Z-Burbia 5: The Bleeding Heartland (28 page)

His father’s eyes were closed, and the skin slightly discoloured. They had done a good job, he had to admit. His father looked better now than last week. Death suited him. The soiled bedclothes had been replaced by a navy suit Jonas had found. It was the same suit that his father was married in. After all these years, it still fit, and it seemed only right to send him to rest in it. After his mother had died, Jonas’s relationship with his father had soured. It hadn’t happened overnight, or even been based on one single event. Becoming a teenager as his father wrestled with grief had been difficult. Jonas had his own grief to handle too, and eventually, they had gone their own ways. His mother’s untimely passing hadn’t brought them together, but had driven a wedge between them so deep that nothing was going to free it. What had followed, what had passed between his father and Janey could never be forgiven, or forgotten, and it seemed fitting that the old man had suffered before his death, just as he had made others suffer. Jonas rested a hand on the casket.

“I hope you’re with mom,” he whispered, “say hi from me.”

Was he supposed to cry now? Is that what they expected? He felt bad. He felt guilt, misery, shame and sorrow, but he didn’t feel like crying. As he stared at his father’s dead body, he remembered his mother more and more. He always pictured her with him, never alone. Vacations at Myrtle Beach, shopping at Jeffersontown Mall, buying his first school uniform; wherever his mother was, his father was too. He guessed they were in love, as much as him and Dakota maybe. He rarely thought of them like that, but why not? They were happy back then. They were happy until the illness and the one-way trip to hospital for his mother.

Sighing, he took a step back from the casket as another siren went past outside, the high-pitched wailing breaking his thoughts. He looked up at the priest and gave him a courteous nod. The eulogy would come soon, but right now, he wanted to be back at Dakota’s side, pretending none of this was happening. He indicated to the priest that he needed a minute to compose himself, and returned to the front pew. Dakota squeezed his hand as he slipped down quietly beside her.

“We meet here today to honour, and pay tribute to the life of Francis Jonas Hamsikker,” began the priest.

As the priest went on, Jonas stared at the casket. There was a hush around the church now, and the sunlight made the windows seem alive with life, whilst the rest of the church suffered in darkness. There was a groaning sound, and Jonas thought that perhaps the priest had made it. But the priest kept talking and made no sign that he was ill. Jonas heard the groan again, and was certain it was coming from the front of the church somewhere. Other than the casket and the priest though, there was nobody else up there. He looked at Dakota to see if she had heard it, but her face was buried in her hands and a pile of tissues. It was surely nothing, just someone behind him crying and the sound reverberating around the church. His ears were playing tricks on him, and he gently felt the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He had been up late last night rewriting the eulogy, and he was going to have to get up to the lectern soon to face everyone. He couldn’t claim to know everyone, but he had recognised old family friends, uncles and aunts, even people from the hospital who had come to pay their respects. They would all want to know what glorious things Francis Hamsikker’s only son had to say, and what happy memories he would share with them.

Jonas heard the groaning again, and then a collective intake of breath. He looked up and saw his father slowly climbing out of the coffin. His face was deathly pale, and the navy blue suit hung off his thin frame, but there was no mistaking that it was his father that now stood by the lectern. The eyes opened slowly and looked about the church.

“What the hell is this?” shouted a voice from the back of the church. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

Jonas couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His father was standing upright, just in front of the altar, bony hands hanging loosely at his side. It crossed his mind that it was a sick joke, and that his father had conned him into coming home just so he could prove a point. Quite what the point was, he didn’t know, but he had to find out what was going on. Dakota was squeezing his hand so tightly that he had to prise her fingers off one by one.

Jonas stood up and looked from his father to the priest and back again. All around him people were standing in shock, asking what was going on; was Francis alive, what should they do, who was in charge? The priest appeared to be in shock, and was gripping a bible in both hands, staring at the standing body a few feet away that had just climbed out of the casket. Jonas had heard of people mistakenly being pronounced dead, but such cases were extremely rare, and he’d thought things like that only happened in gossip mag’s and bad B-movies.

“Jonas, honey, what...what is this?” Dakota stood next to her husband. She had screwed up a hymn sheet into a ball and held it ready to throw. Jonas wondered what she hoped to achieve, but it was an instinct in her to protect herself.

“Sit down, I’ll sort this out,” said Jonas having no idea how he was going to sort anything out. His father had died two days ago, of that he was quite sure. He had seen the body, felt the cold lifeless hands as he held him one final time. He had to do something though.

“Hamsikker, what’s going on?” asked Erik as he approached Jonas, hitching up his belt as he did so. His face was stern, his tone serious. Erik had slipped into cop-mode instantly, and Jonas was relieved he wasn’t on his own.

Jonas answered him with a shrug and stepped out into the aisle. He heard his father groan again, this time louder, and the dead man’s eyes widened. Francis coughed, and then seemed to take in a long breath. Jonas and Erik looked at each other nervously. Some of the people at the back of the church were leaving, and now that the church doors were open, they could hear more noise from outside: shouting, screaming, and lots more sirens.

“Dad?” asked Jonas timidly, ignoring the growing rush for the exit behind him. “Dad, are you...are you…” Jonas didn’t even know how to finish the question. How do you ask a dead man how he’s feeling?

“Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy…” As the priest began reciting the Lord’s Prayer, he held the bible aloft, a large, thick book bound in red leather.

Jonas watched as his father swung around and without warning, without uttering a word, ran full steam at the priest. Francis knocked the priest down, and Jonas heard him crying for help.

As if in slow motion, Jonas saw Erik charge up to the altar, and he wanted to follow, he really did, but his feet were stuck to the floor. Fear had replaced sorrow, and logic had been replaced by terror. His father was dead. Francis Jonas Hamsikker was cold and dead, so how had he climbed out of the casket? Why was he attacking the priest? Erik brushed aside Jonas’s father, and the three men rolled about on the church floor as if they were playing a game. Jonas heard Dakota scream, and suddenly time sped up again.

“Jonas! Help him!” Dakota practically pushed Jonas forward, and he rushed to Erik’s aid. The man had Francis pinned down on the floor, but this was no ordinary dead body. Francis was thrashing and writhing, trying to push Erik off. His head lunged forward and his teeth snapped inches away from Erik’s arms and hands.

“Jesus, Dad, what the hell?” Jonas grabbed his father’s head, and held it down as Erik shouted for more help. With his father under control, it was then that Jonas looked across at the priest. The man’s smock was covered in blood, and the bible lay at his feet. The priest’s eyes rolled back in his head as his pale hands tried to stem the bleeding from his neck. There was blood not just on the priest, but also on the carpet, the bible and Erik. It was too much, far too much for one person to lose, and the priest’s hands fell away as he relinquished his life.

“Erik, what the fuck? The priest, he’s...he’s dead.”

“I know, man. Your Dad was biting him when I dragged him off. Looks like he tore out his jugular. Hell, Hamsikker, what is this?”

Hell sounded about right, thought Jonas. His father was still struggling to get free, and showing no sign of tiring. Dakota approached Jonas cautiously, and he asked her to call the police.

“I already did, but the line’s busy.” She looked at Francis in amazement. He had been quite dead only a few minutes ago. His eyes were wide, and when he saw her, it only served to reinvigorate him.

“Francis? I’m Dakota, Jonas’s wife. Do you…”

The dead body continued wriggling, and Jonas’s father didn’t answer Dakota.

“You’re telling me 911 is busy?” asked Erik. His face was burning red, showing the effort it was taking to keep Francis pinned down.

“Try them again,” said Jonas. “We can’t hold him down much longer.”

A scream sounded from outside the church, and they heard tyres coming to a halt on the road outside. More screams followed it, and the sound of breaking glass reached them.

“I gotta check on my family. I gotta go, man,” said Erik.

“Wait, please,” said Jonas, “I can’t do this on my own. I can’t…”

Dakota held the phone out in front of her. “It’s still engaged. I can’t reach…”

As the priest slowly sat up, he reached a hand out and grabbed Dakota’s ankle. She yelled out and frantically tried to kick him off, but the hand holding onto her was strong.

Jonas looked at Erik. “I’m sorry.” He let go of his father’s head, and rushed to help his wife, leaving Erik to fight his father.

The priest lost his grip on Dakota as Jonas aimed a kick at the priest’s head, and Dakota tumbled backwards. The priest sprang to his feet, eyes wide, and blood dripping from his jaw.

“Get back!” shouted Jonas to Dakota.

The priest barrelled into Jonas before he had time to move, and he felt his legs give way as the man crashed into him, knocking them both to the floor. He threw a punch at the priest’s head, but only succeeded in hitting him in the shoulder as they rolled around. He vaguely heard Dakota screaming something, but he was too occupied in keeping the priest’s snapping teeth away from him to hear what she was saying. The priest was an old man, almost as old as his father was, but he had such strength. Jonas hadn’t been in a fight since he was fifteen. Tommy Parker had called his mother a dead bitch and that fight had not ended up well for either of them; Tommy lost two teeth, and Jonas got a month’s detention. Now he was fighting a priest. A dead priest at that. As Jonas pushed his arms up off the floor, he felt the weight of the priest rise up off him. He saw Dakota with her hands around the man’s waist, helping him up, and then he heard the shot. The priest’s head exploded into a mist of blood and brain. Jonas was showered with fragments of skull and warm blood. As he rolled out from under the priest, Dakota dropped the lifeless body.

Jonas wiped the blood from his eyes as Dakota helped him up. “Did you get through to the cops? Who is that? Who’s shooting?”

There was another two gunshots, and Jonas saw Erik coming back from the altar. He was panting heavily, and wiping blood from his face. Jonas asked him who was shooting, if the police had finally arrived, but he was met with a blank stare.

“I don’t know. Later, Hamsikker. I’ve got to find my family.”

Erik barged past, and Jonas saw the body of his father lying beneath the casket. He was truly dead this time. There was a bullet hole in his forehead, and another shot had taken off his jaw. Francis’ eyes were closed now, and Jonas was certain they were going to stay that way. A figure stepped down from the altar, and paused by Jonas, looking him up and down.

“You’d do well to get yourself armed, son. You’re in Kentucky now. It looks like we’re in for trouble. You seen what’s going on outside?”

Jonas wiped his hands through his hair, and saw a pair of tidy flat shoes standing in a slick pool of blood. The green dress the woman wore seemed familiar, and then he remembered who it was.

“Mrs Danick? Is that you?”

The elderly woman tucked the revolver back into her handbag, and began shuffling off to the church doors. “Get out of town, Hamsikker. Your father don’t need you no more. And get that lovely wife of yours someplace safe.”

Jonas took one more look at his father. He was truly dead. Jonas wasn’t sure if his father was at peace, or what had just happened was real, but he was sure of one thing, Mrs Danick was right; they had to find someplace safe. He took Dakota’s hand and they ran after Mrs Danick. The church had emptied, and everything seemed unreal, as if it was a dream. Jonas looked back at his father, and the dead priest, and wiped warm blood from his face. This was no dream. The three of them stood in the church doorway looking outside. The sky was still blue, and the cardinals were still flying amongst the trees, but everywhere else he looked, Jonas saw death. Countless cars had crashed into each other, and plumes of smoke were rising from the direction of Louisville. The church pathway was littered with bodies, and in the distance, he heard sirens drifting over the breeze.

“What’s happening?” asked Dakota as she linked her arm with Jonas’s.

A man came from around the corner of the church, dressed in a black suit, and Jonas recognised the figure as someone from the funeral. Uncle Nevin? Uncle Newton? The name escaped him, as it was hard to identify the man with half his face missing. Something, or someone, had ripped off the left half of the man’s face, and one eye dangled from its socket. Blood dripped from the man’s mouth, and when he saw Jonas, he growled.

A sedan suddenly came to a screeching halt at the roadside, and the driver’s window automatically wound down. Jonas could see the car had four occupants, but only the driver was clearly visible through the blacked out windows.