“Step away,” she said. “This bad boy’s all mine.”
They complied, and Sonia let out a shriek to rival a tornado as she drove the pointed tip of the pick into the soldier’s forehead. The deader instantly went limp, and Sonia pulled out the tool with a soft sloshing sound. She gave a mock salute and said, “Semper fi, asshole.”
“That’s the Marines,” Arjun said. “This guy is Army.”
“Whatever.” She threw the pick over her shoulder and looked around for more.
“Come on,” Sydney said. “We’ve got a hole to dig.”
CHAPTER FORTY
The trip back was largely uneventful and silent, as a pall of sorrow hung over the group.
They didn’t spend much time scavenging since dusk was approaching, although they stopped at a Walgreens and collected some medicine and bottled water. The store had been wrecked by the tornadoes and looted in the interim, which made Hannah believe more survivors were around than she would’ve guessed. A couple of times, they saw small packs of zombies in the distance, milling listlessly as if the storm had blown them off course.
Once, a solitary deader blocked their path, standing amid the twisted sheet metal of a tractor-trailer, but instead of taking it on, they chose a detour around it. Hannah carried only the ax they’d scavenged from the garage and she felt a little vulnerable without her shotgun.
“Think Reverend Ingram will change the rules and let us have guns now?” she asked Sonia. She was almost jealous of the older woman’s bloody clothes and the alert, energetic aspect that came from hand-to-hand combat.
“Who knows? I think he’s operating under a mix of a power trip and religious delusions.”
“He has a point, though,” Arjun said. “Who knows what’s happening out there in the rest of the world, but we all heard evidence of natural disasters before the grid went down. And these tornadoes…like, wasn’t that one almighty coincidence?”
“It doesn’t really fit the Book of Revelation, though,” Sonia said. “Many theological scholars believe John’s writings were all symbolism anyway, but some hardcore evangelists take it seriously and literally. Seven seals, the Whore of Babylon, and all that.”
“Some people think John was just another schizophrenic like half the other maniacs in the Bible,” Arjun said. “Either that or they were high on mushrooms or cactus.”
“I’m a believer, but that part of it’s always been difficult for me,” Sonia said. “I can’t square a loving and merciful God with a predetermined plan to destroy everything He ever created.”
“It might be a fairy tale, but plenty of people have made plenty of money trying to make it real,” Hannah said.
Rocky waved his M16 at the surrounding ruins. “Doesn’t look like money matters much now, does it?”
“But how else do you explain all these catastrophes happening at once?” Sydney asked. “I mean, it comes down to either divine origin or science, and science doesn’t like too many coincidences.”
“I don’t want to hear any end-of-the-world bullshit,” Meg said, her anger choked off by a sob. “My world ended a little today. I need something to blame real bad, but answers won’t bring my little girl back.”
“Jacob took his mother’s hand, and Hannah felt empathy for the two of them. The burial had been emotional, with all of them reflecting on how much the world had changed and how many had died and which lost loved ones they didn’t yet know about. Sonia had tried to offer a graveside eulogy, or at least words of hope, but the message sounded contrived and pointless in the face of such widespread devastation.
Hannah had parents in Michigan whom she hadn’t heard from since the outbreak, but that possible loss was distant and theoretical. Meg’s and Jacob’s pain was immediate.
A fact forever.
As the sun, already hidden by the undulating cloud cover, began its descent into the smoke-filled western horizon, they saw a light flicker inside an undamaged house.
“Zombies don’t use flashlights,” Arjun noted.
“You guys wait here while I move closer,” Rocky said. “Survivors might get jumpy and start shooting, especially if they only see our silhouettes.”
“They might not like soldiers, either,” Hannah said. “Especially if you’re carrying a gun. Let me go.”
Before anyone could stop her, she marched toward the house, staying out in the open as much as possible. An intact Toyota sedan sat in the driveway, the lawn was tidy, and the maple in the yard still held most of its spring buds. It was like an untouched pocket of the past amid a wasteland, already seeming like a museum piece even though the infection had only started days ago.
Hannah cupped her hands and shouted, “Hello! Anybody home?”
The beam of light that had been bouncing around the house’s interior suddenly went dark. A moment later, a male voice called from an upstairs window. “Go away. We don’t have room for any more.”
“There’s a shelter,” she replied. “At Promiseland. Big church not far from here.”
“So we heard.”
“It’s secure from zombies, and there’s food and medical treatment.”
“No, thanks. Go away.”
“Listen,” Hannah said. “We’re with a group, and we’re heading there now. It’ll be safer with more of us.”
“I heard bad things about that place.”
Hannah wondered how gossip could possibly spread in this ruined city. “We were just there this morning. The army’s established a headquarters, and FEMA’s on site. They’re in contact with the government.”
“And they’re killing anybody who gets sick,” said the unseen man. “And some who ain’t. We’ll take our chances out here.”
“Do you have sick people in there?”
“None of your business. Now move along.”
Hannah wasn’t sure if the man was conveying a threat or just trying to get rid of her. She certainly had no means of forcing these strangers to join them even if she had the desire. “There’s a drug store up the road a couple of blocks,” she said. “In case you need anything.”
The house stood silent, dark, and brooding. A flash of lightning illuminated a grim face in the upstairs window. She didn’t see a weapon trained on her, but the glimpse was too quick to offer much detail. After another few seconds, she returned to the group.
“They don’t want to come. Said the shelter wasn’t safe.”
“Dad’s not in there,” Jacob said to Meg. “He wouldn’t hide if he was worried about us.”
“You’re right, honey,” she said. “He would go to the shelter because he’d expect us to be there.”
“Let’s move out, then,” Rocky said.
Sporadic gunshots rang out here and there, an intermittent staccato that had been silenced in the wake of the tornadoes. The stained glass steeple of Promiseland glowed with light, suggesting FEMA or the Army had installed emergency generators. When they were within three blocks of the church compound, they encountered a squad of soldiers. They told Rocky the mission to clear the northwestern corner of the city was back underway after being disrupted by the storm. They also said the shelter would soon be near capacity and would then stop accepting refugees.
“We’d better hurry, unless we want to find a house of our own,” Sonia said.
“Hold up,” Rocky said. “Let’s find out what we’re getting ourselves into. I know how the military works. The grunts don’t know jack shit.”
He switched on the two-way radio and adjusted the frequency until he heard Col. Hayes’s voice. “…and Cherry Point’s a go to launch a bombing sortie at zero-eight-hundred hours to clear out the eastern perimeter. A herd of tangos is moving up Four-Forty so the fly boys are going to blanket the area with some clusters. Copy on that, Lt. Granger?”
Another voice, apparently the lieutenant’s, answered. “Roger that, sir. We’ll evac the patrols in that sector. We have sporadic tango contact near the capitol. What the bombs and the firestorm didn’t get, the tornadoes did. It’s a r
eal charley foxtrot, over.”
“Word from the Head Shed is we can expect another major shit storm tomorrow. Only this time it’s coming from the other direction. A hurricane’s brewing off the Eastern Seaboard, supposed to dump two feet of rain on us, over.”
“Well, that will put out the fires and drown us, over.”
“Yeah, but the Preacher Man loves it. He’s down in the church praying like crazy for God to finish off the rest of it.”
“How long are you going to let him pretend to be in charge, over?”
“Well, the POTUS is still alive and in communication, so that makes our guy a necessary evil for now. If the situation needs to be corrected, I’ll let you know, over.”
“Roger. The one will be my pleasure to correct. We’ll RTB at oh-nine-hundred as planned, over.”
“Good. More people are getting sick, including some of our own. We’re going to need clean-up squads tonight, over.”
“Roger. This is some screwed-up shit. Not even a uniform and a weapon can stop a zombie infection, over.”
“Stay frosty. Over and out.”
The group stood in stunned silence for a moment. Then Hannah said, “That’s what the people hiding in that house were saying. Something about death squads. I didn’t even think it was worth mentioning because it was so ridiculous.”
“We’ve already seen what happens when people get scared,” Rocky said. “That slaughter in the gym…how much was an accident and how much was based on orders? Hayes might’ve thought there were too many infected and he didn’t want to risk some of them turning.”
“So he wiped out half the compound?” Sonia said. “That’s hard to believe.”
“Is it? You’ve seen how both Hayes and Reverend Ingram think. They definitely believe not everyone is suited for or worthy of survival. They just impose different kinds of tests to weed out the undeserving.”
“Well, what do we do?” Hannah said. “It’s too dark to stumble around hoping to find a place to hide for the night. And if we got cornered, we don’t have the guns to protect ourselves.”
“We go in,” Meg said. “We’re all healthy, and the compound is still safe from zombies.”
“Except the sick ones who turn,” Arjun said, and Hannah punched him in the arm. It was disrespectful considering the way Ramona had died.
“We’ll hole up in the room where we stayed last night,” Rocky said. “We take turns standing guard, and then we’ll figure out our next move. It’s the smart play until we know more.”
“Solid,” Hannah said. Sonia and Sydney voiced their agreement.
Jacob glanced around at the steepening shadows, perhaps thinking of his sister lying in the cold, dark ground clutching a stuffed bear. “I just want to be where there’s light.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The Reverend Cameron Ingram waited for the sweat to pass.
The fever had rolled over him during the afternoon, and he’d stayed locked in his office, praying hard. He’d paused only to converse with Col. Hayes via the two-way radio, careful to hide the strain in his voice. If he turned into a demon, he didn’t want anyone to find him. Only Cyrus had a key to his door, and Cyrus would not enter without permission.
The bite wound festered rapidly, turning an ugly shade of purple, with clear pus oozing from the torn flesh. Ingram asked God where he had failed, which sins had remained unforgiven, and what secret doubt had he harbored that made him unworthy. God might have answered, but Ingram was in such a state of delirium that he couldn’t tell the voices apart.
He’d witnessed the tornadoes of fire and fury twisting their way across Raleigh, God’s wrath chewing up the urban atrocities that had housed so much iniquity. But when God had spared the church, Ingram took it as another miracle. Perhaps he wasn’t damned after all; at least not yet.
At one point, he lapsed into unconsciousness, propped in his high-backed leather chair with his jacket in his lap. He suffered wild dreams of a whirlwind in the desert, of himself in ragged robes, blistered and starving, his throat parched from crying out for water. Then his cries changed to a sibilant, reptilian susurration, and he craved nothing but blood to quench the ache that raged through him. But there was no living thing in sight, and he crawled on and on beneath the blistering assault of the harsh landscape.
Ingram awoke soaked in sweat, the office nearly dark. His cell phone had died, although he’d taken one call from the president he only dimly remembered. The president had warned him of global disasters and a collapse of governments under the strain of the infection, and Ingram had reassured him that the Lord had a plan. He might’ve begun ranting about Revelation and how the signs were upon them, and the president redoubled his commitment to Christ and expressed his faith in Ingram.
“You’re our last hope,” President MacMillan had said.
“Our trust is in the Lord, but I’m honored to serve you and our country,” Ingram had responded.
“The vice president…he got sick,” the president said. “I’ve appointed you second-in-command and made sure all appropriate agencies understand they now have to answer to you. You saved me, and I’m forever grateful.”
Ingram realized the man had given him dominion over a fourth of the globe. As had been written in the Prophecies.
By presidential order, FEMA supplies had been directed to the compound. The U.S. military landed two Blackhawks in a nearby parking lot loaded with MRE’s, medical supplies, generators, telecomm equipment, and fuel. Ingram had given orders over the two-way radio, but he knew he’d soon have to make an appearance in person.
He looked at his hand and saw the bleeding had stopped and the infection had cleared. The teeth marks were still there, dark blue with tiny indentations in his skin, but the skin was no longer broken. The shape was clearly that of an eye, and two wayward teeth had made a wiggly scar that looked like the numeral three.
The holy number. The Trinity. The day Jesus arose.
Aside from thirst and hunger and a little bit of dizziness, he felt fine. More than fine. He felt potent.
Another miracle!
He studied the mark, which he now considered a physical sign of God’s approval. Ingram had tasted temptation—or rather, it had tasted him—and lived to tell about it. The demons couldn’t harm him. He was under the protection of the Lord.
And that meant Ingram was granted the approval of heaven. The Lord’s return was near, and Ingram’s mission was to prepare the world for it. Hardships would come, and plagues would strike, and demons would rise from their pits, but the elected would stand strong in God’s grace. These times were preordained in order to separate the believers from the damned.
He washed his face with paper towels and bottled water in his private restroom, using the last of the light to compose himself in the mirror. Not a strand of hair was out of place. Even the dark half-moons under his eyes had faded, and he looked years younger. Satan was no match for him.
When the knock came, he let Cyrus inside. He didn’t share his experience—no, this was between him and the Lord. No other mortal would understand the providence of the divine.
Cyrus gave him an inquisitive look. “Are you okay, Reverend?”
“Never better, Cyrus. Did you fulfill your task?”
“Just as you asked. I found Big Jones and his assistant. She happens to be his live-in girlfriend, but she knows the craft.”
“Living in sin, huh?” Ingram said. “We don’t pass judgment. They can earn their way back into grace with their service.”
Cyrus looked like he wanted to ask a question, but he knew Ingram would share only what he needed to know and nothing more.
“I have one more mission for you,” Ingram said. “It might be even more dangerous than the last.”
“Anything.”
“Take one of the Humvees and a couple of soldiers and go to the airport. Find my wife and bring her back here.”
Ingram didn’t know why, but he felt Sarah Beth had a role in this plan. He didn’t want t
o think his desire for companionship was just human weakness, a fear of being alone during this moment of trial.
It was only then that he realized: perhaps he had died after all. The bite had killed him, and he’d come back not as a zombie, but as an angel.
An avenging angel of the Lord, as foretold in the Bible.
He’d been resurrected.
“I’ll find her, sir,” Cyrus said, noting the change that swept over Ingram’s face but holding his tongue.
“And below? How are the faithful?”
“They are multitudes, Reverend. They’re gathered outside the church door, waiting for the Word. Waiting for salvation.”
“Then they shall have it.” After a moment, Ingram smiled and said, “If they truly are worthy.”
“What should I do with Big Jones?”
“Are you with me?”
“Will I follow and obey you?” the muscular bodyguard asked. “Always.”
“Then you can be the first to accept the mark.”
“What mark?”
Ingram showed Cyrus his right hand. “The seal of the chosen.”
It was written in the Book of Revelation and now it was written on his skin. The selection had begun.
“Yes, I want the seal,” Cyrus said, letting his stony façade slip just a little. “Please.”
Ingram smiled. “Tell Big Jones to bring his ink and needles.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Meg awoke to an amplified voice in the courtyard below.
She didn’t know where she was at first, and then it all came flooding back.
The virus.
Zombies.
Storms.
Ian missing.
Ramona…
The tears came silently, and she let them trail down the sides of her face, not bothering to open her eyes. Jacob was snuggled beside her, and she put one arm over his chest. It rose and fell with his breathing, and she was grateful for this simple, involuntary act of nature. He was alive.
Arize (Book 1): Resurrection Page 25
