“Of course. What is it?”
“We have got to stop that bell ringing, or I am going to lose my mind,” he said. The bell on the Catholic Church still sounded its melancholy gong.
“The world is ending, and you’re worried about the bell?”
He smiled.
“Alright. Hop on,” I said, sliding forward.
“You won’t even let me drive?”
“Are you kidding me?” I said and kicked the engine on.
“How humiliating,” he muttered as he slid in behind me.
I parked the bike on the street in front of the church. The bell clanged loudly. Two of the undead who had been standing outside the church turned toward us. I downed one; Jamie took out the other.
“You always were a good shot, Layla.”
“Thanks to your dad. I didn’t see--”
“He didn’t make it. Neither him nor my mom.”
“I’m sorry. You and Ian--”
“Yeah, well, we all lost someone. Come on. Let’s check it out.”
When we walked up to the ornate doors, we both had a moment of realization. The place could be packed. Every Catholic in town could have taken shelter there.
I pulled the machine gun over my shoulder and stood ready several feet from the door.
“Have any more grenades?”
“One. Let’s hope we don’t need it.”
Jamie pulled out his handgun and then, with a quick movement, yanked the doors opened.
We were half right; half the Catholics in town were inside. I pulled the trigger, peeling off a spray of bullets as the undead rushed out the door. Jamie fired into the horde. Moments later the space was clear and a heap of bodies lay outside the door.
“Christ,” Jamie said looking at the machine gun.
“I don’t see how they miss with these things in the movies. At 1000 rounds a minute, who can miss?”
Jamie looked at the heap of bodies. His face twisted. “I know half the people lying there,” he said. He closed his eyes and turned from the sight.
I had been trying not to think about it. “We don’t have much choice,” I said with more disconnect than I actually felt.
“After having to shoot my mom a dozen times before I figured out I needed a head shot, bumping off the meter man should be less jarring.”
“Should? I don’t know about that. You’re no killer. But I’m sorry about your mom,” I said, setting my hand on his shoulder. Jamie and his mom had always been very close, as close as Grandma and I. Grief tried to wash in. I slapped the door closed. After a lifetime of practice, I was good at doing that. I pulled out the shashka and looked up at Jamie.
“I’m ready,” he said.
We went inside. An older woman I recognized from the farmer’s market slowly crept out of the pew. She bit and snapped at us. I motioned Jamie to hold back, and I stabbed her through the eye. She dropped. We made our way toward the back of the church. Again, I caught sight of the broken Mary. It made me shudder.
We followed the winding halls to the back of the church. There we found stairs leading up toward the bell tower. Carefully, we walked up the plank wood spiral staircase. The sweet scent of rough-cut lumber filled the air. When we reached the top, we discovered why the bell kept ringing. Father Ritchie had hung himself with the bell rope. His body swayed back and forth.
“Guess he decided not to wait for the rapture,” Jamie said, “which can occur any time now,” he added with a raised voice as he looked toward the sky. He waited for a moment. “Nope, nothing,” he said with a sardonic snort.
“Maybe he thought he was already in hell,” I said, and reaching upward, I sliced the rope in half. Father Ritchie’s body fell on the wooden planks below. I stared down at the once-benevolent face now frozen in the grizzly visage of death. “I just saw him the other day. Grandma had me stop by.”
“Why?”
“To ask for holy water.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
Jamie looked thoughtfully down at Father Ritchie. “What do we do with him?”
I looked out the window. I noticed a newly opened grave in the graveyard. “There,” I said, pointing.
“Well, it seems right to bury him, but how in the hell are we going to get him down?”
I smiled. “Put on your gloves.”
Jamie lifted Father from the left side. I lifted him from the right.
“Something about this seems wrong,” Jamie muttered.
“1—2—3,” I said, and with a heave, we dropped Father Ritchie out the tower window. He fell with a thud on the ground.
“Well, he’s already dead, and he had the courtesy not to get up and walk around. I’m sure he won’t mind.”
The church was clear when we exited. We made quick work of a light burial for Father Ritchie and then headed back toward the bike. On the way, however, we passed Mrs. Winchester’s grave. I could not help but notice the dirt had collapsed in. I stopped to look.
“What is it?” Jamie asked.
“Mrs. Winchester was buried here—or is buried here. Her grave is disturbed.”