“Reverend, Reverend!” cried a woman, holding an infant up to him. “Bless my child!”
“I love you, Reverend!” said another.
“I’m praying for you!” said a third.
Ingram looked around at the wild, excited faces pressing close and felt a shiver of fear. He’d never had to work his way up through the ranks, even at the Southern Evangelical Seminary, due to his father’s prestige and influence. He never preached at small churches or undertook missionary trips to squalid countries. He started out with big audiences and plenty of media exposure, and in a way, most of his ministry work had been distant from his flock.
Now, to have their body odor overwhelming him and the barriers evaporated, the raw power of the masses was evident. They could easily tear him apart if they wanted—in some ways, they were just like the zombies, needy and vacuous and driven. But he could also harness that power and make it his own. All he had to do was give them what they wanted.
He held up his hands, partly in a dramatic display and partly to give himself room from the most eager, and said, “Thank you, my children. I have important work, but each of you is in my heart. And the Lord looks down and sees who among you are righteous in this time of revelation.”
“I’m righteous!” said a dull-eyed man with a scraggly mustache, raising his fist to show his mark.
Ingram tilted his hand and waved it in a circle to reveal his own mark. “If you’re righteous, then show me. Show God. Show Satan!”
The crowd pumped their fists, their murmurs rising to a feverish pitch. Olin Starnes, accompanied by a soldier, appeared in the doorway of the gym and the two of them pushed their way through to him. Ingram fluttered his fingers to quiet the crowd, but they were lost in their blissful rapture. A woman grabbed him by his collar and dragged herself onto him, panting and screeching. She tried to kiss him on the cheek, but Starnes shoved her away.
“I have a mark!” a man said, wedging himself against Ingram’s back hard enough to leave a bruise. The soldier drove his rifle into the man’s belly, giving Ingram enough space to slip toward the gym.
“God loves you all!” Ingram shouted above the din as Starnes and the soldier swept him away from the landing
Once he was inside the gym, armed sentries blocked the crowd from following, but Ingram could feel their palpable energy. Despite its danger, he was enthralled, and it flowed into him like electricity.
They love me!
They worship me!
He was still buzzing as he was escorted outside to the floodlit courtyard, where the scout team was arriving with Sarah Beth and Cyrus. A lieutenant directed traffic and began ordering vehicles to leave the compound. When he saw his wife in the passenger seat of the Humvee, his first thought was “Is that really her?”
She looked different. Still beautiful, but a little haunted and aged. Then he realized it was he who had changed.
Sarah Beth approached with some hesitance, perhaps because she could see the change in him. He smiled and opened his arms to embrace her. As he hugged her, he whispered, “I knew you’d make it.”
“Even the devil couldn’t keep me from you.” She kissed him with dry, chapped lips and looked around bewildered at the activity. “It looks like a fortress.”
“It’s still Promiseland,” Ingram said. “Adapted to fit the times.”
“Is it really what we’ve been waiting for?”
“Yes. All the signs are manifested.”
“I’m scared,” she said. “It’s different when it’s in the Scripture, but to think it’s all real…”
He gripped her hand. “We’re on the side of the righteous. And we shall win. Our only task is to stand strong until the Lord returns. We can do it.”
“I know you can,” she said, lowering her eyes.
Ingram put his index finger under her chin and lifted her face. He stared into her green eyes and said, “Both of us. I need you. I can’t do this alone.”
“Cyrus told me the president appointed you as some kind of director. What does that mean?”
“We’re serving the Lord, and He put us where we need to be. I’m taking a helicopter to a couple of other shelters to oversee the management. My orders are from the president, but my duty is to God.”
“I’m here,” Sarah Beth said over the noise of the trucks rolling out of the compound. “For whatever you need.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
“Thank the Lord.”
“One more thing.” He showed her the scar where the zombie had bitten him. “Satan couldn’t take me, and God left this mark as a sign that I am righteous. And everyone who stays at Promiseland wears the mark.”
“The soldiers, too?”
“Everyone.” He didn’t tell her that those who refused to mark were turned away. She’d find out soon enough. Besides, those heathens weren’t really people, anyway. They were Satan’s pawns, demons in waiting.
“Chopper’s coming!” the lieutenant shouted, and Ingram saw its green running lights against the midnight sky. The stars were faint and veiled with smoke, and the moon had yet to rise.
“I’ll have Olin take you to the inking station so you won’t have to wait,” Ingram said. “Please come with me. I want you by my side for all of this.”
She looked up at the heavens, some of the tension drained from her face. “God’s will be done.”
He gave her a final hug before Olin led her away, and then met he with Cyrus to hear about the trip to the airport. “Thank you for bringing her home safe,” Ingram said. “Any trouble?”
“Nothing unexpected. Unfortunately we lost the two soldiers as well as some other survivors.”
“All wars have casualties, especially this one. God will protect the elected.”
“Amen, Reverend.”
“Get yourself cleaned up and get a bite to eat. We’re leaving in an hour.”
The Black Hawk helicopter had room for Ingram, Sarah Beth, Cyrus, and four soldiers in addition to the flight crew. After lifting off from the makeshift helipad outside the compound, Ingram marveled at Promiseland’s gleaming cross rising above the devastation. Although there were scattered pockets of light powered by generators and small-scale solar panels, Promiseland stood out like a beacon of hope in the ruins of Raleigh. As they passed over what had once been the capitol district, Ingram saw little sign of earthly government. Where monuments to mortals had once stood, now only embers glowed.
The trip across the rural landscape was just as bleak—vast swathes of darkness punctuated here and there with tiny lights. Ingram prayed for the lost souls who were so far from shelters and unable to receive their marks. How would God know they were good without the marks? He vowed to establish a network of shelters all across the country until such time as the Lord summoned them all for the final battle.
Sarah Beth fell asleep leaning against his shoulder, lulled by the soft rocking of the helicopter. Cyrus tried to stay awake, but he, too, soon gave in to exhaustion. Ingram felt no desire to sleep. Indeed, he hadn’t slept since the zombie had bitten him. The strength of faith powered him such that he might never need sleep again.
The chopper touched down briefly in Charlotte, where Pastor Dillard Beauchamp’s shelter was located. Downtown Charlotte had been spared the ravages of a carpet-bombing campaign, and its skyscrapers still stood, but they were lifeless monoliths against the darkness. Beauchamp was something of a rival to Ingram, although his message was more fire and brimstone than prosperity. Yet Pastor Beauchamp was happy to defer to Ingram’s political power, seeing opportunity for himself once the dust settled.
Beauchamp had even refined the inking operation and selection process at his United Christ ministry. The Army and the medical screeners examined potential refugees at a satellite base established several blocks away from the shelter. If any problems arose, they were addressed away from the righteous that had already chosen the true path.
Beauchamp was even stricter than Ingram—his list of undesirable traits includ
ed certain racial categories, political beliefs, and those of unorthodox gender identification. Ingram made a mental note to establish a set of consistent protocols for selection once the network of shelters was secure.
The Black Hawk crossed into Georgia at some point—the dark, rolling hills all looked the same—and Sarah Beth was now awake. She tried to talk to him, but the noise from the engine and the rotors was too much. She borrowed the co-pilot’s headset and asked a few questions, but she appeared reluctant to speak knowing that other members of the crew could overhear.
A dim red glow lit up the western horizon, growing brighter as they approached Atlanta. “The city’s burning like Sherman’s come through again,” said the pilot over the headset.
Despite the conflagration, the Army and FEMA had established three large shelters in the metro area, housing an estimated seven thousand refugees. Ingram stopped at the largest one, where Preacher Stephen Harrison oversaw the Living Waters of Everlasting Salvation resort and ministry.
Ingram appointed Harrison regional head of Homeland Security, impressed by his organizational skills. Harrison not only required refugees to receive the mandatory tattoo, he’d recruited a team of barbers and stylists to deliver acceptable haircuts. He suggested Ingram ask the president for uniforms so that it would be even easier to recognize those who’d enlisted in God’s army.
It was dawn when the chopper landed to refuel at Fort Benning. Ingram consulted briefly with the ranking general, ensuring that all soldiers bore the mark. The Army had suffered heavy casualties, mostly from soldiers becoming infected, but much of the equipment and ordnance was still operational. The staff presented a plan to mobilize units outward to Savannah, Jacksonville, and Birmingham, supported by bombing runs from the air station. Ingram discussed it with the president via teleconference and gave his support.
“We’ll bomb them back to the Book of Genesis,” President MacMillan said.
“My only request is to spare the churches as much as you can,” Ingram said. “We’re going to need them when we rebuild.”
MacMillan promised an executive order under the Emergency Powers Act to declare all churches the common property of the United States government and its agencies. “I’m not sure if the Third Amendment applies in this case, but since two-thirds of the Supreme Court are zombies, I guess we’ll never know,” he added. “So this should secure your status as head of every church in America.”
Ingram imagined the order would have to be honed in light of some of the more problematic religions: Unitarian Universalists, Christian Scientists, Muslims, Buddhists, and on down the line. Satan was no doubt hard at work in those congregations already, if indeed any of them had been spared the ravages of the Klondike Flu.
After the briefing, Sarah Beth and Ingram had their first chance to speak alone while eating in the mess hall.
“Something’s troubling you, honey,” he said. He knew her well, and the worry in her eyes was from more than just the apocalypse.
“It’s Cyrus,” she said.
Ingram knew his right-hand man was attracted to her, but it was a Godly love, nothing crude or lustful. Cyrus was devoted to them both, and Ingram trusted him completely. The bodyguard sat at an adjoining table eating with the helicopter crew and officers, glancing over at the two of them every once in a while.
“He’s been a blessing in these trials,” Ingram said. “He understands the stakes as much as anyone.”
“H-he…he killed some innocent people,” she stammered, bloodshot eyes brimming with tears. “We were trapped on the highway, and he shot them so those creatures would attack them instead of us. He sacrificed others so we could live.”
Ingram pushed his coffee mug aside and took her hand. “Listen to me. We’re all going to have to do unpleasant things now. This is the burden the Lord has laid on us. And we have to trust that He’s guiding our hands and eyes and hearts.”
She made a moue of misery. “How can we be part of murder? It’s against everything we’ve ever preached and stood for. It’s…evil.”
“If evil is committed in the name of the Lord, then it is just.” He showed her the bite mark again. “They died with pure souls, before Satan could touch them and turn them. Satan couldn’t turn me. These are tests of faith. I’m prepared to do whatever is necessary to fulfill the prophecy until He returns.”
She smiled and wiped away her tears. “And I vowed to stand beside you for better or worse. I just never thought the worse would look like this.”
Ingram didn’t tell her that this was only the beginning of the worst.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Rocky knocked on the door of the hotel room.
Something thumped against it from the other side, and Rocky heard a muffled growl.
“Deader,” he said. “Maybe more than one.”
“Why don’t we try another room?” Arjun asked, although he already knew the answer.
“We’ve searched six rooms,” Sonia said, jangling the keys. “Only one of them was occupied.”
Rocky tried to forget that one. He’d witnessed atrocities in Afghanistan, including a drone strike at a school that left several children shredded by shrapnel. He’d seen a buddy blown away from the torso down by a roadside IED. But that had been a war zone, if he stretched the strict definition of “war.” This was home, domestic soil, the land of the free.
But that family in Room 228 was just as dead, thanks to the father apparently using the shotgun on the wife and child before turning it on himself. The mess had been so gruesome and the odor so foul that no one wanted to scavenge the shotgun or search the room for car keys. Rocky would just as soon fight a deader as risk finding another bloody suicide.
Rocky nodded at Sonia, who fished out the master key from the ring they’d discovered behind the counter in the lobby. She inserted it and twisted with a click. “Who’s going first?”
“Don’t look at me!” Arjun said.
Rocky shook his head. The guy was slowly coming along, but his act was wearing thin. “Sydney not around for you to impress?”
Arjun blushed, barely noticeable beneath his dark complexion. “She slept in.”
Arjun and Sydney had shared a room, as had Rocky, Sonia, and Hannah. Meg and Jacob slept late in their own room. They’d all lodged on the end of the second floor nearest the stairs and had passed the night without incident. Rocky wondered if Arjun’s night had been more incidental than his, but the Indian didn’t seem too cocky this morning. At least not cocky enough to volunteer for point.
“All right,” Rocky said. “I’ll do it. Back me up, Arjun.”
“At least we don’t have to worry about noise,” Sonia said. “With the fire doors, nothing can get onto this floor, and the ones on the floor are locked in.”
“Unless they learn how to open doors, and then we’ve got bigger problems than finding car keys,” Arjun said.
“Save that one for your next videogame. Let’s deal with what’s real.”
Real.
Rocky could barely comprehend what they were now all forced to accept. It had barely been a week since the initial outbreak of the Klondike Flu, and already civilization had not only collapsed but given way to primordial horrors that only the cavemen had seen. And despite Meg Perriman’s theories, he felt a gnawing sense that science had less to do with this than…well, he wasn’t willing to call it “the supernatural” yet, but he had no problem calling it “the unknown.”
Rocky stood with his M16 ready, grateful for the extra rounds his platoon buddy Grabowski had slipped him back at Promiseland. If there were more than two deaders inside, he planned to employ a spray-and-pray strategy. He glanced behind him to make sure Arjun’s rifle was angled toward the ceiling rather than his back. Then he nodded again at Sonia, who’d positioned herself so that she could step aside after opening the door.
The first problem was the deader had stood at the door, which opened inward, so it only parted a few inches before stopping. When mottled gray fingers reached t
hrough the opening, Rocky lowered his shoulder and rammed the door. He pinned the deader against the wall inside, scanning the interior of the room. Although the sun was out, the shades and heavy curtains cast the room in near darkness.
“By the TV!” Arjun shouted in warning.
Rocky pressed his weight against the door to hold the first attacker in place. With his right arm, he swung the M16 into position. He couldn’t attain proper aim, but he fired a short burst anyway. In the reflection on the television screen, he saw the zombie flop backward on the bed, its abdomen torn and leaking.
“It’s down but not out,” Rocky shouted to Arjun. “Finish it!”
Arjun hesitated only a moment. Sonia’s shout triggered him into action. He brushed past Rocky and lifted the rifle just the way Rocky had taught him. Arjun aimed at the creature writhing on the bed. It became tangled in the bloody blankets as it tried to rise.
Feathers flew from the pillow as two bullets pierced it.
“Get closer!” Rocky yelled. He braced his foot against the far wall for leverage. The pinned zombie slid sideways, threatening to squirm out of the trap. Rocky had only seconds at most.
Arjun managed to hit the fallen zombie with his third shot, but the chest wound did nothing to stop its hunger. It rolled to the floor, crawling toward Arjun. Rocky couldn’t get off a clean shot past Arjun, even if he could drop into a shooting stance.
“Hold your fire,” Sonia shouted as she burst into the room.
She brandished the combat knife Rocky had given her, crouching low for balance. As the zombie grimaced, showing its putrid gums and tongue, she drove the blade forward. It struck the thing between the eyes. She withdrew the knife with a moist thwick and returned to the door.
“Hold it as still as you can,” Sonia said, staying just out of reach of the zombie’s flailing arm.
Then she lunged forward, bringing the blade down from above. Drops of blood spattered across Rocky’s face. The blow was hard enough to shake the door.
Revelation: A Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Thriller (Arize Book 2) Page 8
