World Memorial

by Robert R. Best

  "Fuck fuck fuck," said Maylee, panting into the cloth. She started to sweat underneath it. She reached up and pulled it down, her lungs constricting in the cold air. It felt good on her hot cheeks.

  "Where the hell did they take Zach?" said Dalton.

  "To somewhere with big walls, I hope," said Maylee. She had almost stopped caring about finding Zach. She just wanted to get herself and Dalton to safety.

  A corpse stumbled into the path in front of them. It was a thin man, naked and rotten, with one clouded eye. The cold had broken his skin open, causing wide cracks all across his body. He hissed and reached for them.

  Maylee skidded to a halt and Dalton stopped behind her. She heard moaning around and behind them. The corpse in front jerked toward her.

  She ran for the corpse. It hissed at her and she swung her bat into the side of its face, thudding the nails into its cheek. She wrenched back the other way, pulling it over on the ground. She pulled the bat free as the corpse fell and brought it up over her head. She slammed downward, splitting its skull open across the snow.

  "Maylee!" yelled Dalton behind her. She spun to see three corpses emerging from the path behind them. Dalton was backing to where Maylee stood. "I really wish we'd found the gun."

  "You and me both," said Maylee, brandishing the bat in front of her and taking a few steps backward. When Dalton reached her, she took a quick glance over her shoulder. It was clear.

  Two sets of corpses emerged from the trees to either side. There were now eight, maybe ten, corpses coming for them. Maylee didn't have time to count.

  "Run?" said Dalton.

  "Oh shit yes."

  They ran down the path. The only thing keeping them from running faster was the loose snow underfoot. Maylee tried to take comfort in the fact that the snow would hinder the corpses also. It didn't work.

  Groans came from all sides. Maylee ran as hard as she dared. Dalton panted along next to her. The trees creaked around them. Whether it was from the wind or corpses trying to crowd past them, Maylee couldn't tell.

  Then she had her answer. Dead hands reached out for them.

  "Maylee..." said Dalton, beginning to sound like the little boy he used to be.

  "Just keep running!" she yelled, swatting at any hands that got too close.

  "But where are we even going?" His breathing was heavy, labored.

  "Wherever these footprints lead! These people didn't just keep walking forever. This goes somewhere!"

  "But what if the corpses got them further up ahead?"

  Maylee had no answer. She fell silent, focused on the path in front of her. She swung her bat from side to side, knocking aside dead reaching hands. She gulped down cold air as she ran. Her chest grew tight. She began to fear Dalton was right. Any second now, they would come across Zach and whoever had taken him, dead and eaten. Or dead and waiting to eat her and Dalton.

  She pushed the thought down and ran.

  Suddenly, the trees ended and they ran out into a large open field. Maylee stopped, sliding in the snow. Dalton stopped next to her. She looked back. Corpses were stumbling in the trees, reaching for where she and Dalton had been moments before. She knew they had a minute, maybe, before they extricated themselves from the trees and came into the field. And even then, she and Dalton could outrun them. She allowed herself to relax a little.

  "Um, Maylee..."

  Maylee turned back. Scattered across the field were maybe fifty corpses. She sucked in her breath, cursing herself for being too rushed to notice them before.

  The corpses saw them and groaned, echoing across the field.

  "Oh, fuck me with a side order of shit."

  She scanned the field. A church sat at the other end, smoke rising from a chimney. She heard corpses emerging from the trees behind them.

  "To the church!" yelled Maylee. "Hurry!"

  * * *

  Brother Joel stepped up the center of the sanctuary, passing polished pews on either side. With the help of two good brothers in Christ, the final preparations had been made. They were good, honest, dependable men. Brother Joel reflected that they would have been made deacons in more formal times.

  The two men stood to either side of large wooden doors set in the back of the room. The doors opened into the entranceway, where the flock could gather and commune before the service.

  "Can you feel it, brothers?" said Brother Joel to the two men. "This is going to be a wonderful service. The Lord will move among us today."

  The two men smiled back. "I believe that He will, Brother Joel," said one of them.

  Joel smiled and checked the preparations. Satisfied all was ready, he turned to the two men. "Open the doors, brothers. Let the Lord's people into His sanctuary."

  The two men smiled and opened the doors. Brother Joel's flock stood outside, all smiling to each other and talking in low tones. They stopped as they saw the doors open. They looked to the sanctuary, excited anticipation across their faces.

  They filed into the room, each falling silent as the holiness Brother Joel felt touched them as well. Smiling, they made their way to the pews. It warmed Brother Joel's heart.

  All around them, lining the walls, corpses strained against chains holding them in place. The chains, which disappeared into holes in the walls, were hooked to clasps around their necks. The corpses groaned and reached for people as they filed in. A few people looked warily at the corpses, but most just smiled back, completely unafraid. Brother Joel's heart swelled at their faith.

  The last of the flock sat down. Sister Elizabeth continued up the sanctuary, heading for the old piano set to one side of the pulpit. Joel waited a few minutes for the others to settle in. He started up the middle of the sanctuary as Sister Elizabeth sat down. She opened the keyboard cover, reached out, and started playing. The notes bent and complained from the old wires inside the piano, but to Brother Joel it was beautiful.

  He strode between the pews as the flock started singing. Their voices rose above the warbling piano, filling the room with joy. God was here, Brother Joel had no doubt.

  The corpses moaned and reached from the walls as Brother Joel stepped between the pews. Their groans were lost among the singing. It was beautiful.

  Joel took the pulpit and sung along. One more verse and chorus. He felt his spirit soar as his voice joined the others.

  Then the song was over and all fell quiet except for the groaning corpses. Their chains rattled as they strained against them.

  Brother Joel was silent for a moment, savoring the fading notes of the piano. Then he spoke. "Welcome, Brothers and Sisters. God is with us."

  "God is with us," the people responded.

  "Faith is a funny word," said Brother Joel. "Anyone can say it. The worst sinner with the hardest heart can claim to have it. They may even believe they have it. Right up until the Lord Jesus Christ says ‘depart from me, I knew you not.’"

  "Amen," said someone in the crowd.

  "Praise the Lord," said another.

  "So how are we to know, Brothers and Sisters? How are we to know if someone's faith is real? And most important of all, how are we to know our faith is real?"

  He fell silent as though waiting for an answer. The flock looked on expectantly. They had heard the sermon many times. It was like hearing a beloved and familiar song, and Joel was glad to sing it.

  "Proof," said Brother Joel. "Faith must be proved. Otherwise it is empty words. Resounding gongs. Clanging cymbals."

  "Praise Jesus!" said a Sister from a pew.

  "Exactly!" said Brother Joel, pointing in the direction the exclamation had come from. "Praise Jesus! For He gave us the proofs. He gave us the test!"

  "Hallelujah!" said a Brother in the crowd.

  Brother Joel nodded and continued. "For Lord Jesus, when he was sending out his apostles, told them this. That those with faith would pick up serpents and not be bitten. They would drink poison and not die! They would conquer the world, and the world's things of death!"

  "Praise the Lo
rd!"

  "Some of you here, the ones the Lord blessed with old age, recall the days people handled serpents in this sanctuary. Men and women just like you held the snakes and were not harmed, because God was with them. Because their faith was real."

  The flock whispered amongst themselves. "Praise Jesus," said one.

  Brother Joel stepped to one side of the pulpit. A large lever was set into the floor, the handle coming up to his waist.

  "But now," he said, "we live in times where serpents seem a bit... old fashioned."

  The flock chuckled to each other. Brother Joel smiled and grabbed the handle.

  "So then, trust God, Brothers and Sisters. Take the new serpents into your midst and fear not! Trust God and be spared!"

  He pulled the handle toward himself. Loud clanks and the grinding of gears sounded all around. Brother Joel smiled. It had taken the better part of a year to build this contraption. It was his crowning achievement. His offering unto the Lord.

  The corpses moaned and stumbled away from the wall, suddenly able to move. The chains rattled out of the holes as the corpses staggered into the room.

  "Rise, my Brothers and Sisters!" said Joel. "Rise and raise your voices unto God!"

  The flock rose from the pews. Sister Elizabeth reached for the piano. The corpses groaned and stumbled toward the flock, closing in from both sides.

  Sister Elizabeth played and the flock sang. Their voices rose above the piano, mingling with the groans of the corpses.

  Brother Joel sang along, watching his flock as the corpses drew near. A few watched the corpses warily but most focused on singing and praising God. The most joyous one was a blonde woman in the back. She rarely missed a service. Her face was pure rapture as she stared at the ceiling, silent and lost in praise. The corpses staggered closer, dragging their slack chains behind them.

  The people sang. Sister Elizabeth played. The corpses reached the flock.

  Then, as though deflected by unseen hands, the corpses wandered past them. The corpses groaned and reached at nothing. The flock sang praises to God. The corpses ignored them.

  "Thank you, Jesus!" shouted Brother Joel, joy filling his heart to bursting.

  He scanned the flock, his eyes misting over with happiness. A young man, no older than twenty, shrunk back from the corpses as they drew near. He distracted those around him, bumping into a few. Even the blonde woman broke her rapture to glance at him.

  And suddenly the spell was broken. The corpse nearest the young man turned on him. Groaning, the corpse bit into the man's shoulder. The man screamed and fell back against the pew. He clutched at his shoulder. Blood shot out between his fingers, spattering across the polished wood and staining his shirt.

  The flock lost their focus. They started to falter. Brother Joel could feel the Spirit slipping away.

  "Hold fast Brothers and Sisters!" he shouted. He pushed the lever away from him. Loud clanks of metal on metal rang out. The chains grew tight around the corpse's necks. The corpses groaned and hissed as they were slowly dragged away from the people and back toward the walls. Their rotten feet scraped along the floor as they struggled. Slowly they inched backward.

  When the corpses were clear, Brother Joel stepped off the pulpit. The young man clutched his shoulder and looked around at the others. No, his face said. It's not fair.

  The flock looked at him, then at Brother Joel. Their faces showed confusion and the beginnings of panic.

  "It's alright, everyone. It's alright," said Brother Joel. "This is how it must be. This is how we separate the sheep from the goats. This is how the harvest begins."

  "But, Brother Joel, I..." said the young man. Blood oozed past his fingers.

  "It's alright, Brother, It's alright," said Joel, sticking his hand in his breast pocket. "You've just been called home."

  "Brother Joel, I..."

  Brother Joel pulled a small pistol from his pocket. He cocked it and looked sadly at the young man. The young man saw the gun, then looked at Brother Joel. For a moment fear overran his face. Then he steeled himself. He drew himself up and nodded to Brother Joel.

  "Praise be to God," said the young man, removing his hand from his shoulder. The blood flowed freely, but slower than before.

  "Praise His holy name," said Brother Joel, leveling the pistol at the young man's heart.

  He fired. The bullet tore through the young man's chest, jerking him backward. He fell back against the pew, then onto the floor. He breathed one long, wet rasp, and stopped moving.

  Everyone stared down at him. Brother Joel wiped a tear from his cheek and pointed to another man in the flock. One he knew he could trust. "Get him to the cages," he said quietly. "He'll be back up before you know it."

  "Will do, Brother," said the man. He and another picked up the young man and carried him from the sanctuary.

  Brother Joel watched them go, then looked over his flock. The joy had left the air. His flock was shaken. It broke Brother Joel's heart.

  "Do not weep, Brothers and Sisters," said Brother Joel, stepping back toward the pulpit. "For you have seen the Lord's hand at work today. Yes we live in violent times. Yes we live in a world where we must know blood and guns and tears. But you saw it yourselves!"

  He stepped up onto the pulpit and pointed both arms out toward the walls. The corpses groaned and hissed, straining against the bonds around their necks. "These...demons walked among you and you were unharmed. God loves you and will save you! He has saved you!"

  He felt joy creep back in. It warmed his heart. "Amen," said someone from the flock. Quietly, but with conviction.

  "So do not feel defeated! Do not feel downcast! For we are not done, Brothers and Sisters. We are not even done here tonight!"

  The flock looked among themselves, whispering to each other. A few knew what was in store. The rest were starting to suspect, and were excited.

  Brother Joel nodded. "That's right. Tonight we celebrate Communion."

  * * *

  Maylee and Dalton ran across the field as quickly as they could, crunching frozen brush beneath their feet.

  Dalton panted with effort. "You know we're running toward the people who took Zach, right?"

  "At least they're alive," said Maylee, looking to each side as she ran. Corpses were closing in everywhere she looked. They stumbled and lurched through the snow, their groans echoing among the trees. Looking ahead, Maylee saw movement through the light in the church windows. Human movement, not the lurching of corpses. She hoped they would be friendly. Hoped Zach was wrong to fear them.

  Part of her worried Zach was right.

  She pushed the thought down and she and Dalton kept running.

  Suddenly Dalton dropped from sight, crying out as he fell. Maylee skidded to a stop in the snow, spinning around. Dalton clutched the ground, his legs hidden down a hole in the ground. Maylee ran back, suddenly noticing the old gravestones placed around the area.

  "The hell?" said Dalton, struggling to pull himself out of the hole. He pawed at the snow with his gloved hands. The corpses around them came closer.

  "It's a graveyard," said Maylee, dropping her bat and kneeling to help. She grabbed his arms and pulled. "All the graves would have opened up years ago. They were probably left that way."

  "Graveyard?" said Dalton, struggling against the snow. "Well how nice for us." The groans of the corpses around them grew closer.

  "Relax. All the corpses climbed out years ago." Maylee pulled Dalton the rest of the way out.

  Dalton stood, brushing snow off his coat. He pointed, eyes wide. "Behind you!"

  Still kneeling, Maylee looked behind her. One corpse had reached them, a woman with red hair and one arm ripped and hanging half off, only tendons and fibers holding it in place. She wore some sort of uniform, but it was too ragged to tell what her duties had once been. C, read the nametag dangling from her ample dead breasts. The rest of the tag was gone.

  C reached down with her good hand, clutching at Maylee, who snatched her bat up from th
e ground and slammed it across the woman's knees. She fell forward, over Maylee and into the grave. She thrashed around in the snow, clawing at the walls. Maylee braced for it to climb back out, then realized it couldn't. It was stuck, pawing at the icy walls of the hole.

  The surrounding corpses were closer than ever now, closing in on every side but one. The church.

  She jumped up. "Keep going! Run!"

  She and Dalton ran, dodging headstones and watching for holes. It slowed them more than Maylee liked, but falling again would slow them more. The corpses groaned, following. The church bobbed in Maylee's vision, her own breath panting in her ears.

  Another corpse, an old man with teeth so rotten they had formed points, came up from one side. Maylee swung at him as she ran and the man's rotten head exploded when the bat hit, spreading black gunk across a nearby headstone.

  The wind picked up, shaking the trees. A huge gust ripped around the tombstones. Maylee stumbled, sliding across the snow for a few seconds before she corrected herself. "Hurry Dalton!" she said, running harder. "We have to get to the church before the storm starts!"

  The wind picked up further, sending clouds of snow in all directions. Maylee ducked around a headstone and jumped over a fallen one. The snow where she landed shifted and gave way. She dropped downward, into what she now realized was a grave.

  "Dammit!" she yelled, clawing at the icy sides. They were too slick to gain any traction. She pawed anyway. The wind whipped by overhead and corpse groans came from everywhere.

  She struggled for a few seconds longer, then felt movement underneath her. Her chest grew tight as she remembered the other grave, how the corpse had fallen in and not been able to get out.

  She looked down to see a corpse's head come up through the snow. It had once been a middle aged woman. Her eyes were gone, the empty sockets packed with black stained snow. The woman growled at Maylee, stretching her withered hand from the snow and reaching for her.

  "Shit fuck!" yelled Maylee, slamming downward with her bat. The end of the bat thudded into the woman's forehead, sending a sharp crack throughout the grave. The woman fell back under the snow but kept moving.