11
Reverend Jackson stares out the window as the rain falls in sheets. His mind wanders over the past dozen hours. Everything in his world is crashing down around him. He thought he would be prepared for this. But as he watches parts of Downtown burn even through the rain, he knows he was left behind. This is the hell the Bible warned about.
When hell is full the dead will walk the earth. The verse runs through his mind. And he knows it to be true. Mankind’s time must be up.
He admonished people for as long as he could talk. Until his voice was hoarse with the effort. All the while keeping his browser refreshing with the latest news updates. He knew as much as anyone else what was happening.
They were calling it rioting; a few of those damned democrats had even reported the cannibalism. But not enough to help anyone.
Even now, they are trying to use this as a means to advance political interests. He doesn’t care about earthly politics anymore though.
He wants to get home to his family. They would probably be huddled in the house trying to stay safe. They had plenty of food and water at home. He knows that, at least they will be able to make it a couple weeks. But he knows that to leave will only see him dead on the gridlocked street out there.
He watched on the news as everything went from bad to worse. Everyone trying to flee from the violence all at once only allowed it to spread faster. So like humans to bring their own destruction by trying to avoid it.
All it took was one person losing their nerve, crashing, and one car breaking down. Any number of things could go wrong and bam, that entire lane is backed up all the way into the heart of Downtown. And his church sits smack dab in the middle of it all.
He planted this church over 20 years ago right here for a reason. He was a lot more zealous back then. He had dreams to lead so many in the faith. And he had for a very long time. Holding four services a week for all those years. From the time when it was only him and a few faithful until his church had grown to a few thousand he was a faithful to his flock.
By now most of them are probably dead.
He saw what was happening out there. No matter what they said on the news. He saw fighting on the streets outside. He watched as a young girl, probably no older than 21, got chased down by a few men.
Reverend Jackson wanted to run from his office and save that girl. Until he saw that these were no crazed rapists or rioters. When they caught the girl they tore into her. Ripping open her abdomen with their teeth and hands. And he heard her screams, first of terror and then of pain, and then fear again as she felt her life slipping away. He watched helplessly. Full of fear, through his office window which over looked the nearby park.
It was then that he knew he would not be going home.
He leaves his office and walks through the church somberly, taking in all the familiar scents and sights. The pews lined perfectly. They were old and worn and he had finally made the decisions to replace these older versions.
It would have happened next week.
He smiles dryly as he remembers how hard a decision it had been to get rid of the pews that were with them for so many years. But now that is all gone. Next week will never come for him.
He walks around the church for a little while longer turning on all the lights. He isn’t sure how long they will still have power. There have been intermittent explosions throughout the day. None as big as the plane that crashed a few miles away, but he figures that eventually they will lose necessary services and then the power will go with it.
Not that it matters. The dead don’t need power. They can all rot in hell for all he cares.
It occurs to him that he should hold a final sermon, for anyone that may come through the doors. He performs this last religious service with the same rote that made him such a good pastor in the first place. He knows the value of symbolism and he wants to give those few souls out there still alive a chance to see that even when hell is right outside his doors, his church will continue to shine.
The proverbial light in the dark taking a much more serious tone.
The sounds of the sirens died down a while ago, leaving only the white wash of the rain. He stands at the pulpit staring at his empty church.
His hands grip the heavy wooden lectern that he spent so many Sundays behind, preaching faith to his crowds of impassioned believers.
A sound snaps him out of his reverie. The door opens a bit and water spills in for the briefest of moments as a head pops through the door. He smiles as he recognizes Miss Leary. She sees him and smiles as well. She was one of the first attendees of his services.
Miss Leary opens the door fully and walks in with her hand ushering in a couple young kids. They walk in silently.
“Thank you for coming,” the reverend says, the same way he started all of his sermons. His Bible is open to Revelations and he reads the text, a new level of emotion sticks in his throat as he thinks of his daughter.
“
The revelation from Jesus Christ, which God gave him to show his servants what must soon take place. He made it known by sending his angel to his servant John, who testifies to everything he saw—that is, the word of God and the testimony of Jesus Christ.
Blessed is the one who reads aloud the words of this prophecy, and blessed are those who hear it and take to heart what is written in it, because the time is near.”
As he reads a few others enter. They sit in their customary spots. The faithful believers that have been with him for a long time and by the time he finishes the 3
rd
chapter there are nearly fifty souls in the building.
He isn’t sure how they all made it here with everything going on out there but he gives thanks to God for this chance to lead them all one last time.
He continues reading, unable to come up with anything better suited to the moment, and lets the words fill the heavy silence in the room.
The rain falling outside casts a dull background and helps to block out the sounds of the dying city outside. He simply reads the text. Not sure what to say. He has never been a man who struggled to find the right words but with the world going to hell he lets the word speak for itself.
“
To the one who is victorious, I will give the right to sit with me on my throne, just as I was victorious and sat down with my Father on his throne.
Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches,” he says and looks around at his congregation.
Most of them are crying, their tears falling freely. The kids have fallen asleep among the parents, it smells of incense.
Reverend Jackson pauses taking in everything that has happened and tries to come to grips with it all. The hope that God has spared them for a reason flashes through him. And for a brief moment he lets himself hold on to it. Maybe his group of faithful will be the victorious.
He looks back down to his Bible and takes a deep breath preparing to read more when the sound of the doors being flung inward draws his eyes up. The rain spills into the open doors and a crowd of people stretch back, lost in the shadows.
In all these years he has never locked those doors, insisting someone stay here overnights to help anyone in need. He didn’t lock the door because God was supposed to save them, protect them. These abominations shouldn’t even be able to come in here. Where is god in all of this?
But god doesn’t answer.
The crowd is full of corpses, hundreds of them, and he recoils at the sight. These are the same as the people who had attacked the young girl and her death flashes through his mind again. At the head of this mob of demons a young girl in nurses scrubs. She is covered in gore and filth and looks like she has sustained so many injuries that it should be impossible for her to stand. She should be dead.
And with horror he realizes that she is. That is what the reports have been talking about. The verse springs into his mind again. The dead will walk the earth. He knows with certainty that this is the end.
The mob descends on his flock in a flurry of limbs and gnashing teeth and he rushes out to protect his people. He screams at the top of his lungs. The children’s startled wails mix with the mother’s cries of terror as the first of their number is slaughtered by the ravenous horde.
It all ends in minutes. Reverend Jackson’s massive body lays unceremoniously in the middle of the pews his dead hands still gripping his Bible.
It takes hours before him and his congregation begin stirring. Most of them missing limbs entirely they pull themselves off the floor and wander out of the church door, the rain still beating down on them washing away the gore and black blood.
They set off in search of other converts.
12
3 days later:
Daniel stares at the mostly empty bottle of Jim Beam in front of him. The past couple days play in his mind like a broken record. He shudders as he thinks of all the things he’s seen and heard.
The last channels died off after the first night and all they could get was the white wash of static. After that, even the radio even stopped carrying anything useful last night. If there was any help out there it wasn’t likely to be coming any time soon.
So they took a vote and unanimously all decided to hunker down and try to wait it out.
They still have a decent amount of food and they decided that in the panic there might be some left over at grocery stores and such, so they would be able to forage for anything else they needed.
Everyone else went to bed hours before but he couldn’t sleep. The images keep flashing through his mind every time he tries to lie down. He drinks the whiskey to numb the pain, and to forget.
Whenever he closes his eyes he hears the wet snap of the barista’s skull against the counter, or sees the blood flowing in a widening pool as the once lover tears at her boyfriend in a frenzy of destruction. The most recent, Margie Greene charging at him with those dead eyes that meet him whenever he tries to sleep. Daniel knows they will always haunt him.
He tilts the bottle chugging. The burn is harsh, but it helps.
Desperately he wishes he could forget.
“I won’t be a failure.” He says to the empty kitchen table, the alcohol slurs the words together. “I won’t let them get hurt.” All he has left to latch onto in life is the small group that lives in Valentine’s home. He clings to them like he would a life raft from a sinking ship.
It’s only been a few days since everything went to hell but it has made them closer than years of friendship. They’ve had to rely on each other through it all. Not knowing what was going on with their families.
The pain as they heard of city after city falling to the plague. It was all but an assurance that all of their families had died and yet they could do nothing but sit by and watch it happen. They saw the hordes of undead moving on the streets. They heard the screams drifting in through the windows.
In the first night the screams seemed to go on constantly. But now it is a rare thing. The world is silent outside their small home.
Daniel never tried to call his parents, and regret eats at him. Now the cell phones are all dead, the towers unmanned. He regrets not trying, but part of him hopes they are still out there somewhere.
Static snaps his attention up as the radio blurts. “We are receiving reports that there are safe zones established in Canada. If you are able it is urged that you make all due speed north where cordons are being prepared.” Static floods the radio again and it is hard to make anything out. It sounds vaguely like a coordinate is given followed by another urge to head north.
There is hope that the undead won’t be able to survive the cold.
Daniel sets down the bottle. He stares at the scuffed black box willing the voice to come through again. It has been almost a full day since they received anything on the radio and his heart races as he fears he might just be imagining that there was anything useful coming through.
He had too much to drink. His head swims. The bottle is empty now. He slides it across the table.
After a long time of staring at the radio hoping it will say something else he lays his head on the table succumbing to the grief and hopelessness of the situation.
13
One week later:
Sunlight streams through the curtains. It rained again last night and Daniel wishes they could open the window, perhaps get a little fresh air in the stuffy apartment. But the smell of smoke and rotten decay permeates the city. It is a constant reminder of the world outside.
Daniel sits at the kitchen table watching Valentine prepare breakfast at the stove. Chloe hovers near her trying to help wherever she can. More often than not she gets in the way instead of helping but Valentine seems to have infinite patience for her.
Daniel smiles at Chloe. One of his few smiles in the past week, anything helps to keep him going. He knows they all need to find small ways to keep living.
All of them have decided to stay quiet about their families, limiting themselves to stories about what they are like. Never admitting it might be what they were like by now. Never admitting they might be dead,
“Breakfast is almost ready,” Valentine announces as she sets a hand on Chloe’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go and get your parents sweetie.” Chloe beams and races off to the bedroom.
“She’s great isn’t she?” Valentine asks Daniel.
“Yeah she really is something, despite everything she still finds a reason to be happy,” Daniel drums his fingers on the table, a nervous habit he picked up recently.
The weeks haven’t been kind and Valentine, all of them, quickly stopped caring what they look like. Valentine is unaffected, the hairpin curve of her lips are always ready with a smile, and her eyes capture an inner light. Somehow she is still beautiful.
Daniel knows it’s probably not worth the time, especially given everything that is going on, but he can’t help but be attracted to her. The way she moves and cares for them, even when she snaps at them because they can’t help but annoy each other, all of it is enough to make him wish he would have talked to her before the chaos.
“I think things are going to be alright -” she says before Daniel interrupts.
“It’s because of you. You know that right?” he says.
“What?” she asks.
“You’re the reason she’s doing so well. I mean despite everything out there you are keeping her going. You are the one who finds things for her to do and ways she can help and be included. It’s really amazing to see,” he smiles at her and she lowers her eyes to the ground smiling in return.
“Thanks. I guess I just feel so bad for her. I mean this is hard on all of us but she is so young. She shouldn’t ever have to go through this,” she replies.
“No one should. Whatever this is out there it’s awful. But that’s why we need to stick together,” he stands up from the table and walks into the kitchen to help grab the food. It isn’t much. They’ve gone through what she had surprisingly fast and they have been forced to improvise.
The last of the hamburger meat from last night has been turned into impromptu sausage and the few eggs they have left were scrambled with some vegetables to try and stretch their usefulness.
Daniel frowns at the meager breakfast. This might be one of their last full meals. He knows this can’t last forever but none of them have talked about leaving.
They all were hoping to wait it out until help arrived but that is looking more and more unlikely. They will need to make a decision soon. There is only enough to have a few more days of these tiny rations before they are out of everything. Fortunately the tap is still working but no one knows how long that will last either.
“You know I’m glad you’re here,” she says and rests her hand on his bicep. The human contact feels so good to him and makes him yearn for more. Right then he wants to grab her and hold her as tight as he can.
But he doesn’t.
He knows she is still terrified after what happened to the Greene’s and he doesn’t want to push her. She has been jumpy around almost everyone except for Chloe, only when they get too close though. Instead he lays his other hand on top of hers.
“I’m glad I’m here too. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend the end of the world,” he laughs softly and Valentine smiles in return.
Sasha and Isaiah walk out of the bedroom hand in hand and greet them with good mornings. Chloe runs up to the table with excitement and starts pulling out the chairs. One of the jobs she has is to set the table and help clean up and she has taken to it with fervor. She loves being needed.
“We made sausages and I even did most of the mixing,” she says, smiling proudly at everyone for a reaction. The all clap and Sasha whistles through her teeth.
“We are very proud of you honey,” she says, kissing her daughter on the top of the head.
The noise of their celebration causes someone to stir upstairs, they hear heavy footfalls and the sound of someone scraping around. Slow and methodical.
The adults share a look that says they know what it must be. They are all going a little stir crazy being stuck in the apartment after all this time but after what happened at the Greene’s they don’t want to risk going into the other apartments for fear that it will be more of the same.
“Well let’s eat I’m starving,” Isaiah says to break the tension and they all sit down to breakfast. Chloe is still smiling, oblivious to what the scraping upstairs actually means.