World Memorial (20 page)

Brother Joel walked to his right and picked up a small wooden footstool. He carried it over and set it next to the cross. He paused for a moment to feel the Spirit swell within him and the others. Truly God was there. Then he stepped up the footstool until his head was level with Zach's chest.

Sister Elizabeth stopped playing. Zach grunted and struggled against the straps that held him. The cross rocked but stayed in place. The flock whispered thanks and praise. The corpses groaned from their chains.

When a suitable hush had settled, Brother Joel continued. "And so here we are, Brothers and Sisters, in this most holy of moments."

"Amen," said a Sister in the flock. Quiet, reverent.

Without being asked, one of the two women who'd readied the cross went to the lectern. She opened a compartment and produced a worn, wooden box. It warmed Brother Joel's heart to see her devotion. She held the box up to Brother Joel and smiled.

Brother Joel smiled back and opened the box. He turned back to the flock. "Please, all of you. Look deep within yourselves. And if you find anything you fear is unworthy of the gift you are about to receive, take a moment to confess it to our Lord and receive his forgiveness."

The flock prayed quietly. Brother Joel reached into the box and produced a worn wooden goblet. He handed it to the man closest to him, who took it reverently. Brother Joel paused, giving the people time. Zach struggled and whimpered. Sister Elizabeth played, her rapturous notes drowning out Zach's cries.

Sensing the moment was right, Brother Joel reached back into the box. He produced a small mallet and two large iron nails. He gestured to the man with the goblet, who carried it over to the cross and held it up under one side of the cross-beam.

"Stop it!" yelled Zach.

"Praise the Lord!" said someone in the flock.

Brother Joel raised one of the nails to Zach's palm. Zach tried to close his hand, tried to grab the nail, but Joel pushed until Zach cried out and held his hand limp.

"Stop it!" yelled Zach. "Please stop it!"

The music swelled and the people swooned. Brother Joel brought the hammer up and drove the nail into Zach's palm.

Zach screamed and blood pooled around the nail. Brother Joel struck the nail again, driving it deeper. Blood ran free. Zach jerked and screamed. Blood fell into the goblet. Joel stepped off the stool and carried it to the other side of the cross. He climbed back up, took the second nail and drove it into Zach's other palm. Zach screamed, tears running down his cheeks. The blood ran freely from both hands now. The man with the goblet collected as much as he could manage.

Brother Joel nodded to the man. He stepped away, allowing Zach's blood to fall freely to the wood floor. The man held the goblet up for the flock to see.

Brother Joel raised his voice above the piano and the praising of the flock. "This is his blood, given for you!"

"Amen!"

"Praise the Lord!"

Zach whimpered and cried, pulling against the nails and crying in pain. Blood ran past his fingers as he struggled. The woman with the box carried it over to Joel. He reached into the box and pulled out a long knife. Years ago it had been one of many humble utensils in the church kitchen, used for untold potlucks and wedding celebrations. Now it had such a holy purpose Brother Joel felt almost unworthy to hold it. He gazed at the blade, feeling his heart fill with joy.

"Your servant thanks you, Lord," said Brother Joel, quietly. A low prayer sent up to God. Then he brought the knife to Zach's forearm and sliced lengthwise. Zach shrieked. The knife was sharp and little effort was required. He sliced free a large chunk of Zach's arm and held the flesh aloft. It was warm and bloody in his hand.

Brother Joel raised his voice, feeling he would burst from joy. "And this is his body! Take it and eat!"

"Praise Jesus!" yelled several in the flock.

"Amen!"

"Come, Brother and Sisters," said Brother Joel, lowering the flesh and smiling. "Take and eat."

* * *

All Maylee knew was chaos and wind, groaning and ice. It was like a nightmare. The wind wouldn't stop, whipping them around the snow and graves. Her hand held tight to Dalton's, but it was slipping and she knew she would soon lose him. Where were they? Where were the corpses? How long did they have left before—

Suddenly Maylee's back smacked into something hard and sturdy. Bricks. A wall. Dalton's hands slipped out of hers. She grabbed for it, but snow buffeted into her, carried by the wind. She held up her arms, screaming for Dalton. The snow kept coming, pounding her back against the wall. Seconds went by as the snow grew around her. Soon it covered her. All she saw was white. The wind howled, muffled and sounding further away by the second.

Then it was over. The wind died and Maylee sputtered into the snow around her.

Maylee dug herself out as quickly as she could. Her chest pounded. She was certain that every handful of slush she grabbed would be a corpse waiting to bite. She wanted to take a breath but snow blocked the way. After a few panicked seconds, she broke through to the open air. The air was bitter and cold but she gulped it down greedily.

The wall she'd hit belonged to the church. Snow was packed against it, almost to the window set a few inches to her right. Dalton was nowhere in sight. The corpses were digging themselves out, about fifty feet from where she had landed. Their progress was slow but relentless. Maylee knew she had a few minutes, tops, to find Dalton and get out of there.

"Dalton!" Maylee brushed snow from her face. She saw her bat a few inches from her, sunk into the snow. She picked it up and continued scanning the mounds of snow around her.

"Dalton!" she called out again.

"Here!" came his voice, a foot or two to her left. He was digging himself free, sputtering in the snow. Maylee tried to step over, but the snow was too high. She started shoving it aside with her bat while Dalton made it to his feet.

"Crap," he said, seeing the corpses.

"I see them," said Maylee. She dug at the snow with her bat, and found herself wishing that her favorite weapon had been a shovel. "Just let me clear a path and we can get in the window over there."

The corpses groaned, dragging themselves through the snow. They had no concern for their own comfort or safety, which gave them a speed Maylee couldn't match. They pressed in steadily from all sides, clawing at the snow or crawling over the top of it.

"The church?"

"That's the idea," said Maylee, still digging.

"But aren't they the ones after Zach? After me?"

"It's either them or, well,
them
," she said, nodding at the corpses. "There are human beings in the church, Dalton. We can deal with human—"

A scream came from the window, muffled by the glass but piercing. The voice was high pitched, like a woman. Or a child.

Maylee stopped, a chill going up her back that the cold wind could not account for. She quickly glanced at the corpses around them. She had a few minutes yet. She turned to look in the window.

She felt blood drain from her face.

Inside she saw the sanctuary. She'd been in a few small churches as a child and knew the layout. On the stage she saw a large wooden cross from which Zach hung, red smears holding him in place. Maylee blinked and realized there were nails driven through his small hands, pinning him to the wood. Blood dripped from around the nails as he struggled weakly against them.

Strips of his flesh had been cut off, long pieces revealing raw red meat underneath. They weren't the ragged tears she'd seen from corpses for years now. These were clean, neat strips. Like someone slicing through meat at dinner. Blood soaked through a white robe that was draped over most of him. Every exposed part was sliced open. Zach screamed again.

"Maylee..." said Dalton's voice behind her. She knew why. She knew the corpses were getting closer, but she couldn't take her eyes off what she was seeing.

People surrounded the stage. Maylee knew they were people, living people. She could tell by how they moved. They didn't have the mindless jerking that the corpses did. They moved with purpose and clarity. They walked to the stage, one at a time and knelt. A man in a suit—the pastor, Maylee assumed—held a silver platter adorned with strips of raw meat. Maylee knew it was from Zach and felt bile rising. The flock knelt and the pastor handed them each a strip of meat. The flock took the pieces and ate, solemnly, with reverence. Blood dribbled down their chins. Zach's blood.

Maylee could scarcely believe what she was seeing. She'd seen corpses eat people, of course. She'd seen that for years. But this…this was different.

"Maylee..." said Dalton, sounding very nervous now. The groans around them were getting louder. She turned to see the corpses were very close. Dalton had kicked the last bits of snow that separated them aside and was scrambling to her. The corpses drew near, surrounding them on every available side. They were trapped.

"We gotta get inside!" said Dalton.

Maylee’s throat was thick. "We gotta help him!" she said, louder than she expected. She saw several inside look around.

"Help who?" said Dalton, following her gaze through the window. Then he saw. "Oh...."

The corpses drew in close. Inside, the pastor stepped back up to the stage. He held up a knife, covered in what Maylee knew was Zach's blood. The flock cried out in praise.

"Hold on!" said Maylee, to both Dalton and Zach. She knew Zach would soon be beyond hearing. She didn't care. She brought her bat up and over her shoulder, preparing to slam through the window.

The pastor plunged the knife into Zach's stomach. Zach screamed. The corpses moved in behind Maylee and Dalton. So close Maylee could smell the rot in their groaning breaths.

Then it happened.

Zach screamed again as the pastor turned the knife, slicing a long line across his stomach. Blood ran out as Maylee swung. She stopped, dumbfounded, as Zach began to glow.

"What..." she said, forgetting what she was doing. She forgot the corpses behind them. She forgot the bat in her hand.

Zach shrieked and the glow spread, like a bright light in a white room. Like staring into a light bulb. It was blinding.

"What's happening?" yelled Dalton next to her. Corpse hands closed on Maylee's shoulders. She snapped out of her staring, struggling. The corpse leaned in to bite. Other hands grabbed her and Dalton screamed as hands grabbed him. The teeth closed in.

Zach screamed one last time and the light exploded outward. The force blew out the window and knocked everyone back. The flock inside, Maylee, Dalton, and the corpses were all blown backward. Maylee and Dalton fell back across the snow. Light washed over them, covering the whole world in white.

Then it was gone.

Maylee lay on her back, blinking at the grey sky. Something was digging into her back. She realized she was lying on a corpse and scrambled off, ready to fight.

The corpse lay there, still. Its eyes were white and a white fluid oozed from its mouth. Maylee stared down at it, not knowing what to think. She kicked at it with her foot. It didn't react.

"Maylee!" yelled Dalton next to her. She whipped her head around to see him backing away from another corpse. It was on its knees, bucking as white foam spilled from its mouth. Its eyes blew outward, blowing white goo across the snow.

Dalton looked at her. "What's going on?"

All the corpses, scattered across the field by the force of the blast, were convulsing as white fluid poured from their eyes and mouths. Each corpse fell over and was still.

"We've gone crazy," said Maylee. "We got bit and we're losing our minds as we turn."

"I can't turn, remember?" said Dalton.

Maylee turned back to the church. "Just like Zach."

Zach hung limp on the cross. Organs spilled out of the opening the pastor had made. The flock inside looked confused but happy. They collected the organs and piled them on the platter.

The pastor locked eyes with Maylee.

"Shit," said Maylee.

"Intruders!" said the pastor, pointing.

"We gotta go," said Maylee, clambering over to Dalton and grabbing his wrist. "Now!"

Sharon moved along the cobblestone street, smelling death all around. It wasn't a pleasant smell, but it pleased her. It was the smell of a death she had created. She even liked the name people had given it. The Black Death.

Misery and suffering flowed around her, mixing with the odor of death until it became intoxicating. People moaned from houses, crying out for a god or anything to save them. Some even died openly in the street, all bulging growths and black sores. Sharon smiled. The people who saw her took it for comforting. Sharon allowed them to.

She was a young adult now, but seemed to age at a much slower rate than the primates that had swarmed over the world. She had no idea how old she was. Generation upon generation of people had lived and died, and she looked like one of theirs at twenty.

She wore a white robe and hood that had some religious significance to the people of this area. She forgot exactly what area she was in. Or rather, she couldn't recall what name people gave it. France? England? She didn't care that much. What she cared about was humans dying. And they were, by the score.

Her attire caused quite a stir on each street she walked down. People called her "Sister." To see a holy woman, untouched by death, must have seemed like a gift from whatever god to which these creatures bowed. Again, Sharon allowed them to think so. They would welcome her into their towns and homes. She would smile and survey her handiwork. She would leave happy, and the people would be filled with hope for salvation. Then they would die.

"Sister!" cried out a man from a nearby hovel. Sharon stopped, looking at him. He looked healthy, at least for the moment. That bothered Sharon a little, but she figured from the man's face that a friend or loved one was sick, and that the man was too foolish to leave while he could.