by Jake Bible
“You gonna cry, girl?” Mama laughed. “Little Bethany gonna go all boo hoo?”
“Mama…please…”
“Quit your bitching girl and come to Jesus!” the zombie ghoul yelled.
And there it was.
The Blasphemy.
I wasn’t doin’ all this to save my Mama, or the townsfolk, which I failed at, but to save the world. This was beyond my parish; beyond this little spit of land I called home.
I had a duty!
I had been chosen!
AND HE DONE PISSED ME OFF!
“Don’t you take the Lord’s name in vain!” I snarled at the rotten monster.
Mama jumped up from the couch, her old woman, dead boobies floppin’ about, and charged right at me.
“Don’t you sass your new daddy!” she yelled.
“I love you, Mama!” I shouted as she rushed at me. “I love you more than anythin’!”
Her head came right off and I swear to God Above that there was relief in those dead eyes. Ain’t nobody wants to be a zombie.
“Oh, you are going to Hell for that, Bethany!” Zombie Jesus laughed. “Killing your own mother! What kind of monster are you?”
“That weren’t my Mama, ghoul,” I answered him, confident that my soul was saved. “You killed my Mama. You’re the one goin’ to Hell!”
“Didn’t you read that book of Reverend Jones’s? You can’t kill me, Bethany. I can’t be cast out of this body. At least not without bringing about the Apocalypse and it’ll take someone with way more power than a helpless girl to bring that on!”
“True enough, ghoul, true enough. But I’m pretty darn sure bein’ trapped up on a cross for eternity havin’ to listen to the Lord’s words is Hell for you.”
Zombie Jesus’s smile faltered.
“That’s what I thought,” I laughed this time. “That fear in your evil eyes? I think it is.”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself, girl,” the thing hissed. “You still have to catch me.”
He gave me a nod and turned to run out the parlor, but he forgot one thing: I’m a country girl and country girls know how to use rope when they need to.
I had that special rope out of the satchel before he could reach the door. I flung one end out and snapped it back like a bullwhip. It weren’t as easy to use, but it did the trick, smacking that Zombie Jesus right in the back of the knees.
Undead or not, you get hit in the back of the knees with a rope like that and you be goin’ down. That Apostle Paul sure knew how to bless him some hemp and silver. I was on that monster fast as lightnin’ and had the rest of the rope wrapped about him right quick. His undead, grey skin began to sizzle from the silver and I knew I only had minutes before things got ugly.
“BITCH!” he roared at me as I grabbed up the hammer.
That time the hammer stayed its normal size, but it sung with the power of God like before. I put that nail straight through his palm, pinnin’ that Zombie Jesus’s right hand down. He snapped at me with his nasty teeth, but I kept out of reach.
“That nail is for Mama!” I shouted as I watched the skin on his hand turn to stone and work its way up his arm.
I grabbed up the second nail and put it right through his left hand. More skin to stone.
“That’s for my parish!”
He hissed and spit at me, the spittle stingin’ like acid when it hit my skin. “I’ll eat your insides, girl! I’ll do it while you watch!”
“Shut up, ghoul. You ain’t eatin’ nothin’ no more.”
He kicked at me as I struggled to get his feet together, one on top of the other.
“I’ll eat your pussy first! Rip those lips right offa that snatch! YOU FUCKING BITCH!”
“This one…” I hesitated, makin’ sure he was lookin’ me right in the eye as I held the hammer in one hand and the last nail in the other. “This nail is for ME!”
I hammered that iron home and the Zombie Jesus went rigid, his whole body changin’. The howls that came from his mouth sounded like a chorus of demons. My ears pained to near bleedin’ with that sound, but I refused to cover ‘em. No, he wouldn’t get that satisfaction.
“WE’LL MEET AGAIN, BITCH! YOU’LL NEVER REST! I’LL BE WAITIN-!”
Then silence. Blessed, blessed silence.
***
“You do your duty?” Deacon Lawerence asked, leanin’ against the Cadillac while he smoked hisself a Pall Mall. He looked past my house at the pink-orange light peekin’ its way over the roof. “Time’s up, I believe.”
“It’s all done, Deacon,” I replied. “I’m gonna need some help getting’ the thing outta my house.”
“Ain’t your house no more, girl,” the Deacon said, a pained look on his face. “Can’t stay here. Grab some things and shove ‘em in a bag. We got about an hour to take care of town and hit the road.”
“The road? What are you talkin’ ‘bout?”
“This parish is tainted. That Zombie Jesus has put his mark on it. Ain’t nothin’ gonna live here again. Those not bit will drift away and soon there be only empty houses and dried up fields. We lost this battle.”
“We? What you mean we?”
“You cain’t do it alone. Rev Jones knew that. We’ll move along and you’ll set up another church and I’ll train me another Deacon. It all been done before.”
I stared at him, my mouth hangin’ open. “Another church? I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout bein’ no preacher! I’m just a skinny legged girl!”
Deacon Lawrence’s eyes turned fierce. “You know’ about evil! You know’s how to face it down and not give in! You knows everythin’ you need to be a preacher!” He saw the fear in my own eyes and his face softened. “You’ll do just fine.”
***
I watched the town burn in the side mirror of the Cadillac as we sped away down Route 18. I wouldn’t look back over my shoulder, not with Zombie Jesus trussed up in the backseat. He may have been stone and all painted up to look normal, but I wasn’t in no mood to look upon him for one more second that mornin’.
“You sure there ain’t nobody left alive in town? We ain’t gonna burn no innocents, right?” I asked, fightin’ the horror of what I done. Deacon Lawerence helped me pile the bodies and pour the gasoline, but I was the one that had to strike the match.
My Duty.
“Ain’t nobody left alive, Bethany,” the Deacon assured me.
“What about the hospital? What about Rev Jones?”
“Rev Jones passed on. When he passed on, the hospital passed on with him. Somethin’ you’ll need to be ‘ware of when you ‘bout to pass on.”
“What you mean by ‘passed on’? You ain’t talkin’ ‘bout regular death, is you?”
“Regular death? Ain’t no such thing, girl. But, no, I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout that. Rev Jones was all used up. He made some mistakes along the way. You be careful not to make your own, now.”
I weren’t sure exactly what he meant by that, or what exactly happened to Rev Jones, but I made myself a promise to keep my head straight and walk the line.
Havin’ a duty means you gots responsibility. I was gonna take that responsibility very serious.
***
Deacon Lawrence passed away yesterday, one year to the day when we left our little parish, which is why I’m writin’ all this down. I gotta keep record of what happened, and what could happen. That old journal just ain’t enough no more.
He was right, though, I gotta knack for preachin’ and as I gave his eulogy with the monster on the cross behind me, I looked out at my flock, at the cryin’ eyes and runnin’ noses and counted myself blessed.
That’s how I feel now.
Blessed for the chance to spread the Lord’s word and to do my Duty.
Blessed for the new Deacon that Deacon Lawerence found and trained. He’s a righteous man and I love him dearly. Pretty sure he loves me just the same.
Blessed I ain’t had to blow that whistle. With some luck, and Lord willin’, I may gets to die a normal deat
h, whatever that may be. But, I’ll do my Duty if I need to.
And as I write these last words and rub at my swellin’ belly, I feel blessed that I had such a good Mama and I know I’ll be just as good.
I just pray my baby won’t have the Duty I have.
But, if she, or he, does, I’ll make sure they’re ready.
‘Cause Zombie Jesus is waitin’ up on his cross and only time will tell how long he’ll stay up there…
And You Shall Know Him......
Fields. Fields as far as the eye could see, cleansed and sterilized of all living matter. He stood at the End Of The World and looked out upon those fields. His fields. He grieved the loss of life, but rejoiced in the utter brilliance of the destruction.
Descending slowly, so He could savor the carnage before Him, He made His way past scorched boulders and burnt tree stumps into the plains of death. He needed no companion to walk with; He was His own company and counsel.
“Was I too hasty in my decision?” He asked Himself.
He laughed at His own folly of thought. How could He be too hasty? Life, Death, Existence; all were His to manipulate; all were His to own. Giggling to Himself, He picked His way through the devastation.
While He was responsible for it all, He was, of course, not to be held responsible. Why should He be? It was His to command and He did so justly.
His Angels had revolted, but He handled them. They cried out to Him. They begged for Him to stop. They whimpered and pleaded, scratched and clawed, suffered and died. His hands, His hands wrought their end. His hands snuffed out their Light. His hands brought them the mercy that was His to give. His hands were Life, Death, Existence.
Pleased with His own power He performed a small shuffle step, ala Dorothy and her Friends. He whistled and sang to Himself as He eased on down, eased on down the charred road. He clapped His hands together and the muted sound from the poly-fiber gloves echoed dully in the wasteland. He raised those hands above Him and praised Himself.
“I'm off to see the... I AM the Wizard! Ha HA!,” He bellowed in a false baritone.
Giggle, sing, shuffle, whistle, clap, clap, clap.
He passed His time this way for several miles. The landscape remained unchanged. Smoldering and smoking. Blasted and barren. His power was great and He was satisfied.
After a few miles, He grew tired. His shuffle lost some of its step; His whistle lost some of its tune; His claps lost some of their jubilation.
When He came to the first hunks of metal, blasted and twisted, He paused. He gazed inside at the improbable remains. The jawbone, the knuckle bones, a femur. He didn't regret His decision. He didn't feel remorse for His choice. He just paused and let the sight of the remains sink in as far as they could, and then He moved on.
He had grown hungry, but He was faced with a problem. How did He feed Himself with the helmet in place? He couldn't risk exposure. No, no, no, that wouldn't do. He guessed he hadn't thought that part through. He wondered if He should turn back. But, turning back would have been to admit defeat. And He was never defeated. He always won. He HAD won. So, with great resolution, He walked on and decided that hunger was beneath Him.
He hadn't gone more than a couple more miles when He started to miss His Angels. Their worship-filled faces, their disciple- like adulation and their unswerving (except for the end) devotion. How could He replace that? He had always felt alone, but He had never felt lonely. He guessed that was just par for the course; part of the territory; baby with the bathwater. He raised His hands again and asked for His own guidance.
“Self, please help me to be righteous upon this path. Self, please help me to be just in my soul. Self, please help me to be virtuous in my...In my...In my...Song!”
With great joy and uprightness He sang. He sang with all His voice. He sang with all His soul. He sang and sang and sang. He sang His song.
“Hail to the Chief we have chosen for the Nation......”
Through The Last WH
EMERGENCY SHUTTLE B635- FSS LOOKING GLASS LOG- 05233675
This is Chief Engineer Amanda Vebram. I have launched the emergency shuttle and abandoned ship. The FSS Looking Glass has been compromised and all are lost. I have set the self-destruct and hope to get this log recorded before the countdown is finished. I should have just blown the fucking thing right away, but this record must reach Command. The WH’s -STATIC INTERFERANCE- and all must be -STATIC INTERFERENCE-
***
“How many times are you going to watch that?” Lieutenant Stephens asked.
“As many as it takes to figure out what the Hell she’s talking about,” Captain Lawrence Little replied. “How many times are you going to ask me that?”
“As many times as needed to get you to stop,” Stephens said. “The crew is getting worried. The word ‘obsession’ has started floating around.”
Captain Little grunted. “Yeah, it’s not every day you get a chance to investigate one of the biggest mysteries the FSS has faced.” The Captain turned back to the monitor and the face of Chief Engineer Amanda Vebram. The woman was in her mid-forties, short brown hair, which looked matted and sticky; her bright blue eyes were wild with fatigue and one sported a nasty bruise. Her lips were split and she had applied a large bandage to one cheek, but blood had already started to seep through and stain the gauze. The Captain pointed at the image. “Are you telling me you don’t want to know how that happened?”
“Frankly sir? No. This whole mission creeps me out.”
“Well, suck it up Lieutenant. How close are we to the coordinates?”
“One more jump and we’ll be through the last WH, sir.”
“Good. Keep me posted.”
***
EMERGENCY SHUTTLE B635- FSS LOOKING GLASS LOG- 05233675
(cont.)
After we came out of that last WH, it all went to Hell.
The first day showed no indication of what was to come. Melissa, my wonderful helper, all of twelve and nearly a woman, woke the six year old twins, Aston and Samantha, at 0700 for morning chores and breakfast, just like she usually did. Everyone finished what they needed to in our living quarters then set out to attend to the ship wide duties we had all been assigned. Benny, my husband, complained of a slight migraine, but it wasn’t one of his full blown put-him-in-a-dark-room-don’t-talk-to-him episodes, so neither of us thought anything of it.
Everything was fine! We met back in our quarters for lunch, finished the rest -STATIC INTERFERANCE- returned for dinner and to settle in for the night. There were no indicators! None! I -STATIC INTERFERANCE-
Chief Vebram looked away from the recorder, tears rolling down her cheeks and dropping from her chin. She wiped them away and turned back.
The screams that woke us that night came from outside our quarters, echoing down the ship’s corridors. We both bolted from the bed in our skivvies, not even bothering to put on pants and ran to the com.
Being Security Chief, Benny had expected the com to be lit up and a report waiting, but there wasn’t. The com was dead, the computer interface terminal was dead, even Benny’s handheld issued only static.
He told me to stay in our quarters, to watch the children then planted a kiss on my cheek and bolted into the corridor, the screams so much louder now.
Melissa woke up and came out into the living area. She was worried, of course, but I told her everything was fine and to go back to bed. There was so much more I could have said -STATIC INTERFERANCE-
Her brow furrowed the way it does when she’s debating whether to call me on my bullshit. To think that was the last -STATIC INTERFERANCE- If she was only two years older, I wouldn’t have been given the benefit of the doubt. I wouldn’t have made it this far. I wouldn’t be the last.
I checked on the twins, who were sleeping peacefully, and went back to bed to wait for Benny to return. Sometimes it sucked being an engineer in these situations. Nothing in my schooling or training could provide any practical assistance, so I just had to wait and worry. But, in hindsigh
t, it was good, for me at least, that I wasn’t -STATIC INTERFERANCE-
***
Captain Little rubbed at his face, trying to keep alert. The eight month trip had been rough, but they were so close now, so close to some answers. Answers the FSS wanted badly and had told him to retrieve. The Brass didn’t bother hiding the ‘or else’ implications. They said it straight to his face.
***
EMERGENCY SHUTTLE B635- FSS LOOKING GLASS LOG- 05233675
(cont.)
I don’t know when I dozed off, but I awoke to tiny hands clutching and small bodies pressing up against me, Aston and Sam desperate to get under the bedcovers.
They were shaking with fear and kept saying something was wrong with Mel.
I glanced at the clock, 0830, and sprang from the bed. Where the Hell was Benny? He should have been back. The twins, eyes wide with terror, began to cry then Aston shrieked and pointed at the doorway.
Melissa stood there, silhouetted by the fluorescent -STATIC INTERFERANCE- large and round dangled from her left hand.
Vebram once again turned from the recorder to compose herself.
Something in me knew what it was right away, but didn’t want to admit it. I mean, what else could it be on a freighter that hadn’t seen spaceport in nearly 37 weeks and where every single item was meticulously accounted for?
“Daddy’s not coming back,” she said, her voice low and husky, a voice I barely recognized. That voice…
I asked her what was wrong, or would have if the words hadn’t been fighting a scream in my throat as Melissa rolled the object across my bedroom floor and -STATIC INTERFERANCE- severed head of my husband, of my children’s father, of Melissa’s father, wobbled to a stop, dead, glassy, blue eyes staring directly at me.
“Daddy was a liar,” that new voice said. “All of the adults were liars.”
