as the zombie lurched toward him. He raised the pistol and fired. The bullet tore through her shoulder. Running across the yard, Martin ducked as the second shot missed its mark completely.
The man squeezed the trigger again, and missed. He fired a fourth time, but the clip was empty. Confused, he looked at the pistol, then stared up at Becky.
He closed his eyes, and Martin heard him whisper "I'm sorry, Danny." Martin slammed the shotgun into the creature's back. The former organist toppled face first to the sidewalk; yellowed teeth breaking on the pavement. Martin jacked a shell into the chamber, and placed the barrel against the base of the zombie's skull.
Becky screamed in rage.
"Go with God, Rebecca."
Brain matter and skull fragments sprayed across the sidewalk like a Rorschach pattern.
The sun peeked over the rooftops. The roar of the shotgun echoed through the quiet streets, greeting the dawn.
"I'm afraid that's going to attract attention. We'd best get inside!" The elderly black man held his hand out to Jim who took it. Despite his age, the man's grip was firm. He wore crumpled khakis and black shoes. Something white peeked out from beneath the neckline of his yellow sweater. A preacher's collar.
"Thank you, Father," Jim said.
"Pastor, actually," the old man corrected him, smiling. "Reverend Thomas Page 47
Martin. And no need to thank me. Give your thanks to the Lord after we're safe."
64 "Jim Thurmond, and yeah, let's get off the street." A hungry cry, followed by another, was all the incentive they needed.
"Is this your church, Reverend?"
The old man smiled. "It's God's church. I just work here." Martin fixed him a makeshift bed using blankets and a pew. Jim resisted, insisting that he only needed to rest for a moment, and promptly fell into a deep but troubled sleep. Martin sipped instant coffee and stood watch, listening to the occasional shriek of the things outside. Shortly before noon, a wandering zombie discovered Becky's corpse and began to feed on her remains. Martin watched in revulsion as, like ants, more of the creatures were attracted to the feast. Occasionally, they would glance around at the surrounding houses and the church. Martin wondered if they would be moved to investigate, but they seemed satisfied with the free lunch.
An hour later, when the knot of fetid things scattered, nothing remained of Becky except bones and a few red bits, smeared across the sidewalk and grass.
Jim awoke at sundown, alarmed at first and unable to remember where he was. He sat up, looking around the church. This wasn't the shelter! Then he saw the preacher, smiling in the candlelight, and he remembered-and in remembering, he thought of Danny.
"Here you go," Martin handed him a steaming cup of coffee. "It's not very good, but it'll wake you up."
"Thanks," Jim nodded. He sipped it and took in the surroundings. "Pretty secure. You do all these fortifications yourself?" The preacher laughed softly.
"Yes, by the grace of God. I managed to get the place squared away before it got bad. I had some help. John,
65 our janitor. He's the one who got the windows boarded over."
"Where is he now?"
Martin's face darkened. He didn't speak for a moment, and Jim wondered if he had heard him.
Page 48
"I don't know," he said finally. "Dead I suppose. Or undead more likely. He left two weeks ago, insisted on getting his pickup truck. Planned on driving us out of here. He was convinced this was a localized problem, thought the government might have this section of the state cordoned off. John figured we should make for Beckley or Lewisburg, or maybe Richmond. I never saw him again."
"It's like this everywhere, as far as I can tell," Jim told him. "I-I came from Lewisburg."
"On foot too, it would seem," Martin commented in wonderment. "How did you manage that?"
"I almost didn't," Jim admitted. "I was on auto-pilot I guess."
"These are times when men are forced to do what they must," the Preacher sighed. "I had hoped it
The man squeezed the trigger again, and missed. He fired a fourth time, but the clip was empty. Confused, he looked at the pistol, then stared up at Becky.
He closed his eyes, and Martin heard him whisper "I'm sorry, Danny." Martin slammed the shotgun into the creature's back. The former organist toppled face first to the sidewalk; yellowed teeth breaking on the pavement. Martin jacked a shell into the chamber, and placed the barrel against the base of the zombie's skull.
Becky screamed in rage.
"Go with God, Rebecca."
Brain matter and skull fragments sprayed across the sidewalk like a Rorschach pattern.
The sun peeked over the rooftops. The roar of the shotgun echoed through the quiet streets, greeting the dawn.
"I'm afraid that's going to attract attention. We'd best get inside!" The elderly black man held his hand out to Jim who took it. Despite his age, the man's grip was firm. He wore crumpled khakis and black shoes. Something white peeked out from beneath the neckline of his yellow sweater. A preacher's collar.
"Thank you, Father," Jim said.
"Pastor, actually," the old man corrected him, smiling. "Reverend Thomas Page 47
Martin. And no need to thank me. Give your thanks to the Lord after we're safe."
64 "Jim Thurmond, and yeah, let's get off the street." A hungry cry, followed by another, was all the incentive they needed.
"Is this your church, Reverend?"
The old man smiled. "It's God's church. I just work here." Martin fixed him a makeshift bed using blankets and a pew. Jim resisted, insisting that he only needed to rest for a moment, and promptly fell into a deep but troubled sleep. Martin sipped instant coffee and stood watch, listening to the occasional shriek of the things outside. Shortly before noon, a wandering zombie discovered Becky's corpse and began to feed on her remains. Martin watched in revulsion as, like ants, more of the creatures were attracted to the feast. Occasionally, they would glance around at the surrounding houses and the church. Martin wondered if they would be moved to investigate, but they seemed satisfied with the free lunch.
An hour later, when the knot of fetid things scattered, nothing remained of Becky except bones and a few red bits, smeared across the sidewalk and grass.
Jim awoke at sundown, alarmed at first and unable to remember where he was. He sat up, looking around the church. This wasn't the shelter! Then he saw the preacher, smiling in the candlelight, and he remembered-and in remembering, he thought of Danny.
"Here you go," Martin handed him a steaming cup of coffee. "It's not very good, but it'll wake you up."
"Thanks," Jim nodded. He sipped it and took in the surroundings. "Pretty secure. You do all these fortifications yourself?" The preacher laughed softly.
"Yes, by the grace of God. I managed to get the place squared away before it got bad. I had some help. John,
65 our janitor. He's the one who got the windows boarded over."
"Where is he now?"
Martin's face darkened. He didn't speak for a moment, and Jim wondered if he had heard him.
Page 48
"I don't know," he said finally. "Dead I suppose. Or undead more likely. He left two weeks ago, insisted on getting his pickup truck. Planned on driving us out of here. He was convinced this was a localized problem, thought the government might have this section of the state cordoned off. John figured we should make for Beckley or Lewisburg, or maybe Richmond. I never saw him again."
"It's like this everywhere, as far as I can tell," Jim told him. "I-I came from Lewisburg."
"On foot too, it would seem," Martin commented in wonderment. "How did you manage that?"
"I almost didn't," Jim admitted. "I was on auto-pilot I guess."
"These are times when men are forced to do what they must," the Preacher sighed. "I had hoped it
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