Threnody (Book 1) (31 page)

Still confused, Ethan said, “How did you know my name?  What other way out?”

Again, John thought he saw the mysterious old man’s demeanor morph completely despite very little outward change in his actual facial expression.

Ezzard said in a hushed and rather conspiratorial way, “Follow me, for the Lord did say, ‘I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight.  These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them.’ ”

The elderly man slowly hobbled past them to the back of the church where he instructed John and Ethan to move a small desk and a rug in the preparatory room.  The thick dust under the rug concealed a two-foot square door set flush into the wooden floor.  The hatch was so inconspicuous that neither John nor Ethan noticed it until Ezzard fished an ancient key out of his pocket and unlocked the heavy door that did not appear to have been opened for at least one hundred years.  Other than the small opening for the key, there were no visible hinges, latches, or handles to indicate the presence of the door.  Taking a sturdy letter opener from a desk drawer and sliding it into a crack between two of the floorboards, Ezzard began to pry the door open.  Creaking and groaning, the wood finally yielded, and the old hinges began to move.  Dirt, long ago trapped around the secret door, cascaded into the dark abyss below before a small plume of dust was pushed back into the room by the slightest, stale, musty breeze rising from the depths.

Nearly unable to contain his excitement as he gazed into the darkness below, Ethan asked, “What is this? Where does it lead?”

With the same conspiratorial look in his eyes, Ezzard replied, “Son, what you are looking at is a waypoint on the road to freedom.  You see, this is an old church originally built in the early 1800s, and this cellar, and the tunnel within, has been here since the 1850s. This church served as a ‘station’ on
the Underground Railroad, and the tunnel led to the house of a local abolitionist sympathizer at the time.  While the house it leads to is still in existence I can’t guarantee that the tunnel is safe or passable. 
I don’t believe anyone has been down there in over seventy-five years, since I explored it briefly as a young man, and I never followed it to the end.” 

Knowing how desperate their situation was, a profoundly surreal feeling swept over John as he stared into the dark tunnel and listened to the old preacher’s words.  With a confidence that surprised
Ethan
, John said, “This is our way out.”  He shined his flashlight down the rickety ladder that descended approximately twelve feet to the bottom of the small cellar.  John looked to
Ethan
who reluctantly nodded in agreement, realizing they were out of better alternatives.  Without another word, John began to descend the old ladder into the dark cellar below.  Once
Ethan
joined him the two men inspected the cellar.  The musty room was about fifteen feet square with a hard-packed dirt floor and walls reinforced by stout wooden beams.  A couple of dilapidated chairs, several dry-rotting blankets, a broken oil lamp, and a rusty metal head of a pickaxe were the only items in the dank cellar.  On the wall farthest from the ladder was an opening just tall enough for a crouched man to fit in. Shining his flashlight in that direction, John said, “There’s the tunnel.  Come on.”

Approaching cautiously, John ducked his head into the narrow opening.  Though not quite strong enough to call it a breeze, John felt the definite movement of air coming from within the tunnel.  Running his hand over the walls and the roof, he noticed the narrow passageway was reinforced with the same sturdy wooden beams as the cellar and, overall, was surprised at how solid it felt.  “Well I guess we should check it out,” said John in what seemed like as much a question as a statement.

Gingerly, John took the first step into the tunnel and paused as if he was expecting the floor to suddenly give way, or the walls to begin closing in on him.  After an uneventful moment passed, John let out the breath he had been holding and moved forward slowly, while
Ethan
waited at the mouth of the tunnel.  Neither man knew how long the tunnel was nor did they know if there were any branch points along the way.  John tried to estimate the distance by counting his steps as he went.  At approximately fifty yards in, he came upon a short section that was slightly wider, presumably so traffic going in both directions could pass.  He shuddered in the claustrophobic confines of the passageway as he considered that those the tunnel was originally intended for might have had to stay in there for extended periods of time.  With his heart rate increasing and his palms sweating profusely, he quickened his pace before coming to an abrupt stop about ten yards farther into the tunnel.

Immediately before him was a mound of dirt stretching from floor to ceiling, save for a small opening near the top, through which air flowed.  Cursing, John tried to turn around but found he had to back up to the widened section of the tunnel before he was able to do so.
Ethan’s voice echoed through
the darkness of the tunnel. “You all right in there, John?  How’s it look?”

Russell heard an unintelligible reply and saw John’s light coming back toward him from within the tunnel.  Emerging from the cramped confines, John straightened in the comparatively spacious cellar as his back cracked and popped like a wet log on a campfire. 

Groaning, John said, “The tunnel is almost completely blocked about sixty yards in.  There’s a small opening, but we will definitely have to widen it to get through.”

“Damn it!” said
Ethan
in frustration, “How the hell are we going to get out of here?”

Reams leaned his head through the cellar door opening, and said, “Hey guys I don’t mean to rush you, but what’s the situation down there?  Things are getting pretty well boxed in up here.”

“The shovel!” said
Ethan
as he moved to the ladder to answer Reams’ call.  “Reams, there’s a small shovel propped up against the back of the church just outside the back door.  Can you get it?  There is a short section of the tunnel that needs a little work, but otherwise, we should be able to get through,” added
Ethan
as he turned to see John’s appraising look.

Moving to the back door of the church, Reams could hear the sounds of the infected mercilessly pounding on the door.  Seeing that there was no conceivable way he could open the door without the infected pouring in, he was just about to head back when he noticed the moonlight shining through the window next to the door.  Glancing over to the matching window on the other side of the door, he called for Kate as a plan formulated in his head.

“Kate, we need to get the shovel just outside the door, but we can’t open the door because of the infected.  One of us needs to open that window slightly in order to draw their attention while the other opens this window and grabs the shovel.”

Reams expected his plan to be met with sharp objection, and was surprised when Kate nonchalantly walked over to the window and said, “Okay.”  He barely made it to the other window before she opened her window, poked her arm out, and threw up her middle finger at the revs pushing against the door.

“Over here, you bastards!  Come get a plug of this sweet white meat, shitheads!  Come on! I’m young and tender!  Come and get it!” she yelled with perhaps a bit more exuberance than was necessary considering the audience. 

Almost immediately the mangled forms moved away from the door toward Kate’s open window.  Of the five revs Reams originally saw pressed against the door, all of them except for the dangling, mutilated lower leg of an infected mailman had moved out of view.  The leg twitched and turned, pulled by the sinewy nerves and tendons as it dutifully kept watch over the door while its master went to investigate the nearby commotion.  Raising his window with as little sound as possible, Reams warily leaned out, looking both ways as if to ensure he wasn’t about to be decapitated by an oncoming train.  Satisfied it was clear, he leaned out farther and braced his leg against the inside wall to keep from falling completely out of the window.  With the tip of his outstretched middle finger he was just able to reach the shovel’s handle, and for a moment, it teetered precariously on the end of its blade.  Sweat dripped down his face and into his eyes as he strained his inverted body, desperately trying to stretch even a half-inch more.  Suddenly his body lurched forward a couple of inches as his foot lost its purchase on the inside wall.  The unexpected movement pushed the shovel handle away where it struck the side of the building before ricocheting back to Reams’ waiting hand.  Struggling to maneuver his suspended upper body back into church, he saw two of the revs turn toward the sound of the shovel.  The closest was dressed in a fancy blue dress with a matching hat still atop its head; Reams assumed it was one of the former members of the congregation.  Where the skin was missing over a portion of its outstretched hand he could see several wriggling tendons tugging on the finger bones like the strings of a marionette.  Tightening his abdominal muscles, Reams pulled up hard, brutally smashing Blue Dress on the side of the head with the shovel.  The blue hat and wig it wore flew off its head, disappearing into the darkness as the thing fell back into the outstretched arms of its infected brethren.

Before he could reload for another swing the other rev was on him.  It was a former male that for some strange reason wore only a soiled white t-shirt.  It appeared to have a massive inguinal hernia that made its scrotum swing like a pendulous wrecking ball as it closed the distance.  Exhausted from trying to maintain his precarious position, he brought the shovel up just in time to wedge it against Wrecking Ball’s chest.  The rev did not seem to notice the implement poking into his chest as it continued to push forward with unreserved effort.  Using the shovel to push off of the advancing rev, Reams was able to pull his upper body back inside the church.  With a hard shove, he sent Wrecking Ball sprawling to the ground as he pulled the shovel in, and closed the window. 
I wonder if he’ll be stuck on the ground now like a man thrown into the river with a cement block attached to his ankles?
He saw Kate close her window, and the two ran back to the cellar door with their prize in hand.

“Here you go, man.  That thing was a hell of a lot of trouble to get, so make it worthwhile,” said Reams as
Ethan
disappeared back into the darkness of the cellar with shovel in hand.  Reams turned to Kate, and said, “I’m going to check on things out front.  Wait here in case they need anything else down there.”

Kate stood staring into the darkness of the cellar with Ezzard quietly at her side.  After a few moments she sensed eyes on her and turned to see Ezzard staring at her with a rather curious expression that she interpreted as a disapproving look generally reserved for someone about to administer disciplinary action.  Alarmed, she wondered what she had done to warrant such a look as her mind flashed back to her taunting of the revs behind the church.  “Sorry for the language, Reverend,” said Kate with her eyes cast toward the floor.

“It’s all right, child.  I suppose technically you
were
outside of the Lord’s house,” replied Ezzard with a warm smile.

Surprised, Kate looked up at him and couldn’t help but let out a little giggle that he met with a quiet laugh of his own.  After another moment Kate asked in a more serious tone, “What happened here, Ezzard?”

For the first time since they met, Ezzard’s smiling visage truly faltered and, for a fleeting second, Kate saw something dark and evil pass over his face as he contemplated her question.

“It was just like the good Lord said in Revelations.  The army of the beast came to wage war on God’s children and, by His good grace, that army was repelled.  You see, in the first days, many of my parishioners came to the church seeking the comfort of their faith during the dark times.  You would of thought it was Christmas as packed as this place was.  We even had folks out in the aisles.  You know what they say, ‘Ain’t no atheists in the foxhole!’ ”

As Ezzard relayed the tragic sequence of events that befell his church in the first days of the plague, Kate envisioned similar scenarios playing out in exactly the same way in countless gatherings everywhere the plague hit. 
How could anyone have imagined what was going on or what was about to happen?

That night at the Enoch Hill Baptist Church, someone in attendance harbored a lethal secret.  Perhaps they truly didn't know the consequence of hiding their injury, or maybe they were simply too frightened to speak up.  Perhaps they didn’t even know they were infected. No matter the reason, the outcome was unchanged; said individual succumbed to the infection, became a rev, and the over-crowded congregation was quickly and mercilessly overtaken.  As she listened to the story, the whole scenario reminded Kate of a pool game called ‘sharks and minnows’ that she and her friends often played on hot summer days when she was a child.

One child—the shark—was in the middle of the pool, with all the other children on the sides as minnows.  If the shark managed to grab a minnow, that child then became a shark as well, until all but one child was a shark with only a single minnow remaining.  As the game progressed it became exponentially harder to remain a minnow in the face of the increasing number of sharks.  With people praying about the end of days, packed in as tightly as sardines, there was little chance for escape from the church when the ‘shark’ surfaced in their midst. With that thought, her mind shifted to her own mortality, and she wondered how long she would remain a minnow in the face of the ever-increasing number of sharks around her.