In his peripheral vision, Martin saw them closing in. Any moment, he knew that the ones behind him would catch up. Stephanie mounted the first step and turned to urge him on. Instead of an encouraging cheer, her eyes widened and a scream ripped free from her throat.
Fingernails dug into his shoulder. He instinctively jerked forward and the beast lost its grip. Then it found purchase on the young man’s burden. Brother Mark let out a howl of pain as the monster bit into his neck. The flesh tore away, exposing veins and various organic tubes. Blood jetted out in squirts and the preacher fell to his knees, but not in prayer. Martin turned to drag the man with him when a bullet flew by several feet above his head. He glanced back to see Stephanie leveling the rifle again.
“Hurry! I’m not a good shot. I might hit you next time.”
Martin ran to the base of the stairs and took the rifle from her hands. He whipped around and aimed. Mark continued to blindly crawl forward with one of the creatures on his back, steadily tearing and biting at any exposed skin. Martin carefully lined up the open sights on the abomination’s head and fired. At the last second, his body betrayed him and the barrel dipped. He hit it in the chest knocking it off of the wounded man. When the monster tried to stand, Martin’s aim returned and he nailed it in the forehead, sending a spray out of the exit wound. He took aim at the next one but two had already started feeding on the preacher. Martin fired, splattering one skull and took aim at the next, but the mass of undead had encircled the unfortunate man. The preacher was strangely silent. Deep down, the young man hoped that the preacher had passed out from blood loss or shock, anything not to have to feel the excruciating end that was coming. Martin felt Stephanie pull at his arm.
When he reached the top step, the door opened. The screams started at the same instant, as did the sounds of fabric tearing and crunching as teeth bit down to the bone. Martin made it to safety. Mercifully, the screams of Brother Willis ended with the closing of the church door.
NIGHT
Four pews had not been used to barricade the main door inside the Fayette First Baptist church. They rested in their original positions facing the pulpit. One sat flush against a wall on the left side of the sanctuary. The other three sat in a row, one behind the other, on the right side of the room. Martin and Stephanie sat on the last pew. Bryant and Cara sat on the row in front and turned to look back at them. Everyone felt the awkward silence even though each had a different reason. Never coming face to face in a group such as that, no one knew what to expect. Stephanie could not bring herself to explain how she came to be there. The memory was too fresh and too painful. Given time, she possibly could detach or distance herself and tell it like a story that happened to someone else, but right now she couldn’t speak. Martin looked at the two lovebirds, trying to decide if he should still be pissed off or not. Bryant had the girl he had wanted, but he soon realized that he had not even been thinking about Cara in the last twenty-four hours - maybe longer if he counted them up. “I’ve been busy surviving.” he thought. He quickly started to rationalize it. His perspective had changed. He did not want Cara; he just wanted someone. “Besides, I wasn’t in love. It was a momentary crush. Small potatoes compared to life and death.” Cara felt the strain of not knowing Martin and Bryant’s reaction to coming face to face. She felt sure that Bryant was mature enough to not pick a fight, but Martin had exhibited some childish behavior when they first met. Of course, she had no way of knowing how much he’d grown up since he’d ridden out to the county line. Bryant just looked at the group, glad that more people were alive. He finally spoke to make peace with the boy. The last thing they needed was humans against humans.
“Are you alright?” Bryant watched his eyes.
“I’m fine.” Martin replied a little more curtly than he intended.
Cara shifted her gaze to Stephanie. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know yet.” She looked at Martin, her savior, with obvious pain in her eyes. She needed for them to know but did not have the strength to tell them at that moment. Part of her needed for everyone to know, to pity her, to console her. Transversely, she did not want them to find out. In some deep and irrational part of her mind, she knew that they would think that she had asked for it. She could still hear Rick’s mocking voice and the hint of a laugh in every hateful syllable. “You deserve it because you’re a nigger-lover!”
“I’m going to find a restroom.” She leaned in close and whispered, “You can tell them while I’m gone.” Martin started to protest but she ignored his opening mouth and walked away before she lost her nerve. The entire time she was exiting the room, her hands shook and her heart sped up to a frenzied pace. Just thinking about the animal that had violated her pushed her to the verge of a panic attack. Then she passed through the door into the dim hallway and leaned against the wall. Her breathing slowed and she just stood there waiting.
For a brief moment, Martin debated whether or not to honor her request. She obviously wanted him to or she would not have spoken. At the same time, she might change her mind and blame him for telling. Once he said it, there would be no taking it back. He dallied for a moment, trying to make the pause a natural lull in conversation. No one would find it odd that no one knew what to say next. Every possible sentence fluctuated between trite and melodramatic. Deciding to go ahead, Martin looked around to make sure she wasn’t returning. Then he shook his head in revulsion. “That animal, Rick Langford, raped her in the school library earlier tonight.”
He did not preface the statement with a warning and both girl and boy gasped. Martin continued unaware. “I let him lead me and lead me, thinking that I was cool by association. Then I saw him as he really is. I’ve heard that a crisis brings out the truth in a person. This may sound like bragging but I don’t care. I know I’m better than him.”
Bryant and Cara simultaneously thought about him dragging the preacher, trying to shoulder all that weight by himself (even when the dead were within arm’s reach). Bryant felt sadness that it took a catastrophe of such tragic magnitude for Martin to discover any measure of self-esteem.
Cara thought more about how she consciously manipulated him for a ride way back one afternoon leaving church. Without knowing why, she hugged the young man as best she could across the pew. Her arm awkwardly stretched out and patted his shoulder. It was the only thing she could reach without standing up. “We’ll leave you alone for a bit.”
Martin nodded as his eyes grew moist. Somehow, she had known just what he needed. As soon as they were out of sight, he wiped his eyes. What did he feel just then? Was it regret and disappointment at not saving someone that he had struggled for or was it shame at his secret joy to no longer shoulder that burden? Either way, Martin had his time alone but it would not have mattered if anyone had been present. He could not fight back tears any longer.
***
Robert leaned against the wall in the cooler watching Debbie across the trashed room. Fallen steel shelves blocked the door, reinforced with heavy boxes of frozen food. After the cook had ensured their safety and the pair no longer had to pile the heaviest objects in the room, the conversation dried up. He had ripped open a bag of shredded lettuce and stuffed handfuls into his mouth. Unless he wanted to suck on a frozen meat patty, he had to eat the limited selection in the cooler. He offered the bag to Debbie - Deb as he began to think of her - urging her to eat.
“It’s not much but it’ll help.”
She shook her head. “All the water in lettuce will make me have to pee.”
He laughed. “I’m worried about living and dying and your concern is pissing.” He bumped the back of his head against the wall and stared at the ceiling. Bryant might have recognized the gesture as Robert’s thinking pose, but Deb had never paid much attention to him.
“Talking about it just made it worse.” She commented, shifting her legs in a sitting version of the pee-pee dance.
“Fine, use the freezer. Stay in one corner toward the back. That’ll be the restroom.”<
br />
“What about keeping this place clean? We could be in here awhile.” Her eyes begged him to just solve this one problem. Then maybe she could believe the rest of the issues could be dealt with, too, even if it turned out to be a lie.
“The temperature will freeze it solid. No smell, no worry about it running, or anything like that.” He added, “Besides, the door separating the cooler and freezer will provide a little privacy.”
Debbie stood up and absently brushed her uniform with her hands. Stepping over a few fallen boxes, she entered the freezer and let the heavy stainless steel door close behind her.
Robert had not lied when he told Bryant that he felt a lusty attraction to the dark-skinned girl in the next room. At the moment, the McDonald’s cook thought about her propping herself up and pissing in a corner, producing a cloud of steam where her body-temperature fluid met the frost covered floor. Urine held no erotic sway over him, but damn if the knowledge that her pants were down didn’t start the gears turning. He briefly wondered what Rick would say if he knew about this fetish. He never confided in Rick because the boy had exhibited a few prejudiced tendencies. Plus, Robert feared his influence over others. To be snubbed by Rick led to being snubbed by most of the school.
“Control yourself, buddy.” He cautioned. “The last thing you need is for her to stop trusting you because she thinks you just want to bone her.”
She reappeared, starting to return to her previous seat. She stopped and eyed him before walking over. She squatted down beside him. “It’s so cold.”
He did not intend to sound like a smart ass but did anyway. “Well, it’s a freezer.”
Her dark brown eyes met his and seemed to speak for her. “Don’t you dare condescend to me, not in here, not anywhere.”
Instead of stammering a naive apology, he lowered his eyes. He thought of something to say that would comfort her and win her to his side. Not coming up with a stirring speech or eloquent dialogue, he just told the truth. “I want to make it out of here. I want you to think of me as a good guy. I know I can be an asshole, but I also know that I’m going to do everything I can to get us out in one piece. I don’t want to see you die.”
Her eyes softened and she leaned against him. “I just want to warm up, okay?” The statement/question served as a dual warning, “I’m about to get closer” and “Don’t try anything”. When she pressed her skin against him, he wrapped his arms around her rubbing his hands over the goose pimples on her arms. For a little while, he felt content.
Shortly, both of them nodded off. Robert just relished finally touching his ebony goddess while Debbie drifted away thinking about the phrase “strange bedfellows”.
***
Father O’Brien, Bryant, Cara, Eric, Tommy, and even Sylvia sat in an office on the top floor. No one wore a look of levity. The two children sat on the brown carpet playing with die-cast toy cars. Tommy held a fire truck and Sylvia a green VW Beetle, but despite their play, neither youngster smiled. Eric crossed his arms and leaned across a cheap pressboard computer desk and looked at an equally cheap watercolor reproduction framed on the wall in front of him. Bryant and Cara sat on the couch, his arm around her shoulders like the world was not ending outside. The father sat in a large imitation leather office chair and appeared to be meditating. His eyes were shut and the eyelids barely flickered. His mottled hands pressed together in front of his chest.
Eric broke his gaze away from the painting and addressed the group. “We’ve got to kill or quarantine the infected one.”
“Why?” Cara asked, not calmly but not angry either.
“Every one of those things I have encountered has been bitten by another one. If he’s been bitten he’ll become one soon and become a danger to us eventually.”
Tommy looked up. “Are you talking about Daddy?” No one answered. The child’s curious face narrowed like a hawk and he produced a very grown up shout. “What’s wrong with my Dad?”
Eric squatted down to eye level with the boy. “Did your parents ever tell you not to pet strange animals?” Tommy nodded. “Well, the reason is because strange animals might be sick and if they bite you, you could get sick too.” He paused and drew in a deep breath. His voice came out soft, a technique he used in the ER when talking to emotionally distraught people. “Your father has been bitten and is sick.”
The priest interjected, the peaceful meditative look gone. “We don’t know that.”
Eric shot him a frustrated glance. Then he turned back to the boy. “I am a doctor and your dad is sick. If he stays with us, he could make us sick too. Do you understand?” The little boy nodded, following the intent better than anyone realized.
Eric looked up at the rest of the group. “Even a child can understand what I’m saying! Do you still want to risk our lives in exchange for one man’s comfort? So he’s locked in a closet or office until we are sure. It’s better than all of us dying.”
Bryant looked around uneasily. The doctor’s argument made sense. He rubbed Cara’s arm and thought about what they were going to do. “Is it really to the point that we can’t treat each other with civility?” He asked but meant it rhetorically.
Cara leaned into him and spoke, not trying to hide her voice. “As dark as human history is, surely you can cope with the part of yourself that has to be an asshole in order to survive.”
Eric could not decide if that statement toward Bryant was a snide remark about his behavior or a legitimate argument. He just pretended not to hear. “Father,” he directed his attention to the priest. “What do you think?”
The old man shifted uncomfortably. “We have to think of the greatest good. If we have one man locked in a closet for a few hours, I can live with myself. If we destroy a living being, I couldn’t be a part of it.”
No one truly wanted to argue anymore. Now that it was isolation and not murder, everyone acquiesced.
***
Stephanie watched Martin sit alone on the pew before moving forward. He looked dejected though the tears had already dried. Silent apathy lingered over him. Stephanie felt sorry for him, though she had never spoken to him before today. An ugly voice in her head mocked her. “If he hadn’t saved your life, what would you think of him?” She shook her head as if the motion would dislodge the talker from her mind. She knew the truth though. He wasn’t attractive. He didn’t have that much personality that she could see. If it wasn’t for his bravery, he would be totally unremarkable.
In a vain attempt to make up for such slanderous thoughts, she sat down on the thin padding of the pew and tried to comfort him. Her soft voice caught his ear. “What’s wrong? We’re safe now.”
Martin never looked up. “He died. I was responsible for him and he died.”
She ran her fingers through his hair and smiled at him as a friend. “I haven’t seen anyone fight that hard for anyone.”
That ugly interior voice crept up again. “Not even Derrick? He fought pretty damn hard for you. Died pretty damn hard too.”
She ignored that traitorous speaker hidden in the frontal lobes of her brain. “To go through all that . . . You must have been close.”
In a ghostlike voice, he whispered. “I barely knew him.”
“That means that you’re an even better person. Anyone can be loyal to someone they love, but who would go to such lengths for a stranger?”
“But I failed.” His downcast mouth cried into his hands as he tried to cover his tortured face.
She sighed. “You’re forgetting that you didn’t fail. You saved me, didn’t you?” Her fingers gingerly cupped his chin and forced him to face her.
He finally turned and willfully looked her in the eyes. The expression of gratitude forced him to give a small smile. “I guess I did.”
“You’re very brave, Martin. You should remember that next time someone tries to make you feel worthless. You have to give consent to feel bad about yourself.” Then she decided to use herself as an example. What did it matter? She had nothing to hide. “Do you t
hink the things that your friend said to me about being a ‘nigger-lover’ bothered me? I knew that the love I felt for Derrick was beyond his understanding. He never would accept my argument.”
Martin’s smiled widened and he ducked his head. “You’re very brave, too . . .” Sadness filled his eyes. “. . . For not caring what others think about you.”
Stephanie cleared her throat and changed the subject. “Hey, did you know there’s a phone in the church office?”
Martin nodded. “Yeah, I tried to call my parent’s cell phone. I couldn’t get an answer.”
She patted him on the shoulder. “I’m sure they’ve locked the door and are waiting until you to come home safe.”
Martin shook his head. “They’re safer than us. They’re not even in Fayette right now.” He looked at her, genuinely interested. “What about your parents?”
Stephanie sighed. “They disowned me when I told them I was in love with Derrick.”
“You should still try to call them.”
The creak of an opening door forced both heads to swivel around. The pair watched the entourage walk in and beeline for Daniel who was back in his corner. As they encircled him, his daughter came running, shouting ahead of her.
“Don’t! Don’t touch Daddy!” Her piping voice attempted to threaten, but the ears of adults only heard pleading. She closed the distance quickly and gave Eric a kick in the buttocks as he stooped to examine the patient.
Darkest Days: A Southern Zombie Tale Page 21