God help her, she still loved him. More than ever.
- 9 -
JOE . . .
He awoke in a snap. No lingering drowsiness, no stretching or yawning. Asleep, then awake, with tentacles of a dream still clinging to him.
The dream . . . more like a nightmare—or in this case, a daymare. He remembered clinging to the lip of a rocky precipice, his feet dangling and kicking over an infinity of swirling darkness. But not empty darkness. This seemed alive, and it had been beckoning him, calling to him all day . . .
The worst thing was that a part of him had longed to answer, tried to convince the rest of him to let go and tumble into that living abyss.
He shook off the memory and pushed at the fabric enshrouding him. After an instant of panicked deja-vu—had he been buried again?—he remembered rolling himself in the bedspread this morning. He pulled his way free and found himself on the floor of the rear bedroom. The room was hot, stuffy, and dusty, but not dark. He lifted his head. Over the naked top of the double box spring he saw its mattress tilted against the west window. Orange sunlight leaked around its edges. The sun was setting but not down yet.
Not down yet...
A sudden surge of excitement pushed him to his feet. He stepped closer to the mattress, surprised at not feeling stiff and sore after a whole day on wooden flooring. A ray of sunlight, dust motes swirling like fireflies along its path, was poking past the right edge to light up a square on the room's east wall. Hesitantly, Joe edged his hand toward the ray. This could hurt. This could be like sticking his hand into a pot of boiling water.
He gritted his teeth. Hell, what was he waiting for? Fast or slow, if he was going to burn, he was going to burn.
He shot his hand forward and back, in and out of the ray. It felt hot but nothing like boiling water. He looked at his palm where the sun had licked it. No blisters. Not even red.
He tried it again, this time holding his hand in the light. Hot, but bearable. Definitely bearable.
Taking a breath, he tipped the mattress back, letting the light flood into the room and bathe him. He gasped at the sudden blast of heat and squinted in the brightness, but held his ground. He could do this. Yeah, he could do this.
With jubilation spurring him, he hurried out into the front room where he found Carole asleep on the couch. He stopped and stared down at her, captivated. Her face in sleep had relaxed into a soft, gentle innocence, as if the last few months had never happened. This was the Carole he'd known. He wanted to wake her but couldn't bring himself to break the spell.
He stepped back to the alcove and peeked in the front bedroom. Lacey lay huddled under the covers.
Okay, let them both sleep.
Back to the front room where he slipped as quietly as possible through the broken door and out into the light. He walked a few steps north to where sunlight gushed between the bungalow and its neighbor. He bathed in its flow, spread his arms and dared it to harm him.
"Joseph? Are you all right?"
Carole's voice. He turned and saw her approaching across the boards. Her features hadn't yet fully recomposed themselves into their harder, waking look. He wanted to throw his arms around her but knew that would be a mistake.
"Yes. Fine. At least for now. How long till sunset do you think?"
She glanced at her watch. "It set at 7:11 yesterday, so—"
"Are you sure? I seem to remember the sun setting later than that in May."
Carole shrugged. "I guess I never got around to switching to Daylight Savings Time. Not much point, is there."
"I guess not. So you keep a log?"
"In my head. It's very important to know when the sun is going to be around and when it's not."
Of course it was. And he should have known that a former science teacher like Sister Carole would be methodical as all hell about it.
"When does it set tonight?"
"About a minute later. Around forty-five minutes from now." She looked up from her watch. "You seem to be able to tolerate the first and last hours of sunlight."
"Why is that, do you think?"
"It may be due to your sun exposure before you turned. Maybe it burned some of the undead taint out of you, leaving you tolerant to the more attenuated rays of the sun."
"Attenuated?"
"As it nears the horizon, the sun's rays have to travel through more layers of atmosphere to reach you. Those extra layers absorb and refract the light. It's that same refraction that causes the sun and moon to look darker and larger when they're low in the sky."
"Well, thank you, God, for refraction." He was glad he didn't have to face the prospect of never seeing the sun again.
"Then again," Carole said, a faint smile playing about her lips, "refraction may have nothing to do with it, and you should be thanking God directly."
"Why?"
"Maybe He's given you these extra two hours as an edge over the undead. Two hours during which you can move about while they can't."
Joe thought about that. Two hours ... if he was going to make a strike against the undead, those two hours offered the perfect windows. He didn't know about God Himself arranging this, but he knew a good thing when he saw it. He was not going to waste this advantage.
"I like the way you think, Carole. But first we need an agenda. And the first thing on that agenda should be contacting the church and letting those people know I'm still alive."
"But you can't let them see you like this, or let them know you—"
"Absolutely not. We'll have to think of something that'll keep them together and fighting on without me. Because I'll be fighting my own war. I want to take the fight to the undead, get in their faces and hit them where it will really hurt: New York."
Yes. Franco. He wanted to see that smug son of a bitch again—and when he did, it would be on his terms, not Franco's.
"What's this about 'my' war?" Lacey said. Joe turned to see her standing behind them, rubbing her eyes. "This is our fight too, Unk."
He smiled. "I could use the help, but..."
The thought of either of these two precious people getting hurt because of him ... he couldn't go there.
"But what?" Lacey said. "You're afraid we'll get killed or something? I figure we're as good as dead if we do nothing, so we might as well go down doing something. Better than sitting on our asses and waiting for the ax to fall."
Carole rolled her eyes. "You have such a way with words."
Lacey shrugged. "Am I right or am I right?"
Joe had to admit she was right. He faced the reddened, swollen sun as it neared the rooftops. He could look at it now, and it barely heated his skin.
"Okay then," he said. "But we'll have to run this like a military operation."
"Does that mean you want to be made general?" Lacey said through another yawn.
"No. Carole's the most experienced. She should be our general."
Carole waved her hands. "Oh, no. Not me."
Lacey squinted at him. "You know much about military operations?"
"Not a thing. But I figure we need reconnaissance and intelligence. And most of all, we need to practice before we head for New York."
Lacey nodded. "Sort of like an out-of-town tryout before hitting Broadway, right?"
"Right. And I think the local nests can provide just the sort of rehearsals we'll need."
LACEY . . .
"We have to tell the parishioners something" Joe said. "Any ideas?"
Lacey watched him, looking for the first signs of what she knew must come. They were back in the bungalow, seated around the cocktail table in the same places as last night. A single candle set on the glass top lit their faces.
"Why don't we tell them the truth?" Carole said.
Lacey shook her head. "This is one case where the truth shall not set them free. Besides, it's too . .. complicated."