Resurrection X

by Dane Hatchell

  Penny was the first to break the silence. “Lisa, you look so . . . natural.”

  You people know me and now act like I’m a leper or something. Her hopeful smile vanished. “Natural, huh? Isn’t that what you say about a corpse made up for burial?”

  Penny blushed, her smile quivered at the corners of her mouth. “No, no, no, dear. That’s not what I meant. You still look like your old self, in fact even better. You have such a pretty tan.”

  “You can come closer than ten feet to me. I’m not going to bite you.” Lisa crossed her arms and shifted her weight to her left foot. If we’re going to dance, you’re going to have to make the next move.

  Penny maintained her smile, Delayna shook her head in disgust, and Stacy continued to stare holes in the floor.

  Adrian finally broke the tension. “We’re glad to see you up and about. Such a tragic thing to happen to someone so young and vibrant. Isn’t it amazing, though, what modern science can do? You should consider yourself lucky. You’ve been given a second chance. Why, if I didn’t know any better and passed you on the street, I’d think that you’re as human as the rest of us.”

  Lisa rolled her eyes. “So, I’m not human now?”

  “Wait, wait. Don’t twist my words. You know what I mean. You’re different because of your . . . condition.”

  Lisa put her index finger to her head. “Hmmm, my condition . . . my heart still beats. I still breathe. I have two legs and two arms. I walk, talk, feel pain, and need love. I still need food, clothing, and shelter. I can even fart. And let me tell you, my farts smell better than the stink you’re putting on me.

  “I can do anything any of you can—anything I could do before. Tell me again how I’m so different?”

  The green-eyed monster of jealousy finally raised its unholy head as Delayna jumped in. “Oh, Lisa, you’re still the self-centered bitch you were before. Always so confident, getting what you wanted by running over whoever got in your way.

  “Well, it’s time for you to wake up and smell the sauerkraut. Those days are gone. You’re not like us anymore. You’re one of them. You don’t need to eat like we do. Your heart doesn’t beat like ours. You can’t have children like normal women. Your day is over, sister. It’s time for you to get in the back of the line.”

  Lisa bowed her back. “Delayna, you really are a piece of work. I’ve always treated you and everyone here with the utmost respect. I know I’m opinionated, but I’ve always been fair. I have a strong personality, and I’ve tried to push my way to the top. But the real reason you’ve never liked me is because you can’t stand all the attention men give me. I admit I dress in a way to be noticed. But I’ve never tried to lure any man away from you—or anyone else, for that matter. I’ve never needed to. I’ve got news for you,” she stabbed her finger in Delayna’s direction, “and the rest of you. I’m not going to get in the back of the line. I’m the same person I was, and nothing about me, the real me, has changed. Get used to it.”

  “Bob,” Stacy spoke softly. “I’m sorry about Bob.”

  Lisa’s face flushed, and tears ran like a dripping faucet.

  “We’re all sorry about Bob,” Penny said, sounding more believable this time. “For you to have to deal with his death and your change, too, well, it’s too much. I don’t know how you’re holding up.”

  “Thanks.” Lisa wiped the tears away and licked her lips. “I try to turn those emotions off. But I miss him. I really miss him.”

  “Any word when the government is going to release his body? I’m sure you’ll want to have a memorial,” Adrian said, his knuckles white from clutching the box.

  “Nothing yet. I don’t know if I’m going to have a memorial. Bob didn’t have any family left. His friends haven’t called me either,” Lisa paused and wiped her nose with a tissue. “We spoke once about how we wanted our bodies handled when we died. He told me he wanted to be cremated. Heck, that’s probably how the government will return him to me—a pile of ashes in a metal container.” She looked back at Adrian. “It’s like I’m dead too. It’s like I’m dead and walking through life where I don’t matter anymore.”

  “You are dead to humanity,” Delayna said.

  The blow lit the fuse. “Fuck you.” Lisa burst like a bomb. “Fuck all you condescending bastards.”

  “Lisa, that’s no way to act. Put yourself in our position,” Adrian said.

  “No, you put yourself in my position. You arrogant assholes can’t see an inch beyond your own prejudice. Fuck off, all of you.”

  Penny still smiled like an ice queen. Delayna threw her hands in the air and walked off. Stacy had never taken her gaze from the floor.

  “This has gone on long enough,” Adrian said, stepping to within a few feet of Lisa. “Here, let me carry your belongings to the car for you.”

  “If I’m not good enough for the job, then there is nothing in that box worth taking home with me.”

  Adrian balanced the box on one knee and fished out a golden obelisk-shaped award Lisa had won for State Heath inspector of the year. “At least take this as a keepsake.”

  “I’ll take it if you give me some of your favorite lubricant to go along with it,” Lisa cheerfully said.

  “My favorite lubricant? Why?”

  “Because if you don’t get that thing out of my face I’m going to shove it up your ass.”

  Chapter 9

  Reverend Will Hatfield slowly paced behind the podium, admiring the hundreds of people gathering on the warm Saturday afternoon at the rally held in the courthouse parking lot.

  Several members of his church scurried about, running wire to speakers, and extension cords to generators. His loyal flock followed him with fervent devotion, and granted him the authority to explain the reality beyond news headlines, and how that reality affected God’s plan. Hatfield was the perfect shepherd to guide his sheep in today’s sinful world.

  Hatfield heralded that the integration of Non-Dead into society would eventually lead to the downfall of humanity. As God told Lot to leave Sodom before its destruction, He told the Reverend that humanity should separate from the Non-Dead. The Non-Dead must return into the ground from whence they came.

  The police had forced the group of zombie-lovers to a dedicated area near the main highway. Protesters had to be kept far enough away so flying projectiles from radicals couldn’t reach the stage.

  A technician placed a microphone on the podium and connected a cable to the bottom.

  “The heathens have crawled out of the hole,” Hatfield said, wearing a smirk as he gazed toward the protesters. “About double the normal crowd. Must be about forty of them out there.”

  The technician glanced over his shoulder. “Good. More to hear your message, Reverend.”

  This group had arrived well-prepared. Each held a hand-painted sign and dressed in Full-Zombie attire. Most protesters were Livings. The rally’s permit limited the number of Non-Dead participants to no more than five.

  “Those poor Non-Dead devils don’t even understand what they’re here protesting,” Hatfield said.

  “Pitiful, ain’t it?” the technician said before leaving the stage.

  Black clouds which had rolled in earlier that morning started to dissipate, giving way to sunshine outlining a graying cloud above. Its rays squeezed through, painting a portion of the sky with the individual beams touching down in the distance. It was as if the finger of God had pierced the darkness, showing that God is light, and there is no darkness in Him at all.

  Hatfield’s microphone came alive, the feedback echoed over the parking lot. The sound engineer made a few adjustments on the mixing board, and then gave the Reverend a hand sign for him to go.

  He stepped up and posed in front of the podium, resting a hand to each side. The crowd’s murmur subsided.

  When all eyes were on him, he began his speech. “Greetings, my friends and my neighbors. Greetings to all the good people in Dallas, to all those from the state of Texas, and to those who are visitors from
across our blessed land. I welcome you, the Streets of Gold Church welcomes you, and the Party of the Living welcomes you.”

  Hatfield paused and extended his hand toward the protesters in the rear. The motley little band had remained silent during his opening but had continued to wave their signs high in the air. “To the brethren in the back. It is my desire to offer you my hand in a gesture of peace. That you may come to learn the great plan my church and the Living Party share. A plan designed to ensure the survival of humanity. A plan that puts mankind back on the track which God originally intended. That we should be fruitful and multiply, and once again provide for ourselves—without the need to disturb the peace of our dearly departed.

  “Paul writes in Second Timothy, ‘The Lord’s servant must not be quarrelsome, but must be kind to everyone, able to teach, not resentful. Opponents must be gently instructed, in the hope that God will grant them repentance leading them to a knowledge of the truth, and that they will come to their senses and escape from the trap of the Devil, who has taken them captive to do his will.’ ”

  Random shouts of Amen! ejected from the crowd.

  A few TV cameras in the audience panned to Hatfield, and then to the protesters.

  He continued, “My friends, if we are sure of nothing else, we are certain of one thing. The Devil is a liar and a deceiver. Thus he was in the beginning, and thus he shall ever be. He is a false prophet, a charlatan, an imitator of the goodness of God, with hollow and inferior gifts.

  “The celestial storm that rained the accursed virus upon the pure lands of the Earth was spawned of the Devil himself. It was an attempt to spoil the most beautiful promise God has ever given to man.

  “First Corinthians chapter fifteen tells us with the hope that is in Christ, one day God shall raise the dead in the like manner. Our body is sown in corruption. It is raised in incorruption.

  “Are the dead who are raised by the hand of man, using the tools of the Devil, incorruptible?”

  “No!” Hatfield’s followers shouted in unison.

  Hatfield waited for the echo to fade, and then continued reading from the Scriptures. “It is sown in dishonor. It is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness. It is raised in power.

  “Are the Non-Dead raised in glory? Are the Non-Dead raised in power?”

  “No!”

  He continued reading. “It is sown a natural body. It is raised a spiritual body.”

  Reverend Hatfield removed the microphone from the stand and stepped away from the podium. He changed the cadence of his swelling rant to a rapid, monotone chant. “There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body, brothers and sisters. Do not be deceived.” He let the word deceived twist in his mouth and end on a high note.

  He began the rapid chant again, “The Non-Dead are still bound in a natural body-ah. A body of weakness-ah. Sooown in dishonor-ah. And raised by man in dishonor-ah. Leading humanity down a road of destruction-ah. Like the Pied Piper leading humanity to the jaws of extinction-ah.” Hatfield then pressed his mouth against the microphone, and screamed, “Be ye not deceived!” His words reverberate over the crowd.

  Then in a gentle instructing voice, he said, “God is not mocked.”

  Hatfield stepped back to the podium and raised his eyes and hands toward the heavens above. The crowd responded with applause peppered with hoots, hollers, and shouts of praises that surely God Himself could hear as He sat on His eternal throne.

  The ovation continued for several minutes before the Reverend waved his arms to the faithful. “It is time for me to introduce our guest, a man of faith who I have known for many years. My friends, I am confident enough in this man to say God knows him too. I give you the challenger to the status quo of the Republican Party, the nominee of the Living Party, the next representative of the thirty second District to Washington, D.C., Joel Spencer.”

  Now worked into a frenzy, the crowd again roared their approval at nearly deafening levels.

  Spencer took his stand behind the podium after giving Hatfield a long, exaggerated handshake. Raising his hands to quiet the crowd only produced more adoration.

  As he gazed over the crowd he focused on the group of protesters in the back. His jaw tightened, and then his mouth opened in surprise. After the unusual pause, a smile sprang to his face, his attention then turned back on the audience.

  “Please, please, you are too kind.” The applause hushed as he continued to motion for quiet. One last rebel yell cut through the air before he began to speak.

  “My thanks to the good Reverend for his inspiring introduction. My thanks to all the people who are here in support of the principles I stand for. And to those who wish to learn about my plans to take Texas—and America—forward, to ensure a safe, productive future.”

  He waited for the obligatory claps to stop. “My message is not one of hate. It is one of hope and of compassion. Let us not in haste stray from the path God has intended man to follow. Let us not sacrifice our children’s future, or their children’s future, so we might have more worldly things to enjoy today.

  “The Book of Proverbs says, ‘Riches profit not in the day of wrath: but righteousness delivereth from death.’ Paul says, ‘We look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.’

  “To my supporters, and to those who oppose me, my proposal is very simple. It is a proposal which brings dignity to our loved ones who have passed away and have been blasphemously brought back to life. My plan will return the Living to their rightful place on Earth—their place as the sole caretaker of it as God intended.”

  Spencer detached the microphone from the podium and stepped closer to the crowd. “We need to enact into law a policy that will encourage married couples to make procreation a priority, in order to save us from extinction.

  “You’d think it would be easy to encourage couples to spend extra time in the bedroom, wouldn’t you?” The audience laughed right on cue. Spencer smiled and nodded his head.

  “I understand the fear many feel. I understand the uncertainty in your hearts about what the future might hold. But the sure and certain danger that faces us is far worse than any uncertainty about the future. We know if we don’t begin reproducing at a much higher rate the human race will no longer be able to sustain itself as a species on this planet.

  “I will sponsor a bill that will require married couples of childbearing age to reproduce, barring any medical complications, of course. Also, the bill mandates a reduction in the number of dead who will be raised using the RZ virus, until the new generation of Living can take over the duties the Non-Dead now perform.

  “But what of the Non-Dead that remain once our country’s population is replenished? The bill provides for them also. They will be allowed to perform their duties until natural degradation, or some debilitating accident, prevents them from further service. We will honor the Non-Dead who helped us through our great time of need.

  “But we must ensure humanity’s future. I believe this is a plan that will work—with your help. It must work, or mankind may not exist to see the next century.”

  Spencer briefly stopped again as his gaze froze on the protestors.

  “In the Book of Ecclesiastes, Solomon tells us, ‘The living know that they shall die: but the dead know not anything—’ ”

  “I know in the last several months your wife has been photographed with a black eye or two. Why do you beat your wife, Mr. Spencer?” a woman shouted from directly in front of the stage, close to Spencer. His microphone picked up the accusation and amplified it across the area. A camera operator from News Crew 2 shoved a camera her way.

  “That’s a damn lie!” Spencer shouted, disrupting the crowd. He grimaced and bit his lip.

  The woman held up a handful of newspapers. “The Libertarian Weekly published photos on three different occasions over the last year and a half. In an interview, Spencer’s wife claimed she tripped and fe
ll. Are you tripping your wife, Mr. Spencer? Is she falling on your fists?” Other news teams filming the event pushed closer to her. She held one of the newspapers out in front, allowing the cameras to focus on an alleged photo.

  “Where did you get that, miss?” A reporter who wore a blue sports jacket—and a dome of hair plastered with so much hairspray a hurricane couldn’t have blown a strand out of place—thrust a microphone near the woman’s mouth.

  Spencer froze, his chin hanging down to his chest. The crowd began to buzz.

  “The photographs have been available for months. It’s your fault—the mainstream media. You are guilty of protecting politicians. Not one major market would touch those photos. Thank God The Libertarian Weekly had the balls to publish the truth,” her voice rang loud and clear, as cameras flashed, and videos rolled.

  The reporter in the blue jacket came to her side and faced the camera, then spoke into his microphone, “And your name is?”

  “Lisa Goudard. My name is Lisa Goudard.”

  Spencer shook his head and formed a reassuring smile. “You know, it’s easy in today’s world to create a news story. All you need is a photograph and a computer. You, me, anyone can create a picture to show anything they want.”

  Spencer hurried to the opposite side of the stage, away from the woman. All heads followed. “Don’t be so easily fooled, my friends. My lovely wife and I have been happily married for twenty-five years. To accuse me of such a vile act is not only an insult to me, but even more so to her. To believe my wife would think so little of herself as to stay with a man who physically abused her . . . ” He pointed his finger at Lisa. “Let me tell you one thing, miss, I am a public figure, and I am occasionally subject to false accusations. But you have no right to insult my wife like that! How dare you!”

  “You tell her,” a voice yelled from the crowd.

  His back arched, and his chest swelled. “You have been deceived young woman. You have been deceived by the Devil himself. The Devil is the father of all lies. Seek God and the truth, for the truth will set you free.”