The Rising: Deliverance Read online

  “And a lot of bad things could happen to you in that half hour. Even if you did manage to survive, you’d run the risk of leading all the zombies back here. So far, we’ve escaped their notice. If that changes, we’ll have a tough time surviving. We’re not equipped to fight them off if they get inside the church. We’ve got the shotgun and not much else.”

  “I think it’s worth the risk, Pastor. Long as I creep along and stay behind cover, I should be able to make it to my house okay. And then, when I get the truck, I can just outrun any of them.”

  “I don’t know, John. What do we need that’s so important? The pantry is pretty well stocked.”

  “Yeah, but we could use more bottled water. I don’t know about you two, but I’m tired of taking sponge baths. And I reckon Becky would like to use more than a quarter of a bottle when she washes the pots and pans. I’d like to have enough water on hand that we could fill up a barrel or something and take a bath.”

  Martin shrugged. “Do we have a barrel?”

  “I could put something together,” John said. “Reckon if I poke around in the boiler room, I can find an old washtub leftover from one of the youth group’s car washes or something.”

  “Couldn’t you fill it with rainwater, instead? Maybe we could put it up on the roof of the church?”

  “No offense, Reverend, but with all the toxic crap floating around in the air, I’d rather stink than bathe in rainwater. For all we know, that might be what’s causing this epidemic.”

  “I don’t think so,” Martin replied. “I think it’s something else.”

  John shrugged. “Maybe it is. But we ain’t gonna find out sitting in here.”

  “What else do we need?” Becky asked. “What else would you get if you went on a supply run?”

  “More food wouldn’t hurt. I mean, I know we’ve got plenty now, but it never hurts to plan ahead, right? And we could use some more hardware—lumber and stuff like that. And weapons. As you said, Pastor, we’ve only got the shotgun. I could get my hunting rifles from the house. And other stuff, too. Batteries, first aid supplies, matches, more blankets, duct tape—”

  Martin interrupted the litany. “Duct tape? Why would we need duct tape, John?”

  “Well, come on, Reverend. It’s the end of the world. You’ve got to have duct tape!”

  Their laughter eased the slowly-building tension, and also revealed a lot about them to each other. Martin chuckled, grinning. Becky quietly smiled and covered her mouth with her hand. John slapped his knee and brayed laughter. They returned to their meal. Then, after a few moments, Martin spoke again.

  “I just don’t think it’s a good idea, John. My mind hasn’t changed on that. I think we should just stay put until help comes or until the situation resolves itself. I was thinking earlier about the Reverend Martin Luther King’s ‘I’ve Been to the Mountaintop’ speech. Do you know it?”

  John nodded. “Sure. Everybody does, except maybe the kids today.”

  “He gave that speech just before he died. He said he didn’t know what would happen next. He predicted there were difficult days ahead, but that it didn’t matter to him. He wanted to live a long life, but he wasn’t concerned about that because, in the end, he was more dedicated to serving God’s will. So am I. So should the two of you be. We’re safe here, by the grace of God. This is where he wants us. I don’t see any point in testing that right now. I vote we stay inside.”

  Martin hadn’t meant it as an edict, but his tone was firm. Neither Becky nor John challenged him. Becky simply returned to her soup. John stared at the tabletop for a moment and then shrugged. They ate in silence.

  ***

  That night, they lay there in the church, resting on the hard, wooden pews. Instead of sleeping, they listened to the moans and curses and taunts of the dead outside. Glass broke, but the plywood held. The doorknob was tried, and then something slammed against the door. All three of them remained quiet. Martin clutched the shotgun and prayed.

  Deliver us from evil, Lord. Deliver us from this nightmare. Help me prove to John and Rebecca that I was right about Your will. Don’t let us become dinner for those things outside.

  Martin heard John shifting around in the darkness, as if he was uncomfortable. When Martin peered over the top of the pew, he noticed that the janitor was clenching his privates with one hand.

  “I’ve got to pee,” John whispered.

  After almost an hour, the creatures moved on, apparently convinced that the church was deserted. John stood up and quietly hurried downstairs to the bathroom. Martin and Becky waited.

  “Do you think they’re really gone?” she asked, leaving her own bedroll and sitting down next to him in his pew.

  “They seem to be,” Martin whispered. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Maybe they’re just trying to trick us.”

  “I suppose it’s possible.”

  “That’s how they got Hannah Turnbill. One of them pretended to be her daughter. Well, I guess it was her daughter. Or used to be, at least. I saw it while I was on my way here. Her daughter was knocking on the door, and calling out for her mother. Hannah opened the door to let her in, and…”

  Becky’s voice faded. She tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked sob. Without thinking about it, Martin put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed. Becky leaned in close against him. He was struck by how wonderful her hair smelled. Then his thoughts turned to Chesya, and he felt a pang of guilt. Even though she’d been gone a long time, he still loved her, and he didn’t like the thought of her staring down from Heaven and wondering just what in the heck he thought he was doing, making time with the church organist. Sitting there with Becky felt too much like cheating, even if it was only her memory that he was being unfaithful to. With a small sigh, he slowly disengaged himself and stood up.

  “Let’s check,” he said. “We just have to make sure we’re quiet.”

  They tiptoed over to one of the windows and approached it with caution. Martin paused, listening. He heard no sounds from outside. Slowly, he put his eye to the peephole and peered out into the darkness. The street around the church was empty, as were the church grounds. So were the backyards of the homes surrounding the church, as well as the nearby baseball diamond. Beyond that was a cornfield. The stalks swayed in the breeze. The mountains dominated the horizon, dark and foreboding. Martin had often thought to himself that there was nowhere in West Virginia where you couldn’t see mountains. They’d always brought him comfort until now. These days, especially at night, the mountains reminded him of prison walls. That made him think of William. He wondered if his son was still alive, or if he’d gone to join his brother and mother on the other side. Both prison and Heaven seemed like viable alternatives to becoming one of the walking dead. But what if William was still locked up? What if he was starving to death inside his cell? The thought made Martin shudder.

  He tried to think of happier things. He remembered the first time he and Chesya had taken the boys to the beach. That made him smile, but the expression was sad. He longed to see the ocean again. He’d always enjoyed vacations at the shore, but of course, there would be no more vacations in the near future.

  The moon was almost full and cast a pale light over the surroundings, making everything seem stark and surreal. A headless corpse lay half-out of a nearby culvert. Martin was sure it hadn’t been there earlier in the day. The head lay nearby. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw the eyes still moving.

  Other than the moonlight, there was very little illumination. A few scattered streetlights were still working, but Martin couldn’t figure out why. If the power was off, shouldn’t they be out, too. And if they operated on a different circuit, then why weren’t all of them on? In the distance, far beyond the cornfield, he saw the soft yellow glow of the sodium lights that overlooked the car dealership and strip mall that sat next to the highway exit. He wondered if perhaps the power was on at the dealership. If so, were they better off moving there?

  He closed his eyes and searched his feelings, hoping for some guidance from the Lord. After a moment, he opened them again, and found that the disembodied head was indeed staring at him. Worse, the mouth was pulled back in a sneer. Martin quickly turned away, looking toward the car dealership again. A shiver ran through him. Becky must have noticed it.

  “Are you okay, Reverend?”

  She reached out and stroked his arm with her fingernails. The sensation was at once soothing and exciting. Martin shivered again, but this time, it had nothing to do with discomfort or fear. Before he could respond, John returned from the restroom. They both turned to look at him, and Becky dropped her arm to the side.

  “Anything out there?” John whispered.

  Martin shook his head. “Nothing. The streets are quiet…for now, at least.”

  John joined them at the window and peered outside. “Might be a good time to try making a break for it. I was thinking about it some more after dinner. How do we know this is going on everywhere? I mean, we saw some stuff on the news, but it wouldn’t be the first time the mainstream media lied about things.”

  Martin took a deep breath. “John, we’ve seen those things in action for ourselves. It isn’t some Hollywood movie. They’re real.”

  “I ain’t saying they aren’t. But maybe this is just a localized problem. Maybe the government has us cordoned off. I think we should get my truck and try to make it to Beckley or Lewisburg, or maybe even Richmond. There’s bound to be help there.”

  “You saw what happened at the White House,” Becky said. “That’s a lot farther away than Richmond.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t reckon that means it’s like this everywhere, Becky. All we got to do is make it to a safe zone.”

  “But we don’t know where that is,” Becky objected. “You’re just guessing, John. What if there is no safe zone? For all we know, it’s like this everywhere!”

  Martin realized that their voices were growing louder. He held up his hands to quiet them both.

  “One thing is for sure,” he said. “We’re not going to solve this tonight. John, I agree with you that it looks relatively safe outside. But that’s only as far as we can see. Those things are still lurking around somewhere out there, and you’re too tired to outrun them if they find you. I suggest we talk about this more tomorrow. Fair enough?”

  John nodded slowly, and when he responded, his tone was sullen.

  “I reckon so, Pastor. Won’t hurt none to sleep on it.”

  “There you go. Good man.”

  The three of them returned to their pews and made themselves as comfortable as possible. They lit no candles or lamps. Becky was the first to fall asleep. Martin heard her breathing in the darkness, whistling softly each time she inhaled through her nose. John was next, succumbing to slumber only a few minutes after Becky. His was a restless sleep, full of tossing and turning and half-muttered snatches of words. Each time he moved, the pew creaked beneath him. Eventually, he lay still and snored.

  Martin lay on his back, put his hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. Then he thought about Chesya. And Rebecca. A part of him he’d long that dead now stirred, but the sensation was useless. Briefly, he considered waking Becky up, and seeing if she’d be interested, but then he talked himself out of it. Finally, he closed his eyes and prayed some more.

  Deliver us, Lord. Make your will known to me. Help me to understand why you’ve brought us to safety here, and what you expect of us next. I am John and Rebecca’s guardian, and I do not shirk from the task. I never have. But what good can a shepherd do watching over his flock if he doesn’t know what comes next? Help me, Father. Tell me what you want me to do. Deliver me from this evil that is all around us.

  It occurred to Martin that something was missing from the night—the ever-present sound of insects. West Virginia was full of nature’s night songs, and one always heard them, unless you were in a city like Charleston or Morgantown. In the Spring, the night echoed with spring peepers. In the summer and fall, it rang with crickets, locusts and other bugs. But not anymore. He tried to remember how long it had been since he’d heard them, and couldn’t decide. The absence made the night stranger and more sinister.

  His crumpled khakis and black shoes were both dirty. His preacher’s collar felt rough beneath his yellow sweater. Not for the first time, Martin wished for a change of clothes.

  Eventually, his hands began to hurt. His arthritis was getting worse, and Martin’s painkillers were at home on the other side of town. As far as he was concerned, they might as well have been on the bottom of the ocean. He shifted, trying to get comfortable, but it was no use. Each movement brought fresh aches and pains. He stared at the ceiling some more, listened to his companions breathe, and thought about what life had been like before this. Then he closed his eyes and prayed again. The only thing he did not do was sleep.

  As he’d done every night since they’d taken shelter inside the church, Martin used his Scofield Reference Bible for a pillow. It wasn’t the most comfortable pillow in the world, but it was a comfort.

  It kept him from crying until the morning, and for Martin, that was enough.

  Two

  Martin had to admit, with John’s help, they’d done a pretty good job of securing the church. Indeed, it wasn’t really a church anymore as much as it was an impregnable fortress.

  A church doesn’t have to be a building, he reminded himself. It’s simply a place where people congregate to worship the Lord. A church is where God is. Nothing more. Nothing less. A church can be a living room or a backyard or an alley. If God is there, then it’s a church.

  He wondered if God was still with them now. Martin wanted to believe it to be so, but for the first time in his Christian life, he was beginning to have doubts. Not that Martin could blame Him. After all, if he was God, he wouldn’t want to hang around White Sulphur Springs anymore, either.

  Because things were definitely getting worse around here.

  They’d awoken that next morning to the sound of a motorcycle engine. Competing with that noise was the baying of what sounded like a pack of wild dogs, or perhaps coyotes. All three of them jumped up from their beds and ran to the peepholes, only to confirm that there were indeed both dogs and coyotes in the pack—except that it wasn’t a live pack at all. It was a pack of zombies.

  About a dozen undead curs chased a long-haired man on a motorcycle. The bike had Virginia tags, and none of them recognized the driver. He wore no helmet, so all three of them got a good look at his features as he sped past the church. He was young, maybe in his mid-twenties, and absolutely terrified. As well he should be, not only because of his pursuers, but because the motorcycle seemed on its last leg. As he rounded the corner, the bike sputtered and choked, emitting a cloud of thick, black smoke. The rider seemed to lose control for a second, wobbling back and forth. The tires squealed on the pavement.

  “Almost stalled it,” John said. “He’s gonna spill.”

  “Come on,” Martin urged the driver. “Pull out! Help him, Lord.”

  Whether through skill or divine provenance, the biker righted himself and raced ahead again. The pack ran along behind him, barking and snarling, close enough now that Martin, Becky and John could smell them, even through the walls and fortifications. All of the animals were in various stages of decomposition. Some were missing an eye or an ear. One was missing its entire lower jaw. A few had fly-infested holes where their tails had been. Some had ugly, oozing wounds in their sides or bellies. One dog dragged its intestines along behind it like a leash, and a coyote loped along on only three legs. A Golden Labrador passed by, its skull split down the middle and its brains exposed to the open air, and yet it still functioned. A blind poodle with no eyes trailed the others, following by sound. Bringing up the rear was a lone, undead housecat, its body swollen with gases. It waddled, rather than ran, in an almost comedic pantomime of life.

  “My God,” John gasped. “If that don’t beat all. I’ve never seen nothing like it.”

  None of them had, Martin thought, but was too speechless to point it out. A pack of zombie dogs was unlike anything they’d ever experienced. He gaped at the pursuit as the motorcyclist sped off down the street. The zombies raced after him, baying and yipping. It was an odd sound, almost like…

  “It can’t be,” Martin whispered.

  He clenched his teeth and glanced at Becky and John, only to find them staring at him. They looked as shocked as he felt.

  John pointed at the window. “Was that…?”

  Martin nodded. “Speech. At least, that’s what it sounded like.”

  “I heard it, too,” Becky said. “It reminded me of dogs trying to talk. Like they were trying to speak English, but lacked the vocal ability.”

  “Not English,” Martin said. “At least, I don’t think so. It reminded me of Aramaic—the language of Jesus. Or maybe something older. Maybe Sumerian? I’m not sure.”

  John frowned. “Sounded like dogs to me. I mean, y’all are right. It wasn’t normal dog sounds. They could have been trying to talk. But Ara…? What’d you call it, Pastor?”

  “Aramaic. I had to study it in seminary. I don’t remember any of it now. It’s a hard language to learn and even harder to remember if you don’t keep practicing it. But some of the sounds those zombies were making reminded me of it.”

  “What does it mean, Reverend?” Becky sounded like she was about to cry. “How can that be?”

  “I don’t know,” Martin told her. “I just don’t know. In the movies, the zombies are just us—dead corpses, walking around slow and shambling and mindless. But these things… I was thinking yesterday, it’s almost like they’re possessed by demons. In fact, I think that may be the case.”

  The sound of the motorcycle engine faded. Moments later, so did the braying pack. Silence returned to the church. Martin heard a bird chirping outside and wondered if it was alive or dead.