World Memorial

by Robert R. Best

  Maylee could scarcely believe what she was seeing. She'd seen corpses eat people, of course. She'd seen that for years. But this…this was different.

  "Maylee..." said Dalton, sounding very nervous now. The groans around them were getting louder. She turned to see the corpses were very close. Dalton had kicked the last bits of snow that separated them aside and was scrambling to her. The corpses drew near, surrounding them on every available side. They were trapped.

  "We gotta get inside!" said Dalton.

  Maylee’s throat was thick. "We gotta help him!" she said, louder than she expected. She saw several inside look around.

  "Help who?" said Dalton, following her gaze through the window. Then he saw. "Oh...."

  The corpses drew in close. Inside, the pastor stepped back up to the stage. He held up a knife, covered in what Maylee knew was Zach's blood. The flock cried out in praise.

  "Hold on!" said Maylee, to both Dalton and Zach. She knew Zach would soon be beyond hearing. She didn't care. She brought her bat up and over her shoulder, preparing to slam through the window.

  The pastor plunged the knife into Zach's stomach. Zach screamed. The corpses moved in behind Maylee and Dalton. So close Maylee could smell the rot in their groaning breaths.

  Then it happened.

  Zach screamed again as the pastor turned the knife, slicing a long line across his stomach. Blood ran out as Maylee swung. She stopped, dumbfounded, as Zach began to glow.

  "What..." she said, forgetting what she was doing. She forgot the corpses behind them. She forgot the bat in her hand.

  Zach shrieked and the glow spread, like a bright light in a white room. Like staring into a light bulb. It was blinding.

  "What's happening?" yelled Dalton next to her. Corpse hands closed on Maylee's shoulders. She snapped out of her staring, struggling. The corpse leaned in to bite. Other hands grabbed her and Dalton screamed as hands grabbed him. The teeth closed in.

  Zach screamed one last time and the light exploded outward. The force blew out the window and knocked everyone back. The flock inside, Maylee, Dalton, and the corpses were all blown backward. Maylee and Dalton fell back across the snow. Light washed over them, covering the whole world in white.

  Then it was gone.

  Maylee lay on her back, blinking at the grey sky. Something was digging into her back. She realized she was lying on a corpse and scrambled off, ready to fight.

  The corpse lay there, still. Its eyes were white and a white fluid oozed from its mouth. Maylee stared down at it, not knowing what to think. She kicked at it with her foot. It didn't react.

  "Maylee!" yelled Dalton next to her. She whipped her head around to see him backing away from another corpse. It was on its knees, bucking as white foam spilled from its mouth. Its eyes blew outward, blowing white goo across the snow.

  Dalton looked at her. "What's going on?"

  All the corpses, scattered across the field by the force of the blast, were convulsing as white fluid poured from their eyes and mouths. Each corpse fell over and was still.

  "We've gone crazy," said Maylee. "We got bit and we're losing our minds as we turn."

  "I can't turn, remember?" said Dalton.

  Maylee turned back to the church. "Just like Zach."

  Zach hung limp on the cross. Organs spilled out of the opening the pastor had made. The flock inside looked confused but happy. They collected the organs and piled them on the platter.

  The pastor locked eyes with Maylee.

  "Shit," said Maylee.

  "Intruders!" said the pastor, pointing.

  "We gotta go," said Maylee, clambering over to Dalton and grabbing his wrist. "Now!"

  Negative Two

  Sharon moved along the cobblestone street, smelling death all around. It wasn't a pleasant smell, but it pleased her. It was the smell of a death she had created. She even liked the name people had given it. The Black Death.

  Misery and suffering flowed around her, mixing with the odor of death until it became intoxicating. People moaned from houses, crying out for a god or anything to save them. Some even died openly in the street, all bulging growths and black sores. Sharon smiled. The people who saw her took it for comforting. Sharon allowed them to.

  She was a young adult now, but seemed to age at a much slower rate than the primates that had swarmed over the world. She had no idea how old she was. Generation upon generation of people had lived and died, and she looked like one of theirs at twenty.

  She wore a white robe and hood that had some religious significance to the people of this area. She forgot exactly what area she was in. Or rather, she couldn't recall what name people gave it. France? England? She didn't care that much. What she cared about was humans dying. And they were, by the score.

  Her attire caused quite a stir on each street she walked down. People called her "Sister." To see a holy woman, untouched by death, must have seemed like a gift from whatever god to which these creatures bowed. Again, Sharon allowed them to think so. They would welcome her into their towns and homes. She would smile and survey her handiwork. She would leave happy, and the people would be filled with hope for salvation. Then they would die.

  "Sister!" cried out a man from a nearby hovel. Sharon stopped, looking at him. He looked healthy, at least for the moment. That bothered Sharon a little, but she figured from the man's face that a friend or loved one was sick, and that the man was too foolish to leave while he could.

  "Yes, child?" said Sharon, mimicking the man's language and accent. She toyed with the idea of using a different accent in the next town. That might make her seem exotic.

  "It's my wife," he said, concern—nearly panic—contorting his face. Sharon loved it. "She's fallen ill. It may be...you know."

  "I see," said Sharon, looking down. It helped when she looked sad.

  "I'm sure you are busy, ministering to those who are nearer to death, Sister," he continued, looking contrite. Sharon liked it when people looked contrite. "But could you come and pray for her? Maybe it's not too late."

  Sharon looked back at the man and smiled. "Of course, child."

  The man looked overjoyed. "Oh thank you, Sister, thank you!" He stepped back from the door, leaving it open for Sharon to enter. Sharon crossed the street and stood before the open door. She paused, soaking in the misery for another moment, then stepped inside.

  The room was dark and stank of desperation. A few candles provided a little light. A few small children stood against the far wall, looking warily at Sharon. She noticed with frustration that they also appeared healthy. She reminded herself to be patient.

  A broken cough rang out and Sharon's gaze shifted to a worn bed in the corner. A young woman lay on it, looking pale but showing no growths or sores. Sharon stepped up to her.

  The woman looked confused. "Sister?"

  "Yes, child," said Sharon, smiling. "The Lord sent me here to help this town."

  "Yes, love," said the man, rushing to the bed and kneeling by the woman's side. He took her hand and stroked it. "He hasn't abandoned us."

  "Of course not," said Sharon. She stepped closer to the woman. "How are you feeling?"

  "Not well, Sister," said the woman, shaking her head and stifling a cough. "Not well."

  Sharon motioned for the children to come over. They complied, moving closer to their parents. Sharon got a better look at them in the light. One boy, one girl. Still unharmed.

  "Come then," she said. "Let us pray."

  The family bowed their heads. Sharon clasped her hands together and did the same. "Our Father," she said, "please look with favor on these, Your servants. May this woman be made whole. Through Christ our Lord, Amen."

  "Amen," said the family, looking back up.

  Sharon smiled. She could smell it. Deep within the woman's body. The sickness was there. It would show soon, and this cluster of animals would despair and die.

  "Thank you, Sister," said the man.

  "Thank the Lord," said Sharon, breathing in deeply to sav
or the smell.

  The door slammed open.

  The family jerked in surprise.

  A dark-haired woman stomped inside, backlit against the street. Sharon couldn't quite make out who it was, but she had a strong suspicion. The woman made a quick scan of the room, then headed for Sharon.

  "Please, child," she said, stepping toward the woman. "Do not invade this good family's home. Let us seek the Lord's blessing outside." She gave a slight emphasis to the last word. She didn't want the man and the children scared off. They had to stay, full of hope and dying.

  The woman reached Sharon and shoved her back. Sharon flew across the room, slamming into the far wall. The stone behind her cracked. Her back hurt. Sharon now had no doubt who the woman was.

  "Damn you, Beulah," she muttered, pushing herself up.

  The family crowded protectively around the sick mother. They looked at the two women with wide eyes.

  Beulah stepped to the family, looking at the man. "I'm sorry, good sir, but your wife is lost. If you value yours and your children's lives, you will leave this place."

  Sharon finished standing and shook her robe. Dust and bits of stone clattered to the floor.

  The man looked at Sharon, then back at Beulah. "But the Sister..."

  Beulah shook her head and walked toward Sharon. "Oh, she's my sister, but I'm afraid that's the extent of it."

  Sharon punched Beulah across the face. Beulah's head slammed to one side, colliding with a stone shelf set near the sickbed. The shelf cracked and gave way, spilling its meager contents to the floor.

  "Our home..." said the man.

  "She said to leave," snapped Sharon.

  "No," said Beulah, straightening and turning back to Sharon. She shook bits of stone from her hair. "We can continue outside."

  She leaned over, grabbed Sharon by the robe and flung her over the sickbed. Sharon slammed against the wall and broke through, falling into the street outside, sliding across the cobblestones. Rocks bounced around her. Dust choked the air.

  Sharon came to a stop, coughing. She pushed herself up, her face and forearms stinging. She held up her arms to look. Long scrapes and burns covered her skin. They were already healing, closing up and smoothing over before her eyes. It had always been like this. Any wound one gave the other always healed, no matter how grievous.

  Beulah stepped onto the edge of the hole she'd made. She glared at Sharon.

  "You've ruined us!" wailed the man. The children were crying. The mother coughed.

  "She ruined you," said Beulah. "And this house was spoiled as soon as your wife fell ill." She stepped out onto the street and headed for Sharon. "What do you think you’re doing?"

  "Ridding this world of its shackles," said Sharon, dropping her arms. "These exalted primates are choking the world with their rules and their structures."

  "They are living creatures!"

  "Not for long they aren't."

  Beulah swung for Sharon's head. Sharon ducked and slammed her hands into Beulah's midsection. Beulah crumpled and fell to her stomach, her chin hitting the stones with a loud crack.

  Sharon stepped over and raised her foot to stomp on Beulah's spine. Beulah rolled away as Sharon's foot whammed into the street. Stones cracked and flew in all directions.

  "Clever, by the way" said Beulah, standing. Her chin was split open and bleeding. The wound was closing, the blood seeping back into her skin. "It's the rats, right?" She screamed aloud to the whole town. "It's the rats, everyone!"

  Sharon snorted. "You think that will work?"

  "It doesn't have to," said Beulah. "I've got several groups in the east sacrificing people. They don't realize why, of course, but still, this sickness of yours will peter out soon."

  Sharon scowled at her. "Damn you! Why will you not let me kill them?"

  "I'd rather kill you, dear sister."

  Beulah ran at Sharon, ramming her head into her stomach. Sharon cried out and dug her fingers into Beulah's back. Beulah stood, screaming, hoisting Sharon into the air. Sharon tore through her clothing and found skin. Sharon clawed at her, and knew by Beulah's screams that it hurt.

  Beulah tipped backwards, slamming herself and Sharon into the cobblestone. Sharon felt bones snap. Beulah lay atop Sharon, panting for a moment as Sharon screamed muffled obscenities at her.

  Finally Beulah stood, wincing at some pain Sharon knew would heal quickly. She turned and looked at Sharon as she climbed to her feet. Sharon's arm hung at a loose and odd angle. Sharon grabbed it with her other hand and snapped it back into place. She cried out as she did, then flexed her wounded arm as it began to heal.

  "You can't even hurt me, sister," said Sharon.

  People, sick and healthy alike, were gathering in the street and staring.

  "True," said Beulah, "but you can be hurt. I've seen it." She started circling Sharon. Sharon followed suit. They each circled the other, looking for an opening.

  Sharon cocked an eyebrow. "Are you talking about the avalanche? That was decades ago."

  "A huge stone crushed your leg," said Beulah.

  "And only left a bruise," said Sharon.

  "A bruise that didn't heal for weeks."

  Sharon snorted. "Proves nothing."

  "Proves you can be hurt," said Beulah. “Hurt in a way that doesn’t heal instantly.” She ran for Sharon again.

  Sharon stomped on the cobblestones beneath them, snapping one in two. As Beulah drew near, Sharon knelt down to grab the broken stone and hurled it at Beulah, striking her in the chest with a loud crack. Beulah fell, sprawling face first on the street. She rolled over, coughing into the air, as Sharon walked over to her.

  "What it proves," said Sharon, spitting down at her, "is how futile this is. We are the only ones strong enough to seriously hurt each other, but no injury we inflict lasts."

  Beulah swiped her leg to one side, cracking across Sharon's shin. Sharon stumbled and fell forward onto Beulah. Beulah caught her head as she fell, one hand on each temple. Beulah squeezed so hard Sharon felt something give. Sharp pain spread across the back of her head and she cried out.

  Beulah smiled as Sharon's blood trickled down onto her face. "Someday I'll think of something."

  Sharon screeched at her and punched downward into Beulah's stomach. Beulah gasped and let go. Sharon fell to her knees, grabbing hold of Beulah's throat. Beulah coughed and choked.

  Sharon laughed down at Beulah and squeezed harder while Beulah clawed at her forearms, her nails digging into flesh. It hurt, but Sharon did not let go.

  Sharon stood, lifting Beulah up with her. Beulah struggled and kicked as her feet left the ground. Sharon held her aloft, laughing up at her, squeezing Beulah's throat harder, her thumbs digging into her windpipe.

  "Well, sister," said Sharon, looking up into Beulah's bulging eyes, "I've been thinking of something too, so you'd best hurry." She nodded around at the town, indicating the sick and dying. "You see this? This is nothing. This is a prologue before the real performance starts."

  Sharon squeezed as hard as she could. Beulah's throat crumpled and blood poured from her mouth, running down across Sharon's hands. "Remember the squirrel, Beulah? I've got something in mind that will make this sickness look like a pleasant death in one's sleep!"

  She squeezed one last time, listening to Beulah's bones snap. Then she dropped her. Beulah fell to her knees, clutching her throat. A few seconds passed and she coughed out a spray of blood, gasping in wet, wheezing breaths. Her throat was healing, expanding back to its full size. The spilled blood was running back to Beulah, seeping back into her flesh.

  Sharon snorted down at her sister, then looked over at the gathered townspeople. They stared at her, their stupid empty eyes as wide as the cattle Sharon had seen them keep. She considered killing as many as she could before they ran away, but she knew that would be pointless. She'd bide her time.

  She spat at them, then willed herself somewhere else.

  Eleven

  Maylee ran down the steep hill, as f
ast as she could without falling. She could hear Dalton running behind her, his breath sharp in the cold air. She knew the flock was following, but she didn't know how many. She swallowed down bile as she ran. She'd seen corpses eating more people than she cared to list, but this was not that. This was worse. And they would do it to her brother if given the chance.

  She could also hear groaning around her, from the trees. Whatever had happened back at the church, it apparently had a limit and they had reached it. This far away, the corpses were still up and eating. And drawing closer, hidden among the trees.

  A shot rang out behind them. Maylee flinched but didn't stop running. A second later and she realized the shot wasn't meant for them. The flock were shooting at the corpses. A second more and a colder realization hit her. The flock may not realize who Maylee and Dalton were. They may be just chasing intruders. And while they had a grisly fate intended for Dalton, they would have to catch him first. But simple intruders could be shot from a distance. All it would take was a moment too long in a clearing and she and Dalton were done.

  "Did you hear that?" said Dalton behind her.

  "I did. Just keep running!"

  A few more panicked moments passed. Maylee and Dalton ran on, ducking around trees and jumping over thick brush. Dark shapes moved in the trees around them. Shouting and shots rang out all around.

  Maylee ducked around a tree and suddenly emerged into a field. Both she and Dalton stopped short. The field was large and overgrown. In the center stood a large number of rotten hay bales, some stacked two high. They were everywhere. A rusted tractor stood at the far end of the bales. Maylee imagined the farmer who had been working his field when the dead rose.

  "Where now?" said Dalton.

  A shot pinged off the snow near their feet.

  "Anywhere!" said Maylee, grabbing his hand and pulling.

  Maylee ran into the field, letting go of Dalton's hand as he ran along beside her. More shots rang out behind them.