The square mile of town that Marco had fenced off had a building in the center: A church.
This was not an accident, Joseph explained as he escorted Keats' group from their shelter. It was mid-morning and the heat was starting to make itself known.
The church, he said, was one of the few buildings with a basement. It also had lots of square footage for gatherings and, if need be, a final stand against invaders.
"What about God?" said Duck. "Or did people give up on him a long time ago?"
"People can worship here, sure," said Joseph. "One of our residents is a pastor, and I believe there are a couple of Jewish folks among us. In the end, it all comes back to love, right?"
"That's the second time I've heard something like that," said Keats. "I don't think everyone here follows that 'love' doctrine."
"I heard about that," said Joseph. "We'll get to the bottom of it, I promise you."
"So is this a regularly scheduled service?" said Keats.
"Not exactly. This was something Marco called together at the last minute, once you all showed up. He figured it would be a good time to 'gather the flock,' as it were."
They rounded a corner and the church came into view. It was a majestic building, with a giant spire on top of a belfry. Marco's men had done a good job of keeping it all clean, considering what they likely had to work with.
The inside was even more impressive. The crucifix behind the altar looked newly painted. The pews had all been polished and the sunlight beamed in like a colorful flood. The only thing that looked out of place was a large wooden octagon. Keats guessed that it was the base of a soon-to-be constructed statue.
Duck crossed himself and prayed. "It might be a Baptist church," he said, "but it's close enough."
People began to walk inside and fill the pews. Unlike yesterday, when almost everyone Keats saw was armed and male, this was a more diverse group both old and young, men and women.
Before long, almost every seat was full. Except for the rifles some of them had propped up on the benches, it felt like a normal Sunday service, pre-apocalypse.
Jamie walked down the aisle and sat next to Keats without saying anything. She stared at the ground until Keats asked if she was OK.
"Fine," she said. "Just embarrassed."
"For defending yourself?"
"Look," said Jamie, "for the record? I don't think we should write this whole shelter off just because of that one prick. At least he stopped when I punched him. Walkers don't."
Keats' group had been on the highway, making their way by foot to the Appalachians, when they met Jamie. She and her older cousin, Margaret, had run into them after escaping a swarm of walkers.
"Help," said Jamie, "you have to help us."
"Are they behind you?" said Keats.
"No, her," said Jamie, and Keats saw the huge red splotch spreading under a shirt tied to Margaret's arm.
Margaret was pale and close to fainting. Hemingway laid her down on the grass while someone else gave her some water.
"Was she bit?" said Keats.
Jamie nodded. "The shelter we were at - they overran it. They'd been at the fence for weeks. The guards, the soldiers, they ran out of bullets. She got bit saving me. She put her arm in front of one of them before it could attack me."
Pike gestured towards the woods where Jamie had emerged. "You know how persistent walkers are," she said to Keats. "We need to go."
"Please, you have to help her," said Jamie. "Amputate her arm. Can't you do that? I've seen them do that before. I know you can do that."
Margaret began to lose consciousness as Keats pulled Jamie away. "I'm sorry but you have to say goodbye," he said to her. She screamed, tears pouring down her face, as Keats struggled to hold her back.
Back at the church, Keats was about to tell Jamie that he wasn't to give up on this place, either, when someone turned around and shushed him. Everyone else fell silent as a beautiful woman walked in from a vestibule. She had Lady on a leash and sat down at a reserved seat in a front pew.
Soon after, Marco walked out to loud applause. He wore a dress shirt similar to the one he had on yesterday except now he also wore a tie. His gun was still there, sitting in its holster.
He walked to the pulpit, waving and smiling at the crowd, who was still clapping. Eventually he had to gesture for them to settle down, but he waited a while to do it.
"Thank you," he said, booming his voice like an old theater actor. "So how are we today? Are we hungry?"
"NO-SIR!" said nearly the whole crowd in unison. They said the words quickly, like taps on a snare drum. The only people silent were in Keats' group.
"Are we weary?"
"NO-SIR!"
"Are we pushing back against the hatred that's trying to overcome this earth?"
"YES-SIR!"
"And how are we doing this?"
"LOVE!"
"Absolutely right! We've got a love here that keeps us safe, but we're going to turn it into a love that conquers. A love that destroys, with holy blessings, the corruptible evil outside those fences."
There were a few random shots of "Amen!" and "Yessir!" throughout Marco's speech. Keats looked at Jamie, who rolled her eyes.
"And lest you think we have to do it ourselves," said Marco, "we received a most holy blessing yesterday. We received, with open arms, a group of pilgrims who traveled here because they know this is where the battle begins to take back the earth!"
"What the hell?" Hemingway muttered under his breath. "We were looking for bug repellant, not on some fucking pilgrimage."
"Let's just see where this goes," said Keats.
"As if we have a choice."
"Yesterday, I talked to their leader," said Marco. "A fine man who I trust quite a bit. Sure, their road-weary and haggard. We should all remember how fortunate we are to be protected here.
"But this man - Keats is his name - I could sense it in him. I could sense the love. The grand love that destroys evil!"
Katie sat in the row ahead of him. She turned back to Keats and smiled.
"LOVE is what the undead hate. LOVE is what can cure the sickness. LOVE is what keeps them away from our fence. LOVE -"
"Bullshit," yelled a voice. The church hushed like a hermetic door sealing an air lock.
It was Hemingway. He stood up. Several of Marco's men reached for their weapons but their leader raised his hand to still them.
"You can hug and kiss your way out of one of those swarms? I lost my whole family, who I loved. I lost my whole platoon, who I loved. They got ripped apart and eaten. Love didn't do a thing for them."
Marco locked eyes with him. His gaze was soft, not challenging. "You're right," he said. "For a long time, hate was stronger than love. How could now be different?
"It's because the love here flows as one. All our love comes together like strands on a rope. And who's threading it together? Who unifies the love?
"Let me be frank: I did not ask to be chosen. I never sought out enlightenment. Never wanted to be special. I was just a corporate stooge when the world ended. Woke up for work one day and the Army was going door-to-door, evacuating people.
"But not long ago - just after I arrived here, back when it was just a few boarded-up homes and some guys with a stash of guns - something happened. I had an epiphany, not just of the mind but of the soul."
Marco started unbuttoning his shirt. The crowd seemed to know where this was headed, and they stopped glowering at Hemingway and cheered and hooted for Marco instead.
"I was lost!" said Marco, undoing each button with stage musical flourishes. "I was loveless! I was weak! And when a walker got into the camp, I wanted to cower and hide. One walker, can you believe it? But then a flame entered my heart and grew into a fire. I charged that evil beast and fought it hand to hand -"
The front of his shirt was now completely unbuttoned. He reached back for his shirt and whipped it off in one furious movement.
"- and it did this!"
Everyone in Keats' group gasped, while everyone in the crowd frowned and shook their heads as if reliving a great tragedy. From Marco's left shoulder down to his wrist was a deep groove of brownish pink scar tissue. It looked like half his arm was missing.
"Lord, what pain. And I had no idea they were so strong! I struggled, kicked it with my legs, but it just tore into my arm like a drumstick. When they finally got it off of me, its face was so red with my blood that I couldn't help but faint. My last thought was a hope that they would put a bullet in my brain so I wouldn't come back as one of those things.
"But then, however many hours later, I woke up. The doctor who stitched me up, may she rest in peace, said she did it out of instinctual obligation. No way I would survive. But I did. They tied me up and kept me under guard for a whole month, and I never turned.
"It was the flame that kept me alive. The flame of love."
There was a commotion as the doors to the church opened and two huge men, Cochise among them, escorted a struggling figure down the center aisle. The captor's hands had been bound and a black hood covered his head.
"And my love protects you, too," said Marco as his men brought the captor before him. "That is, if you're willing to accept it."
He yanked the hood off the prisoner. It was Flak. Gone was his sexy demeanor. He looked panicked.
"What the fuck is this all about?" he said.
"There may come a time when our love needs to be tested," said Marco. "John 'Flak' Watt, you've been a good soldier. You work hard. But last night, something happened that tested your commitment. Your love."
"Goddammit, it was a stupid, little thing! Nothing happened!"
Lady jumped up and began to whine and scratch at the floor.
Flak's eyes widened. "Tell him!" he yelled towards the crowd. "Tell him I didn't hurt you!"
The door to the church basement opened. A large man walked backwards out of it while holding a pole waist-level. At the other end of it, a walker had its torso wrapped in burlap with the first pole attached to it and two more attached to people behind it.
The walker was not one of the decade-old rotters that could barely crawl through the weeds; it had turned recently, and looked to have been a pretty well-sized man before death arrived.
Jamie stood up."He's right!"she said. "He doesn't - he doesn't deserve that! I punched him and he stopped!"
"Dear girl, you've got a heart of gold," said Marco. "But Flak here will be perfectly fine, since I'm confident that his love is pure."
Marco stepped down and sat in one of the first pews. Like a well-directed stage play, several groups of people came out from side doors and positioned the wooden structure that Keats thought was a statue base. In fact, it was a fighting ring.
Flak now stood ten feet from an undead beast that was missing half the skin on its face. He could see its teeth grinding to dust as it snarled at him.
"Since you've been a fine lieutenant," said Marco, "there won't be any handicaps. Just one on one, you and the former Mr. Lane here. Remember, you love and you are loved. A bite means nothing to one whose love is pure! I'm proof of that."
Before anyone else could protest, Marco stepped aside and nodded to the guards. They twisted the poles, which unlatched them from the vest and set the creature free.
Flak was a good fighter. He'd been a cop when the outbreak happened, and when he'd run out of bullets, he'd use his billy club to bash his way out of close encounters.
But this was different. He had no room to maneuver, to duck and dodge. He expected the walker to charge straight at him, which it did, but he wasn't expecting the quickness with which it seized his hair and chomped down on his shoulder.
His scream pierced the silence of the church. Many of the onlookers covered their eyes. Marco, however, yelled, "You can still get him! Pop your leg back!"
Amazingly, Flak heard him and swung his leg back like a mule. He knocked the walker off balance and threw him to the ground. Then, while grasping his wound, he stomped on its head until it collapsed into mush.
Blood streamed from between Flak's fingers as he pressed down on the bite and looked out into the crowd with a look of fear. "Help," he said.
"I have helped you," said Marco, ducking into the ring. He clasped Flak by the shoulder. His lieutenant winced and screamed. "The love I've shown you will heal that wound." Then, to his soldiers: "Take him to rest."
An older woman in one of the pews stood up and began clapping rhythmically. She began a hymn, one that Keats, never much of a church goer, didn't recognize. But apparently, it was a popular one, as nearly everyone in the church joined her in song:
God's got a great big love
We got a great big God
Gotta love God cause we gotta stay good
So we gotta open up our arms
Duck and Katie clapped as well. Keats nudged Hemingway and started clapping. The rest of the group followed his lead.