The crowd cheered in support. Spencer gave a nod, and two men with security T-shirts under jackets bailed from the end of the stage. Both bullied their way to the woman. One grabbed Lisa from the side.
“Let’s go, miss. You can watch from the back with the rest of the protesters,” the tall, middle-aged security officer said. Dark glasses hid his eyes.
When he grabbed her right bicep, she jerked her arm away. “Don’t touch me! Get your hands off me!”
The Security Officer quickly pulled his open hand near his face and stared in obvious revulsion. Body makeup covered his palm. “Hey, she feels cold! She’s one of them. She’s a zombie,” he shouted.
“What luck,” Spencer whispered. He lowered his gaze to the stage floor while shaking his head, looking like a wounded soul.
Lisa stumbled backward toward the reporters, with only the two men from church security between her and some of the more agitated members of the crowd.
A fountain drink in a large plastic cup sailed through the air and crashed onto the side of Lisa’s head, drenching her face and chest in sticky, sweet cola.
“Brothers, sisters, please calm down. Let the poor misguided woman go. Pray for her. Pray that she learns the error of her ways,” Spencer said. The crowd quieted. “My unfortunate woman, your confusion is due to your affliction. I understand, and I forgive you.”
“I’ll debate you anytime, anywhere. You are not my superior,” Lisa yelled.
“Pride goeth before the fall,” Spencer spoke softly. “You have already broken one of the Ten Commandments bearing false witness against me. Go, and ask forgiveness of God, as I have forgiven you. Gentlemen, please escort the lady away.”
The two men grabbed onto Lisa’s arms and forced their way through the crowd. She kept her head low while barraged by curses from the holy people of the church. Some showed their disdain by spitting in her path.
An old woman tossed a drink onto Lisa’s chest, and then another half-full cup sloshed out of the crowd as she walked by. Her white blouse turned transparent from the drinks and clung tightly to her skin. Her hourglass figure, which had been tastefully presented in her outfit, was now displayed as if she were parading in a wet T-shirt contest.
“Wow, look at the tits on that thing,” an old man said.
“Hey, baby. You want to go for a ride?” another heckled.
The women acted none too impressed with the attention from the men, and berated her with calls of bitch, slut, and whore.
What started as a poke in the giant’s eye had twisted into an unruly scene, where Lisa’s safety, if not her very life, was in jeopardy. Weeks of anger and frustration had clouded her judgment. Instead of winning hearts and minds for her cause, she had the tables turned, and found herself the pariah. How could I have been so stupid?
A hand reached from behind, between her and the church escort, and ripped her blouse from the right side of her chest. A finger caught a bra cup and pulled it down under her breast.
“Look at that nipple. It’s gray!” a voice called out.
Lisa hunched over and snapped the cup back into place. Her heart pounded as bodies fell in line to block her path.
The excited crowd snatched one of the security officers from her side. He yelled to be released, and then cried out in pain as he was shoved facedown to the pavement.
His companion leaped to his aid and yanked out a gold plated Colt .45 from the shoulder holster hidden beneath his jacket. Before he could say a word, a stainless steel insulated bottle crashed into the back of his head, knocking him cold. His pistol bounced on the concrete parking lot.
Lisa shook uncontrollably as the angry faces surrounding her twisted in wicked glee.
A balding man wearing a white collarless shirt and black blazer pointed an accusatory finger. “And I saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. Another book was opened, which is the book of life. The dead were judged according to what they had done as recorded in the books. Anyone whose name was not found written in the book of life was thrown into the lake of fire!”
“Wait! No! Please! Let me go!” Lisa cried.
A woman grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to the ground. “You need to learn your place, you Jezebel!”
“You should stay with your own kind!”
“Undead trash! Go home!”
Lisa jerked her right hand up from the pavement when someone stepped on her little finger. The crowd gathered closer. The wall of death tightened its grip.
“Please! Just let me go. I didn’t ask to be infected. It wasn’t my fault. I just want my rights back.”
“If your hand or your foot causes you to sin, cut it off, and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life maimed or crippled than to have two hands or two feet and be thrown into eternal fire.” The balding man stopped by her side, reached in his front pocket, and opened a lock blade knife.
Someone gasped, and exclaimed, “He’s got a knife!”
The crowd backed away.
“Troy! What in God’s name are you doing!” a woman’s voice called.
He dropped to his knees and held the blade up to her face. “You lust for a life you no longer have. If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out! It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into Hell.”
Lisa threw her hands in front of her face, and cried a shrill, “No!”
A policeman finally pushed his way to the heart of the fray as the man raised his knife. The officer tackled the man, grabbed the wrist that held the knife, and smashed the hand to the ground. Two other police officers joined in, subduing the man, and cuffing his hands behind his back.
Lisa pulled herself to her feet, arms raised to deflect the next blow. The officer who disarmed the attacker put his arm around her waist and forced an open path to safety.
Chapter 10
Margaret Spencer laid a lavender colored sheet over the breakfast table in her kitchen. Next, fresh cut flowers, in a wicker basket she and Joel haggled over on their first trip to Jamaica sixteen years before, went on top. She made a detour to the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of white wine before continuing her task. It’s five o’clock in New York, she rationalized.
After a sip of wine, Margaret removed a vase from the bottom of a cabinet. Six pink roses went into the vase, then clippings of leatherleaf fern followed in the arrangement. Stems of purple foxglove with bell-shaped flowers hanging low went in among the roses. As a final touch, she added sprigs of baby’s breath to give the bouquet a rich, full appearance.
Margaret stepped back, admiring her work of art. Such a simple thing, but it brought her joy. Simple pleasures carried her through the mire of what her life had become.
She drank more wine, feeling the warmth spread, and considered where to put the last rose. Was there a place for this odd-flower-out bloom? She too felt out of place in the world.
Another taste of wine eased the pain for a moment. Then Margaret’s thoughts strayed to Rebecca, her only child. The only child she would ever bear. Because she couldn’t give him a son—or that was his excuse anyway—Joel had found someone else in a nearby town who could. Ironically, the affair came to light just before The Dark Times hit. Joel had already left to start a life with his new family. She and Rebecca survived during the two years of the zombie war with the aid of church members. Joel tragically lost that woman and his son, and reunited with Margaret and Rebecca not long after the Z gas tamed the undead. Margaret forgave him, being basically weak, even blaming herself for his affair. She regretted ever letting him back into her life.
Rebecca was well on her way to independence, at the age of twenty-one, and in her second year of college. It had been hard watching her grow up and move from home. Margaret understood though, as bitter sweet as it was.
Rebecca’s had a rebellious streak from birth. Margaret chuckled. She sure was a pain in the ass to deal with while growing up. I’m just glad she didn’t let Joel screw
up her head like he did mine.
If only I could live my life over again. I would be just like Rebecca. I guess it’s all part of your glorious plan for me, God. I may not understand it, but I accept it. Like the hymn says, ‘It is well with my soul.’
The door from the garage opened, and the sharp slap of books hitting tiles in the rear foyer announced her husband’s arrival.
Joel Spencer entered the kitchen pulling his tie loose from around his collar. He was clearly surprised to see Margaret in the kitchen, a glass of wine in one hand, and a single rose in the other.
“I didn’t think you’d be home. Aren’t you supposed to have a treatment today?” he said, sounding disappointed.
“Good afternoon to you, too.”
“Don’t start with me Margaret.”
“The treatments make me sick. I didn’t want to feel ill today. I wanted to enjoy the garden. The morning was so pretty. I couldn’t bring myself to go.”
“You’re gambling with my future.” Joel opened a top cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a tumbler. He poured two fingers of whiskey in the tumbler and threw back a mouthful. “You’re drinking wine and playing with flowers like you don’t have a care in the world. If your health turns for the worse before the election is over, you could destroy my chances of winning.”
“Joel, you know how to say the sweetest things.” Margaret drank her wine and rolled the rose under her nose.
“Don’t get smart with me, woman. I’ve had a difficult day. I shouldn’t have to remind you to keep your part of the deal. I kept mine when I signed the papers giving Rebecca half of everything we own when you die. Your job is to remain my wife until the election is over. If you die before, or word gets out about the cancer, the deal’s off.”
Margaret stiffened her back. “The treatment for the melanoma is to put money in Doctor’s pockets. Luxury cars and mistresses are expensive. I’ve done enough reading on the subject to know the treatments don’t add much to the quality of life. Stop worrying. I’ve got two years easily to live—even if I stopped taking treatments. If you get the nomination the election will be over long, long before that.”
“Oh, I’ll get the nomination all right. The campaign is peaking against Poundstone, and the polls project me to be ahead by ten points for the primary.” Joel finished his whiskey and set the glass in the sink.
He put one hand on his hip and pointed at Margaret with the other. “Do you know what your daughter did today?”
“She’s your daughter too.”
“Can it. Do you know what Rebecca did?”
“It’s Saturday. She probably woke up in her dorm at noon and is planning what to do with her friends tonight.”
“She was at the rally.”
Margaret turned her back to Joel. “Oh really, did she sit with you on the stage?” Her body tensed.
Joel took two steps closer. “You knew she would be there, didn’t you?”
Margaret closed her eyes and tightened her jaw. “No, I didn’t know she was going to be at the rally today.”
Joel stepped closer. “Maybe not. But you do know she’s involved in that Full-Zombie movement, don’t you?”
“How could you tell? Full-Zombies wear makeup.”
“Her hair. Her body shape. And, the guy next to her, that Ben guy, was there. There’s no doubt it was Rebecca.”
Margaret brought the wine glass to her lips and stopped. She turned to face him. “Yes. I know she’s involved in the moment. It’s her life. She can do whatever she wants.”
Joel’s face turned crimson, his upper lip lifted revealing clenched teeth. “I ought to make you pay for this.”
“If you lay one finger on me I’m calling the police. I don’t care if that breaks the deal. I’ll see you fall before I let you hurt me one more time.”
Joel balled up his right hand and reared it back.
“If you hit me you better kill me. So help me God if you let me live I will bring you down.” Margaret hoped her threat sounded believable. She wasn’t used to taking up for herself.
Joel spun around and opened the refrigerator, removing a bottle of water. “I have a strategy meeting tonight, won’t be back until late. Don’t wait up.” He never turned around and left the kitchen through the living room, picked up two folders off his desk, and then headed out the rear door.
As he put his hand on the car’s door handle, his head turned to his Harley-Davidson Night Rod Special in the back of the garage. A cruel smile curved his lips. He strode to the passenger’s side and removed his gold plated Colt .45 and holster from the glove compartment.
After threading the holster on his belt, Spencer opened a garage cabinet, and put on his black leather jacket and helmet. He brought the beast to life, and gave it the throttle, nearly scraping the bottom of the garage door with his helmet as it lifted. Mack was busy mulching the flowerbed by the side of the house as he approached.
Spencer raised his visor, pulling alongside. “There’s a light burned out on the chandelier in the living room. See it gets replaced.”
Mack rose from his knees and brushed the dirt from his hands. “Yes, sir, Mr. Spencer. I’ll take care of that right away.” He turned his gaze toward the kitchen window. Margaret stared back.
Spencer left Mack in a haze of exhaust fumes and the thunder of a near wide open throttle.
Margaret purged all the poisonous thoughts of Joel from her mind. She didn’t want the torments of her life’s history playing over and over again.
When Margaret topped off her wine glass, a container of Creole cream cheese alongside a few pieces of fruit reminded her she hadn’t anything to eat since breakfast. She retrieved the cream cheese, a jar of pepper jelly, and an apple and pear, then placed them on the counter.
After unwrapping the cream cheese, she prepared the fruit and opened a box of whole-wheat crackers, arranging a handful in the middle of a silver serving plate, laying out the slices of fruit in a circle around the crackers. Margaret placed the plate on the table after she carried the flowers into the living room. She admired the presentation while she opened the pepper jelly and felt silly for thinking she should photograph it.
A knock at the back door had her delay her late lunch. It was Mack, with his face pressed against the glass. He held a ladder in one hand.
She went over and opened the door. “Mack, I was about to eat a little snack. Would you care to join me?”
Mack smiled. “Well ma’am, Mr. Spencer thought it best I come and change the light on that fixture right there.” He nodded toward the chandelier.
“We don’t like disappointing Mr. Spencer, do we?” Margaret teased.
“No, ma’am. It won’t take me long to get up and do it.”
“It never does, does it?” Margaret laughed. “Come in. I have something to show you.” Margaret headed for the kitchen.
Mack opened the ladder and set it upright in the middle of the floor, then followed her to the kitchen.
“Ta-da! This is pretty enough to be in Good Housekeeping, isn’t it?” She presented the platter to him with a show of spreading hands.
“Seems to me like that wine has gone straight to your head. Who gets excited over a plate of fruit and crackers?”
“Party pooper,” she said, sticking out her bottom lip. “Won’t you join me for a bite?”
“I don’t think I can take the time. Mr. Spencer wants that light changed before he gets back.”
“Don’t worry about him. He won’t be back until past midnight.”
“Well then, I don’t see how it would hurt anything,” Mack said, removing his straw hat.
“Goody! Now, what will it be? Cream cheese or pepper jelly?” Margaret held a butter knife in her hand.
“I think I would like me some of that cream cheese.” Mack moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue.
Margaret unbuttoned her blouse and unhooked her bra in the front. She then scooped a layer of cream cheese with the knife and spread it over her left
nipple.
Mack moved closer and gently gave her a deep kiss. He moved his hand up to her left breast, cradling it as he moved his lips and tongue down her chest, and licked the cream cheese from her soft, pink nipple. It firmed from each stroke of his tongue.
Margaret softly moaned, knowing it would arouse Mack even more. They were both cripples, one way and another, emotional or physical, before they’d found each other.
Mack pushed the plate aside, laying Margaret gently on the table, and removed her pants and panties. He lifted her thighs and spread them. Teasingly, he said, “Mr. Spencer told me earlier to keep my head in the game when I did a job. I promised him I would and that I’d lick it to completion. I aim to keep that promise.”
Chapter 11
The Reverend Will Hatfield relaxed on a green leather recliner, his feet lifted even with his heart and a Bible open on his lap, but he was no longer reading. His mind was lost in meditation, above the trials and temptations of the world.
*
One year Earlier
“Take a seat, Scott.” Reverend Hatfield gestured toward a chair for retired Captain Scott Fenton and closed the door to his office. “I appreciate you making time for me this afternoon. I understand you have a sitter stay with your wife while you’re away. How’s she doing?”
“Mary Ann’s having a good day. Thank you for asking,” Scott said. The seat cushion burped air as he sat.
“How long did you say she’s had MS?
“It started nearly ten years ago. It wasn’t all that bad at first. Her only symptoms were annoying twitches in her face. She wasn’t wheelchair bound until two years ago.”
Hatfield took a seat behind his desk and adjusted his pants. “I don’t mean to keep you from Mary Ann any longer than necessary. I know it’s only been a week since you moved to Dallas and joined the church, but I have something I feel is very important to share with you.” Hatfield leaned forward. “I know you are a trustworthy man. You were a captain in the Army Medical Corps. You have professed your faith in God to me. I believe you. Now, what I am about to present to you must remain between us. Do I have your word on that?”
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