After the Fall

by Stephen Cross

  “It is, isn’t it,” said Stanley. “As good a place as any to hide from the demons.”

  She assumed that demons meant zombies. Or maybe he was talking about his own personal demons. Who knew?

  “How long have you been here? Since the beginning?” she said.

  Stanley nodded. “Since the beginning, until the end.”

  “The end?”

  “Just a manner of speaking. I’ll be here as long as I can be, I mean,” he smiled again, revealing several missing teeth.

  Another tear. She didn’t bother wiping it away this time.

  “It gets better,” said Stanley.

  She nodded, grateful he was being kind, but would have preferred if he had pretended not to see anything.

  “Are you coming to the service tonight?” said Stanley.

  “The service?”

  “Yes, we have a service every night. There’s nothing much else to do. Father Dave always has something to say. I imagine you’ll be going.”

  “I’m not really religious,” said Grace, not sure if what she was saying was sacrilege.

  “That’s alright,” said Stanley. “It’s not really about religion. More about keeping us together. A get together, if you like. And Father Dave, he’s a great talker.”

  “Ok, sounds good.”

  Maybe Father Dave would say something to help her. She had never tried religion, had discounted it as soon as she was old enough to understand it, and that’s how it stayed for the forty three years of her life so far. Her Mother had turned from God when her Father had died.Ain’t nothing holy about cancer, she had said.

  But, it was the end of the world. What else was there to do for entertainment?

  “That shower is something else,” said Harry, drying his hair. He was wearing a new shirt and pair of jeans, looking more like he used to look, back at the lab. The handsome man she had ignored for years. “I didn’t realise how much I missed being clean. It’s like I can smell it, the freshness, you know?”

  He walked back to the bathroom and hung the towel up. “Imagine what we must have smelt like… they did well to not say anything.” Harry allowed himself a small laugh.

  They were in a bedroom in the rectory, an extension onto the original church. Grace sat on the bed. Harry sat down next to her and put his arm around her.

  “You know, things might get better,” he said.

  “You think so?”

  He took her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Look, I know you’ve struggled, since you, well, what happened when we escaped from the lab, with Taylor.”

  Grace felt her insides twitch at the man’s name. The man she had killed.

  “But Grace,” continued Harry. “He was a class-A bastard, you know it. You saw him push those people down the lift shaft, you saw him shoot the Professor. I’d have done the very same thing in your position, most sane people would.”

  Grace wanted to believe Harry, she did. “I’m just not good at killing people. I guess that means I’m not going to be very good in this world.”

  “Look, I don’t know what you’re feeling, I can’t pretend to imagine. From my point of view, the fact you feel the way you do, for killing someone who so richly deserved it, makes you, in my books, a better person than most on this planet. It makes you special, Grace.”

  His words seemed to reach right inside her. She felt the warmth of them spread throughout her heart. Why not allow herself to believe him, to accept what he was saying? To accept that he cared for her.

  “I don’t feel special. I feel scared, alone.”

  “You’re not alone, not when I’m with you.”

  The pressure of his hands on her shoulders increased slightly, he was pulling her closer. She relaxed to let herself go to him.

  “Hey, Grace, Harry, you guys up there?” It was Father Dave, just outside the bedroom door.

  Harry smiled at her. “Timing, always been my problem.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. What he said seemed so funny she could cry, even more so as she knew it wasn’t really funny. That was what was great, that he made her laugh. He made her feel safe.

  “Yeah, we’re in here,” said Harry.

  Father Dave opened the doorway, a wide smile on his face. “Well, look at you two! Smart as buttons the pair of you. Great stuff! We’re having dinner soon, if you want to join us. I bet it’s been a while since you’ve had a good feed?”

  The mention of food reminded Grace how hungry she was.

  “Head on down when you’re ready,” said Father Dave, disappearing down the stairs as quickly as he had appeared.

  Harry leaned in and kissed her, just for a moment, but fully, on the lips. He pulled away, keeping his face close so she could feel his breath on her cheek. “Let’s go and have dinner. We can pick this up later.” He smiled.

  Maybe things were getting better.

  Chapter 8

  The church; stoic, wooden and aged. The evening light exploded through the stain glass windows in a dazzlement of colour, like a child’s colouring book, all bright and a mess with no order or reason, but beautiful.

  “You know, Harry,” said Grace, lowering her voice as they walked from the rectory to the kitchens, “They have electricity here, I can look at the laptop. See what the Professor had hidden on there.”

  Harry nodded slowly. “Let’s take it slow. And keep the laptop quiet. We still don’t know these people.”

  “We’ll look tonight. Find a power socket somewhere.”

  “Good idea.”

  They found themselves walking down the aisle. The old building begged to be explored, its nooks and crannies calling with promises of magic and mystery. At the back of the church, the light faded as small windows replaced the proud stained glass. A small flight of stone steps led down before meeting a heavy wooden door, secured with a large gleaming lock.

  “What’s down there?” said Grace.

  “Holy stuff, I guess,” said Harry with a smile.

  Grace jumped at a shout from behind. Her and Harry turned. A man was walking down the aisle towards them. It was Gary, Beth’s husband. His brow was furrowed.

  “The dinner hall is this way,” he said. “I’m assuming that’s where you’re going?”

  “It is,” said Harry.

  “Yeah, it’s easy to get lost in this place,” he smiled. “I’m Gary, I think I saw you when you first arrived?”

  Grace and Harry shook his hand. He was a stocky man, with thick arms and a thick torso. He spoke with blunt vowels, his voice the same as he looked. His hands were rough, the mark of a manual worker.

  “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  They followed Gary through the silent church towards the dining room.

  They dining room had most probably been a Sunday school in the days before the Fall. Bookshelves bent under the weight of the words of Jesus. Posters drawn by the hands of children retold the sermon on the mount, the forty fishes, the miracle of the cripple who walked, and other famous Biblical tales. It was pleasant, and painful, to see the clumsily daubed renderings. It reminded Grace the world used to have a whole population of young souls, full of enthusiasm and love, yet to be tainted with the dirt of experience.

  “I’m Brenda,” said a large woman sitting down next to Grace. She was somewhere in her fifties, with the wide waddling gait typical of women of middle English towns. Grace imagined her spending her days with church events, village fetes, tea, and crumpets.

  “Hi, I’m Grace,” said Grace, smiling as Brenda squeezed into the space next to her.

  A wide selection of food was laid out on the table. Grace began salivating immediately. Slices of what looked like roast chicken filled a large bowl, surrounded by smaller bowls of potatoes, leeks and tomatoes.

  Grace felt a blip of embarrassment as her stomach rumbled in anticipation of a meal that wasn’t from a three month old tin.

  “I’m sorry for our vegetable selection,” said Father Dave. “We are running on our frozen supplies at the m
oment, but once the veg garden kicks in next spring, we’ll be having a fresh feast every night!”

  “Is the chicken frozen too?”

  Stanley answered, “No. Slaughtered just two days ago.”

  “Come on now Stanley, words like slaughter have no place at the dinner table.”

  “It’s only what it is,” said Stanley, “ I don’t think there’s place for squeamishness anymore.”

  Father Dave shrugged and held up his arms, looking to Grace and Harry, “There you go! You can’t tell Stanley what is and what isn’t.”

  Stanley reached over for a slice of chicken and some veg, and tucked in, his eyes focused on the food.

  Father Dave rolled his eyes, as if watching a child misbehaving. “Go on then, tuck in everyone!”

  There was the clink of cutlery and the small murmur of conversation as the group passed the food around.

  The leeks crunched, the potatoes melted and the tomatoes burst in tangy goodness on Grace’s tongue. The chicken was warm and soft, cooked well, none of the moisture lost. Her heart raced with excitement as she almost felt the nourishment leak into her bloodstream. Something more than intellectual knowledge told her this was what her body needed. She felt warm, right to her soul.

  “So how long have you been in the wild for?” said Brenda, shaking Grace from her momentary lonely euphoria.

  “Since the start,” she said.

  “Oh my,” said Brenda, her eyes open wide. “How did you ever survive, you must both be so brave.”

  “I think we just did what had to be done,” said Harry, from his place opposite Grace, in between Beth and Gary.

  “I don’t know abut that,” said Brenda. “If I hadn’t been here at the Church, I don’t think I would have lasted too long.”

  Grace agreed with Brenda, but she didn’t say so. “I’m sure you would have managed.”

  “Well I think we should all just be grateful for the grace of God that we found each other,” said Father Dave, his voice riding over any other conversation. All eyes suddenly on his smiling face and shock of blond hair. He held up his glass of water. “A toast, to new friends and healthy living.”

  The company raised their glasses and the clink of glass mixed with the six voices echoing Father Dave’s toast.

  Grace took a sip of her water, then said, “Thank you, so much, everyone. For rescuing us today, and for, well, for this. For the clothes, the food. We’ll do everything we can to help, to pay our way. We want to help.”

  Father Dave beamed at her. “Well that’s just wonderful, Grace.” He leaned forward. “I’m a great judge of character, and I can tell that you and Harry are two of the good guys. Just like us. All the good guys together,” he chuckled to himself.

  “Have you told them about the service tonight?’ said Beth.

  “Oh yes, didn’t I mention it? We have a little service every week or so. We like to give thanks to God for everything we have. I don’t know whether you’re religious or not, and, well, I’m a modern kind of guy, I realise that not everyone is, especially the young ones. It all seems terribly old fashioned these days. At least it was before the Fall, but maybe things will be different now, now that the world is how it is. I’m just trying to say, we’d really like it if you came along. You don’t have to think of it as a Christian service, think of it as a chance to give thanks, to whatever you believe in, thanks that we’re alive, that we’ve got each other, that we’re safe.”

  Silence as the assembled group turned to Harry and Grace.

  “Of course,” said Grace.

  “We wouldn’t miss it,” echoed Harry.

  Father Dave’s face lit up, “Well, that’s just wonderful. Wonderful!”

  Chapter 9

  The congregation of six shuffled into the front pew. They sat in silence as Father Dave made his way up to the pulpit, his shoes clicking on the tiles of the floor, echoing around the giant cave of a church. Goose-pimples shuddered down Grace’s back. The was something about people collected in silence that touched her. She wanted to cry; relief, she imagined, the feeling of finally being safe, and of being part of something bigger than just survival. It was a ceremony for a God that she didn’t believe in - but it wasn’t scanning the windows for undead, or scrapping the final flakes of dried tuna from the bottom of a can, or trying to glean warmth from a candle.

  It was a reminder of life beyond that of an animal.

  And Harry’s hand was holding hers.

  Father Dave, in his elevated pulpit with his settling black robes and blonde hair, had the appearance of a living Guinness advert. He looked over his flock and smiled, softly, shortly. Now was a time of reverence, the celebration of God not to be conflated with base physical celebrations of happiness.

  “Today,” he said, his voice loud, deep, and full, and more than a match for the imposing empty spaces of the Church, “we are blessed. Yes, I hear you say, we are blessed every day; but today, even more than usual.” His eyes scanned the whole church, looking not only to the six people in the front pew, but beyond. Grace wondered if he saw a full flock, if he imagined all the old members of his church still there, clutching their bibles, living in hope of redemption. Or maybe it was simply habit, a tic as much a part of his sermon as the words themselves.

  “Our little flock here in St Jerome’s, safe in the arms of our beloved and merciful God, has seen its numbers rise today, not by one, but by two. Two more souls have been brought to us by the will and the hidden mechanisms of the Lord. Two more lost sheep have been brought home by the Shepherd who watches us all, and loves us all.” His eyes settled on Grace and Harry and he smiled the warm smile of a Father. “Give us the strength Lord, not to let these two lost and lonely souls down, give us the strength to do your will for them, to embrace them with the love they deserve.” He looked close to tears.

  Father Dave paused, then closed his notebook. “Three months ago, our Father took it upon himself to commit a great pestilence upon the world. At first, I, like many others, asked how can you do this Lord, how can you commit such horror upon your beloved and precious creation? So many people, families…” he paused, “children, lost. And at the hands of what terrors? It was like the demons of hell themselves had risen, and took it upon themselves to cast each living soul into a terrible and actual purgatory, forever to walk the world in Dante’s limbo, neither a creature of the world, nor of heaven.

  “What could we have done, Lord, I asked night after night in my prayers, what could we have done to deserve this? I prostrated myself before you. I waited, nay, pleaded for the demons to take me, for my time to come, for the pain was too much to bear.

  “And then the answer came…”

  Grace glanced down the row at her companions. Every eye fixed on the Father. Brenda had a slightly dazed look on her face, like a teenager watching her idol in concert.

  “You gave me the answer. The answer was in front of me, as the truth always is. The truth reveals itself in light, as the lies of the Devil hide in the darkness… I realised, this was not a punishment, this was a cleansing. This was a clearing of the way for the true light and goodness of God’s eternal creation to shine through. The Lord said to me, ‘Father Dave’, I’m on first name terms,” Father Dave winked at the congregation, and Brenda laughed, “he said, ‘Father Dave, two thousand years have passed since my son came to help the people of the world find their way, and things have not gone well in that time. We are more lost, more treading in the darkness than ever. My flock is wandering in ways they can’t understand, each step bringing them closer to the fires of hell. Even the little children…’

  “When the Lord said this, it hurt me, it did, but I realised he was talking the truth, he said, ‘even the little children are stained now, even they have lost their souls to the darkness, the devil, to the demons’.”

  “I said ‘Lord, what can we do? What can I do?’, and he told me there was nothing to do, but to live by the Word, to live by my heart. You see, my flock, what the Lord did was pull
away the veil. He took away the sheet of death that was hanging over us all, and revealed the truth. Remember, truth lives in the light, and evil lives in the darkness. Once the light has been shone, nothing can hide from it.

  “And I knew. This plague, this pestilence, has not been committed by God. All God has done is shine the light of truth upon us all. The world has been illuminated with his love. Evil no longer has anywhere to hide, evil has been found out!

  “The demons, the undead, the infected, the zombies, whatever you call them, they are but the bared souls of the people they used to be. Their masks have been pulled away. As it said in the good book - ‘And your sins will be known, and Peter shall see your sins and he shall say, yay, or nay, on the measure of your sins’.”

  Father Dave rested his hands on either side of the lectern and gazed in turn at each of his congregation. “The sins of the many are now bare for the world to see, and what a sinful world it is. Not many are righteous. Of all of us who have been judged, only a few are here to stand free. And we must be thankful, yes, we must never take the Lord’s love for granted, we have work to do.”

  Father Dave closed his eyes and held his arms up, reaching for the roof of the church. “The world must be cleaned,” he shouted, his voice filling the church with a deep bellow.

  Grace jumped as everyone else repeated, loudly, “The world must be cleaned!”

  “We are the blessed,” said Father Dave

  “We are the blessed!”

  “We are the servants of God.”

  “We are the servants of God!”

  “We are the cleaners,” said Father Dave, opening his eyes and bringing his hands down heavily to the lectern.

  “We are the cleaners!”

  Grace felt her hand being taken by Beth as everyone stood. She stumbled to her feet along with Harry

  “We are the cleaners,” they said, over and over again, the words echoing together in the church, bouncing and forming a new sentence that was impenetrable in lexicon, but heavy in meaning. Grace was being led from the pew, the line of people snaking down the aisle, towards the front of the church.