Threnody (Book 1) (30 page)

No sooner than the question flashed through his mind, the horrible answer hit him as Kate let out a scream.  Walking past the crash scene, her curiosity got the better of her, and she eased over to take a closer look at the tangle of vehicles.  As she rounded the capacious Town Car, a gnarled hand shot out from under it snagging her ankle.  The unexpected jolt knocked her off balance and sent her sprawling to the ground.  The previously torpid thing managed to keep its grip on her ankle and tried desperately to pull her struggling leg to its maw.  Its fervent effort was severely impeded by the prodigious Town Car that had pinned its lower body on the first night of the outbreak.  As that was over two weeks ago, decomposition was well underway.  Combined with the weakening of the mid-portion of its body due to multiple pelvic and spinal fractures sustained in the crush injury, a wet tearing sound like Velcro pulling apart underwater resulted as the weakest link in the ghastly game of tug-o-war gave way under the strain.  Now free from its trapped lower body, the half-rev pulled heartily toward Kate’s exposed calf.  Still dazed from her unanticipated fall, she had not yet fully processed the situation, and was oblivious to the true danger she was in.  Just as its squalid mouth was in range to bite, the rev let out a dry, ghostly cry that caused Kate to jerk her leg toward her chest reflexively.  The small movement was enough to loosen the infected thing’s grip, allowing her to pull her leg about six inches away from its searching teeth.

John watched in horror as the events unfolded, springing into action almost before Kate even hit the ground.  He drew his razor-sharp knife from its sheath in a flash as he took a leaping step toward the contaminated mouth of the thing previously trapped under the car.  In a single deft motion, John brought his boot down hard on the back of the thing’s head as he drove the baleful blade deep into the rev’s gelatinous grey matter.  With a violent twist of his wrist, he felt the thing go limp as he watched its grip tighten reflexively before loosening around Kate’s ankle. 

Struggling to squash her rising trepidation, Kate sucked in the cool night air as John helped her to her feet. 
Ethan
and Reams made it back to their position as the first of the innumerable infected crested the hill beyond the small gravel parking lot.  “We need to run! There’s no way they didn’t hear the commotion,” began John just as the ponderous front doors of the quaint church burst open.

A subtle, warm glow shot out across the dark, damp, and dreary landscape, piercing the blackness like the lights of heaven shining down from above.  In the doorway stood an old man silhouetted by the flickering candlelight.  To the alarmed survivors, he looked like Moses preparing to part the Red Sea.  Urgently, the old man motioned for them to come inside, and when they did not immediately respond, he stepped out of the building seemingly unconcerned about the approaching horde.

“Y’all better get a move on.  A man can find himself in a whole mess of trouble out here at night nowadays,” said the old man as he again motioned toward the open church door.

Moving with surprising speed that belied his age, the old man jumped into the church bus and backed it out of the lot where he parked it at an angle across the street.  The bus was easily long enough to span the width of the small country road, and while this would not be enough to stop the approaching revs, it would funnel them to the side of the road beyond which was a steep embankment leading down to the river.  This, he hoped, would at least buy them some time.  The old man hopped out of the bus just as the first rev came within grasping distance.  Being the last to enter the small church, John was amazed as he watched the unarmed, elderly man making his way through the throng of infected without them showing a hint of acknowledgement that he was even in their midst. 

Heedfully, the old man edged his way around the back of the bus, careful not to slip on the wet grass carpeting the road’s narrow shoulder.  Passing the rear door of the bus, he opened the door and wedged a sturdy branch into the jamb to prop it open.  He realized this was likely overkill, as the weight of pursuing revs would be pushing the door open as they clumsily tried to maneuver around the rear of the bus.  Satisfied, he picked up his pace as he rounded the corner of the bus.

As soon as the old man crossed the threshold, they slammed the heavy doors, and began barricading them against the pernicious storm bearing down upon them.  Desks, tables, chairs, and anything else not bolted to the floor of the old, bantam church was added to the makeshift bulwark.  Satisfied they had done what they could to shore up the front door, they fanned out to peer through stained glass windows like sacrosanct kaleidoscopes desperately trying to add beauty to the ugly world that lay beyond. 
Ethan
took in the details of their surroundings with a tactical eye, looking for any advantage the sacred building afforded them, and began scouting out potential escape routes.

Paralyzed by the grisly scene spread out amongst the pews, Kate was rooted to the spot as images of her ordeal at Hermitage Estates swept through her mind.  Heart racing and breath catching, she whirled around when a cold, skeletal hand clamped down firmly on her shoulder.  The warm, albeit gaunt, face staring back at her was in sharp contrast to the face she envisioned attached to the hand in her mind’s eye.

“You look like you’ve just seen the serpent in the garden, child,” said the old man with a kind smile.  “I’m Reverend Ezzard Mack, the preacher here at Enoch Hill.”

Upon hearing his soothing voice, Kate visibly relaxed, though she was still unable to find her voice as she stared vacantly at the old preacher. 

“Seems like Peter was right when he said our adversary the Devil walketh about as a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour,” said Ezzard in a gentle tone that shone a bright counterpoint against the dark implications of his words.  Since Kate remained silent, he continued, “You folks is the first I’ve seen around here since the first days.  Seems like Old Scratch has come to collect his due and seeing as you folks still seem okay you must be among the righteous.  Tell me child, have you been saved?”

As Ezzard’s words percolated through the coarse pores of Kate’s mind, her sluggish brain finally managed to compile her thoughts and fire them down her synapses to her waiting tongue.  “Scratch?” she said in confusion, unable to add any context to the word.

“Yes, child, Scratch—Satan, Lucifer, the ol’ red Devil himself.  Seems he and his minions walk the Earth in droves these days.  I, being but a humble servant of the Lord, await the coming of His army of angels that I may don the helmet of salvation and take up the sword of the Spirit in His name,” said Ezzard in an attempt to resolve her confusion.

John peered through a stained glass window depicting Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, forbidden fruit in hand, and serpent coiled under foot.  Seeing no sign of the infected through the partly opaque glass, he turned and walked over to Ezzard and Kate.  With a reverent bow of his head, John shook the old preacher’s hand.  “Thank you for risking your life to save us out there.  I’m not sure we could have gotten away without your help,” said John.

Though not a devoutly religious man, John sensed something profoundly sacred about the old preacher. 
Maybe it’s the apocalypse?  That always seems to bring out the hyper-religious sentiments in humanity.

“No trouble, young man, no trouble at all.  We were just talking on about the great darkness that has spread across God’s green earth.  Seein’ you folks out there on the good side of this great war I couldn’t do nothing but help so long as I’se able,” said Ezzard.  “Name is Ezzard Mack.  Some folks ’round here just call me Ezz, or at least they used to.”

With an appreciative nod, John said, “Good to meet you, Ezz.  Do you mind if I ask you a question?  When I saw you outside near the infected, they didn’t seem to pay any attention to you, almost like you weren’t even there.  How’s that possible?”

In response to the question, Ezzard displayed a broad, white-toothed smile as his brown eyes glimmered in a way that hinted at a deeper truth hidden far beyond the glistening orbs.  “
Put on the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the Devil,” said Ezzard as if that completely answered John’s query.

Reams finished his sweep of the back of the church and ran to join John and Kate, who stood regarding the old man with looks of unmitigated bewilderment.  The old man’s back was to Reams so couldn’t see what had his friends so perplexed. As he drew close, Reams ground to a halt as his hackles flew up in alarm.  His head swiveled in every direction as his eyes frantically searched for the source of his consternation.  The odor—a paper mill shit smell combined with the scent of raw pork bung left in a locked car on a hot summer day—wafted faintly through the air as if the turbulence of the big man’s movement had roused it from some dark lair of hibernation.  Though it was not strong, it was distinct, and Reams knew the infected were never far behind that smell.

“You smell that?” asked Reams as he continued scanning the room, certain that the plague was already in their midst.

At that moment, the odor reached both John and Kate, who also began to search intently for its source.  After several minutes of fruitless searching, the odor vanished as though the infected had simply moved past them taking their insalubrious scent with them.  None of them, however, possessed the necessary optimism to believe such a thing could happen.

Cautiously, the three survivors converged to a point in the middle of the chapel where Ezzard stood like a shepherd keeping watch over his flock.  As they moved, they checked under every pew, certain that one hid a pestilential harbinger of death.  No sooner than the warning alarms in their heads began to die down, the smell returned with renewed intensity.  This time it was Kate that spoke, “You said you took the bodies of the infected out back, how many bodies were there?  That smell—you must have missed one.”

John saw something shift in Ezzard’s eyes before the old man spoke softly, as if only to himself, “Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all.”

Speaking more loudly, Ezzard continued, “I think you folks can stop searching around,” said Ezzard as he stepped forward and brought his arm up toward John’s face.  “Reckon this might be what you folks is worrying ’bout?” he added.

Despite the knowledge that the smell seemed to emanate from Ezzard, it made the hairs on John’s arms stand on end in much the same way as the bell caused Pavlov’s dogs to salivate.  Now even more befuddled by the enigmatic old man, John said, “I don’t understand.”

Anticipating the confusion, Ezzard explained it the best he could.  “Blood odor.  Seems the good Lord saw fit to give me a chemical imbalance in my blood that causes me to give off a smell something fierce.  Been that way since I’se a baby.  Didn’t nobody know what was wrong with me until a few years ago when the doctor told me I had something called dimethylsulfidemia,” said Ezzard, pronouncing each syllable of the last word slowly.

“You know that smell is the reason I’m standing here today?  You see, I always loved the church, but couldn’t nobody hardly tolerate me there on account of my stink.  I figured the only place for me was off by myself, and at church that meant standing up front preaching.  Much like old Job, the good Lord saw fit to let Satan punish and test me and, like Job, I have been blessed for bearing my suffering and keeping the faith,” added Ezzard triumphantly.

Thoughts of the sewer drainage ditch and of Ethan walking unscathed through an infected horde by masking his scent with their own inundated John’s mind. 
I’ll be damned!  Maybe Ezzard’s metabolic derangement provides him with a sort of olfactory invisibility cloak
.  The possibility left John’s brain reeling with the implications. 
Or maybe that’s just my attempt to use science to rationalize a purely spiritual phenomenon.  One look outside will confirm that anything’s possible.

Before John had time to question the old preacher any further, Ethan returned to the group.  The forlorn expression emblazoned on his residual face appeared in stark contrast to the static, emotionless expression projected by his prosthesis.

Taking notice of the man’s expression, John asked with obvious concern, “What did you find?”

“Some of the infected have already made it around the rear of the church.  I don’t think we can head out through there without a hell of a fight, John.  Plus there is a stream back there, and I’ve already seen a few revs stumble over the banks,” replied Ethan.  “There doesn’t appear to be too many out front, but it’s hard to tell because of the dark.”

“Any good news?” asked John in a weak attempt to keep the atmosphere inside lighter than the grim reality outside.

“Yeah, I haven’t seen any revs inside yet,” quipped Ethan.   

A low thud at the front of the church disrupted the falsely lighthearted banter as though contradicting Ethan’s statement about the front of the erstwhile chapel.

“Shit! Looks like a fight to get out of here either way,” said Ethan as he checked the load of his rifle.

Remarkably, Ezzard’s confident smile never wavered as he turned to address Ethan.

Again, John noticed something shift in the old man’s eyes, this time giving him a more stern, commanding appearance than he possessed moments before.

“Son, this is the Lord’s house, and I will not tolerate profanity within these walls.  Do you understand?” asked Ezzard.

Flabbergasted, Ethan simply stared at the old preacher.  “I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’ ” said Ezzard, shifting back to his former grandfatherly self.  “Now there may be another way out of this pickle.  Who knows, maybe that’s why the good Lord had me to stick around this old place—to help you folks out.  You see, ‘man’s heart deviseth his way but the Lord directeth his steps,’ and the Lord – like a good shepherd – always takes care of his flock, don’t you agree, Ethan?” added Ezzard.