by Jolly, Kirk
Copyright © 2013 by Kirk Jolly
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter 1: The Service
“Today is a glorious day, my children. Today we will be rewarded for our faith and will break free from the bonds that men have placed on us.”
Father Lazarus lifted his arm pointing to the heart monitor at his wrist. The flock raised their arms and pointed to their matching units, offering shouts of, “Hallelujah” and “Amen.” He waited for the din to subside before continuing. His congregation consisted mostly of men whose families had perished in the initial outbreaks, but there were more than a few women and children among them as well. Many were poorly dressed because new clothes were hard to come by in this new world. Their dirt-streaked faces and arms marked them as the poor among the city working menial, labor-intensive jobs to survive.
“Today is the day that you, the Children of the Rising Son, shall overcome death as our savior did and walk in the light.”
Fists pumped, accompanied by all manner of rejoicing shouts. The musty heat of so many people crammed into a small place made the impromptu chapel feel alive. Father Lazarus reveled in it. He’d been planning this day since the dead began to rise nearly two years ago. Back when he was known as Father Robinson. Most of his order had been confused by The Rising, taking the meaning of 6 hours, 6 minutes, and 6 seconds, the time it took the deceased to awaken upon death, as a sign that the devil’s hand was at play, but he’d known better. The morbid aspect of his religion fascinated him. He spent many hours studying the meaning of death and resurrection.
“Let us recite from scripture,” he shouted from the pulpit trying to calm the mass, or at least unite their fervency. He didn’t bother thumbing through his Bible to find the well-worn pages he was looking for and knew his flock wouldn’t need to either. They’d recited these passages many times since he’d opened the church just over a year ago.
“Therefore,” he began as the rest joined in, “we were buried with Him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too may walk in a new way of life.”
The voices of nearly 300 united souls sent chills running through Father Lazarus’s body. He would need to hold onto that high to get through the grisly work ahead.
“The children of men, the nonbelievers, have imposed their will upon us for too long,” he continued. “They have forced us to bear the Mark of the Beast,” he again indicated the monitor at his wrist. “They claim it is for the salvation of humanity. They rely on their science for answers even though it has failed them. They know that God is responsible for the rising of the dead, but they fear the consequences of their immoral ways, choosing to cling to their ignorance instead.”
His voice rose to near a shout to match his passion at the words.
“They do not recognize the importance of the signs. They have marked us for Satan and doom us to rise at 666 instead of at three days as the Lord did, but it is not too late. If we cast off the bonds that Man and the Devil have placed on us, we can still revel in His glory. We too can be lifted up to His presence again.”
The men and women of the crowd began clawing at the straps around their wrists, many drawing blood. This was dangerous because if the monitor was disconnected from the source, the GPS would be activated leading the authorities straight to their location on the outskirts of the city. Father Lazarus’s Rapture would be over before it even began.
“Be calm, my children. In due time you will be rid of your Earthly bonds. Your patience will be rewarded.”
After a few tense moments, the crowd eased back into their seats to await what was to come.
“Sit in silent prayer. Ready yourself to meet your Savior. I must go check on our preparations.”
With that, Father Lazarus left the pulpit and walked off the side through a door into the warehouse. The Church of the Rising Son was housed inside a converted manufacturing facility to give them the space they would need to perform the Rapture. The Chapel had been built out of the former office space of the plant using salvaged church pews from the remains of his old chapel, St. Mary’s, which had been destroyed in the wake of The Rising. The warehouse and manufacturing part of the building had been emptied to make room for the animals and the necessary equipment. Even with all the machinery gone, the air still smelled of dust and oil. They’d used white sheets to cover the chairs and as makeshift backdrops to give the facility a heavenly feel.
Next to each white-draped chair was a cage holding a dog. Most of the animals lazed under the haze of sedation, but more than a few were pacing and barking, uneasy. Father Lazarus had feared that obtaining the animals would draw suspicion, but with so many strays roaming the city, it had been quite easy. Volunteer members of the flock had captured more than enough in a matter of weeks and had overseen the care of the animals until today. Each specimen was healthy, well fed, and besides the poke of a needle, would come to no harm during the process. A man in a white robe came striding over with three men in scrubs following behind him.
“How are the preparations going Dr. Simmons?”
“Good, Father. Each of my assistants has demonstrated a successful transplant. Would you like to see?”
The men in the scrubs beamed with pride behind Simmons. Father Lazarus had picked them from the flock to perform the procedure due to their medical backgrounds; a nurse, a retired army medic, and a podiatrist. He’d have preferred trained surgeons to assure that nothing would go wrong, but Dr. Simmons had been working with each for weeks to get ready.
“Yes, I would like to see.”
Chapter 2: The Procedure
Father Lazarus followed the men past the dog cages and through a set of white curtains. He saw three members of his flock reclining in chairs with bloody bandages on their wrists. Each was bound at the chest, arms and legs to the chair he or she sat in. The companion dogs lay by each person’s side, chest rising and falling steadily, their beating hearts stopping the now removed monitors from going off.
Simmons had explained the procedure many times to Father Lazarus. Given unlimited time, it would be a simple, nearly painless process, but due to the nature of the devices, it had to be performed quickly, almost viciously.
The wrist monitor must first be taped securely to the arm of the patient, and then the band must be cut. If it lost contact with the arm after 45 seconds it would begin to emit a signal alerting the authorities that either somebody had died, or they were trying to go off the grid. A small incision would then carefully be opened in each person’s wrist, so as not to sever any major arteries.
The Mark of the Beast, a small cylindrical device implanted next to the ulnar artery, measured a person’s pulse and relayed it to the unit at each one’s wrist. If the pulse stopped, or became irregular for more than 45 seconds, the alarm would go off.
Within the time limit, the Mark would then be plucked from its home, loaded into a special syringe and injected into the patient’s canine partner. To ensure the alarm doesn’t go off, the sensor must be injected as close to the animal’s heart as possible to pick up the heartbeat.
While the animal’s heart rate is faster than its human partner’s, it is close enough to fool the sensors. The wrist unit is then taped to a shaved patch of skin above the injection site. Now free of The Mark of the Beast, each follower can leave this life in a time of his or her own choosing, without having to worry about Admin finding the body and mutilating it by removing and destroying the brain.
If the patient is a faithful follower, he will arise in 3 days as the Bible foretells. If not, he will arise after 6 hours, 6 minutes, 6 seconds with the rest of the Damned.
Father Lazarus would himself take part in the process but Simmons and his helpers would remain alive. They would be responsible for disposing of the nonbelievers who rose at 666, protecting the rest of the flock as they rested awaiting resurrection at the proper time.
“A little messy, but not too difficult, as you can see,” Simmons said from behind the Father. “Still, it will take some to process everybody. We should get started as soon as possible.”
“You’ve done well, my son,” Father Lazarus said patting his shoulder. “Your rewards in Heaven will be plentiful. Have you changed your mind about joining the rest of the flock once everything is secured?”
A dark look passed over Simmons face but was quickly replaced with a smile. “No, Father. I know my living work is not yet complete. My time will come soon.”
They ran through the process one more time, double-checking the preparations. Satisfied, Father Lazarus left to gather the flock.
An excited buzz hung over the throng as they shuffled from the chapel to the warehouse. Simmons and his helpers began matching each with a suitable dog and soon they were under way.
At first, the tension in the air was palpable, with nobody wanting to be the one who brought the authorities down on them, but after a while, the four men fell into a rhythm and it went much quicker than they had planned.
Father Lazarus walked around the room whispering comforting words to his children as they lay waiting for the end. Many met his gaze with excited anticipation, but more than he cared to admit wore a look of fear and worry: fear that they weren’t clean and would not walk in the light with the Lord.
He did his best to assuage their concerns, all the while knowing that they would probably be decapitated in about seven hours, their heads tossed into the incinerator like so much garbage. He would not deny them the opportunity to try though, hoping that this final show of faith would be enough for the Lord to forgive whatever transgression weighed on them.
Soon it was time for him to join the flock. Simmons performed the removal himself. The scalpel cut so easily, like a hot knife through butter, he would not have known his arm was being opened if he’d not been watching it with his own eyes. This isn’t so bad after all, he thought, as Simmons grabbed the long, thin forceps from the tray.
“Try not to move, Father,” he said then he plunged the metal tips into his arm.
Pain shot up his arm as Simmons dug around for a few seconds. Involuntary tears welled up in the corners of his eyes and he stifled a moan trying to remain strong for his children.
“Here we go,” Simmons said calmly as he clamped down on something. Without any preamble, he ripped the device free and dropped it into the waiting syringe.
Blood spurted from the incision and Father Lazarus felt faint.
Simmons bent over the sedated dog to insert the device. Then he bandaged the Father’s arm, first taping the wound closed, then wrapping it with cotton and gauze. Stitches would have taken too much time and would be rendered moot by the IV that was attached to each patient. When the time came, each would press a handheld button that would release a lethal cocktail of drugs Simmons had stolen over time from the hospital.
The Father had requested a quick and painless death, but Simmons neglected to tell him that quick and painless did not generally go together. It was either one or the other. His face flashed a dark smile again at the thought of the seizing and painful spasms the mindless flock were about to endure.
Serves them right, he thought.
Chapter 3: Dying and Rising
“Shall I hook up Richards, Evans, and Jones now, Father?” Simmons asked.
“I thought we agreed they would join the flock once the rising began,” he said confused by the request.
“I know Father, but each has expressed their eagerness to join in the ceremony with their families and friends. Should we deny them?”
“I suppose not,” he said after some hesitation. “Are you sure you can watch over us alone?”
“All the straps are secure and if any rise early, they will be easy enough to handle. I’ve disposed of many bodies, Father.”
Father Lazarus was aware of Simmons’ background. It was the reason he’d trusted the man with the ceremony.
“If you’re sure you can handle it alone, I will not question you or deny any faithful member.”
Processing the remaining three took only a few minutes. After it was done Father Lazarus addressed the Children.
“It is time. I will not delay us any longer than to tell you to fear not. You will soon walk with the Lord in His light. Your bodies will be watched over until your spirit rejoins them to be raised up by His hand. Rejoice and be glad of heart.”
With that, Simmons watched as a few clicked the button. The rest soon joined in. Father Lazarus was one of the last. After only a few seconds, the children’s eyes began to close. At first, they only foamed at the mouth, but then bodies began bucking in their chairs. Simmons watched amused as they began the painful process of dying.
A scream rose from somewhere in the back and Simmons rushed up and down the aisles to find the stragglers who’d chickened out. They were easy to spot, since they were the only ones not thrashing. He pushed the buttons on the IVs releasing the poisons, not even stopping to look at their faces. Soon the room began to fall silent again. Just to be sure, he walked the entire warehouse to make sure that everyone was dead or on their way. Once he was certain, he began unstrapping each person and opening the cages. The dogs were sedated, but they would wake before the dead began to rise. This would give them the chance to escape. There was no need for the animals to suffer for the humans’ stupidity.
Before leaving, he opened the large bay door of the warehouse. The cool air from the night was refreshing after so many hours of work. The money he’d been paid by Father Lazarus to put this whole operation together was substantial and he’d stolen the rest from the flock. It was more than enough for him to secure transport to a larger city, because this one would surly fall due to the chaos he was about to unleash.
He could not care less. It amazed him that even as bad as things are, these people foolishly clung to hope, but Simmons knew better. The world was ending. It was only a matter of time before this false sense of security gave way and the dead would overwhelm the living. He wanted to live out his last days in luxury rather than doing humanity’s dirty work.
He got into his heavily armored car parked a few blocks away and drove to the walls of the city. The guards took the bribes he’d promised them and opened the gates. He could see a few dozen of the dead milling around in the wreckage surrounding the city, but sped past them into the night.
Exactly 6 hours, 6 minutes, and 6 seconds later, Father Lazarus stirred in his seat. His body was an empty husk but it began to walk just the same, his flock shuffling along behind him. The dogs that had not already fled did so now. The newly risen dead walked slowly out of the warehouse and into the city.
Chapter 4: First Customer
Allen Weathers made his way through the hospital parking lot where he’d worked for the past ten years. Besides his internships during school, it was the only hospital he’d ever worked for. As he passed Simmons’ spot, he noted it was still empty.
He’d better not leave me shorthanded today, he thought sourly. Simmons had seemed distracted lately and had been prone to showing up late or not all for his shifts in the morgue. If he didn’t show, that would leave him alone for most of the morning with their new intern Alice.
He stepped up to the gates, and flashed his badge to the guards. He recognized both of them but did not know their names. They were probably former police officers or maybe even military. These days it was all the same. The world needed hard men who didn’t mind doing the dirty work to keep society running as smoothly as possible and that didn’t include small
talk. They were each armed to the teeth with full riot gear, a short-barreled shotgun across his back, a machete hanging from his waist, and probably a half dozen other weapons not in plain sight. They were allowed to carry any firearm they pleased, but Allen knew the weapon that probably saw the most action was the machete. Those were standard issue these days and were kept razor sharp at all times.
Allen supposed he was much the same as them, but he didn’t consider himself a hard man. Some might disagree. These men were responsible for guarding the city from the risen dead. Allen’s job was disposal. These days he felt more like a garbage man than a pathologist.
He walked through the main doors of the hospital and headed toward the South Wing. When he’d first started, the morgue had been in the basement, but it had proved too cramped for the work they had to do now so they’d cleared out the south wing, equipped it with a vast cold-storage locker and several cremation chambers.
As he turned a corner, he saw Wilson and his two helpers, a couple of young male interns whose names Allen couldn’t recall at the moment.
“Wilson,” he nodded.
“Weathers,” he replied stopping.
“How was the night shift? Busy?”
“Pretty dead actually,” Wilson replied, smirking. Allen rolled his eyes at the pun, matching the exasperated looks of the interns. Wilson was perhaps the most upbeat person Allen had ever met, a rare quality for somebody in their line of work. Even more so after The Rising had changed their job descriptions so drastically. Still, as corny as his jokes were, it was refreshing to talk to him. It made Allen feel almost normal again.
“Any Thrashers?” Allen continued.
“No no. Just a drunk driver, a mugging victim, and a few suicides. All were way under clock. Easy, peasy.” The tired looks on his interns faces didn’t match Wilson’s enthusiasm. His smile faded and his voice took on a serious tone as he leaned in to Allen and spoke quietly. “Admin came down this morning looking through Simmons’ locker with one of the Peacekeepers. Have you seen him?”
