“Zombie birds,” Becky said. “There goes the idea of putting a barrel on the roof to collect rainwater and bathe in.”

  John and Martin nodded without speaking. They watched the undead crow until it eventually flew away. Still, they waited, making sure no further zombies were in sight. Finally, John stirred, moving away from the window. His joints popped loudly in the silence.

  “Looks like the coast is clear,” he said. “If I’m gonna get going, I reckon now is the time.”

  “Are you sure?” Becky asked.

  He nodded. “We’ve been over this. I’m sure. And like I said, I’ll come back for y’all.”

  They walked downstairs and into the boiler room. Martin lit a candle so they could see. John selected a shovel from the tool rack on the wall and hefted it in his hands, testing its weight. Then he nodded, apparently satisfied.

  “This will do. At least until I get to my place.”

  “Let us pray,” Martin suggested.

  Holding hands, the three of them stood in a circle over the sewer grate, closed their eyes and bowed their heads.

  “Heavenly Father,” Martin prayed, “we ask that you watch over our brother, John, and that You guard him with your grace and protection and the power of the Holy Spirit as he embarks on this journey. Lord, we cannot know Your mind, but John feels that You are speaking to his heart, and we ask that you continue to do so, no matter where the path before him might lead. We ask that he be filled with Your presence and Your love, and that he be bathed in the blood of the lamb, so that evil can not stand against him, and none may harm him. Lord, we ask that Your hand guide him, just as it has guided so many others, just as it guided Moses through the wasteland, and just as it wrote on the walls of the King’s palace in the Book of Daniel. Safeguard our friend, that he may find what he’s looking for and that he may do Your will. We ask these things in Your name. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Becky and John echoed.

  They released one another’s hands and raised their heads. Martin tried to smile, but it felt fake. Instead, he patted John’s shoulder and then squeezed.

  “Go with God.”

  “Thank you, Reverend. I appreciate it. Got to be honest, I thought I’d be okay with this, but now I’m a little scared.”

  “You’re changing your mind?” Martin tried to keep the hope from his voice.

  “No, my mind is made up. Just afraid of what might happen. I ain’t ever killed someone before. I mean, I’ve hunted all my life. Killed plenty of deer and squirrels and wild turkeys. Even just a black bear up on Bald Knob about twelve years ago. But killing a person is different. Hopefully, I won’t have to.”

  “They’re not people anymore,” Becky said. “Keep that in mind. They’re dead.”

  “Dead or alive, they’re still people. Right, Reverend?”

  “I don’t know,” Martin admitted. “I wish I did, but I just don’t know.”

  Wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, John then looped a length of thick steel chain through the bars of the sewer grate. He squatted on his haunches and gripped the chain with both hands. Then, grunting, he pulled on the chain until the grate came free. Martin was surprised by how easily it moved, until he remembered that John had been in the boiler room earlier, preparing the way. The grating slid across the cement floor, scraping it, and clanged as he moved it aside. Panting, he looked up at both of them, and wiped his forehead again.

  “Y’all think you can move this back into place after I’m gone?”

  “I reckon so,” Martin said. “Between the two of us, I’m sure we can drag it back over the hole. I’m not so sure we’ll be able to lift it again, though, once it’s back in place.”

  “Well, then let’s hope you don’t need to.”

  “Exactly.”

  John sat down on the floor and swung his legs over the shaft. Then he lowered the shovel down into the hole. Martin and Becky heard the spade strike bottom. Then John pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and turned it on. The beam made his face seem ghostly. He stared at them both.

  “Good luck, John,” Martin said. “May the Lord bless you and keep you and watch over you.”

  “Thanks again, Reverend.”

  Becky leaned forward and gave John a quick kiss on the top of his head. He blushed.

  “For luck,” she said. “That’s all.”

  “Can I get another one for extra luck?”

  “Now you’re pushing your luck, John, and wasting the luck I just gave you.”

  Martin chuckled. Then Rebecca did the same. John looked at them both and grinned. Then his expression grew serious again.

  “I promise y’all that I’ll come back. Just as soon as I find help, I’ll come back for you both. I mean it.”

  Martin nodded. “We’ll be here, God willing.”

  John shook his hand again. Then, without another word, he lowered himself into the shaft. It was only about seven feet deep, but it seemed to Martin that the floor swallowed him up. His flashlight beam was barely imperceptible at the bottom. They hovered over the hole, watching as John crept forward into the sewer tunnel. Soon, both his footsteps and his flashlight beam faded.

  “Let’s go watch,” Becky said. “The very least we can do is see him off properly.”

  “Okay.” He didn’t voice his fear that they might be about to witness their friend’s death.

  They returned upstairs and resumed their positions at the peepholes. They watched the spot where John had indicated the sewer emerged. For what seemed like a very long time, nothing happened. Then, Martin saw movement. John crawled up out of the ground and cautiously glanced around. Then he collected his shovel, turned toward the church and offered a quick wave. Martin waved back, knowing full well that there was no way John could see them through the plywood, but doing so anyway. John gave one last glance over his shoulder. After that, he was gone, slipping into the darkness. They watched until he vanished from sight.

  “Do you think we’ll ever see him again?” Becky asked.

  “John’s a man of his word. He said he’d come back. If it is the Lord’s will, then yes, I think we’ll see him again.”

  Much later, Martin would reflect that God must have had other plans, because neither he nor Rebecca ever saw John Amos Kuhn again.

  Three

  The serpent entered their sanctuary just after breakfast the next morning. Their day started late, as both Martin and Becky had overslept. Martin had awoken in the middle of the night and heard Becky crying softly. As he lay there in the darkness, trying to wake up enough to go to her, he realized that she was trying to stifle the sound. Her sobs were muffled, but the pew trembled slightly as she wept. He’d stayed where he was, trying to decide if he should go to her or respect her privacy. Eventually, he called her name, and the sounds ceased.

  After a moment, Becky had apologized for waking him, and he told her it was okay, and then he went to her. They sat up for a while, talking of the world they’d left behind, and of all the people and things that had died with it. They remembered movies and television programs and the last book they’d read and favorite places to go, and how none of those things were there anymore. There would be no new movies or television shows or books, and all of their favorite places were now overrun with zombies. Eventually. Becky had fallen asleep with her head on Martin’s shoulder. When he awoke, his arm, which had been wrapped around her all night, was numb and stiff. He knew that his arthritis would be bad for the rest of the day.

  Becky woke with a start, bolting upright and gasping when she realized what had happened. They’d quickly disentangled, mumbling embarrassed apologies to each other.

  “You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long,” she said, blushing.

  “I reckon we both needed it.”

  Becky hurried downstairs while Martin checked the perimeter. He brushed at his collar as he went to the window. It was still damp with either Becky’s saliva or her tears—or maybe both.

  He looked outside. The dead were up with the sun. A half dozen of them milled around outside the church, wandering through the street and the field. He could smell them this morning—the thick, almost overwhelming stink of rotting meat. He wondered if the stench was stronger because their decomposition was advancing, or if it was something as simple as a change in the direction of the wind.

  The zombie crow—or another just like it—was back, and this time, it had brought friends. The flock, six birds strong, attacked a sparrow, pecking the smaller bird to death. Martin grimaced as they tore strips of flesh from its body with their beaks. After a few minutes, what was left of the sparrow began to move again. Then it joined the others.

  “Even the smallest creatures are not safe from this evil, my Lord. What chance do we have, save by Your grace and mercy?”

  As he watched, Martin was alarmed to see several of the zombies enter a few of the vacant homes. They smashed down doors and broke through windows. Finding no one to devour, they soon emerged back onto the street. Once again, none of them showed any interest in the church, and Martin breathed a prayer of thanks to God for keeping him and Rebecca safe. Eventually, the zombies moved on, in search of prey.

  After washing up with a sanitary wipe, Martin joined Becky in the kitchen. He noticed that she seemed happier—more talkative. When she served him his meal, she touched his shoulder and when she passed him the salt, her fingertips lingered on the back of his hand.

  “Thank you for last night,” she said. “I’m sorry about—”

  “It’s okay. It’s my job, to comfort folks when they are depressed or grieving or feeling forlorn.”

  “Oh…yes, of course it is. Well, I appreciate it, Reverend. It meant a lot.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  “I… I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’ve been a great comfort to me. You’re like a rock. I thank God you’re here. And I thank you, too.”

  “You don’t have to thank me. Seriously. We’re in this together, Rebecca, and with God’s help, we’ll get through.”

  She leaned closer, staring intently into his eyes. Martin noticed that her lips were parted. They shone in the dim light, wet and full. Her teeth were very white. Despite the heat in the stuffy kitchen, Martin shivered

  Chesya, he thought. I miss you, darling. How long has it been? Give me strength, Lord.

  Becky cleared her throat and stood. She moved too quickly and her chair tipped over and hit the tiles with a bang. They both froze for a moment, wondering if the sound could be heard by the dead. When there was no uproar from outside, they both laughed, breaking the tension.

  “I’ll…uh…” Martin wiped his hands on his shirt. “I’ll be right back. Let me just double check the perimeter.”

  “We’ll be okay.” Becky avoided meeting his eye, focusing instead on clearing away their paper plates. “Like you said, God is watching over us.”

  “Too true, but God also helps those who help themselves.”

  Becky smiled. “Well, like I said, I feel safe here with you.”

  Martin felt his pulse quicken as he hurried out of the kitchen and into the Sunday School rooms. He walked by the closed door to the boiler room and thought of John—and that was when he saw the snake. It was wriggling out from under the crack in the boiler room door. He identified it from the shape of its head and its color and markings as a copperhead. Probably a young one, judging from its narrow and thin size.

  He backed away from the door, and bumped his shin on a bookshelf filled with inspirational literature. Martin had never liked snakes, especially poisonous ones, and especially copperheads. At least rattlesnakes and cobras had the good manners to warn you before they attacked. Not so a copperhead. They struck silent and deadly. As he watched, the serpent slithered into the room, raised its head, and stared at him. Its tongue flicked the air, as if tasting it. The snake lowered its head again and made a beeline toward him.

  Martin took a deep breath. He was about to shout a warning to Becky, and then he smelled it—that same rank stink of decay that he’d smelled wafting from the zombies outside. He glanced back down at the snake and realized that it was the source of the stench. Now that it was closer, he realized that much of its skin was missing. Tiny vertebrae protruded from the wounds.

  “Oh Lord,” he moaned. “Oh my dear Lord. Get thee behind me, serpent.”

  The snake wriggled faster, hissing as it drew near. As had happened with the zombie dog pack, Martin was reminded of speech. He backed up into the wall, fists clenched as the snake came within striking distance. His left arm began to tingle, as if asleep. Martin flexed his fingers and frowned. A dull pain throbbed in his chest, and slowly began to grow stronger.

  A heart attack, Lord? Come on. Not now!

  The pain subsided and Martin turned his attention back to his attacker. The creature raised its head again and darted forward, striking at his ankle, but Martin was quicker. Ignoring both the lingering discomfort in his chest and the arthritic aching in his joints, he leaped into the air. The snake missed. A second later, Martin landed on its pointed head with both feet. The tiny skull crunched beneath the heels of his boots. The serpent’s tail twitched once, and then was still.

  “The serpent thou shalt trample under feet. That’s from the Book of Psalms, you son of a bitch.”

  He ground his feet back and forth, crushing the snake against the tile floor. Blood trickled out from under his boots. Satisfied, Martin stepped away and examined the corpse, making sure that it was dead again. After determining that it wouldn’t be crawling ever again, he hurried toward the kitchen, leaving bloody foot-prints in his wake.

  “Thank you Lord,” he prayed aloud. “Thank you for helping me to defeat your old foe. I appreciate the strength in the face of adversity. And if you could, Lord, please don’t let any more of those things inside. I think the snake was creepier than any of the ones out there.”

  Becky poked her head out of the kitchen. “Did you say something, Thomas?”

  Martin was shaken by his encounter with the zombie, but not enough that he wasn’t surprised to hear the organist refer to him by his first name. He didn’t mind, but it seemed sudden and shocking, after years of her referring to him as Reverend or Pastor. Perhaps Becky noticed the effect it had on him, because when she spoke again, she returned to the old familiar standby.

  “Reverend Martin? What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Not a ghost,” Martin panted. “A zombie.”

  “Where? Outside?”

  He shook his head. “No. In here. Right over there.”

  “They got in? Oh, God…”

  “Don’t worry. I killed it…well, if you can truly call it that. I mean, how do you kill something that’s already dead? But never mind the semantics. It’s right over here. No need to worry. It’s harmless now. I…” He paused, swallowing. “I’m sorry. I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

  “It’s okay. But are the doors and windows secure? Are there more inside the church?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. It was just the one.”

  “Do we…did we know them?”

  Martin led her across the room and pointed at the smashed snake. “I don’t think this one was a member of our church.”

  Gasping, Becky backed away from the corpse. “A copperhead! Oh, Reverend, what if there are more? I won’t be able to sleep tonight knowing there are snakes in here.”

  “I don’t think there are, Becky. This one was dead already. I think it came in from the sewer. Maybe it saw John leave, or maybe it discovered the tunnel after he was gone, but I think it had a very specific purpose. And I’ve no doubt that it would have killed me or somehow alerted the other zombies to our presence, if I hadn’t destroyed it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Ninety-nine point nine percent. If there were more of them in the church, I reckon they would have attacked us by now.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Let’s check the boiler room. We should figure out some way to seal off that sewer grate. Then I’ll double check all the fortifications. Make sure everything is still sealed up tight.”

  Becky’s lower lip trembled and her eyes were wide. She glanced back down at the snake and then up at him. Martin took her by the shoulders and pulled her close. Once again, the smell of her hair was intoxicating. He took a deep breath.

  “We’ll be okay. I promise. The Lord has looked after us so far. He’s not going to abandon us now.”

  She nodded against his chest. For a moment, Martin wanted to stay like that, just standing there with her pressed tight against him, feeling her warmth, the smoothness of her skin beneath his fingertips, her scent filling his nose, her very proximity intoxicating him, stirring up long-buried emotions and de-sires.

  And then he thought of Chesya again, and those feelings vanished, replaced with a sharp pang of regret. He missed her. Even now, he missed his wife. And what he was doing wasn’t right. It wasn’t right for him and it wasn’t fair to Rebecca. He wasn’t emotionally available. He’d known it the other night, when they’d been upstairs, and he was reminded of it again now. Filled with regret, he pushed himself away from Becky and held her at arm’s length.

  “We should check the boiler room, before any more of them do manage to get in.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  They crossed the Sunday School rooms. Becky reached out and took his hand. Her palm was damp with sweat. She squeezed his fingers. Martin squeezed back, trying to ease her fears. Then he let go of her hand and opened the door.

  The boiler room was dark and chilly and smelled of mildew and motor oil. Martin much preferred those odors over the stench of the dead. Since the room was free of that, he assumed that no more zombies had discovered the sewer. Still, he was unnerved as he checked the corners and crannies for more zombie snakes, rats or anything else that could have squeezed through the grate. Becky stood by the door, holding it open. When Martin was finished searching, he moved over to the grate and stared down into the shaft. It was pitch black at the bottom, but he saw nothing moving in the shadows. The only sound was a faint trickle of water far below.

 

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