Scavengers

by Christopher Fulbright

  Shaun said: “David has a helicopter. He can get us out of here.”

  David nodded. “Not a lot of fuel, but probably enough to get us out of the metroplex.”

  Dejah studied the man, recalling how he’d been at her bedside as she awoke from death the other day. Though unkempt and under stress, she found him handsome. He looked like he hadn’t slept well.

  He focused on her, met her gaze. “You do realize the reverend is insane.”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve got no doubt of that, at all.”

  “There’s not much hope of things around here getting any better,” David said. “If you ask me, things are probably going to get a hell of a lot worse.”

  “Did you hear the announcement this morning?” Dejah whispered, not wanting the people around them to hear. They needed to be careful who overheard their conversations.

  David shook his head. Shaun said, “No.”

  “I was attacked in my sleep last night by one of the other ‘Daughters of Heaven’”—she curled it with finger quotes and said with derision—“The bitch came at me with a knife. The reverend has a two-way mirror in our room that he uses to watch us. He saw the whole thing and actually saved my life. Crazy bitch would have taken me out while I slept. She’s convinced she’s sent by God to be Keller’s true wife and I’m some imposter. Now Keller’s labeled her a tool of Satan and is having her killed tonight in some kind of public execution outside the church – they’re going to feed her to the zombies.”

  David shook his head in horrified amazement.

  Shaun grasped Dejah’s arm. “Let’s go now. You can’t go back. There’s no telling what he might do next. This might be the only time we see each other again.” His eyes were wild. Dejah’s heart raced as his fear infected her. She searched his face.

  David reached for Shaun’s hand. His hand brushed Dejah’s arm. “We have to make a plan first,” David said. “If we leave right now, in the middle of the day, the guards will spot us. They’ve got this place wired with cameras. I’ve been listening to that scanner—” He pointed to the walkie-talkie scanner on the counter across the room. It was under a row of cabinets covered with children’s pictures of crayon-colored rainbows, remnants of when life had been sane. It was the same scanner on which he’d heard the announcement that Dejah and Shaun’s truck had been seen, when Carson and the others mounted their rescue force. “They keep a keen eye on the perimeter of the church grounds, which are huge, as well as the immediate building. I’ve seen little black domes in the ceilings. I’m guessing those are security cameras.”

  Dejah looked around the room. The scanner crackled. They heard two guards checking in with each other: No activity. All quiet.

  The mother of the boy looked up at the sound of the announcement. An elderly woman stirred in her nap at the sound. Footsteps passed in the hall along with the sounds of two people talking. The footsteps and voices continued through the hall.

  “Anyway,” David said. “I landed my ‘copter in the parking lot on the south side of the complex. We need to find a clear path out there that won’t put us in danger of being attacked by the infected, and won’t get us detected by the guards. My guess is they’ve placed a great value on that whirlybird as part of their security for this operation. Or at least as an escape pod for Keller.”

  “Do you really think you can get us out of here?” Dejah asked.

  “David can do it,” Shaun said. He was confident. “He was in the Army in Desert Storm. This ain’t his first rodeo.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence kid.”

  Dejah smiled vaguely. She had to admit she sensed a strength about David that reassured her, that made her feel good about having him on their side. She found herself admiring the lines of his face, the flecks of beginning gray in his hair, the strong angle of his jaw and wide frame of his shoulders. “Any ideas?”

  “Well,” David said. “If they’re going to have some sort of public spectacle tonight, that’ll be a perfect time for me to get outside. Then I’ll take a look at the lay of the land and see what’s the best way to escape detection. We need to get to the chopper, but once we get her in the air, there’s no guarantee they won’t try to shoot us down.”

  Dejah nodded. She accepted this as truth, acknowledging the unhinged insanity of what was falling farther out of control here at the Church of the Risen King.

  “So, I’ll take a look around tonight. Probably best for us to make a break for it as early in the morning as possible. Even just before dawn if we can.”

  “Okay,” Dejah said.

  “Do you think you can sneak away?” Shaun asked.

  “I think so. I’ve been friendly with the reverend. As long as I return on time tonight, before sundown, I think he’ll trust me.”

  “I take it he’s got you and the other Daughters of Heaven locked away in a room,” said David.

  “You’d guess right on that.”

  David looked her. His eyes were hard, but softened just for a moment with genuine concern for her safety.

  “I can make it another night,” Dejah said.

  “Good.”

  “Speaking of which, I should probably go.”

  Shaun gave her a final hug. “Be careful, Dejah.”

  “I will.”

  David stood. He followed her to the doorway of the classroom-turned dorm. At the threshold before she walked out, he laid one hand gently upon her shoulders. His grip was firm. He stood almost six inches taller than her. When he leaned close, she was embarrassed to admit the smell of him excited her, the touch of his hand gripping her shoulder made her wish he’d pull her into an embrace.

  “Take care of Shaun. He’s still just a kid,” Dejah said. Her heart beat hard against her ribs as she watched David studying her expression. She told herself her infatuation was caused by the situation they were in, but there was no denying David was a handsome man.

  “Be careful,” was all he said.

  “I will.” She hurried away, but didn’t see the distant form of Carson, standing with T.D. at the end of the hallway, watching the exchange.

  * * *

  “They were talking confidentially, Reverend Keller,” said Carson. “Can’t say for sure what was said, but we can question some of the folks in the room to see what they heard.”

  Reverend Keller sat in his study, surrounded by wood stained bookshelves loaded with the wisdom and theology of the ages. He looked small behind his oaken desk, the light from the banker’s lamp shining over his waxen features. He looked ill, aching inside, eyes dark and mad. He stared past a nearby end table, the couch next to it empty.

  “I bring this information to you, Reverend, because that man is one of the few among us who can fly the chopper. And that’s a valuable piece of equipment.”

  Keller nodded distantly. “You think they’re planning to leave?” His voice was monotone, almost too quiet to hear.

  “Possibly, sir.”

  “And to take Dejah with him?”

  “It looked that way, sir.”

  Reverend Keller looked at Carson and then beyond, the intensity of his glare piercing the shadows gathered in his study. “Do we have someone else who can fly the helicopter, if necessary?”

  “Yes, sir. I can fly it. So can Graham. We served together.”

  Nodding, the reverend refocused his stare on the shadowy corner. “Kill him,” he said.

  “Yes, sir.” Carson nodded and left the room.

  Keller impatiently drummed his fingers atop a black leather Bible, a tremor of rage shaking his hand, as shadows gathered around him in the deepening twilight.

  CHAPTER 28

  On the west side of the Church of the Risen King, the commons opened onto a long outdoor portico with square stone pillars under which twenty or so tables were set for diners to enjoy in mild months. This long porch, back-lined by glass doors leading from the café and commons was now filled with those who’d come early to view the execution. Just past the edge of the concrete patio, an expans
e of lawn stretched to the four-lane church drive. It wound south past the front of the main church building, toward the school’s baseball field and football stadium. Visible from the porch, however, just on the other side of the drive, was a grassy slope leading down 250-yards to a man-made pond with a fountain which Keller insisted be left on, to demonstrate that the Living Water of the Sprit still flows, even in these end times. A man-made island with a gazebo lay in the center of the pond. Beside the gazebo stood a thirty-foot cross, with a bench situated in front for those who’d come to pray. An arched bridge led to the island.

  It made for a lovely vision in the evening. The sun set in brushed hues of pink and lavender over the rolling hills and forest beyond the edge of the church property, reflecting on the surface of the pond just this side of the treeline. Looking into the hazy distance as the moon rose, one could almost forget the metroplex existed within twenty miles of here. One could almost forget a virus that made people eat living flesh infected the world. One could almost forget … until the children of Hell emerged from the forest.

  A heavily armed group of five men took Zanine, bound, down to the island. She tried to wrestle free as they tied her securely to the base of the cross. Her cries echoed over the hill. They weren’t close enough to hear what she said, only the tones of panic and frantic pleas.

  David stood among the crowd. It seemed that about 200 people had arrived for the event. Makeshift fencing was erected around the nearest grassy area, attempting to make a protected place so people could come outside, but remain safe from the infected. David scanned the faces. He recognized the same faithful crazy people who usually packed the sanctuary. Keller’s desperate followers.

  The woman guard who’d watched over their room the night before last stood twenty feet away, a rifle in her hands. Kathryn, he recalled. She met his eyes. He looked away with a nonchalant turn of the head.

  What he was really interested in was the lay of the land. How could they get outside, past the fence, and back to the helicopter? David could see the gate through which the guards took their victim, but they had to unlock a chain to get through. He couldn’t see the helicopter from here. It was clear the best route was straight out the front doors. Disguising his disappointment, he pretended to be interested in the ensuing insanity.

  As he swung his head back over the crowd to the central scene, he noticed in his peripheral vision Kathryn was still staring at him. He focused on the spectacle down the hill.

  The guards, two of them in plain clothes, three of them in soldier’s fatigues, strapped Zanine securely to the base of the cross’s upright. Her screams rose over the grassy rise and echoed beneath the overhangs of the porch. As her screams turned to terrified cries, the assembled crowd quieted. Many who were seated now stood. David hadn’t come to watch so much as to plot a way to the chopper, but he found he couldn’t look away from the horror on the other side of the road.

  The soldiers who tied Zanine in place hurried across the bridge back toward the church complex. The children of Hell emerged from the woods, drawn by the woman’s screams and the scent of warm flesh and blood. Half of the infected demonstrated a complete lack of rational thought by plunging headlong into the pond on a direct course to their would-be meal. Those that did so sank deeper into the water with each staggering step. Others were smarter. They surveyed the scene, saw the woman, and then made lurching paths around the edge of the pond to the bridge.

  The fastest zombies dashed after the soldiers. With a rattle of gunfire they sprayed bullets behind them on their retreat to the church. One of the plain-clothed men was the last one back. One of the zombies caught him. It had his pant leg. The man yanked, struggling through the gate of the fence surrounding the spectators on the lawn. His buddy unloaded his 9-mm pistol into the zombie’s head. The skull exploded. One of the soldiers kicked with a heavy boot, dislodging the clutching hand. A third man dragged them the rest of the way onto the lawn and secured the chained gate with a padlock.

  Zombies in the distance crossed the bridge in a steady stream. Cold wind rose as night fell, carrying the scents of fetid decay. Lights came on around the gazebo island. Spotlights were aimed at the tall white cross, illuminating Zanine in a supernatural glow.

  The children of Hell set upon her with relish. Her screams rose to a fevered pitch, twisted into strangled cries of agony. They ripped into the soft flesh of her abdomen first. They tore her open and spilled her entrails, steaming, onto the earth. Two of the zombies went immediately for the viscera, picking up the white loops in greasy strands and shoving them into mouths. Rotted teeth went for her throat next. Zanine’s anguished screams were drowned in bubbling gouts of blood as an emaciated zombie woman savagely ripped the esophagus and windpipe from Zanine’s neck. Skin tore. The ragged ends of the organs hung from the new gaping wound.

  The children of Hell clawed the skin from Zanine’s face, stripped the muscles from her legs like one might tear well-cooked meat from the bone, fighting over the thighs, yanking the calves as skin slipped away in slicks of blood. It was utter carnage. The fiends gathered at the foot of the cross like roaches, the sounds of their groaning and growling rising in a furious crescendo as they fought for what was left of the ravaged corpse.

  David’s stomach turned as he realized people had begun to chant and cheer.

  “Die, bitch!” yelled a man in glasses, his eyes wide.

  “Death to the Devil’s whore,” screeched a woman near him, full of rage. She pumped her fist in the air as she repeated her mantra.

  “—the devil’s tool—” shouted someone else.

  “—sent to bring down the Lord’s kingdom—”

  “—for the best of us all. Death to all who would bring sin upon us—”

  And on and on. David looked around him incredulously. The mob was standing. The throng ebbed with rising energy, like a single electrified mass, working into a frenzy. They pressed against him in their excitement. He tried to turn away, to get back inside, before things got out of control.

  A tall man, one of those in plain clothes who’d delivered Zanine to her death was suddenly before him. David looked into the man’s bearded face and tiny, rat-like eyes. The man shoved against him and David felt pain in his side, like a combination between a sudden painful pocket of gas, and the burn of a cold slice when you cut yourself on a razor.

  David gasped, turned quickly, clutching his side.

  The lower left side of his abdomen was ebbing with heat and leaking blood. His fingers came away wet with it. It looked black in the darkness.

  He’d been stabbed.

  CHAPTER 29

  David looked up with shock, his left hand dripping blood. The man was gone, but the woman guard, Kathryn, was pushing through the crowd toward him, yelling.

  She gripped him, reaching an arm around his shoulders, and urged him into an area away from the throng. They stood beneath a light on the concrete portico, between two stone columns near one of the glass doors. Kathryn studied the wound.

  Her eyes were dark brown, pupils and irises almost the same color. They reflected fear for him, concern. She looked around, and David did the same as truth dawned. That man had stabbed him…intentionally…where did that son of a bitch go?

  “We’ve got to get you to Doc Ward.”

  David nodded. He was suddenly lightheaded. He took a deep breath and let her plow a way through to the glass doors to the commons. Heat began to emanate from the wound, and bending even the slightest hurt like hell.

  Once inside, they hurried across the room of tables and chairs, past a gathering on the couches that paused in their prayers to observe the commotion. He leaned on Kathryn as they mounted the stairs. Every footstep caused an explosion of ripping pain in his stomach muscles. It seemed a long way back to the med room where Doc Ward was.

  “What the hell happened?” said the doc. He noticed David clutching his side. There was enough blood now that it coated David’s hand and made a good mess of his shirt cuff and left pant le
g.

  “Stabbed,” said Kathryn.

  “Get him over here.” Doc Ward hurried to a cot and cleared off the wadded sheets. David groaned as Kathryn and the old doctor helped him onto it. Pain ripped through his abdomen as he used his stomach muscles to lie onto the bed. He growled with pain.

  A few of the sick folks in the room were startled.

  The doc returned from the counter with a medical kit and ripped away David’s shirt. David tried to gauge how bad the injury was based on the doctor’s reaction, but the old man was better than that. He tentatively probed the wound.

  “Ah, shit!” David hissed between clenched teeth.

  “I’m going to give you a local anesthetic,” the doctor said, reaching into his kit, extracting a syringe of Lidocaine. “Just hang on.”

  David squeezed his eyes closed at the small needle bite as the anesthetic was injected near the wound. The area went numb, leaving a dull ache, a sensation of something awry. And he couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to vomit. He breathed deep, slow, trying to keep himself calm. He felt the doctor clean the wound.

  When David opened his eyes again. Doc Ward had slipped on a mask, and was probing the wound gently with hemostats and a retractor. The doctor looked into the wound from different angles. He made a humming sound. David felt a slight tugging, but nothing more. Still he remained as still as possible.

  “Well?” David grunted.

  “Shh,” Doc Ward said.

  Kathryn hovered over him. Her face had gone white and she turned away to watch the door.

  That’s not good, David thought. He had an image of his belly laid open, raw meat and globules of fat, severed muscle granting a deep hole into his guts.

  Finally, the doctor pressed gauze against his wound and looked up. “Well, good news and bad news. The bad news is, your obliques and transversus and rectus abdominus muscles were severed. The good news: the transversalis fascia’s still intact. So the blade didn’t penetrate to the hollow viscera. All that means you’ll survive – it doesn’t mean that what I’ve got to do now won’t hurt like hell.”