“Shut up,” Mitch snapped, not taking his eyes off the preacher.
Cursing in frustration, Hooper kicked the base of the nearest cross. The ground around it must have been soft, because the post shook and the zombie nailed to it shifted in its bonds. Before we could cry out a warning, the copper wire that had been holding the corpse to the beams sliced through the rancid meat. The zombie slumped forward, now cut into sections. The feet and hands remained nailed to the cross. Everything else tore loose and exploded, spilling down onto Hooper and showering him in gore. It reminded me of a bursting water balloon. Shrieking, Hooper flailed his arms and legs. Blood and half-liquefied tissue dripped from his nose, chin, and fingertips. Putrefied slime ran into his mouth and eyes.
“Oh shit,” he squealed. “Got it on me, motherfuckers. Got it on me, got it on me,
The zombie’s head and shoulders were still attached to each other by a cross-section of rotting musculature, sinew, and tendons. The creature’s gaping mouth worked soundlessly. Hooper danced around, slapping at his gore- covered body and stamping the corpse into mush beneath his heels. The creature’s head split open, spilling maggot-ridden brains.
“Oh, shit,” Tony gasped, staring at Hooper. “Oh, fuck me. Somebody do something. Help him!”
Runkle and I could only stare at the grisly site. Hooper leaned over and vomited blood. He shook his head like a dog, spraying droplets of gore. The stranger didn’t seem affected by what had happened. He just watched with a blank expression, his hands folded in front of him as if in prayer.
“Oh, motherfucker…” Long, ropy threads of red spittle hung from Hooper’s mouth. “Somebody get me a hose. I got to wash this shit off before I get infected.”
Mitch walked toward him. Hooper looked relieved.
“Mitch. Yo, man—help me out. Fucking shit is all over me. Get me some water and disinfectant. Got to wash this shit off. Damn, it stinks!”
“I’m sorry, Cleveland.”
“I’m sorry, too, motherfucker. Now help me out.”
“No,” Mitch whispered. “I mean that I’m sorry.”
Mitch raised his pistol. Hooper’s eyes widened. In the space of a second, Mitch turned his face away, closed his eyes and mouth tightly, and squeezed the trigger.
And then we couldn’t tell which parts were Hooper and which parts were the zombie. They both looked the same.
Mitch ran over to me. “Is there any on me, Lamar? Did I get splattered?”
It was hard to hear him clearly. The gunshot still rang in my ears. I looked him over carefully, and made him turn around in a circle.
“No,” I said. “You’re clean, man. You’re okay.”
On their crosses, the rest of the zombies wiggled harder, stirred up by the noise.
“You shot Hooper,” Tony said. “You didn’t even hesitate. Just walked up and… bang. You killed him.”
“No,” Mitch replied. “He was already dead. You saw what happened.”
Tony nodded. “Yeah, I did. No problem there. I’m just saying—I’m glad you had the balls to do it. He was an asshole and everything, but I still don’t think I could have done it.”
Mitch turned to Runkle and nodded at the man in the preacher’s collar. “What about him?”
Runkle grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it behind his back. The man yelled in surprise and pain.
“He’s going to tell us what the fuck happened here,” Runkle growled in his ear. “Aren’t you, pops?”
“Please,” the man pleaded. “You don’t have to hurt me, young man. Please let me go. I’ll be happy to help you, just as I helped your friend. That is what the Lord wants—what he asks of us all. And my name is Daniel, not pops. Reverend Daniel Ortega.”
Runkle released his arm and spun him around. Then he leaned close, his nose almost touching the preacher’s.
“Okay, Reverend. You said that you’d met our friend, Turn. Where is he now?”
“He’s resting in the chapel. I administered Holy Communion to him and then came out here to fetch you all. Follow me. I’ll take you to him. We can break bread together.”
Runkle moved aside and let him pass. Ortega slipped into the forest. We glanced at each other and then followed him; Runkle, then Mitch, and then me. Tony brought up the rear. Behind us, the crucified thrashed helplessly on their crosses.
Ortega spoke calmly as we shoved our way through the underbrush. He seemed unaffected by what had happened to Hooper. True, the preacher hadn’t known him, but it was just so fucking grisly. He should have had some reaction.
“Corinthians, chapter fifteen, verse twelve, tells us: ‘Now if Christ preached that he rose from the dead, how can some of those among you say that there is no resurrection of the dead? But if there is no resurrection of the dead, then is Christ not risen; and if Christ is not risen, then is our preaching in vain, and your faith in vain?’ That’s always been a favorite verse of mine.”
“That’s wonderful,” Runkle said. “But I don’t think any of us are in the mood for a sermon right now. How about you tell us what’s been happening here? Who crucified those zombies back there in the woods?”
“I did.”
“You?”
“Yes. You see, gentlemen, with the power of the Lord, I can bring people back from the dead. Just as Christ brought back Lazarus; just as our savior was delivered on the cross.”
Mitch stopped walking. “You’re insane.”
“Am I?”
Ortega turned and winked; then he continued on his way. We emerged from the tree line and approached the back end of the warehouse.
“You saw for yourselves,” Ortega continued. “Back there in the clearing. You saw them rise. You beheld the mystery. They were asleep—dead—and now they are changed. They live again in death. Christ told us, ‘I am the resurrection and the life.’ He is working through his faithful, giving the gift of eternal life to all. This is happening all across the world. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed!”
Mitch shook his head in disbelief. “You crucified them by yourself?”
“Well, it wasn’t easy. I’m not as young or as strong as I used to be. But the Lord is my strength. My sword and my shield. He gives me the power to do his will.”
We approached the chapel door. The preacher reached for the handle, but Runkle stopped him, motioning with his pistol for the man to step aside.
“I’ll go first.”
Reverend Ortega smiled. “As you wish, young man. This is the Lord’s house. All may enter freely. I told your friend the same thing before I administered Communion.”
’ This was the second time Ortega had mentioned giving Turn Communion. I didn’t know Turn very well, but he hadn’t seemed like a religious sort. The statement didn’t ring true to me.
“What do you mean?” I asked, stepping forward. “What’s this Communion shit?”
Ortega frowned. “You aren’t familiar with the rite of Holy Communion? It symbolizes Christ’s pact with man. He gave us his flesh and shed his blood. It is through his blood that we are born again. It is his blood that’s responsible for what you have seen. That’s why the dead return to life—because of his blood.”
“They’re zombies,” Tony shouted. “You and your God didn’t have anything to do with it. Everybody is coming back from the dead because of a fucking disease. Don’t you know that?”
The preacher’s expression darkened. “The Lord has shown you proof. He has shown you miracles—the miracle of the resurrection. And still you don’t believe. You’re just like the first one I crucified. I removed his eyes and tongue before I nailed him to the cross. ‘If thy eye offends thee, pluck it out. If thy tongue offends thee, cut it out.’ Those aren’t my words. They’re God’s. Who am I to disagree?”
Flinching, Runkle shoved the chapel door open. Mitch ran after him. They both shouted for Turn. Meanwhile, Tony and I held Ortega at gunpoint and warned him not to move.
“I’m not going anywhere,” the preacher said. “Not until I die. Then I will—”
“Would you shut the fuck up?”
Tony slapped him with the back of his hand. Ortega collapsed to his knees. Blood trickled from the corner of
