One of the zombies tore free of its cross, the nails ripping through its wrists and feet. It landed on an elderly woman, crushing her to the floor. Then it began to feed. Chris and Dawn couldn’t see it, but they could hear the tearing sounds.
The other creatures followed its lead, freeing themselves, ignoring the damage to their bodies.
“Go,” Klinger shouted, swept along by the panicked crowd. “Don’t worry about me!”
“They should worry.” Reichart slammed his fist down on the pulpit, ignoring the rampaging zombies. “Worry about their souls.”
Chris aimed his handgun at the crazed preacher.
“Shut the fuck up! I am sick of listening to your bullshit.”
Before he could squeeze the trigger, another zombie charged the pulpit, clawing at Reichart’s face. Chris fired anyway. Dawn’s weapon roared in tandem. Blocking the doorway, they shot indiscriminately, gunning down living and dead alike. Frantic parishioners charged the door, and Chris and Dawn shot each and every one of them. Their ears rang and their hands went numb, and still they fired controlled shots, feet spaced apart. Flying brass burned their arms. They reloaded, worked their way through the aisles, methodically firing rounds into each target’s head.
When it was over, all forty-six parishioners and a dozen zombies lay dead.
Klinger stared at the couple in astonishment. His forehead was bleeding.
“Jesus Christ. Would have never thought the two of you could do that.”
“A month ago,” Chris said, “we couldn’t have.”
Dawn nodded. “We’ve changed. We shall all be changed…”
Klinger picked his way through the corpses, and retrieved the rifle from the narthex.
“Guess we should get to work on moving these pews.”
Chris shrugged. “We’ve got this place to ourselves now. Maybe we should just stay put.”
The ex-pro surfer cocked a thumb at the bodies.
“Suit yourself. But I ain’t cleaning up that mess.”
“Leave them,” Chris said. “We’ll close it off.”
Arms entwined, Chris and Dawn started downstairs. Klinger followed. Behind them, the dead slept and did not change.
ALL FALL DOWN
The Rising
Day Twenty-Two
The Desert Near Avondale, Arizona
“It ain’t like it wasn’t hot around here to begin with.” Roche spat tobacco juice into one of the rattlesnake holes dotting the hard-baked earth. Paul Goblirsch didn’t respond, because the old man was right. It was too hot to even talk. Paul shielded his eyes, not from the sun, but from the flames on the horizon.
Phoenix was burning.
The fires started in the second week, after the military lost control of the city. Smoke filled the skies, actually blocking out much of the sun’s more harmful rays. Despite that, the temperature was sweltering, especially with the added heat from the fires. Metro-Phoenix went up first, followed by the rest of the city. Then the flames spread to the suburbs, including Paul’s home in Avondale. Escaping both the inferno and the zombies, Paul joined up with other survivors heading into the desert: Roche, who Paul thought might be crazy; Destiny, a dancer from one of the strip joints; Tina, a six-year old girl still clinging to her stuffed rabbit; and Juan, who’d worked as a telemarketer. Roche hummed the song, “Convoy.” Paul glanced back. The old man was pissing into a snake hole.“Better put it away before a zombie rattler comes out and bites your dick off.”
Grinning, Roche shook, stuffed, and zipped.
“Let’s head back,” Paul said. “It’s Juan and Destiny’s turn for watch.”
They’d taken shelter at a construction company’s airstrip in the middle of the desert; a single runway, two port-o-potties, and a corrugated steel shed. They stayed inside the shed as much as possible. Two walked the perimeter at all times, on the lookout for zombies, looters, and other monsters. Of everything Paul had seen over the last twenty-two days, human nature was the most vile and disgusting.The plane landed that afternoon: a small, twinengine Cessna. Weapons drawn, Paul and Juan met it while the others hid inside the shed. The pilot was a gregarious Mexican named Sanchez. He wore a dazzling white cowboy hat that matched his drooping mustache and beard. Sanchez told them (as translated by Juan) that there was a human settlement in Canada, just over the border with Minnesota, free of the undead and broadcasting via short wave to other survivors.
Paul’s suspicions towards the stranger vanished upon hearing the news. The five survivors squeezed into the plane, leaving behind everything except their weapons, water, and Tina’s bunny. It was a tight fit, especially with Paul’s 240 pound, 6 foot 1 inch frame.
They took off, and Paul tried to relax. His scalp itched, both from sunburn and from the stubble growing back in. He speculated about this Canadian paradise, wondered what they’d find there. He hoped for things he hadn’t thought about since The Rising began: playing pool (he’d played enough cards with Destiny, Juan, and Roche to last a lifetime), books, food and drink. He had a sudden craving for a Crown and Coke, and wondered if they’d have any.
Destiny’s head lolled on his shoulder. She’d fallen asleep. Juan sat up front, chatting with Sanchez, and Roche was swapping jokes with Tina. The girls’ spirits had lifted since boarding the plane.
“What’s black and white and red all over?”
Tina giggled. “I don’t know. What?”
“A penguin with a sunburn.”
Paul closed his eyes and listened to the girl’s laughter. His mind turned to his own family, and he cut it off. Instead, he thought about his friend,
‘Kresby’ (his real name was H, but Paul always used his online name—Kresby.) They’d never met, but knew each other from various internet book forums. Kresby lived in Minnesota. Paul wondered where his friend was now. Maybe he’d crossed the border into the Canadian settlement. Maybe they’d finally meet in this dead new world.
He slept.
Tina’s scream woke him. That, and the jolting lurch in his stomach and the cold air whistling around him. His ears popped as he opened his eyes. At first, he didn’t understand what he was seeing. Tina’s face was wrong. It was red, and the eyes, ears and nose were missing, and it had grown feathers. Paul bolted upright and slammed into the bulkhead.
The plane was plummeting downward. The cockpit was filled with undead birds. Their rotten bodies obscured Sanchez and Juan. More zombies fluttered around him, feasting on Destiny and Roche. Destiny reached for him, opened her mouth to scream, and then a bird ripped her tongue out. Another zombie nipped at his face, the razored beak slicing into his cheek. Paul smashed it aside and found his footing.
There was nothing he could do for the others. Even as he moved, Tina disappeared beneath the avian corpses. Soon, she and the others would start moving again. Probably before the plane hit the ground.
Die in a plane crash, or die as a bird buffet…
He chose a third option.
Paul had skydived only once in his life, from 14,000 feet, in tandem with an experienced instructor. The experience was one of the most thrilling days of his life, and he’d never forgotten it. He was grateful for the memory, and it all came back to him as he strapped the parachute onto his back. The roaring wind filled his ears. The squawking birds made his testicles shrivel.
They shriveled more when he forced the door open and stared out at the spiraling sky. Jumping from a steady, level airplane with an instructor was one thing. This was something very different.
“Paul,” the thing that was now inside Tina croaked. “Join us.”
He crushed another bird in his fist. His face and hands were bleeding from dozens of cuts and scratches. Another zombie darted towards his eyes. Paul slapped it away and stomped on it. He grinned, feeling the delicate bones snap beneath his heel. Tina’s bloody hand closed around his ankle.