Her breath was still coming hard when she heard the pounding feet outside above the pounding of the blood behind her ears. She took another half-step into the darkness, glancing down its depths to the bright circle of light on the other side, wondering if she could make it all the way down if some predator's instinct sent her pursuers down after her. Could she make it across to the other side before they did above? Did she have the strength to keep running?
She was so tired. Maybe it'd be easier to let them catch her. They'd kill her, but so what? She'd die a few days before everyone else.
The vivid reminder of what she'd seen of the remains of the mob's past victims drove that possibility from her mind. She'd drown herself in the sewage before she let herself fall into their hands. It'd be more dignified.
She could hear them above somewhere, talking, laughing, and mercifully could not make out their words. They didn't sound hurried, didn't sound worried. They weren't running for their lives. This was a game to them. Recreation. Cruelty as sport. She hated them then, not for what they wanted to do to her, what they'd done to others, but for their casual attitudes. She hated them because they weren't cowering in filth. Who did they think they were?
The light at the other end of the culvert was suddenly blocked out as one of her pursuers jumped down in front of it.
"Found you." His sing-song voice carried the length down to her.
She shot from her end like a rocket, too fast for the pair waiting for her to grab, though one snagged for a second on the material of her shirt. She ran up the slope diagonally, half-way to gone before they even started after her. Each squelching impact her waterlogged sneakers made was a signal for them to follow, a track for them to find, but she daren't even stop long enough to take them off.
"Here!" a voice called from behind a cracked door in a brick wall. "In here!"
She didn't stop to think, didn't worry about it being a trap, didn't pause to wonder at her good fortune. Wendy cornered, traction-less rubber soles skidding on the street, and barreled through the sturdy door held open for her.
***
Ten days before the Exodus
"The signs, finally the signs are too big for the secular world to ignore, for the false Christians, for the papists, for the pagans, for the fornicators, for the heathens, for the atheists to not see. The mighty fist of God's wrath swings for our fragile fallen world even now, an inevitable blow that cannot be diverted. We cannot evade His righteous anger, and I tell you now, we deserve to be smote."
The congregation hung on each of Pastor Kostka's red-tinged words. There were fewer of them, he saw, but they'd been coming to every service, and there was a strong core of them that never left the chapel. He could see their guilt. He could see their fear. He could see, most importantly, their faith in him. Their trust. He would not let them down.
His strong voice rolled out, flowing from his lips into their ears. "Some say, many say, you see on the news, that the easy way out is to take your own life, as if this will spare you God's judgment. The easy way. God's judgment. The poor, poor deluded souls. God did not put us here, into this world of suffering, to take the easy way. And they forget. They forget that suicide is a mortal sin. You take your life to spare yourself mere moments of His torment in exchange for an eternity in a lake of fire."
There were nods and muttering from the flock.
"But there's another truth, another fact that the secularists and papists would keep from you. They'd tell you that there's no practical reason to hang on, that it's natural, that it's normal to commit the ultimate sin of self-harm, but consider this, friends. Consider this. This is the ultimate test of your faith, of your love for God, and I will tell you what they don't know, what they can't believe. There's another world coming, a world of peace and innocence, a new Eden, and if you take your life you will not see it."
He had their attention.
"Only those who endure this last trial, who make it to the end, only the last of humanity will be the first in this New Eden. So take heart, friends. Keep to your faith. Descend not into the temptation of despair, for only you who are strong and secure in your faith will be the seeds of a new humanity on God's New Eden."
"Amen!" Margaret Ross stood, clasping her hands together. A number of her fellows echoed the sentiment.
Pastor Kostka raised his hands. He had done what he could, to spare them the eternal torment that awaited those who succumbed to despair. It was in their hands, now, to use that hope to forge meaning from chaos.
***
Potato salad. Tuna sandwiches. Hardboiled eggs. Fresh fruit. Coleslaw. Roasted chicken.
Wendy found her hands reaching for everything at once, and forced herself to focus on one course at a time. It was food. Real food, not some packaged cast-off overlooked by a scavenger, not some half-rotten pear dug out of a dumpster. It had only taken three days to make fresh food almost impossible to hide in the city, and out here at their compound the New Ark Movement had enough packed away for ten apocalypses. She was almost heedless of the woman bandaging her arm as she ate, pausing only to give her a brief smile, then turning her attention to the fresh bread -- freshly baked bread -- on the table before her.
The other refugees, the other lucky few taken with her from the hellish city to this isolated camp were eating with equal gusto. Some were injured, most were haggard, all were starving.
It was after she'd eaten her third piece of chicken that Wendy noticed the strong contrast with the Movement sisters hovering nearby, ready with more food and drink. There was a definite Stepford vibe to the women in their identical floral print dresses and thin smiles, the crucifix pendents they all wore, the almost eager way they were watching them eat. The name, too -- New Ark Movement -- strongly indicated a cult. Probably a doomsday cult.
That sounded apropos. Maybe the chicken was poisoned. Wendy didn't care. It was a kinder death than what the city held for her.
Her fellow refugees didn't seem concerned. She hadn't had a long time to get to know them on the ride up from the city, but you bonded quickly to others in a situation like this. Jack had been a marine on leave when news about the comet broke, and just hadn't bothered to report in when he was supposed to. Carla was a single mother. Had been a single mother. Kurtis had been homeless before the riots began, and his intimate knowledge of the city's "low places" had helped him evade an agonizing death.
"More juice?" Amanda stood behind Wendy, pitcher in hand.
She'd been the one who'd held the door open to her back when she was being chased. The Movement had several members in the city, looking for what they'd called "worthy" people to rescue. From the way that Amanda had spoken of it, Wendy had assumed she'd been using a more specific meaning of "rescue" than simply helping her hide out from a gang of murderers and rapists. Wendy didn't really care if she and the others were recruiting for some kind of cult. In less than a week a comet the size of a small city was going to crash into the Earth, killing everyone and everything on it. She'd drink the kool-aid if it meant a few good meals before the ritual suicide.
***
One week before the Exodus
"You've all prayed long and hard, and the Lord has given us providence," Pastor Kostka said with great solemnity. "He has provided us with the bounty of this land, far from the city's filth. It lay abandoned and useless until the Lord lead me here, until I called you all to come. I only wish that more of you had remained to heed that call."
Through the chaos of the past few days the congregation's numbers had dwindled. Some had left to be with their families in these end times, and the pastor could understand that. Others, undoubtedly, had fallen prey to the violence that plagued the streets, or worse, fallen prey to the temptation to wallow in the earthly hedonisms they'd so long denied themselves. What remained standing before him in the living room of what had been a country estate was a strong, faithful, loyal core group of followers. Men and women who would follow their pastor to the end of the earth -- and beyond, if Kostka had
anything to say about it.
"But those that remain are to be the heralds of a new age, for in my searching I have discovered that this compound was owned by none other than Richard Hatch."
William Tanner muttered.
"Bill, you know who I'm talking about?"
William blinked and stood, turning to face the rest of the congregation. "Uh, sure thing. He's that rich guy. Wanted to build a spaceship."
"Praise be to God," the pastor said. "The Lord has delivered us to our salvation. For I am certain that this was no coincidence. What we had assumed would be a spiritual transition to New Eden will instead be physical -- yes, you heard me. We will go to the new land of God not as ephemeral spirits, but in these earthly bodies!"
That caused a commotion. Pastor Kostka watched impassively as his followers fell to their knees, shaking, crying, and giving thanks to the Lord.
"Now, listen." He spoke again once they had settled a bit. "I think I may have found this ship of Mr. Hatch's, and I'll tell you, it's big enough for all of us. Bigger. I believe that we can take thirty worthy righteous souls with us to New Eden, and that the Lord intends we should."
"Where are we going to find ten more people?" Amanda Peets asked.
"In the city," Pastor Kostka said. "We'll return there. Find the men and women that God intends us to save, and bring them back with us."
"How will we know these saved when we see them?" William asked.
"The Lord will tell us, in his own time," the pastor assured his flock. "In his own time."
***
After dinner, Amanda and the other women took their guests on a brief tour of the compound. The entire structure was surrounded by cyclone fencing. There was a car port, a large sprawling estate house, and what looked like a quonset hut.
"What's in there?" Wendy asked.
Amanda smiled. "Something wonderful. But you can talk to pastor Kostka when you meet him."
"Hey, where are all the other men at?" Jack asked.
***
Four days before the Exodus
Pastor Kostka's face was red, his eyes were bloodshot, and his hair was -- for once -- unkempt. He'd been wrestling with the Lord's latest revelation for days, not wanting to believe he'd understood it correctly, desperately looking for some other meaning behind his insight. There was none.
He was not looking forward to what was to come, but he was a humble servant of the Lord. He did as he was bade.
Amanda and Lucile, the most influential of his follower's adult women, stood before him, concern on their faces. He had summoned them, alone, without their menfolk -- something he'd never done before.
"Ladies," he began, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I've spent the last thirty-six hours in prayer, striving to understand God, though I know full well that his ways are not for the living to comprehend. His Word, the tidings I bear, are grim indeed. A test of faith the likes of which I've never seen, and a burden I all too hesitantly must now share with you."
Amanda approached him, placing a cool hand upon his brow. "No man should carry such a burden alone, Pastor. Please, let us offer you succor."
He shook his head. "I have spoken to the Lord, our God. He has told me that our utmost concern upon reaching New Eden will be to be fruitful and multiply. And you all know that while one man can give his seed to any number of women, any woman can bear but one child at a time."
They stared at him, blank faced. He knew they understood, just as he knew that they wouldn't let themselves acknowledge it. He hadn't wanted to acknowledge it himself, but the Lord's will could not be denied.
"Like Noah," Amanda said quietly. "And his Ark."
"Yes!" Kostka broke into a wide smile. "But instead of two of each animal, to grow our people as fast as we can and take the New Eden, it will be me and as many women of child-bearing years as we can manage. In one year, we'll go from thirty to fifty-nine, barring twins. Should the good Lord provide, we could have a tribe of hundreds in a few decades.
"But... what of our menfolk?" Lucile asked meekly. "And the young girls? And the elder women?"
"That's what had me so torn," the Pastor said. "My faith was weak. I wailed, I said, Father, the men here are good men, who have kept your commandments, who have provided us with this fence, who've done good works. Why must they languish in the old world? And my doubts kept me from a state of grace for many hours, until I realized His plan."
The women watched him avidly. "What was his plan?"
"They'll come with us," the Pastor said. "In spirit, if not in flesh, as I had originally thought. The first generation of children will be the resurrection of those who were not fit to grow our tribe with the speed the Lord requires."
"So we leave them behind?" Lucile asked, uncertainty in her voice.
"No, child, no." Pastor Kostka put a comforting hand on the girl's head. "We'll be taking them with us, the only way we can. Their flesh in our flesh, their spirit bound to us. This is the new Communion, my children. As the wine and bread becomes Jesus's flesh and blood, so too shall our worthy men's flesh be bound to our spirit across the long stellar journey."
"You mean we--" Lucile began, face aghast.
"Praise be to Jesus," Amanda whispered.
"We've a hard task before us," Pastor Kostka said. "A test of our faith, a test of our devotion. We love the menfolk, we do, and that's why we have to do... what we have to do. It's only in spirit that they can come to New Eden, and I can't ask them to make that sacrifice. I can't put that decision on them. They shouldn't be punished for a moment of doubt, a moment of fear. Can you two do what needs be done?"
"I don't know, Pastor, I don't know. Why us?" Lucile leaned against the wall, sagging.
"You're my most faithful disciples," Pastor Kostka said. "And you do the cooking. It'll be easy... just slip a little something extra into the stew of the children and menfolk. They'll just slip away into sleep, and then slip the mortal coil. It will be easy."
"I don't think I can do it." Lucile closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I don't think... I have faith, Pastor, but my Jimmy, my Brian..."
"Shh, shh, shh." Pastor Kostka took Lucile's face gently in his strong hands. "The Lord never asks more from us than we can give, Lucile. I won't make you do anything you can't live with."
Lucile sobbed almost silently as the pastor adjusted his grip.
There was a sudden twist, and she slumped against him and was still.
It was too bad, really. She'd always been the more attractive one.
***
Wendy wasn't a religious woman. She'd been raised Catholic and had gone to church dutifully on Easter and Christmas with her parents until she was twelve, but when she'd told them she didn't want to go anymore at thirteen they'd seemed almost relieved, and stopped attending themselves. She supposed she was still nominally Christian in that she'd never officially declared herself not, but didn't give the matter of God a second thought. Hers was a casual, almost natural disbelief.
What she did believe in, though, was survival. The more time she spent with the New Ark Cult, the crazier they seemed.
That was okay. She could deal with crazy, if it meant a seat on that spaceship they had. She didn't know if they knew how to operate it, or if this "divine providence" would lead them to a habitable planet, but it was a chance. And she'd do a lot for a chance to keep on living.
She'd fuck the old man, for one. That part wasn't really surprising, for a doomsday cult. He went on and on about the need to quickly populate New Eden, trying hard to sell her the idea of taking him bareback, and she didn't feel like educating him on the nature of her IUD.
The cannibalism had been a bit harder to swallow, no pun intended. She was doubly glad about keeping quiet about the IUD after being told that those who were "worthy but not worthy enough" -- less fertile-seeming women, men, children, anyone who couldn't get knocked up -- would travel to New Eden in spirit -- spirit transmitted through the flesh, flesh devoured in a bizarre communion ritual. They didn't h
ave to eat much, just a piece of the heart -- where the soul was thought to reside -- but really, any amount of cannibalism was too much cannibalism.
She didn't have a choice, not if she wanted a seat on their ship. And the runner-up prize for "second most holy" was a guided tour through the cult's gastrointestinal track.
Yeah.
A little cannibalism wasn't so bad. Not if you wanted to live. Next to that, fucking the old man was the best part of her day.
***
The day of the Exodus
"Faithful brethren." Pastor Kostka stood before his twenty-nine brides, some of whom were even now bearing his children, destined to be New Eden's first generation. "Last night I saw, clearly, for the the first time, the doom of this sinful world bright in the sky. This was the sign I have been waiting for, the sign that it is finally time to depart the ruins of mankind's folly for the glory of New Eden."
"Praise Be!" Sister Amanda said.
"Glory to God!" Sister Trudy added. The other women, his wives, added their own gratitudes to the chorus.
Kostka held a hand up. "This is truly God's plan, a new unspoilt world, to be populated by the souls of the worthy we carry within us. We will act as righteous stewards for this new world, caring for it, watching ourselves for sin and corruption, for now the secret of bodily resurrection has been bestowed upon us. A spiritual cleansing is as simple and easy as the Flesh Communion -- those who fall from grace can be returned to the community as newborns with a blank slate, a fresh start, a new beginning."
The chorus of gratitudes returned, and the Pastor basked in the congregation's joy. He started up the slope towards the quonset hut housing their salvation, and they followed.
"God lead us to this safe haven. It was the Lord that revealed to me the craft that its former owner had left behind. It was He who guided my hands, who told me what needed to be done to get it ready for our needs. It was through divine inspiration that I, a simple man, no engineer, knew enough to create the miracle that will enable us to fulfill his will."
Grief: Five Stories of Apocalyptic Loss Page 3
