1 Rise and Fall
By J. K.
bWolfwood /b
The man rolled down the passenger side window of the Volkswagon Schrocco and although there was no wind to caress his face--something he took much pleasure in when driving, he still smiled. That smell. Salt. Ahhhh, The Pacific!
"Fuck!" from the drivers side. The man looked over at his angry host but said nothing. He wouldn't have had the chance anyway. "Haven't even moved a fuckin' inch!" the driver said and punched the car horn for his exclamation. And then quite contrasting: Sulking: "Not one."
He had caught a ride with this, well, kid would be the best description, about thirty miles back. And he had regretted it the whole way. There had been no radio to listen to--it was "fuckin'rippedoffdamnfuckersfuckin'tookitassholes!" as his company so elegantly put it. Hence, he had to put up with much of the same speech the whole way. It was enough to rile his anger. He was sure this little punk would vex anybody into violence and homicide. Even a ex-priest like him.
They were now on a Interstate about three miles from Seattle, Washington city limits. And it would appear that entire three miles was bumper to bumper. The man also noted that the kid was right. They had sat here now for almost twenty minutes and haven't moved so much as an inch.
For the past few moments, the man could see others stepping out of their vehicles, many were stretching, many were looking down the interstate, but some the man noticed looked scared. Even terrified. It was this--not the traffic, not his growing impatience, not the foul mouthed punk next to him-- that caused him to get out of the car. He could see some of the scared, sick looking faces and he just knew something was wrong.
He stepped out of the car and unconsciously stretched his long limbs of un- use. "Hey, where ya goin', padre?" the sulky, angry voice called out to him. But he chose to ignore it. He was sure he could find a ride into town with someone else, and if not? Oh well, he completed about a third of his journey from the Toronto area on foot. What's another three miles?
Yes, his journey has been long, hard but very enlightening...Much as he hoped it would be. He was running away from his past. This was no great revelation that had come to him. He knew so right from the beginning. It had been a important element for him to take on such a journey in the first place. All he truly wished to retain in himself was his faith. Even his name, his identity meant nothing to him anymore. In Ohio he had stayed with a family for a short time. The kids were fond of calling him 'Wolfwood' after a character from some Chinese cartoon or something or other. Wolfwood, was a travelling priest, just like him. He even resembled the character physically. And since, he has adopted it as his name. ....The past? The past is dead. Nothing can be re-written. But everyone was too concerned with it, and no one was really concerned for what really matters. The future. Then, at least man has some control.
But much of this was far from his mind. What was, were those faces. It seemed there was more and more of them now. He wanted was to know what was going on, and if there was anything he could do to help.
Curiosity and helping out fellow man, for the thirty-two years of his life, that was (ex)-Father Wolfwood's way.
Wolfwood approached a man and woman about three cars down. The man appeared to be consoling the woman but seemed like he needed just as much consoling himself.
"What's wrong?" Wolfwood asked as he came closer. At the sound of his voice, the woman jumped around in her man's arms and regarded Wolfwood with fear. Then she put her face back into her man's chest and sobbed very loud.
"Haven't you been listening to the radio?" the man asked him. Before Wolfwood could say no, the car radio was "fuckin'rippedoffdamnfuckersfuckin'tookitassholes!" as his latest road buddy had said--The woman's muffled wail rang out from her man's chest. "What the hell is going on!?"
Wolfwood put a soft hand on her shoulder but she only shrank away from it.
Others started migrating to them. Their little group of three quickly became a large group of nine and counting. Even shithead from the Volkswagen came up.
"Dude, you forgot your stuff." He said as he handed Wolfwood his large back pack. "Oh, thank you." Wolfwood replied in kind as he took it back.
An elderly man then said "I keep hearing different things. Escaped lunatics; cultists; even mind-altering diseases...some kind of chemical warfare from America's enemies. Hell, I even heard something about cannibalism."
Wolfwood finally spoke up "Whoa, whoa. What the hell are we talking about here?"
"That's what we're trying to find out!" The man consoling the woman shouted at him.
A young woman with a baby in her arms spoke next. She seemed to be directing her statement at Wolfwood. "People are killing people. And--" She broke down in sobs. Tears started forming at her eyes. She held her baby tighter and the little one then joined it's mother in crying. "--And it's everywhere."
Everywhere. That word struck Wolfwood like a stake to the heart....or a bullet to the head. Killing. Cannibalism. Yes, these words struck him too. But nowhere near as hard as 'Everywhere'. Yet he didn't know why, or did he?
Before anymore pondering about it could be done, a middle-aged man in a very bad and very loud 'touristy' shirt said "This has got to be some kind of joke, right? I mean, shit! This has to be like that 'War of the Worlds' radio broadcast back in the fifties. Ya know! the one that H.G. Orson or someone did. Right?" He looked around, hoping for someone to confirm for him that this is right. But there was only silence. The first span of it in awhile. And although it only lasted maybe four seconds, to Wolfwood, it seemed an eternity. Then...
"No." Someone put in. And Wolfwood could see it was a young teenage boy who was just joining them and had a portable radio to his ear. "No. It's on all the radio stations now."
Everywhere. That word crept back to him again. That simple word now took on a very ominus quality and it just wouldn't go away.
The boy continued. "Local stations now are talking about rescue stations and locations."
Quick as a Wisk, Wolfwood nabbed the radio from the boy and put it to his ear. "Sorry." without even sounding remotely close to it was all he could offer.
"...Elm street; And St. Joseph's on Montgomery Road. The danger is more or less localized in the centre of town. There are reports from everywhere, however downtown is not where you want to be."...A long pause followed by a heavy sigh..."Okay, that list again."
Wolfwood tossed the radio back to the youngster "Thanks" he granted. Then he turned to shithead--hmmm, he couldn't even remember his name. "What's your name again, son?"
"Stephen" was the reply. And Stephen seemed to look a little hurt that Wolfwood had so quickly forgotten it. The look on Stephen's face actually caused Wolfwood to utter a short laugh. And low and behold, Stephen's face contorted into a humours mix of sadness and confusion. This got Wolfwood rolling with a large belly laugh. And it was as much a surprise to himself as it was for all the others looking on. Maybe it was an odd kind of defence mechanism. Oh well, he was feeling better. That's what counts.
"Stephen," he said and put a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "You know this area, do you know a St. Josephs Church on Montgomery?" He doubted this kid would even know a church from lighthouse.
"Montgomery? That's not a church. St. Joseph's on Montgomery is a high school." He looked at the former priest as though this news might offend him.
Wolfwood smiled and barked a small laugh just the same. "That's just fine. I want you to take me there."
Stephen looked at him strangely. Before he could open his mouth Wolfwood continued. "Don't worry about the car. Your gonna leave it and take me there on foot." Stephen was again about to open his mouth but Wolfwood came in again. "No, no questions. I don't really have any answers. Just take me there."
And so they went. In a hurriedly fashion. To Wolfwood, he knew that if he could get to that rescue station...that high school, they should be able to give him the real answers to his questions. And there will be people there. People in need of help.
bStranger on the road/b
The distance went by quickly for Wolfwood. He and Stephen did it in a constant jog. He knew his body was in shape, but was surprised that Stephen could keep up. Then again, the kid proved much earlier his lungs wind capacity with all the ranting and raving he delivered on poor old Wolfwood, so in retrospect, Stephens endurance and hardly seeming out of breath really wasn't much of a surprise.
It was a long line of confused and frightened faces that looked at them as they passed. Wolfwood doubted they knew anymore than he did himself, which really wasn't much at all.
After about two and a half miles, Wolfwood called up ahead to Stephen who was leading the way: "Gotta steer clear of downtown! We…Gotta…" He was beginning to pant.
"Sure! Yeah! We have to take this exit then!." Steve called back to him. And so they did.
This road here was dark and quiet. The moon was hiding behind thick clouds. They were surrounded by fields was all they could tell, but Wolfwood could see houses, streetlights and the like not to far ahead.
"The road you're looking for is not far ahead, only a quarter-mile. Now can we please stop with the fuckin' running!?" Steve bitched. Wolfwood nodded and came to a stop. Likewise did Stephen. Both were panting heavily now.
"What the hell is so important about getting the this place?" Stephen asked, in a familiar sulky manner.
Wolfwood offered him a moment of silence. And then spoke: "If you have ever given your life to God like I have, then you know it would be a bad idea not to act quickly when he gives you the sudden and strong impulse to do so. You—" he broke off. Stephen noticed Wolfwoods stern look and followed that strong gaze down the road.
A man was staggering toward them. And as much as both could tell, the whole front of the man's shirt covered in what looked like burgundy in this fading light. But each man knew that it was blood.
Wolfwood's gut reaction told him to be cautious. Obviously this man before him was involved in something dark. Something evil. But, Wolfwood only put that feeling aside. His overall goal was to help people. He didn't know what was going on, but he knew people were being hurt, perhaps even killed. And this man before him was in no way anything other than a victim. It was bloody obvious!
With Stephen in tow, Wolfwood approached the man.
bA Revelation maybe? /b
"Are you alright, sir?" Wolfwood asked the man when he got in spitting distance. The man raised his arms for Wolfwood and grunted loud. This startled Wolfwood and he retreated somewhat. He didn't step back, but merely leaned back. This is a move that ultimately saved him. The man was staggering already, and as he went for wolfwood, the lean back seemed a little strange from the man's point of view, and he was already pretty zealous that he fell forward, hit Wolfwood and bounced to the pavement face first, sounding off quite a healthy and meaty thud.
To Wolfwood, it still didn't seem like an attack. Maybe the guy gave it his all to make it to them and then in one final last ditch effort: collapsed forward, reaching out, hoping to be caught. And was he, caught? Hell, no! Wolfwood had never heard such a sick and painful sound in his life (Although he would soon hear his fill) than that face hitting the pavement.
Wolfwood looked to Steve with a surprised and confused expression and received nothing but the same. He then leaned down to help the poor man. "Shit, mister. I'm—" then the man grabbed his wrist in a surprisingly tight grip.
"Oh fuck me!" Steve burst and jumped back.
The man looked up at Wolfwood and hissed through clinched teeth. Wolfwood noticed the man's nose was mashed but not dripping blood. His eyes were almost completely white as though they were covered with a thin piece of egg white. Only the outlines of the pupils were barely visible through it. And the man's skin had a sickly yellow tinge to it. What the hell happened to this man? was all he could think before he almost had his fingers bitten off by him. With a strong yank, Wolfwood freed his hand from the dead man's grip and snapping teeth. This time Wolfwood did back up. Way up! Stephen ran around the man giving him plenty of space.
Dead man? Did I just consider him a dead man? That was obviously not right. A dead man doesn't walk. No. But neither does a living man loose his pupils. Or have his blood so dead and congealed that he can't bleed. Or have such a sick colour in his skin. But this was insane! There has to be an explanation. This man is not dead!
The man started to slowly rise to his feet. Something told Wolfwood to run. And like he had so recently stated, when you give your life to God, it's never a good idea to ignore such a strong impulse. So he ran. "Come on, Steve!" he called back.
But Stephen didn't move. He was fixated on the man before him who had now forgotten about rising to his feet and decided that crawling to such a still and easy prey, as Stephen was easier.
Wolfwood turned back and noticed Stephen still standing there. He seemed as though he had been jack lighted. He stopped and started back. "Steve!" he called again.
"I think…I think that…I…I think…" Stephen mumbled quietly to himself with the man now ten feet from him. Still he did not move. Only stared right back into those hateful, hungry white eyes.
Wolfwood heard a groan from the field on his left. He saw two more people staggering towards him. A young man and a elderly woman. They groaned and hissed at him. Then it had hit him. These were not the victims, but the attackers that he first heard about back on the interstate. It had seemed odd then, but seemed doubly so now that he saw such an elderly and otherwise, sweet looking lady involved. Lord, what the HELL was going on here!?
He ran to Stephen and pushed the crawling man over with his foot. He gripped Steve's shoulders and looked him squarely in the face. "Now! Let's go now!"
"I think he's dead." Stephen said in a very weak voice that Wolfwood almost had to ask him to repeat it. "I think—"
"No! Now let's move!" Wolfwood dragged Stephen along for the first few steps before his companion found his own power and will to survive. Stephen didn't even notice the two new party crashers and Wolfwood decided that was a good thing. Right now, Stephen was leading him to St. Josephs, and they were moving good. The people there must know what's going on! They must have an answer. Stephen had come to the same initial conclusion he had, but that wasn't enough to convince him. No. These people were not dead!
Not dead!
bEXT. St. Joseph's High School - DUSK. /b
The three-story high school was visible once Wolfwood and Stephen rounded onto Montgomery Road. More of those people were staggering around and many more were laying down dead.
Both men ran across the parking lot towards the front doors. They were drawing attention to themselves and were now slowly being chased. But that was okay. They had made it this far, only twenty more feet until they come to the doors.
The doors were locked. In frustration, Stephen pounded on the window glass of the doors and Wolfwood looked in and down....
"Chains." He said. Stephen turned and his eyes grew open with mounting terror, as their predators were getting closer. There was a teenage girl he would have undressed with his eyes if it had not been for his current state of terror, or her current state of what appeared to be a bad case of the 'Rotting Flesh', not fifteen feet from them. Then his eyes squeezed shut at the surprise of a loud gun report from above him.
Both men cowered at the noise and Wolfwood couldn't tell if it was an echo he was hearing or if his ears had just been fucked up good. When they opened their eyes, the girl was sprawled out on her back. What appeared to be grey matter was lying on the ground under her right ear.
Wolfwood took a few steps away from the door and looked up. There was a second level balcony in which a tall man with a rifle (Wolfwood couldn't tell what kind, he was a man of peace and had no interest in such things). He had a walkie-talkie lifted to his mouth.
"Dammit, Reeve. North entrance, now!". The man said into it. Then he slung it back onto his belt. "Young Mr. Reeve will be right with you." He said to Wolfwood and Stephen. Then he lifted his rifle again and two shots rang out. Wolfwood didn't want to turn around and see. He knew what he would find.
The man noticed Wolfwood was still looking at him. At this, the man looked guilty. "It's okay. They're dead. You know that right? I-ah-I mean, they were dead even before I shot them."
This one, too! Wolfwood thought. He believes it too!
"The head, man." Rambo called down to him. Sounding a little surer at the moment. "That's the only way to bring them down. As far as we figure."
Wolfwood didn't respond, he just kept staring at the man. He wanted to respond and may have been about to do so, but the loud clank and rattle of chains claimed his concentration and he turned to the door.
A young man who didn't appear to be growing out of his freckles pushed the door open. He looked scared and hurried. The sound of pandemonium hit their ears hard. . Stephen followed by Wolfwood entered into St. Josephs.
Reeves quickly slammed the big doors home and secured it once again to the chain. Wolfwood looked at the chain as it was wrapped tightly about the inner handles.
Are those things really necessary? he wondered. Then a wiser part of him spoke up. Yes. On one level they are necessary to keep safety. On another level we can only hope that they are necessary to do the job.
bINT. St. Joseph's - DUSK /b
All along the walls of the hallway were lockers. It was a sight Wolfwood had not seen since fifteen years ago when in high school and it gave him a strange sense of nostalgia.
"My name is Reeves." The freckly red headed kid—why did most read heads suffer from such a bad case of the freckles, Wolfwood wondered—said to them.
"Kinda figured as much." Stephen said. At that, Reeves gave him a curious look but it quickly slipped from his face.
"What's going on here?" Wolfwood demanded in a low voice.
"We're trying to get organized." Reeves said.
"I realize that, but what I—"
"I know." Reeves interrupted. "We don't really know. A lot of speculation and that's about it." A slight pause. "Follow me."
After many turns through the halls, they came to what was obviously the cafeteria. One the way the passed by a huge double gym where many people were arranging many mats. Sleeping arrangements, no doubt. There were many people slowly wandering the halls. If it had not been for their down cast faces and sounds of loud sobbing, they could easily have been taken for one of the others. Some armed with rifles seemed to be standing guard at other exits. Many of these people were police.
Once in the cafeteria, Wolfwood could see many people working up a storm in the kitchen area. About sixty people sat in tables that were in the far left corner. That was where the wall-mounted television was. All of them had their eyes glued to the screen.
An anchorwoman, with long red hair and was quite striking (even with her freckles), sat at her desk looking heavily into the camera. "Much of the public are in conjunction with law enforcement officers—both state and local—on setting up rescue stations. " the anchor woman said. "You are urged to make your way to the closest one."
On the bottom of the screen, names of places and their addresses were scrolling along. Wolfwood noticed something else as well. In the background, people were going nuts. He was pretty sure that work conditions in live television was intense and quite possibly insane, but he doubted it was this bad.
The woman continued: "A lot of theories but still no facts as to the nature of this phenomenon. Now--." She looked off camera. A voice could be heard but very faintly. "We can't…?!" Another interlude with the faint voice. Then the anchorwoman looked back into the camera. "Due to, ah… technical problems, this station can not hook up to the live NBC broadcast with the Secretary General. Therefore, we urge you to switch over to NBC for the discussion and we will be here afterward…if not…" she was now becoming visibly frightened. "…Our CG will continue to post rescue stations on this signal. Thank you."
bThe SD /b
The TV was changed to NBC and the cafeteria was hushed when the screen showed the familiar image of the blue curtains of the white house press room. A large burley man in a suit that looked a little too tight for him stepped up to the podium. The CG at the bottom of the screen introduced him as Secretary of Defence. Camera flashes greeted him continuously as he fumbled with a few papers. A female voice-over stated "The Secretary of Defence has will now read from a prepared statement. Press members are not allowed to ask any questions"
"How American." someone said from the back of the cafeteria. Wolfwood looked around and was only partially surprised to see that there must be two hundred people in all watching the broadcast.
The SD regarded the room and the camera with a admirably composed look. "Ladies and Gentlemen. Fellow citizens. At this time very little is concrete. We do know the phenomenon sprang up in the northeast area. Specifically Pennsylvania and the Virginias. But as to the cause or how such an epidemic spread over such a vast area to the west coast and into Canada, we don't know. As of now we are leaning towards some form of bacteria as of the cause. Both Centres for Disease Control in Atlanta and Stonington back this theory, but as yet have been able to confirm it. Ludicrous rumours that these infected people are the walking dead have spread even faster and farther than the epidemic itself. Let me clarify this here and now. Such a thing is impossible. Rumours like this are uneducated, rash, and dangerous. We urge the public to not make such wild speculations. Rash and dangerous decisions come from such. Uncountable reports of looting, rioting and mass murder--murder that's aside from our main dilemma--have flooded in. The country is now in a state of marshal law, and we have the people to handle it. It is thought best that the public not take matters into their own hands and seek out the nearest emergency shelter. No longer seek occupancy in private residences no matter how safe or well protected they may be. The President today has sent to congress a package of initiatives that--"
Wolfwood tuned him out then.
******
Authors Note:…I imagine some if not most of you recognize the SD's last two sentences....I just had to :-)
******
bdark and silent /b
The hallways were dark and silent. Wolfwood left the crowd to watch the television in the cafeteria. He stared up to the ceiling and saw the skylights offered no light. Night had come.
Skylight? Wasn't this school with two or three stories? From what he saw of it outside it was. He looked around and noticed the cafeteria was set in the corner of the building. It along with part of one of the hallways leading to it was seemed to be one story. At the end of the hallway he saw stairs going up. He looked back up and could just make out through the darkness outside the hallway skylight a large bulk growing out of the roof. He hoped none of those people or whatever they were could get up to that roof and crash through the skylight. Just as quickly as this concern came to him, he mentally and verbally laughed it off. He didn't know why it was so funny.
People. Those people. Shit, just like the authorities, he didn't know what was going on and he didn't want to sit there and listen to speculation. Truth was no one knew shit. Wait a minute, that wasn't quite true. Didn't that good ol' boy on the balcony know? He said they were dead which is ludicrous, even the SG said so, but gung-ho gun up there said it in such a matter of fact way that it was hard to shake. And didn't it rattle him a bit? Didn't he sense it from the beginning? Shit, he seen these people up close. Even fought with them. They already showed great wounds but didn't show signs of pain, concern or any such thing. No. This wasn't true. He didn't care for this rattled feeling but wasn't going to succumb to what it suggested. No. He was only rattled because of the dream. He felt the same now as he had every time he woke from the dream. Disoriented, a little nauseous and feeling a sense of doom. No, he would not succumb to it.
He tried his best to clear his mind. It was then that he realized he had been on the move and found himself at the stairway. And then up he went.
The hallway up here was deserted as well. And along the right side were large windows. Wolfwood stopped in front of these and looked out. The perspective wasn't that great considering he was only on a second floor, but he could see enough to know that it was getting pretty busy out there. Many shambling folks were migrating to this building.
Suddenly the lights overhead went on. Part of him outraged that this was a bad idea. He felt he was inside a large bug light, which would really attract attention. The lights caused the windows to brightly reflect the hallway. He couldn't see outside very well now but was sure that their numbers down there were now about to increase rapidly.
He looked at his own reflection for a moment or two. It was very odd. He didn't recognize himself too much. He had always been a creature of change. Priest turned drifter was proof enough. And many of the changes he went through were quick and swift. He was use to it, but not now. Not with this physical change he saw before him. For the most part he appeared silhouetted. But he could still make out some of his facial features. And his slight slump to the right…well left actually with account to the reflection. He looked…tired. Not sleepy tired but…worn, dried, used, old…tired.
Much as with the Secretary General, Wolfwood turned away from himself. Not wanting to deal with what he saw. He started walking again and thought about catching some fresh air out on the second floor balcony. It wouldn't be too hard to find. Maybe that good ol' boy was still out there. Maybe both of them could talk for a bit.
bThe Man called Max /b
Before he even opened the glass doors to the second floor balcony, Wolfwood could hear the sounds of a crumbling world. Sirens, shouting with the odd scream mixed in, and many variations of gun fire. When he stepped out, the soft, warm spring breeze carried an awful stench into his nose. He immediately thought of decaying flesh.
The creak of the door made Rambo jump and turn his big gun on Wolfwood. Both men were frozen for a long moment. Caught in a tableau that would have looked humorous to any witnesses had there been any. Finally, the gun came down and Wolfwood stepped out.
Wolfwood noticed the man was about his age, early thirties.
"Names Max." the large man started as he extended his hand.
Wolfwood took it and gave it a brisk shake. "Max." he said as if he were carefully storing it into memory.
Max looked at him for an awkward moment and then barked a short laugh. "There's another part to this ritual, mister."
Wolfwood smiled. He knew telling this man the name he was going under was Wolfwood could be a bad idea. And his real name served him no purpose out here on the road as he tried to re-invent himself. "For years now I've gotten use to people calling me Father. Why stop now." Yes, why stop now. He was no longer a practising priest but his faith was one of the few things, if not the only thing, about his past that he wasn't willing to let go.
Max raised an eyebrow. "You a priest?"
"Used to be."
Another awkward moment of silence. And when Max broke it, Wolfwood was thankful that it wasn't with the typical "Used to be? Please, do tell." Instead Max said "Well, I won't pretend to share your views."
"Of course. Hey, nobody's perfect." This got both men laughing and strangely Wolfwood felt a kind of bond with Max.
"Yeah well even in light of something like this it's hard." Max said as he turned his view out to the staggering people in the street. Wolfwood also noticed quite the body count down there as well. Max here has been busy. "I mean," Max continued "Something like this can equally confirm or deny the existence of God."
Silence again. Only now Wolfwood wasn't feeling it as awkward anymore. Max broke it again. This time however, with a deep sigh and a little colour.
"Ah, shit." Instantly he turned to Wolfwood with a awkward, apologetic look on his face. "Oh, um. Sorry."
Wolfwood's lips curved into a small smile. "'The fuck you apologizing for?"
This time both of Max's eyebrows raised and again both men found themselves laughing.
"You're alright, Father." It was obvious that Max was now feeling that same sense of bonding Wolfwood had a moment ago. And to Wolfwood, the feeling got even stronger. And he knew, without even deciding, that if Max were to ask for his name, he would give it. Either or both.
bPhilosophy, Theology, and Sociology. /b
Below them were ever increasing numbers. Wolfwood was now only truly beginning to accept with his mind what his heart already knew. These people, things are dead, pure and…well, not so simply dead. He looked below and could make out only what few lamp stands would allow him to make out, about fifty or sixty of them on their feet. And all sets of feet were guiding them this way. And there was a terrible sound, a united and almost constant groaning. He was once again reminded of his dreams.
"All dead." He spoke barely above a whisper.
"Hard to take in, isn't it?" Max put in beside him. His voice was soft and heavy with understanding.
Wolfwood nodded. It was the best response he could offer.
"But you better take it in, brother." Max continued. He tapped his walkie- talkie and said "Reeves informed me about what the authorities think. Were you in the cafeteria when it was all on TV?"
Wolfwood found his voice again. "Yes." He said.
"Well don't you underestimate this thing either. You'll be part of their ranks before you know it."
Wolfwood offered a small "Hmmm."
"What does your Bible say about this?" Max asked.
"Excuse me?"
"Come on, man. This is apocalyptic shit here."
This got a little under Wolfwoods skin. He said, "You know, I've seen dozens of movies that have involved wide spread earthquakes, collision course comets and even invaders from space. A lot of them even referred to the Bible as a way of explaining what's going on. Saying it's the end of the world or judgement day only because the bible says so. Like they even no what their talking about. No. This is not in the Bible. This is not judgement day. Feel any better?"
Max studied him with an odd smile. "Sure. But what's more important is that you look to be much better now."
Fair enough. Wolfwood felt better too. He seemed to have a stronger grip on himself and surrounding reality rather than floating between it and his own mind.
Silence fell between them again. But there was no real silence. The groaning flooded Wolfwoods ears again. This must have visibly disturbed him because Max said, "Sorry. Ain't enough light to take down any more. You gotta get them in the head, see. It's the brain, man. Their motor."
"Don't those things come with night vision…infrared scope…sights."
Max laughed a hearty laugh. "You don't know shit about guns do you? Okay, okay, man of peace, I know. No, this baby is just the basic of the action pump air rifles, nothing really in the way of bells and such. Besides, no one has come through this entrance since you and that other fellow."
"Stephen."
"Right." Max said looking down. Wolfwood didn't need to see what Max was looking at. He could hear the pounding on metal and glass. They were now at the doors. "And I don't think we'll get many more if any." Max said.
Max lifted his walkie-talkie and then put it back with a heavy sigh. "Nah, I'm sure the other entrances are the same." He said.
"Who's in charge here?" Wolfwood asked.
Max barked a short laugh. "Throw a stone, brother. At this point we all in charge. We all got survival on the brain. And we'll all work together to ensure survival. No one here will mind doing what's asked of them or asking others for help. If there were a racist here, they wouldn't mind rubbing elbows with a brother like me so long as it suits their purpose of survival. No, I don't believe we'll have any toes stepped on around here. We don't need an overhead to keep the peace."
"Any thing can happen." Wolfwood said. "A sudden panic. Maybe those things can break in. Something…Anything."
"If it came to something like that, we won't need a leader to tell us we're screwed."
Once again, fair enough.
"Besides," Max continued. "From what I understand the military will soon be sticking their fingers in our pie here."
"Aren't they--?" Wolfwood started but was cut off by Max.
"They just a few foot soldiers. If you wanna recognize their authority, then you can say that their the ones in charge. And more might be on the way."
Max lifted his walkie-talkie to his mouth. "Green, what are you doing?" what came back was too filtered and full of static for Wolfwood to grasp. Max apparently had no trouble. "Well that's not important, what is important is that I need someone to relieve me."
This time Wolfwood barely understood what came through. "I'll be right there."
Max put the large walkie-talkie back into the large holster on his belt. "See? I think the world moves along much better when there's no leader and everything is balanced by a give and take system. Now, what do you say to some grub?"
Wolfwood smiled. "Amen, brother."
Max smiled back. "Amen."
bThe First Supper b
Wolfwood and Max waited in the food line for more than half an hour. And the whole time Wolfwood had that crawling feeling as though people kept staring at him. The feeling was all he had, when he looked around no eyes met his.
"Any idea how much food supply we have?" Wolfwood asked under his breath. He didn't want any easy to panic person to over hear and give them something else to think and worry about.
"I heard the school was freshly stocked only last week. This is why we weren't given anymore. But the powers that be will be checking in on us and giving what we need."
Wolfwood had a feeling that very soon that such powers Max had talked about may swing to the other side. We won't be running this world for long, he thought.
After acquiring their franks and beans, they returned to the cafeteria hall where Stephen sat close to the exit way of the food bar area and waved them down to join him. As they did, introductions were made all around including a couple of Stephens new friends, Melissa and her five year old son Todd. When Wolfwood introduced himself as such, all of them laughed. Although little Todd didn't mind so much.
"I think I'll stick with Father." Max said around half a frank.
"Is your husband around?" Wolfwood asked her.
"Since I don't have one, I'd have to say no Mr. ...Wolfwood?" And then she gave a little laugh. Wolfwood smiled, he was used to just such a reaction to his name."
Wolfwood offered a small, embarrassed smile. "Oh, forgive me."
"That's quite alright."
That crawling sensation returned and this time as Wolfwood looked around he did see others observing him.
"Your the priest, right?" A loud female voice from behind him. Before Wolfwood could respond or even turn around to face the owner of the voice, A large woman plumped herself down between him and Max. Max was almost shoved two feet over. He didn't look to happy but kept his peace as he shovled some beans into his mouth. A glob of ketchup rested on her cheek giving the woman an odd cartoonist quality. He was suddenly reminded of Meme from the Drew Carey Show.
"Well, um--" Wolfwood began but was cut off before he could finish.
"Then you know!" The woman said. She stared at him with wide-eyed intensity. "You know this is the last times! Judgement Day is here!" Her already loud voice became even louder at this.
Wolfwood exchanged a glance with Max. They had already covered this ground. Wolfwood looked around again and noticed that not one person was talking and now all their eyes were on him. And there was no mistaken that look of fear in them. Young Todd's big brown eyes were large with fear as well. But his eyes were not on him. They were on this bold woman sitting across the table from him. Wolfwood realized that the boy was too young to know what was being said specifically, but he knew children. They can pick up on a lot and were far more observant than adults will give them credit for. Todd was scootching ever closer to his mother. Melissa put an arm around her son and gave the woman a contemptuous look. Wolfwood noted that whatever cute, cartoonish quality this woman had a moment ago was not gone. He sighed, he was way too emotionally exhausted to deal with this.
"Can you please keep it down." Melissa spat. It was not a question.
The woman turned her head to Melissa. She looked at her hard and then looked to Todd. Her eyes swept back over Melissa and to Stephen next to her.
"Ohhh." The woman breathed thickly as she looked back to Melissa. "I see you. I see you are without a husband."
All frowned. The best Wolfwood could come up with was the obvious age difference between Melissa and Stephen. Melissa appeared to be in her late- twenties while Stephen really looked his age of nineteen or twenty.
"It's because of you." the woman continued. "Because of you and others like you that this is happening! " hushed murmurs were now about the cafeteria. The woman's voice then rose to a crescendo "The judgement hammer has come down! It's you! You! Sinner! Whore!!" She even pointed her finger in Melissa's face.
Todd began to cry. Melissa's complexion rose to the colour of a radish. She swept at the interrogating finger but the loud woman was too quick. Wolfwood, Max and Stephen looked as though they were about to take some kind of action but knew not what. Suddenly, Thankfully, a large hand clapped down on the woman's broad shoulder.
"Excuse me, Mrs...?" A man in blue button shirt said from behind her. He appeared to be in his mid-forties and his voice was soft and calming, quite the contrast to the woman. A sown-on name tag let Wolfwood know this man's name was Donald.
"It's Mizz! Mizz Hersh!" she said with unmasked anger. She obviously wasn't pleased by this man interrupting her twisted sermon that was just picking up.
"Well Mizz Hersh, your upsetting the people." Donald said.
"They have every reason to be." Hersh hissed at him. "They were all too good for the lord. Never even gave him the time of day."
This sparked off a funny image to Wolfwood. He tried to imagine Jesus walking up to him on the street. "Hey man, know what time it is?"
"Well now he's got their attention doesn't he?" She went on. "He has released the abominations of--"
"Enough." Donald said with a fresh firmness in his voice.
A long, terrible moment of silence followed this. All hushed murmurs ceased. But such was not noticeable even to Wolfwood. Donald and Hersh stared at each other. Not glaring, but just staring. Finally, Mizz Hersh stood up.
"They will hate you for my sake." she said. Such a cryptic sentence was not lost on Wolfwood. He recognized it as Jesus' words. And he felt very sick.
She then walked away. Her shoulders back and her head high. All eyes followed her out the cafeteria but still no one spoke. Once she was out of view from the glass doors the murmuring started again.
"Hmmm, that went easy." Donald said. "Mind if I join you, Max?"
"Take a seat." Max said.
"Thanks buddy." Donald said as he sat down in Mizz Hersh's spot. He then looked to Wolfwood and the others. "Names Don. Oh!" he said and then smiled as he noticed his name tag. "I'm the school janitor here. Anything you need, come see me. I got unlimited access to this place."
"Well, I see you already know Max." Wolfwood started. He gestured across the table. "This is Stephen, Melissa and the little one is Todd."
At this, Don smiled and nodded to Stephen and Melissa. He then extended his hand out to Todd. "Hey pardner!"
Todd was rubbing the tears out of his puffy red eyes and then after a moments consideration, he took Dons hand and shook.
"Whoa!" Don said with that excited voice only reserved for talking to children. "Quite a little grip you got there! There's gonna be no office jobs for you! Your gonna be like me and use those strong hands to work!" He then offered quite a charming smile. And after a moment, Todd returned with one of his own. They were all smiling.
"Your good with children." Melissa said.
"Grand-father hood." Don said. And then turned to Wolfwood. "Your the priest, right?"
Wolfwood gave Stephen a look.
Stephen got defensive "You are, though! That's what you told me. I just told a few other people."
Wolfwood lowered his head and laughed a little. Those few have been eyeing him knowingly. A whole room full of them.
"Well," Don chimed back in. "You don't hold with the shit that crazy bitch was spouting, do you?"
"No." Wolfwood said quite firmly.
"Well good. One is enough." Don said.
"For now." Max said. "Look around. A lot of frightened people here with no clue about what's really going on."
"Yeah, they might be looking for something." Stephen said.
"Who knows how many people she can convince. She could be dangerous." Melissa said.
"Could be?" Don asked rhetorically.
Wolfwood noticed some of the people were finishing their meals and getting up.
"Don, there's a chapel here right?" Max asked.
"Yeah."
Max looked steady at Wolfwood. Don turned his gaze to him as well. Realization dawned on Dons face. And then on Wolfwoods.
"No." Wolfwood said.
Don was nodding his head. "Yes." he said.
"No." Wolfwood repeated.
"NO!" a loud voice said from in the food bar area. "No seconds! NO seconds!"
"Yes." Max said. "These people need someone."
"But didn't you say--" Wolfwood began.
"Forget what I said, man! This is not the same. They won't look to you for that kind of leadership. They just need someone to help cope. To give them some answers."
"I don't have--" Wolfwood said rather too loud. He then lowered his voice. "I don't have any answers for them!"
Max shook his head. "Whatever, man! Anything you have has got to be better than what she's willing to offer. Think!"
All gave Wolfwood a moment to think. Then Max added, "Brother, you know their gonna go to her."
"Nothing good can come from that one, padre." Stephen said very soft.
Wolfwood wasn't a priest anymore. But he still had the ability to help lost people. The knowledge to give them the answers as well as he could. And he still had the faith in God. These people were dishevelled enough to listen to that woman's brand of poison and be contaminated by it. He really had no choice in the matter.
"Father?" Melissa said quietly.
He looked up into her pleading eyes. Her beautiful face was longing for a reply. The right reply. It was this that was persuading him more than anything. All other thoughts were just that. Thoughts. But her face before him was real.
Just as he opened his mouth a blood curdling scream drifted in from out in the large foyer. People jumped high out of their seats as if the scream came from under their own table. Everyone then rushed to the glass doors and filed out of the cafeteria. Then there were a few more screams. Wolfwood and gang were the last few out next to the kitchen staff.
Once in the foyer, they saw everyone looking up. Some even extenuating it by pointing. Wolfwood followed their gazes and pointing fingers up to the skylights. There were perhaps a dozen of those zombies up there leaning and pounding on the glass. And a few more over on the skylight above the left side hallway. Even their moans were audible.
"How could...?" Stephen said but could say no more.
"Yeah," Max said. "There's a service ladder on the north side here thats bolted to the building."
"I grabbed some tools but those bolts are rusted hard." Don said.
"Can they brake through?" Melissa asked as she held Todd in her arms and hugged him tight.
"No, I don't think so. Glass is strong enough to support much of their weight. We're safe." Don said. But all the same, there was fresh fear in his voice.
"Is it really going to be alright, Mommy?" Todd asked.
Melissa softly stroked his hair. "Yes, lovely. It's alright."
Mizz Hersh entered the foyer from the right hallway. She saw everyone's point of interest and smiled at everyone. She pointed up as well and let loose her boisterous voice.
"You see!" she said. And everyone turned to look at her. "The abominations have been let loose from the pits of hell! Souls such as yours who have come back to claim their own!"
"Shut up!" a man yelled from amongst the crowd.
"Have you such pride?!" Hersh yelled back. "Can you not see the writings on wall?! Can you not see that which is right in front of you?!"
Wolfwood saw some people nodding their heads. Many were looking back and forth between the outside threat and Hersh. Wolfwood could see in their faces that they were scared of both equally.
"The time has come! Judgment has come! Upon you and all of us!" she continued. "Will you join their ranks?! Will you let Satan drag you down too?! Or will you be saved?! Will you be saved?!!"
Murmurs of "yes", and "saved" ran through the crowd. Wolfwood lowered his head and turned to Max and Don. "I'll do it." he said and walked away.
As he walked down the hall and around the corner to a connecting hall, he could still hear Mizz Hersh crying out "Sinners! Now! The time is now! Repent! Be saved!! Repent!! Be SAVED!!!"
bNorth /b
The street was empty for the moment. Wolfwood prayed it would stay that way. He noted this was not actually true. The headless corpse of what appeared to be a teenage girl lay on the curb twenty feet ahead. Road kill. With the short summer skirt around the waist, Wolfwood could see that many fleshy chunks have been taken out of her legs. Animals weren't responsible for that.
He turned the ignition key and there was no satisfactory reaction from the Schrocco's engine. Only a small whining sound. He tried again and pumped the gas pedal repeatedly. There was still no sign of life, the engine didn't even whine this time.
He had found himself stuck here in the middle of a seemingly endless suburbia. The car got him far away from a very close call, but not far enough to what he felt would be some relative safety...away from the city. He did his best to avoid the crowded city streets and Interstates. But this was a strange city to him. The late afternoon sun and the dashboard compass gave him his only sense of direction. Getting lost amongst the winding streets in this neighbourhood where everything looked the same was an ever- present danger. Fuel had been a danger as well, however, he knew he should have had enough to get out of the city. The problem had to be something else. The low fuel light hadn't even come on!
He looked to the little compass; its plastic bubble seemed like an eye that stared back at him. This gave him the crawling sensation of being watched and he quickly looked around to make sure it was still clear. The place was dead...well...you know what I mean. When he was assured it was clear, he turned back to the compass. The arrows narrow tip lay solidly on the 'N'. This image gave him a odd sense of hope. The sunlight broke through the driver's side window and baked him. All windows had been rolled up. He did not want to open them even a crack. He was sweltering.
He turned his attention to the ignition again. Come on, you bastard. Sweat began to sting his eyes.
Thump! From behind. Beginning a beat which Wolfwoods heart continued. He turned to see a yellow face staring in at him. And he would have sworn, that face was smiling a little. What guided this thought were the little flecks of congealed blood that crumbled from the corner of its mouth to the window. The things hands slid up and down the window of the back hatch. Wolfwood knew he was safe. He had made sure the hatch was locked. He made sure all the doors were locked.
He turned the key, pumped the pedal. Nothing. No, wait. That whining sound was back. He let the car sit for a moment. It went beyond the mental and into a physical struggle to keep from trying so quickly again. His muscles ached to turn the key and pump the accelerator again.
He surveyed the scene again and his heart stepped up its assault on his rib cage as he saw three others coming from around one of the many rich looking houses on the right side of the street. Two middle-aged men and a little boy.
Crusty came from the back of the car and found his way to the drivers' window. He put his hand on the lock just to reaffirm his mind that it was still locked. He didn't want to look up. Didn't want to look into those white filmy eyes.
Escape was an option. It was the smartest option. Just hop over to the passenger seat, open the door and run. Out running them here would be no problem, but where would he go on his feet? How far could he go on his feet? They were everywhere. Everywhere. Cars were now a dime a dozen and sat wherever he looked, but he didn't know thing one about hot wiring.
His eyes turned to the compass, to the arrow, to the 'N'. That's where he could go. He needed to go north. Such was the path of salvation.
North.
He tried the car again. Praise Jesus! He could feel it wanting to turn over. Again. Almost. Again. Almost. Key, pedal, turn, and pump. Almost.
The others were closer. More were coming. Crusty next to him was pounding on the window. Now was the time to move if he decided to move. The three on the right would be there any second. He would then be surrounded. He thought how he could push his door open and knock Crusty on his ass and make a run for it, but the coward part of him protested that he may not be able to pull it off. In a split second, Wolfwoods fate was decided. He turned the key.
Almost!
Click.
A latch. The door! The door behind him! He turned and saw the back seat drivers side door opening. He was sure it was locked, he checked each one not two minutes ago. Accompanied with the door was a rusty creaking sound that seemed more at home in those old ghost movies he used to love as a kid. Crr-rrr-rreeeeeeeeeeeak! Crusty was now slowly creeping in.
Wolfwood jumped up onto his seat and tried to close the door around the invader. With a solid grip on the handle, he pushed and pulled the door into Crusty. He hoped for a pained and confused reaction from Crusty, that it would back away from the door slamming into his arms and shoulders. However, the things blood lust was too strong. All but its legs were now inside.
Thumping now from the right of the car. The three others were here now. Staring in at him through the glass as they may have used to stare at a delicious cake through the freezer glass at the supermarket. One was a little boy. Wolfwood noted that the boy bore a striking resemblance to Todd.
Wolfwood grabbed Crustys shoulders and pushed for all he was worth. He was bent at the waist over the front seat and didn't have much leverage. Crustys own hands came up and gripped onto his upper arms with surprising strength.
The idea of slipping the gear into neutral came to him. But he passed on this with a mental curse. These roads were flat.
With his hands on Crustys shoulders, Crusty focused on trying to bite them. And boy, was he getting close. Wolfwoods grip started to loosen as he slid his hands out of reach of that blood crusted mouth. In turn, his force began to loosen as well. He didn't think he could hold Crusty off anymore. He lifted his leg over the seat and this gave him the leverage he needed. Out, damn you! his mind raged as he pushed. He was beginning to succeed.
The others worked their way around the car and were squeezing by Crusty. The little boy, Todd, took hold of Wolfwoods ankle. A short, loud yelp of surprise burst from Wolfwoods throat.
The grip he held on Crusty faltered beyond a dangerous point. Crusty either leaned forward hard, was pushed from behind or both. It didn't really matter. The thing crashed down on top of him. He lay on his back struggling with the hungry thing on top of him. The feeling of a small mouth embraced his calf. The weight on him was getting worse. It became excruciating.
Rage and fear welled in his throat but could come no further. Still, he tried to scream.
^^^^^
He bolted up, tried to scream again but couldn't. The sides of his neck, his throat an his tear stricken cheeks felt thick and sore. Almost like they were going to burst. He panted heavily and after a moment the soreness began to settle.
The gymnasium was huge, and yet it couldn't even accommodate everyone here at St. Joseph's. Along with twenty others, Wolfwood was sleeping here in the cafeteria. They didn't even get any mats that those in the gym next door were sleeping on. Just a small pillow and a couple of thin blankets to comfort him from the cold, hard floor. His body was telling him that it wasn't working.
Everyone turned in at eleven o'clock. Wolfwood himself had not fallen asleep for three hours. Many were the same. He turned his head to the mounted clock above the doorway to the food stand. 4:13 it said. Barely over two hours of sleep. He rubbed his tired eyes and was sure that regardless of them, sleep would not find him for a long time yet.
It came again. Wolfwood was sure there would be others waking through this night with similar nightmares. He was also sure that such dreams would be new for them. But not for him. Since he was about fifteen, these dreams would plague him. Never the same place, never the same situation, but always the same threat and the same goal. The dead would walk, they would be everywhere and they wanted him. And his destination has always been north. Always.
He laid back down and began to shake. The dream was so real. Hell, it was real. He lay there with his head on the pillow and stared up at the white tiled ceiling. Thinking about going north. It was a long way to where he felt would be a safe distance, but he felt hope.
He didn't sleep the rest of the night.
By J. K.
bWolfwood /b
The man rolled down the passenger side window of the Volkswagon Schrocco and although there was no wind to caress his face--something he took much pleasure in when driving, he still smiled. That smell. Salt. Ahhhh, The Pacific!
"Fuck!" from the drivers side. The man looked over at his angry host but said nothing. He wouldn't have had the chance anyway. "Haven't even moved a fuckin' inch!" the driver said and punched the car horn for his exclamation. And then quite contrasting: Sulking: "Not one."
He had caught a ride with this, well, kid would be the best description, about thirty miles back. And he had regretted it the whole way. There had been no radio to listen to--it was "fuckin'rippedoffdamnfuckersfuckin'tookitassholes!" as his company so elegantly put it. Hence, he had to put up with much of the same speech the whole way. It was enough to rile his anger. He was sure this little punk would vex anybody into violence and homicide. Even a ex-priest like him.
They were now on a Interstate about three miles from Seattle, Washington city limits. And it would appear that entire three miles was bumper to bumper. The man also noted that the kid was right. They had sat here now for almost twenty minutes and haven't moved so much as an inch.
For the past few moments, the man could see others stepping out of their vehicles, many were stretching, many were looking down the interstate, but some the man noticed looked scared. Even terrified. It was this--not the traffic, not his growing impatience, not the foul mouthed punk next to him-- that caused him to get out of the car. He could see some of the scared, sick looking faces and he just knew something was wrong.
He stepped out of the car and unconsciously stretched his long limbs of un- use. "Hey, where ya goin', padre?" the sulky, angry voice called out to him. But he chose to ignore it. He was sure he could find a ride into town with someone else, and if not? Oh well, he completed about a third of his journey from the Toronto area on foot. What's another three miles?
Yes, his journey has been long, hard but very enlightening...Much as he hoped it would be. He was running away from his past. This was no great revelation that had come to him. He knew so right from the beginning. It had been a important element for him to take on such a journey in the first place. All he truly wished to retain in himself was his faith. Even his name, his identity meant nothing to him anymore. In Ohio he had stayed with a family for a short time. The kids were fond of calling him 'Wolfwood' after a character from some Chinese cartoon or something or other. Wolfwood, was a travelling priest, just like him. He even resembled the character physically. And since, he has adopted it as his name. ....The past? The past is dead. Nothing can be re-written. But everyone was too concerned with it, and no one was really concerned for what really matters. The future. Then, at least man has some control.
But much of this was far from his mind. What was, were those faces. It seemed there was more and more of them now. He wanted was to know what was going on, and if there was anything he could do to help.
Curiosity and helping out fellow man, for the thirty-two years of his life, that was (ex)-Father Wolfwood's way.
Wolfwood approached a man and woman about three cars down. The man appeared to be consoling the woman but seemed like he needed just as much consoling himself.
"What's wrong?" Wolfwood asked as he came closer. At the sound of his voice, the woman jumped around in her man's arms and regarded Wolfwood with fear. Then she put her face back into her man's chest and sobbed very loud.
"Haven't you been listening to the radio?" the man asked him. Before Wolfwood could say no, the car radio was "fuckin'rippedoffdamnfuckersfuckin'tookitassholes!" as his latest road buddy had said--The woman's muffled wail rang out from her man's chest. "What the hell is going on!?"
Wolfwood put a soft hand on her shoulder but she only shrank away from it.
Others started migrating to them. Their little group of three quickly became a large group of nine and counting. Even shithead from the Volkswagen came up.
"Dude, you forgot your stuff." He said as he handed Wolfwood his large back pack. "Oh, thank you." Wolfwood replied in kind as he took it back.
An elderly man then said "I keep hearing different things. Escaped lunatics; cultists; even mind-altering diseases...some kind of chemical warfare from America's enemies. Hell, I even heard something about cannibalism."
Wolfwood finally spoke up "Whoa, whoa. What the hell are we talking about here?"
"That's what we're trying to find out!" The man consoling the woman shouted at him.
A young woman with a baby in her arms spoke next. She seemed to be directing her statement at Wolfwood. "People are killing people. And--" She broke down in sobs. Tears started forming at her eyes. She held her baby tighter and the little one then joined it's mother in crying. "--And it's everywhere."
Everywhere. That word struck Wolfwood like a stake to the heart....or a bullet to the head. Killing. Cannibalism. Yes, these words struck him too. But nowhere near as hard as 'Everywhere'. Yet he didn't know why, or did he?
Before anymore pondering about it could be done, a middle-aged man in a very bad and very loud 'touristy' shirt said "This has got to be some kind of joke, right? I mean, shit! This has to be like that 'War of the Worlds' radio broadcast back in the fifties. Ya know! the one that H.G. Orson or someone did. Right?" He looked around, hoping for someone to confirm for him that this is right. But there was only silence. The first span of it in awhile. And although it only lasted maybe four seconds, to Wolfwood, it seemed an eternity. Then...
"No." Someone put in. And Wolfwood could see it was a young teenage boy who was just joining them and had a portable radio to his ear. "No. It's on all the radio stations now."
Everywhere. That word crept back to him again. That simple word now took on a very ominus quality and it just wouldn't go away.
The boy continued. "Local stations now are talking about rescue stations and locations."
Quick as a Wisk, Wolfwood nabbed the radio from the boy and put it to his ear. "Sorry." without even sounding remotely close to it was all he could offer.
"...Elm street; And St. Joseph's on Montgomery Road. The danger is more or less localized in the centre of town. There are reports from everywhere, however downtown is not where you want to be."...A long pause followed by a heavy sigh..."Okay, that list again."
Wolfwood tossed the radio back to the youngster "Thanks" he granted. Then he turned to shithead--hmmm, he couldn't even remember his name. "What's your name again, son?"
"Stephen" was the reply. And Stephen seemed to look a little hurt that Wolfwood had so quickly forgotten it. The look on Stephen's face actually caused Wolfwood to utter a short laugh. And low and behold, Stephen's face contorted into a humours mix of sadness and confusion. This got Wolfwood rolling with a large belly laugh. And it was as much a surprise to himself as it was for all the others looking on. Maybe it was an odd kind of defence mechanism. Oh well, he was feeling better. That's what counts.
"Stephen," he said and put a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "You know this area, do you know a St. Josephs Church on Montgomery?" He doubted this kid would even know a church from lighthouse.
"Montgomery? That's not a church. St. Joseph's on Montgomery is a high school." He looked at the former priest as though this news might offend him.
Wolfwood smiled and barked a small laugh just the same. "That's just fine. I want you to take me there."
Stephen looked at him strangely. Before he could open his mouth Wolfwood continued. "Don't worry about the car. Your gonna leave it and take me there on foot." Stephen was again about to open his mouth but Wolfwood came in again. "No, no questions. I don't really have any answers. Just take me there."
And so they went. In a hurriedly fashion. To Wolfwood, he knew that if he could get to that rescue station...that high school, they should be able to give him the real answers to his questions. And there will be people there. People in need of help.
bStranger on the road/b
The distance went by quickly for Wolfwood. He and Stephen did it in a constant jog. He knew his body was in shape, but was surprised that Stephen could keep up. Then again, the kid proved much earlier his lungs wind capacity with all the ranting and raving he delivered on poor old Wolfwood, so in retrospect, Stephens endurance and hardly seeming out of breath really wasn't much of a surprise.
It was a long line of confused and frightened faces that looked at them as they passed. Wolfwood doubted they knew anymore than he did himself, which really wasn't much at all.
After about two and a half miles, Wolfwood called up ahead to Stephen who was leading the way: "Gotta steer clear of downtown! We…Gotta…" He was beginning to pant.
"Sure! Yeah! We have to take this exit then!." Steve called back to him. And so they did.
This road here was dark and quiet. The moon was hiding behind thick clouds. They were surrounded by fields was all they could tell, but Wolfwood could see houses, streetlights and the like not to far ahead.
"The road you're looking for is not far ahead, only a quarter-mile. Now can we please stop with the fuckin' running!?" Steve bitched. Wolfwood nodded and came to a stop. Likewise did Stephen. Both were panting heavily now.
"What the hell is so important about getting the this place?" Stephen asked, in a familiar sulky manner.
Wolfwood offered him a moment of silence. And then spoke: "If you have ever given your life to God like I have, then you know it would be a bad idea not to act quickly when he gives you the sudden and strong impulse to do so. You—" he broke off. Stephen noticed Wolfwoods stern look and followed that strong gaze down the road.
A man was staggering toward them. And as much as both could tell, the whole front of the man's shirt covered in what looked like burgundy in this fading light. But each man knew that it was blood.
Wolfwood's gut reaction told him to be cautious. Obviously this man before him was involved in something dark. Something evil. But, Wolfwood only put that feeling aside. His overall goal was to help people. He didn't know what was going on, but he knew people were being hurt, perhaps even killed. And this man before him was in no way anything other than a victim. It was bloody obvious!
With Stephen in tow, Wolfwood approached the man.
bA Revelation maybe? /b
"Are you alright, sir?" Wolfwood asked the man when he got in spitting distance. The man raised his arms for Wolfwood and grunted loud. This startled Wolfwood and he retreated somewhat. He didn't step back, but merely leaned back. This is a move that ultimately saved him. The man was staggering already, and as he went for wolfwood, the lean back seemed a little strange from the man's point of view, and he was already pretty zealous that he fell forward, hit Wolfwood and bounced to the pavement face first, sounding off quite a healthy and meaty thud.
To Wolfwood, it still didn't seem like an attack. Maybe the guy gave it his all to make it to them and then in one final last ditch effort: collapsed forward, reaching out, hoping to be caught. And was he, caught? Hell, no! Wolfwood had never heard such a sick and painful sound in his life (Although he would soon hear his fill) than that face hitting the pavement.
Wolfwood looked to Steve with a surprised and confused expression and received nothing but the same. He then leaned down to help the poor man. "Shit, mister. I'm—" then the man grabbed his wrist in a surprisingly tight grip.
"Oh fuck me!" Steve burst and jumped back.
The man looked up at Wolfwood and hissed through clinched teeth. Wolfwood noticed the man's nose was mashed but not dripping blood. His eyes were almost completely white as though they were covered with a thin piece of egg white. Only the outlines of the pupils were barely visible through it. And the man's skin had a sickly yellow tinge to it. What the hell happened to this man? was all he could think before he almost had his fingers bitten off by him. With a strong yank, Wolfwood freed his hand from the dead man's grip and snapping teeth. This time Wolfwood did back up. Way up! Stephen ran around the man giving him plenty of space.
Dead man? Did I just consider him a dead man? That was obviously not right. A dead man doesn't walk. No. But neither does a living man loose his pupils. Or have his blood so dead and congealed that he can't bleed. Or have such a sick colour in his skin. But this was insane! There has to be an explanation. This man is not dead!
The man started to slowly rise to his feet. Something told Wolfwood to run. And like he had so recently stated, when you give your life to God, it's never a good idea to ignore such a strong impulse. So he ran. "Come on, Steve!" he called back.
But Stephen didn't move. He was fixated on the man before him who had now forgotten about rising to his feet and decided that crawling to such a still and easy prey, as Stephen was easier.
Wolfwood turned back and noticed Stephen still standing there. He seemed as though he had been jack lighted. He stopped and started back. "Steve!" he called again.
"I think…I think that…I…I think…" Stephen mumbled quietly to himself with the man now ten feet from him. Still he did not move. Only stared right back into those hateful, hungry white eyes.
Wolfwood heard a groan from the field on his left. He saw two more people staggering towards him. A young man and a elderly woman. They groaned and hissed at him. Then it had hit him. These were not the victims, but the attackers that he first heard about back on the interstate. It had seemed odd then, but seemed doubly so now that he saw such an elderly and otherwise, sweet looking lady involved. Lord, what the HELL was going on here!?
He ran to Stephen and pushed the crawling man over with his foot. He gripped Steve's shoulders and looked him squarely in the face. "Now! Let's go now!"
"I think he's dead." Stephen said in a very weak voice that Wolfwood almost had to ask him to repeat it. "I think—"
"No! Now let's move!" Wolfwood dragged Stephen along for the first few steps before his companion found his own power and will to survive. Stephen didn't even notice the two new party crashers and Wolfwood decided that was a good thing. Right now, Stephen was leading him to St. Josephs, and they were moving good. The people there must know what's going on! They must have an answer. Stephen had come to the same initial conclusion he had, but that wasn't enough to convince him. No. These people were not dead!
Not dead!
bEXT. St. Joseph's High School - DUSK. /b
The three-story high school was visible once Wolfwood and Stephen rounded onto Montgomery Road. More of those people were staggering around and many more were laying down dead.
Both men ran across the parking lot towards the front doors. They were drawing attention to themselves and were now slowly being chased. But that was okay. They had made it this far, only twenty more feet until they come to the doors.
The doors were locked. In frustration, Stephen pounded on the window glass of the doors and Wolfwood looked in and down....
"Chains." He said. Stephen turned and his eyes grew open with mounting terror, as their predators were getting closer. There was a teenage girl he would have undressed with his eyes if it had not been for his current state of terror, or her current state of what appeared to be a bad case of the 'Rotting Flesh', not fifteen feet from them. Then his eyes squeezed shut at the surprise of a loud gun report from above him.
Both men cowered at the noise and Wolfwood couldn't tell if it was an echo he was hearing or if his ears had just been fucked up good. When they opened their eyes, the girl was sprawled out on her back. What appeared to be grey matter was lying on the ground under her right ear.
Wolfwood took a few steps away from the door and looked up. There was a second level balcony in which a tall man with a rifle (Wolfwood couldn't tell what kind, he was a man of peace and had no interest in such things). He had a walkie-talkie lifted to his mouth.
"Dammit, Reeve. North entrance, now!". The man said into it. Then he slung it back onto his belt. "Young Mr. Reeve will be right with you." He said to Wolfwood and Stephen. Then he lifted his rifle again and two shots rang out. Wolfwood didn't want to turn around and see. He knew what he would find.
The man noticed Wolfwood was still looking at him. At this, the man looked guilty. "It's okay. They're dead. You know that right? I-ah-I mean, they were dead even before I shot them."
This one, too! Wolfwood thought. He believes it too!
"The head, man." Rambo called down to him. Sounding a little surer at the moment. "That's the only way to bring them down. As far as we figure."
Wolfwood didn't respond, he just kept staring at the man. He wanted to respond and may have been about to do so, but the loud clank and rattle of chains claimed his concentration and he turned to the door.
A young man who didn't appear to be growing out of his freckles pushed the door open. He looked scared and hurried. The sound of pandemonium hit their ears hard. . Stephen followed by Wolfwood entered into St. Josephs.
Reeves quickly slammed the big doors home and secured it once again to the chain. Wolfwood looked at the chain as it was wrapped tightly about the inner handles.
Are those things really necessary? he wondered. Then a wiser part of him spoke up. Yes. On one level they are necessary to keep safety. On another level we can only hope that they are necessary to do the job.
bINT. St. Joseph's - DUSK /b
All along the walls of the hallway were lockers. It was a sight Wolfwood had not seen since fifteen years ago when in high school and it gave him a strange sense of nostalgia.
"My name is Reeves." The freckly red headed kid—why did most read heads suffer from such a bad case of the freckles, Wolfwood wondered—said to them.
"Kinda figured as much." Stephen said. At that, Reeves gave him a curious look but it quickly slipped from his face.
"What's going on here?" Wolfwood demanded in a low voice.
"We're trying to get organized." Reeves said.
"I realize that, but what I—"
"I know." Reeves interrupted. "We don't really know. A lot of speculation and that's about it." A slight pause. "Follow me."
After many turns through the halls, they came to what was obviously the cafeteria. One the way the passed by a huge double gym where many people were arranging many mats. Sleeping arrangements, no doubt. There were many people slowly wandering the halls. If it had not been for their down cast faces and sounds of loud sobbing, they could easily have been taken for one of the others. Some armed with rifles seemed to be standing guard at other exits. Many of these people were police.
Once in the cafeteria, Wolfwood could see many people working up a storm in the kitchen area. About sixty people sat in tables that were in the far left corner. That was where the wall-mounted television was. All of them had their eyes glued to the screen.
An anchorwoman, with long red hair and was quite striking (even with her freckles), sat at her desk looking heavily into the camera. "Much of the public are in conjunction with law enforcement officers—both state and local—on setting up rescue stations. " the anchor woman said. "You are urged to make your way to the closest one."
On the bottom of the screen, names of places and their addresses were scrolling along. Wolfwood noticed something else as well. In the background, people were going nuts. He was pretty sure that work conditions in live television was intense and quite possibly insane, but he doubted it was this bad.
The woman continued: "A lot of theories but still no facts as to the nature of this phenomenon. Now--." She looked off camera. A voice could be heard but very faintly. "We can't…?!" Another interlude with the faint voice. Then the anchorwoman looked back into the camera. "Due to, ah… technical problems, this station can not hook up to the live NBC broadcast with the Secretary General. Therefore, we urge you to switch over to NBC for the discussion and we will be here afterward…if not…" she was now becoming visibly frightened. "…Our CG will continue to post rescue stations on this signal. Thank you."
bThe SD /b
The TV was changed to NBC and the cafeteria was hushed when the screen showed the familiar image of the blue curtains of the white house press room. A large burley man in a suit that looked a little too tight for him stepped up to the podium. The CG at the bottom of the screen introduced him as Secretary of Defence. Camera flashes greeted him continuously as he fumbled with a few papers. A female voice-over stated "The Secretary of Defence has will now read from a prepared statement. Press members are not allowed to ask any questions"
"How American." someone said from the back of the cafeteria. Wolfwood looked around and was only partially surprised to see that there must be two hundred people in all watching the broadcast.
The SD regarded the room and the camera with a admirably composed look. "Ladies and Gentlemen. Fellow citizens. At this time very little is concrete. We do know the phenomenon sprang up in the northeast area. Specifically Pennsylvania and the Virginias. But as to the cause or how such an epidemic spread over such a vast area to the west coast and into Canada, we don't know. As of now we are leaning towards some form of bacteria as of the cause. Both Centres for Disease Control in Atlanta and Stonington back this theory, but as yet have been able to confirm it. Ludicrous rumours that these infected people are the walking dead have spread even faster and farther than the epidemic itself. Let me clarify this here and now. Such a thing is impossible. Rumours like this are uneducated, rash, and dangerous. We urge the public to not make such wild speculations. Rash and dangerous decisions come from such. Uncountable reports of looting, rioting and mass murder--murder that's aside from our main dilemma--have flooded in. The country is now in a state of marshal law, and we have the people to handle it. It is thought best that the public not take matters into their own hands and seek out the nearest emergency shelter. No longer seek occupancy in private residences no matter how safe or well protected they may be. The President today has sent to congress a package of initiatives that--"
Wolfwood tuned him out then.
******
Authors Note:…I imagine some if not most of you recognize the SD's last two sentences....I just had to :-)
******
bdark and silent /b
The hallways were dark and silent. Wolfwood left the crowd to watch the television in the cafeteria. He stared up to the ceiling and saw the skylights offered no light. Night had come.
Skylight? Wasn't this school with two or three stories? From what he saw of it outside it was. He looked around and noticed the cafeteria was set in the corner of the building. It along with part of one of the hallways leading to it was seemed to be one story. At the end of the hallway he saw stairs going up. He looked back up and could just make out through the darkness outside the hallway skylight a large bulk growing out of the roof. He hoped none of those people or whatever they were could get up to that roof and crash through the skylight. Just as quickly as this concern came to him, he mentally and verbally laughed it off. He didn't know why it was so funny.
People. Those people. Shit, just like the authorities, he didn't know what was going on and he didn't want to sit there and listen to speculation. Truth was no one knew shit. Wait a minute, that wasn't quite true. Didn't that good ol' boy on the balcony know? He said they were dead which is ludicrous, even the SG said so, but gung-ho gun up there said it in such a matter of fact way that it was hard to shake. And didn't it rattle him a bit? Didn't he sense it from the beginning? Shit, he seen these people up close. Even fought with them. They already showed great wounds but didn't show signs of pain, concern or any such thing. No. This wasn't true. He didn't care for this rattled feeling but wasn't going to succumb to what it suggested. No. He was only rattled because of the dream. He felt the same now as he had every time he woke from the dream. Disoriented, a little nauseous and feeling a sense of doom. No, he would not succumb to it.
He tried his best to clear his mind. It was then that he realized he had been on the move and found himself at the stairway. And then up he went.
The hallway up here was deserted as well. And along the right side were large windows. Wolfwood stopped in front of these and looked out. The perspective wasn't that great considering he was only on a second floor, but he could see enough to know that it was getting pretty busy out there. Many shambling folks were migrating to this building.
Suddenly the lights overhead went on. Part of him outraged that this was a bad idea. He felt he was inside a large bug light, which would really attract attention. The lights caused the windows to brightly reflect the hallway. He couldn't see outside very well now but was sure that their numbers down there were now about to increase rapidly.
He looked at his own reflection for a moment or two. It was very odd. He didn't recognize himself too much. He had always been a creature of change. Priest turned drifter was proof enough. And many of the changes he went through were quick and swift. He was use to it, but not now. Not with this physical change he saw before him. For the most part he appeared silhouetted. But he could still make out some of his facial features. And his slight slump to the right…well left actually with account to the reflection. He looked…tired. Not sleepy tired but…worn, dried, used, old…tired.
Much as with the Secretary General, Wolfwood turned away from himself. Not wanting to deal with what he saw. He started walking again and thought about catching some fresh air out on the second floor balcony. It wouldn't be too hard to find. Maybe that good ol' boy was still out there. Maybe both of them could talk for a bit.
bThe Man called Max /b
Before he even opened the glass doors to the second floor balcony, Wolfwood could hear the sounds of a crumbling world. Sirens, shouting with the odd scream mixed in, and many variations of gun fire. When he stepped out, the soft, warm spring breeze carried an awful stench into his nose. He immediately thought of decaying flesh.
The creak of the door made Rambo jump and turn his big gun on Wolfwood. Both men were frozen for a long moment. Caught in a tableau that would have looked humorous to any witnesses had there been any. Finally, the gun came down and Wolfwood stepped out.
Wolfwood noticed the man was about his age, early thirties.
"Names Max." the large man started as he extended his hand.
Wolfwood took it and gave it a brisk shake. "Max." he said as if he were carefully storing it into memory.
Max looked at him for an awkward moment and then barked a short laugh. "There's another part to this ritual, mister."
Wolfwood smiled. He knew telling this man the name he was going under was Wolfwood could be a bad idea. And his real name served him no purpose out here on the road as he tried to re-invent himself. "For years now I've gotten use to people calling me Father. Why stop now." Yes, why stop now. He was no longer a practising priest but his faith was one of the few things, if not the only thing, about his past that he wasn't willing to let go.
Max raised an eyebrow. "You a priest?"
"Used to be."
Another awkward moment of silence. And when Max broke it, Wolfwood was thankful that it wasn't with the typical "Used to be? Please, do tell." Instead Max said "Well, I won't pretend to share your views."
"Of course. Hey, nobody's perfect." This got both men laughing and strangely Wolfwood felt a kind of bond with Max.
"Yeah well even in light of something like this it's hard." Max said as he turned his view out to the staggering people in the street. Wolfwood also noticed quite the body count down there as well. Max here has been busy. "I mean," Max continued "Something like this can equally confirm or deny the existence of God."
Silence again. Only now Wolfwood wasn't feeling it as awkward anymore. Max broke it again. This time however, with a deep sigh and a little colour.
"Ah, shit." Instantly he turned to Wolfwood with a awkward, apologetic look on his face. "Oh, um. Sorry."
Wolfwood's lips curved into a small smile. "'The fuck you apologizing for?"
This time both of Max's eyebrows raised and again both men found themselves laughing.
"You're alright, Father." It was obvious that Max was now feeling that same sense of bonding Wolfwood had a moment ago. And to Wolfwood, the feeling got even stronger. And he knew, without even deciding, that if Max were to ask for his name, he would give it. Either or both.
bPhilosophy, Theology, and Sociology. /b
Below them were ever increasing numbers. Wolfwood was now only truly beginning to accept with his mind what his heart already knew. These people, things are dead, pure and…well, not so simply dead. He looked below and could make out only what few lamp stands would allow him to make out, about fifty or sixty of them on their feet. And all sets of feet were guiding them this way. And there was a terrible sound, a united and almost constant groaning. He was once again reminded of his dreams.
"All dead." He spoke barely above a whisper.
"Hard to take in, isn't it?" Max put in beside him. His voice was soft and heavy with understanding.
Wolfwood nodded. It was the best response he could offer.
"But you better take it in, brother." Max continued. He tapped his walkie- talkie and said "Reeves informed me about what the authorities think. Were you in the cafeteria when it was all on TV?"
Wolfwood found his voice again. "Yes." He said.
"Well don't you underestimate this thing either. You'll be part of their ranks before you know it."
Wolfwood offered a small "Hmmm."
"What does your Bible say about this?" Max asked.
"Excuse me?"
"Come on, man. This is apocalyptic shit here."
This got a little under Wolfwoods skin. He said, "You know, I've seen dozens of movies that have involved wide spread earthquakes, collision course comets and even invaders from space. A lot of them even referred to the Bible as a way of explaining what's going on. Saying it's the end of the world or judgement day only because the bible says so. Like they even no what their talking about. No. This is not in the Bible. This is not judgement day. Feel any better?"
Max studied him with an odd smile. "Sure. But what's more important is that you look to be much better now."
Fair enough. Wolfwood felt better too. He seemed to have a stronger grip on himself and surrounding reality rather than floating between it and his own mind.
Silence fell between them again. But there was no real silence. The groaning flooded Wolfwoods ears again. This must have visibly disturbed him because Max said, "Sorry. Ain't enough light to take down any more. You gotta get them in the head, see. It's the brain, man. Their motor."
"Don't those things come with night vision…infrared scope…sights."
Max laughed a hearty laugh. "You don't know shit about guns do you? Okay, okay, man of peace, I know. No, this baby is just the basic of the action pump air rifles, nothing really in the way of bells and such. Besides, no one has come through this entrance since you and that other fellow."
"Stephen."
"Right." Max said looking down. Wolfwood didn't need to see what Max was looking at. He could hear the pounding on metal and glass. They were now at the doors. "And I don't think we'll get many more if any." Max said.
Max lifted his walkie-talkie and then put it back with a heavy sigh. "Nah, I'm sure the other entrances are the same." He said.
"Who's in charge here?" Wolfwood asked.
Max barked a short laugh. "Throw a stone, brother. At this point we all in charge. We all got survival on the brain. And we'll all work together to ensure survival. No one here will mind doing what's asked of them or asking others for help. If there were a racist here, they wouldn't mind rubbing elbows with a brother like me so long as it suits their purpose of survival. No, I don't believe we'll have any toes stepped on around here. We don't need an overhead to keep the peace."
"Any thing can happen." Wolfwood said. "A sudden panic. Maybe those things can break in. Something…Anything."
"If it came to something like that, we won't need a leader to tell us we're screwed."
Once again, fair enough.
"Besides," Max continued. "From what I understand the military will soon be sticking their fingers in our pie here."
"Aren't they--?" Wolfwood started but was cut off by Max.
"They just a few foot soldiers. If you wanna recognize their authority, then you can say that their the ones in charge. And more might be on the way."
Max lifted his walkie-talkie to his mouth. "Green, what are you doing?" what came back was too filtered and full of static for Wolfwood to grasp. Max apparently had no trouble. "Well that's not important, what is important is that I need someone to relieve me."
This time Wolfwood barely understood what came through. "I'll be right there."
Max put the large walkie-talkie back into the large holster on his belt. "See? I think the world moves along much better when there's no leader and everything is balanced by a give and take system. Now, what do you say to some grub?"
Wolfwood smiled. "Amen, brother."
Max smiled back. "Amen."
bThe First Supper b
Wolfwood and Max waited in the food line for more than half an hour. And the whole time Wolfwood had that crawling feeling as though people kept staring at him. The feeling was all he had, when he looked around no eyes met his.
"Any idea how much food supply we have?" Wolfwood asked under his breath. He didn't want any easy to panic person to over hear and give them something else to think and worry about.
"I heard the school was freshly stocked only last week. This is why we weren't given anymore. But the powers that be will be checking in on us and giving what we need."
Wolfwood had a feeling that very soon that such powers Max had talked about may swing to the other side. We won't be running this world for long, he thought.
After acquiring their franks and beans, they returned to the cafeteria hall where Stephen sat close to the exit way of the food bar area and waved them down to join him. As they did, introductions were made all around including a couple of Stephens new friends, Melissa and her five year old son Todd. When Wolfwood introduced himself as such, all of them laughed. Although little Todd didn't mind so much.
"I think I'll stick with Father." Max said around half a frank.
"Is your husband around?" Wolfwood asked her.
"Since I don't have one, I'd have to say no Mr. ...Wolfwood?" And then she gave a little laugh. Wolfwood smiled, he was used to just such a reaction to his name."
Wolfwood offered a small, embarrassed smile. "Oh, forgive me."
"That's quite alright."
That crawling sensation returned and this time as Wolfwood looked around he did see others observing him.
"Your the priest, right?" A loud female voice from behind him. Before Wolfwood could respond or even turn around to face the owner of the voice, A large woman plumped herself down between him and Max. Max was almost shoved two feet over. He didn't look to happy but kept his peace as he shovled some beans into his mouth. A glob of ketchup rested on her cheek giving the woman an odd cartoonist quality. He was suddenly reminded of Meme from the Drew Carey Show.
"Well, um--" Wolfwood began but was cut off before he could finish.
"Then you know!" The woman said. She stared at him with wide-eyed intensity. "You know this is the last times! Judgement Day is here!" Her already loud voice became even louder at this.
Wolfwood exchanged a glance with Max. They had already covered this ground. Wolfwood looked around again and noticed that not one person was talking and now all their eyes were on him. And there was no mistaken that look of fear in them. Young Todd's big brown eyes were large with fear as well. But his eyes were not on him. They were on this bold woman sitting across the table from him. Wolfwood realized that the boy was too young to know what was being said specifically, but he knew children. They can pick up on a lot and were far more observant than adults will give them credit for. Todd was scootching ever closer to his mother. Melissa put an arm around her son and gave the woman a contemptuous look. Wolfwood noted that whatever cute, cartoonish quality this woman had a moment ago was not gone. He sighed, he was way too emotionally exhausted to deal with this.
"Can you please keep it down." Melissa spat. It was not a question.
The woman turned her head to Melissa. She looked at her hard and then looked to Todd. Her eyes swept back over Melissa and to Stephen next to her.
"Ohhh." The woman breathed thickly as she looked back to Melissa. "I see you. I see you are without a husband."
All frowned. The best Wolfwood could come up with was the obvious age difference between Melissa and Stephen. Melissa appeared to be in her late- twenties while Stephen really looked his age of nineteen or twenty.
"It's because of you." the woman continued. "Because of you and others like you that this is happening! " hushed murmurs were now about the cafeteria. The woman's voice then rose to a crescendo "The judgement hammer has come down! It's you! You! Sinner! Whore!!" She even pointed her finger in Melissa's face.
Todd began to cry. Melissa's complexion rose to the colour of a radish. She swept at the interrogating finger but the loud woman was too quick. Wolfwood, Max and Stephen looked as though they were about to take some kind of action but knew not what. Suddenly, Thankfully, a large hand clapped down on the woman's broad shoulder.
"Excuse me, Mrs...?" A man in blue button shirt said from behind her. He appeared to be in his mid-forties and his voice was soft and calming, quite the contrast to the woman. A sown-on name tag let Wolfwood know this man's name was Donald.
"It's Mizz! Mizz Hersh!" she said with unmasked anger. She obviously wasn't pleased by this man interrupting her twisted sermon that was just picking up.
"Well Mizz Hersh, your upsetting the people." Donald said.
"They have every reason to be." Hersh hissed at him. "They were all too good for the lord. Never even gave him the time of day."
This sparked off a funny image to Wolfwood. He tried to imagine Jesus walking up to him on the street. "Hey man, know what time it is?"
"Well now he's got their attention doesn't he?" She went on. "He has released the abominations of--"
"Enough." Donald said with a fresh firmness in his voice.
A long, terrible moment of silence followed this. All hushed murmurs ceased. But such was not noticeable even to Wolfwood. Donald and Hersh stared at each other. Not glaring, but just staring. Finally, Mizz Hersh stood up.
"They will hate you for my sake." she said. Such a cryptic sentence was not lost on Wolfwood. He recognized it as Jesus' words. And he felt very sick.
She then walked away. Her shoulders back and her head high. All eyes followed her out the cafeteria but still no one spoke. Once she was out of view from the glass doors the murmuring started again.
"Hmmm, that went easy." Donald said. "Mind if I join you, Max?"
"Take a seat." Max said.
"Thanks buddy." Donald said as he sat down in Mizz Hersh's spot. He then looked to Wolfwood and the others. "Names Don. Oh!" he said and then smiled as he noticed his name tag. "I'm the school janitor here. Anything you need, come see me. I got unlimited access to this place."
"Well, I see you already know Max." Wolfwood started. He gestured across the table. "This is Stephen, Melissa and the little one is Todd."
At this, Don smiled and nodded to Stephen and Melissa. He then extended his hand out to Todd. "Hey pardner!"
Todd was rubbing the tears out of his puffy red eyes and then after a moments consideration, he took Dons hand and shook.
"Whoa!" Don said with that excited voice only reserved for talking to children. "Quite a little grip you got there! There's gonna be no office jobs for you! Your gonna be like me and use those strong hands to work!" He then offered quite a charming smile. And after a moment, Todd returned with one of his own. They were all smiling.
"Your good with children." Melissa said.
"Grand-father hood." Don said. And then turned to Wolfwood. "Your the priest, right?"
Wolfwood gave Stephen a look.
Stephen got defensive "You are, though! That's what you told me. I just told a few other people."
Wolfwood lowered his head and laughed a little. Those few have been eyeing him knowingly. A whole room full of them.
"Well," Don chimed back in. "You don't hold with the shit that crazy bitch was spouting, do you?"
"No." Wolfwood said quite firmly.
"Well good. One is enough." Don said.
"For now." Max said. "Look around. A lot of frightened people here with no clue about what's really going on."
"Yeah, they might be looking for something." Stephen said.
"Who knows how many people she can convince. She could be dangerous." Melissa said.
"Could be?" Don asked rhetorically.
Wolfwood noticed some of the people were finishing their meals and getting up.
"Don, there's a chapel here right?" Max asked.
"Yeah."
Max looked steady at Wolfwood. Don turned his gaze to him as well. Realization dawned on Dons face. And then on Wolfwoods.
"No." Wolfwood said.
Don was nodding his head. "Yes." he said.
"No." Wolfwood repeated.
"NO!" a loud voice said from in the food bar area. "No seconds! NO seconds!"
"Yes." Max said. "These people need someone."
"But didn't you say--" Wolfwood began.
"Forget what I said, man! This is not the same. They won't look to you for that kind of leadership. They just need someone to help cope. To give them some answers."
"I don't have--" Wolfwood said rather too loud. He then lowered his voice. "I don't have any answers for them!"
Max shook his head. "Whatever, man! Anything you have has got to be better than what she's willing to offer. Think!"
All gave Wolfwood a moment to think. Then Max added, "Brother, you know their gonna go to her."
"Nothing good can come from that one, padre." Stephen said very soft.
Wolfwood wasn't a priest anymore. But he still had the ability to help lost people. The knowledge to give them the answers as well as he could. And he still had the faith in God. These people were dishevelled enough to listen to that woman's brand of poison and be contaminated by it. He really had no choice in the matter.
"Father?" Melissa said quietly.
He looked up into her pleading eyes. Her beautiful face was longing for a reply. The right reply. It was this that was persuading him more than anything. All other thoughts were just that. Thoughts. But her face before him was real.
Just as he opened his mouth a blood curdling scream drifted in from out in the large foyer. People jumped high out of their seats as if the scream came from under their own table. Everyone then rushed to the glass doors and filed out of the cafeteria. Then there were a few more screams. Wolfwood and gang were the last few out next to the kitchen staff.
Once in the foyer, they saw everyone looking up. Some even extenuating it by pointing. Wolfwood followed their gazes and pointing fingers up to the skylights. There were perhaps a dozen of those zombies up there leaning and pounding on the glass. And a few more over on the skylight above the left side hallway. Even their moans were audible.
"How could...?" Stephen said but could say no more.
"Yeah," Max said. "There's a service ladder on the north side here thats bolted to the building."
"I grabbed some tools but those bolts are rusted hard." Don said.
"Can they brake through?" Melissa asked as she held Todd in her arms and hugged him tight.
"No, I don't think so. Glass is strong enough to support much of their weight. We're safe." Don said. But all the same, there was fresh fear in his voice.
"Is it really going to be alright, Mommy?" Todd asked.
Melissa softly stroked his hair. "Yes, lovely. It's alright."
Mizz Hersh entered the foyer from the right hallway. She saw everyone's point of interest and smiled at everyone. She pointed up as well and let loose her boisterous voice.
"You see!" she said. And everyone turned to look at her. "The abominations have been let loose from the pits of hell! Souls such as yours who have come back to claim their own!"
"Shut up!" a man yelled from amongst the crowd.
"Have you such pride?!" Hersh yelled back. "Can you not see the writings on wall?! Can you not see that which is right in front of you?!"
Wolfwood saw some people nodding their heads. Many were looking back and forth between the outside threat and Hersh. Wolfwood could see in their faces that they were scared of both equally.
"The time has come! Judgment has come! Upon you and all of us!" she continued. "Will you join their ranks?! Will you let Satan drag you down too?! Or will you be saved?! Will you be saved?!!"
Murmurs of "yes", and "saved" ran through the crowd. Wolfwood lowered his head and turned to Max and Don. "I'll do it." he said and walked away.
As he walked down the hall and around the corner to a connecting hall, he could still hear Mizz Hersh crying out "Sinners! Now! The time is now! Repent! Be saved!! Repent!! Be SAVED!!!"
bNorth /b
The street was empty for the moment. Wolfwood prayed it would stay that way. He noted this was not actually true. The headless corpse of what appeared to be a teenage girl lay on the curb twenty feet ahead. Road kill. With the short summer skirt around the waist, Wolfwood could see that many fleshy chunks have been taken out of her legs. Animals weren't responsible for that.
He turned the ignition key and there was no satisfactory reaction from the Schrocco's engine. Only a small whining sound. He tried again and pumped the gas pedal repeatedly. There was still no sign of life, the engine didn't even whine this time.
He had found himself stuck here in the middle of a seemingly endless suburbia. The car got him far away from a very close call, but not far enough to what he felt would be some relative safety...away from the city. He did his best to avoid the crowded city streets and Interstates. But this was a strange city to him. The late afternoon sun and the dashboard compass gave him his only sense of direction. Getting lost amongst the winding streets in this neighbourhood where everything looked the same was an ever- present danger. Fuel had been a danger as well, however, he knew he should have had enough to get out of the city. The problem had to be something else. The low fuel light hadn't even come on!
He looked to the little compass; its plastic bubble seemed like an eye that stared back at him. This gave him the crawling sensation of being watched and he quickly looked around to make sure it was still clear. The place was dead...well...you know what I mean. When he was assured it was clear, he turned back to the compass. The arrows narrow tip lay solidly on the 'N'. This image gave him a odd sense of hope. The sunlight broke through the driver's side window and baked him. All windows had been rolled up. He did not want to open them even a crack. He was sweltering.
He turned his attention to the ignition again. Come on, you bastard. Sweat began to sting his eyes.
Thump! From behind. Beginning a beat which Wolfwoods heart continued. He turned to see a yellow face staring in at him. And he would have sworn, that face was smiling a little. What guided this thought were the little flecks of congealed blood that crumbled from the corner of its mouth to the window. The things hands slid up and down the window of the back hatch. Wolfwood knew he was safe. He had made sure the hatch was locked. He made sure all the doors were locked.
He turned the key, pumped the pedal. Nothing. No, wait. That whining sound was back. He let the car sit for a moment. It went beyond the mental and into a physical struggle to keep from trying so quickly again. His muscles ached to turn the key and pump the accelerator again.
He surveyed the scene again and his heart stepped up its assault on his rib cage as he saw three others coming from around one of the many rich looking houses on the right side of the street. Two middle-aged men and a little boy.
Crusty came from the back of the car and found his way to the drivers' window. He put his hand on the lock just to reaffirm his mind that it was still locked. He didn't want to look up. Didn't want to look into those white filmy eyes.
Escape was an option. It was the smartest option. Just hop over to the passenger seat, open the door and run. Out running them here would be no problem, but where would he go on his feet? How far could he go on his feet? They were everywhere. Everywhere. Cars were now a dime a dozen and sat wherever he looked, but he didn't know thing one about hot wiring.
His eyes turned to the compass, to the arrow, to the 'N'. That's where he could go. He needed to go north. Such was the path of salvation.
North.
He tried the car again. Praise Jesus! He could feel it wanting to turn over. Again. Almost. Again. Almost. Key, pedal, turn, and pump. Almost.
The others were closer. More were coming. Crusty next to him was pounding on the window. Now was the time to move if he decided to move. The three on the right would be there any second. He would then be surrounded. He thought how he could push his door open and knock Crusty on his ass and make a run for it, but the coward part of him protested that he may not be able to pull it off. In a split second, Wolfwoods fate was decided. He turned the key.
Almost!
Click.
A latch. The door! The door behind him! He turned and saw the back seat drivers side door opening. He was sure it was locked, he checked each one not two minutes ago. Accompanied with the door was a rusty creaking sound that seemed more at home in those old ghost movies he used to love as a kid. Crr-rrr-rreeeeeeeeeeeak! Crusty was now slowly creeping in.
Wolfwood jumped up onto his seat and tried to close the door around the invader. With a solid grip on the handle, he pushed and pulled the door into Crusty. He hoped for a pained and confused reaction from Crusty, that it would back away from the door slamming into his arms and shoulders. However, the things blood lust was too strong. All but its legs were now inside.
Thumping now from the right of the car. The three others were here now. Staring in at him through the glass as they may have used to stare at a delicious cake through the freezer glass at the supermarket. One was a little boy. Wolfwood noted that the boy bore a striking resemblance to Todd.
Wolfwood grabbed Crustys shoulders and pushed for all he was worth. He was bent at the waist over the front seat and didn't have much leverage. Crustys own hands came up and gripped onto his upper arms with surprising strength.
The idea of slipping the gear into neutral came to him. But he passed on this with a mental curse. These roads were flat.
With his hands on Crustys shoulders, Crusty focused on trying to bite them. And boy, was he getting close. Wolfwoods grip started to loosen as he slid his hands out of reach of that blood crusted mouth. In turn, his force began to loosen as well. He didn't think he could hold Crusty off anymore. He lifted his leg over the seat and this gave him the leverage he needed. Out, damn you! his mind raged as he pushed. He was beginning to succeed.
The others worked their way around the car and were squeezing by Crusty. The little boy, Todd, took hold of Wolfwoods ankle. A short, loud yelp of surprise burst from Wolfwoods throat.
The grip he held on Crusty faltered beyond a dangerous point. Crusty either leaned forward hard, was pushed from behind or both. It didn't really matter. The thing crashed down on top of him. He lay on his back struggling with the hungry thing on top of him. The feeling of a small mouth embraced his calf. The weight on him was getting worse. It became excruciating.
Rage and fear welled in his throat but could come no further. Still, he tried to scream.
^^^^^
He bolted up, tried to scream again but couldn't. The sides of his neck, his throat an his tear stricken cheeks felt thick and sore. Almost like they were going to burst. He panted heavily and after a moment the soreness began to settle.
The gymnasium was huge, and yet it couldn't even accommodate everyone here at St. Joseph's. Along with twenty others, Wolfwood was sleeping here in the cafeteria. They didn't even get any mats that those in the gym next door were sleeping on. Just a small pillow and a couple of thin blankets to comfort him from the cold, hard floor. His body was telling him that it wasn't working.
Everyone turned in at eleven o'clock. Wolfwood himself had not fallen asleep for three hours. Many were the same. He turned his head to the mounted clock above the doorway to the food stand. 4:13 it said. Barely over two hours of sleep. He rubbed his tired eyes and was sure that regardless of them, sleep would not find him for a long time yet.
It came again. Wolfwood was sure there would be others waking through this night with similar nightmares. He was also sure that such dreams would be new for them. But not for him. Since he was about fifteen, these dreams would plague him. Never the same place, never the same situation, but always the same threat and the same goal. The dead would walk, they would be everywhere and they wanted him. And his destination has always been north. Always.
He laid back down and began to shake. The dream was so real. Hell, it was real. He lay there with his head on the pillow and stared up at the white tiled ceiling. Thinking about going north. It was a long way to where he felt would be a safe distance, but he felt hope.
He didn't sleep the rest of the night.