his mouth. His eyes narrowed, and when he spoke again, his kind tone had vanished.
“You struck me. I came to you in peace, ready to share the glory of God, and you greeted me with violence. But you will see that I’m right. Even now, your friend is undergoing the transformation. Christ’s blood moves through his veins.”
“What are you talking about?” I raised my hand as if to hit him again, and Ortega scuttled backward, whimpering.
“I told you,” he whined. “I administered Communion. I gave him the flesh to eat and the blood to drink. The flesh and blood of our Lord. The sacrament. He didn’t want to partake, of course. They never do. So I had to force him. I clubbed him over the head and then forced it down his throat before he regained consciousness.”
I reached down and ripped the collar from around his neck. “Who’s blood? Who’s flesh? What the hell are you saying?”
“That’s where the power comes from—the flesh and the blood of Christ.”
Runkle and Mitch came back outside, supporting Turn between them. He looked weak and pale.
“Something’s wrong with Turn,” Mitch said, sounding worried. “He’s really sick.”
I flung Ortega to the ground and stood over him, pistol pointed at his face. “Where did you get
“What blood?” Runkle asked. “What’s he talking about?”
Between them, Turn groaned. Mitch let Runkle take all of the weight and stepped forward.
“Lamar, what’s going on?”
“Tell us, Ortega, or I swear to God I’ll blow your fucking head off. Where did you get the blood?”
“From the dead,” Ortega whined. “1 took the body and blood of Christ from those he had already touched. Then I fed it to your friend. Fed it to them all, one by one. I’m doing the Lord’s work, just like it says in the book.”
“You fuck…”
I bit my lip and squeezed my eyes shut. My finger tightened on the trigger. The gun felt heavy in my hand. My breathing seemed very loud. But then my finger eased. I couldn’t do it. Even now, after we’d learned exactly what he’d done, I couldn’t kill him in cold blood. I didn’t have it in me. It pissed me off—this schism inside. When that bitch took a bite out of Alan, I’d had no problem shooting him. I hadn’t balked yet when it came to wasting a zombie. Yet Ortega was just as bad, if not worse than them, and I couldn’t do it. When that woman had been slaughtered right outside my house, I’d felt no remorse for not helping her. But I felt something now. I felt sorry for this crazy old man who’d butchered people in the name of some insane, murderous God.
“The dead walk,” Ortega babbled, clawing at the dirt. “Ye must be born again. The dead are God’s children— the chosen ones. They shall inherit the earth. This is not the end. There are many doors. Death is just another doorway that we all must pass through. This is my blood, which has been shed for thee. This is my flesh. Eat of it and have eternal life.”
I stepped away from him. “I can’t do it. He deserves to fucking die, guys, but I can’t do it.”
“Ain’t no shame in that,” Mitch said.
Then he shot him. He didn’t flinch; didn’t hesitate. He did it mechanically and without emotion, just like he’d done with Hooper. The first round hit Ortega in the neck. The second tore his head apart. Mitch ejected his magazine and loaded a fresh one into the pistol.
Tony whispered, “Fuck…”
“When I sold Bibles,” Mitch said, “it was fuckers like him that made my job hard. Nobody wants to buy one if they think everyone who reads it is bat-shit crazy.”
“Is he awake?” I asked Runkle, nodding at Turn.
“On and off. He’s really sick. You want to tell us what the hell is happening?”
“He’s infected,” Tony told them. “The preacher fed Turn infected blood and flesh that he got from the zombies.”
Runkle looked sick. “Oh, God…”
Sighing, Mitch stared into the distance.
Runkle leaned the half-conscious Turn against the chapel’s wall and quickly moved away from him. He turned back to us.
“Maybe we could induce vomiting? Get it out of his system.”
’That’s not going to work,” Mitch said softly. “It wouldn’t have helped Hooper and it won’t help him.”
“Guys,” Turn whimpered. “I feel like shit. What’s wrong with me?”
Mitch stared down at him. “You guys go ahead and get the boat loaded. I’ll stay here with Turn. That infection is quick as lightning. It won’t be long now.”
None of us spoke. If Turn understood what was happening, he gave no indication.
“My guts feel like they’re on fire.” Sweat poured down Turn’s face. His fingers kept clenching up and his legs jittered. “And my muscles and joints hurt. I got a killer headache, too. What the hell is wrong with me? Did that preacher poison me?”
“You’ll be okay, buddy,” Mitch said. “Just something you ate. I’m gonna stay here with you until you feel better.”
Runkle turned to Tony and me. “Come on. Let’s get it over with. Our shipmates are counting on us.”
Turn sagged lower, his legs and arms sprawled. “I’m just gonna rest for a little bit. Just close my eyes.”
Runkle looked away. “You do that, Turn.”
“Tell Chief Maxey that I might be late to relieve him on the bridge. Tell him I’m sorry.”
“Sshhh.” Mitch put his finger to Turn’s lips. “No more talking, man. Lay back and try to get some sleep. You’ll feel better in a little bit.”
“Yeah, man,” Tony whispered. “You just rest up. Mitch will take good care of you.”
“I can’t feel the sun,” Turn whispered. “Where did * the sun go?”
Runkle walked away. Without looking back, we followed him to the infirmary and began packing boxes of medicine and carrying them down to the lifeboat. On our second trip, a single gunshot rang out. We flinched, paused in our work, and then continued.
“Fuck,” Tony said.
“One more trip and then we’ll start on the food,” Runkle said. “We’ll get as much as we can, but I want to be back to the
Then there was another gunshot. Then a third. Then a barrage. They echoed across the rescue station, bouncing off the buildings and scattering the birds roosted in the trees.
Runkle looked back at the chapel. “What the hell?”
Four more shots sounded in rapid succession, and then Mitch ran around the corner. His eyes were wide and terrified. His hair fluttered in the wind.
“Zombies,” he gasped. “Came out of the woods. Bunch of them.”
Runkle dropped the box he was carrying and pulled his weapon. “The ones on the crosses?”
“No.” he took a deep breath. “Different ones—from farther inland. They’re much more mobile than the ones in the clearing. Hundreds of them. They must have been hunting in the forest and heard all the commotion.”
“Well, let’s take up positions and—”
“There’s no time,” Mitch shouted. “And we don’t have enough bullets. I’m telling you, there’s too many of them. Just fucking run!”
The wind shifted again and brought their scent. I turned around and glanced back at the chapel, and the dead swarmed into view. Mitch hadn’t been exaggerating. Their numbers reminded me of the hordes back on the pier at Inner Harbor. They advanced on us, slow but determined. I wondered when they’d last eaten. They looked very hungry.
“Shit.” Tony tossed his box aside and fled.
Runkle raised his gun and took aim. The weapon leaped in his hands. With one squeeze of the trigger, he dropped one of the lead zombies. Five more took its place.
“Come on, Runkle.” Mitch tugged on his arm. “Don’t make us leave you here.”
We ran for the dock. Tony reached the boat first. By the time we leapt into it, he’d already started the motor. It choked and sputtered and for one terrifying moment I thought it was going to stall, but it didn’t. The zombies lurched after us, outstretched arms waving, dead mouths drooling. Mitch and Runkle laid down cover fire while I
