust. “What?” he asked. “It does!”

  Jackson shook his head. “Well, I doubt it’ll pan out, but I guess the dry goods aisle is where we need to be.”

  “And canned goods,” Jado put in.

  They all moved past the bank of cash registers, carefully stepping over any debris that blocked the way. Lindy shivered when, just past the help desk, they came upon a corpse. It had been so mutilated that its gender was impossible to guess and the only thing that let them know it had once been human was the pair of new Nikes on its feet. The sneakers were the only piece of clothing left on the body.

  “No human did that,” Jackson said.

  Sebastian gagged and looked away. “No living human, anyway.”

  “Definitely carnivores,” Monty added. “I’m not feeling so hungry anymore.”

  Lindy swallowed her own gag and said, “Maybe that’s the point. Maybe someone dragged it here near the entrance to scare off other people from the food.”

  “That would be pretty smart,” Jado said. She was the only one who seemed unaffected by the festering corpse. Waving a cloud of flies away, she frowned down at the body as if searching for something in the exposed entrails.

  “I think it would be best if we didn’t dilly-dally any longer,” Dusty said, moving away, still covering her nose, her voice muffled.

  “Best idea I’ve heard all day,” Sebastian said, following close behind the woman.

  They hurried along the main aisle until they came to the one marked canned goods.

  “Let’s not forget to find a can opener while we’re here,” Dusty reminded them.

  “I have one on my pocket knife,” Jackson said.

  “Never hurts to have a spare.”

  “No, I don’t suppose it does.”

  Something crashed behind them and they whirled as one to see a zombie who’d knocked over a spinning rack holding paperbacks.

  “Where did he come from?” Sebastian asked, more surprised than frightened.

  “Outside,” Lindy said.

  Sebastian cocked an eyebrow then saw what the others had already seen: an entire horde of zombies swarming into the store from the entrance they’d used just a few minutes before.

  “It was a trap,” Monty said fearfully.

  Jackson was already moving to put himself between Lindy and the undead. “Or just really bad luck.”

  “I count” —Jado quickly calculated— “Thirteen.”

  “Like I said,” Jackson replied, “bad luck.”

  “Half of us should move that way and flank them from behind,” Sebastian said. “Montgomery, take Lindy to the back of the store.”

  “No,” the girl protested. “I’m staying.”

  There was no time to argue with her, as the gang of undead was gaining ground and would upon them in a few seconds.

  Lindy, a crossbow already in hand, yelled, “We’ll be caught in a crossfire if we flank them from either side. Jado, Jackson and Dusty! You guys move back towards the cash registers and take them from the south side. The rest of us will hold steady right here and hopefully hold their attention. Everyone spread out and remember: aim for the head!”

  None of the soldiers hesitated. Their leader had given her orders and the first real fight began.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Standing at the pulpit inside Mary, Our Lady of Sorrow, Andrew looked down at his flock with shining eyes.

  Jude was on his right, and on his left stood a burly zombie with bits of gore caked in his impressive afro. In the pews were nearly seventy people, all very much alive and listening with rapt attention.

  “Unless you want to be one of the undead,” Andrew told them, “your new purpose in life is to protect not only me, but them as well. Remember: the more that our undead brothers and sisters fall, the angrier I will be.”

  Jude coughed into his fist and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  Pretending not to notice, Andrew added, “And the more full of sadness I’ll become. Protect them, my minions, with your lives, if necessary, for they have been brought forth to cleanse the earth of its sins.”

  Andrew was faltering, uncertain of what to say, but fairly certain what he was saying made very little sense at all. He wished he’d heeded Jude’s advice about reading notes off index cards.

  Well, it was too late now. Nothing to do but forge ahead and hope the line of zombies standing at the back of the church and blocking the exit would be enough to convince them of his own holiness even if his words didn’t.

  In the first pew, a man with long, greasy dark hair and a goatee shouted, “Amen!”

  Andrew smiled down at him. That was more like it.

  “What’s your name, friend?” Andrew asked. He’d first been instructed by Jude to call people either “sir” or “madam,” but he had flat-out refused. There was no way he would give anyone the impression he was not the one in charge. They should be calling him “sir,” as far as he was concerned.

  Jude’s next suggestion had been either “brother” or “sister” or, at the very least, “friend.” Andrew had settled on the last, but if he’d had his way he wouldn’t have been calling them anything respectful. He was the master of all their destinies, after all. Their god.

  “Rick,” the greasy-haired man said, standing up. “Rick Skinner, Father.”

  Father? Now there was something Andrew could get used to!

  Because he had no idea of what else to say to the man, he told him to be seated once more. The man obeyed at once and it gladdened Andrew’s heart. Controlling the living was light years easier than controlling the dead.

  “Protect them as you would any member of your family,” he told them, doing his best to remember the things Jude had told him to be certain to touch upon. “Your children, your spouses, your siblings. Because that’s what they are now. Protect them and they will protect you.”

  This was all nonsense, of course. Andrew had no way to control what the zombies did when they weren’t in his presence, but it sure sounded good to his ears and by the expressions on the peoples’ faces, it seemed to sound good to them too. True, there were a few who looked more than a little dubious, but the majority wanted to believe him and so they did.

  It was that simple.

  They were afraid and he was their savior.

  “Bless you, Father Andrew!” The greasy man bounced to his feet and turned to the rest of the congregation. “Bless this young man, people. Only through his love and protection can we survive this dark time. Only through his guidance will we know the way and see the light for ourselves!”

  Andrew had no idea what the guy was talking about but he liked it. Jude, however, was wearing a sour expression and staring at Rick as though the goateed man was a maggot just discovered in a half-eaten steak.

  “Amen!” Rick shouted, throwing his hands in the air. “Say it with me, people! Amen!”

  At first, only a few people repeated th
e word, but the more Rick said it, the more others joined in until, sure enough, everyone in the church was shouting “Amen!”

  It was interesting, Andrew thought, but ultimately a bit boring. Everyone was watching Rick instead of him and he didn’t know how to get their attention back where it belonged.

  The answer came to him when he saw a pretty blonde girl around his own age gazing up at him intently. Her blue eyes flashed with mischief as she chanted along with the others, though without much enthusiasm. She was too busy boring a hole into Andrew with her gaze, and when he finally noticed, her full, red lips curled into a flirtatious smile.

  Andrew felt his stomach roll.

  Though he was certainly old enough to be curious about sex, he wasn’t in the least interested in it. The mere idea of it repulsed him, and now to have this pretty girl so obnoxiously trying to make her filthy intentions known made his skin crawl.

  He tried hard to think of a word disgusting enough to describe her, but when he couldn’t, he decided it didn’t matter much anyway. He simply walked one of the zombies from the back of the church down the center aisle and into the girl’s pew.

  People stopped their chanting, frozen, watching with wide, curious eyes.

  The zombie grabbed the girl by her long blonde hair and yanked her to her feet. She screamed and that wormy feeling that had been assaulting Andrew’s stomach began to diminish.