Mark Rogers - The Dead

Gary settled himself in a more comfortable position, listening. Somewhere in the distance a car chugged along; he wondered if it was that T-Bird. Also if it was still dragging that man behind it-and if the second guy had fallen. Were they being scraped to death even now? Or would they be set back on their feet before too much damage was done? The dead plainly enjoyed torturing their victims, but when it came to killing, they seemed to prefer strangulation. It occurred to him that their potential reinforcements might be resurrected sooner the more intact they were. Or, at least, the more intact their vital organs were. The drowning victim he’d seen at the beach had risen in less than twenty-four hours; his father, worked over by the undertakers, had taken more than twice as long. Uncle Buddy hadn’t been strangled, but he had given his assailant special provocation-

Special provocation, Gary thought. What an idiot Buddy was. He and Lucy might still be alive, if only he’d listened…

Aren’t you glad he didn’t, Gary thought.

And instantly recoiled from the idea. He’d never had anything against Aunt Lucy.

But as for Buddy… well, it was hard to feel anything but relief that he was gone. He’d left Max and his own brother to die; surely Dave’s death had cracked him completely. Unless Buddy had always just been an evil son of a bitch.

And yet Gary couldn’t get comfortable with his lack of grief. There was something threatening in it; he felt almost as if he was being subjected to some sort of temptation, as though he were on the brink of some terrible surrender. He told himself he wasn’t actually glad Buddy was dead-but he could easily imagine himself sliding into that state, remembering Max fading into the distance behind the van, Buddy’s last horrible gloating words and the clack of his teeth…Yes, it would be easy to smile at the thought of Hank’s jaws shutting on the old fat shithead’s arm, the long elastic strings of flesh stretched between Buddy’s elbow and the crimson teeth as Buddy pulled his limb back-

Stop it! Shrieked a voice in Gary’s mind. The pleasure receded. So did that sense of danger, somehow. He’d moved back from the brink. What was on the other side, he didn’t know, but he knew it must be terrible.

He’s on the other side, Gary thought suddenly.

But who was He? Who had Buddy seen as he stared across the border into the land of the dead?

You’ll fall into him too, college boy, Buddy had said. But Max first…

Gary wrenched his mind free, fixing his concentration on the sounds outside. The chugging of the distant car had faded; now he thought he could make out far-off screams.

Max, he thought suddenly. Oh my God, my brother’s still out there. And they probably got him already-

Gary shook his head. If anyone could’ve slipped out of that situation, it was Max.

Bullshit, came the answer. It was hopeless, and you know it. They were closing in on three sides. They caught him and filled his throat with dirt and choked him to death, and soon he’ll be one of them, Gary boy-

“Just stop thinking about it,” Gary told himself under his breath.

How’d you like to have your neck wrung by your own bro-

“You say something, Gary?” Steve called softly from the bottom of the steps.

“No,” Gary answered.

He heard someone coming up toward him. There was just enough light for him to see that it was Linda. She huddled against his legs.

“Love you,” she said tremulously.

“Love you too, babe,” he answered.

Her hand slid into his.

“Steve,” came Sally’s voice from the blackness.

“What?” Steve asked.

“What if MacAleer’s right?”

“I’d be surprised if that Bible-thumper’s been on target about anything in his life…But right about what, anyway?”

“What’s happening.”

Steve chuckled.

“Go ahead, laugh,” Sally said. “But he scared the hell out of me.”

“After all we’ve seen today, MacAleer’s what’s bothering you?”

“What’s going to happen to us if he’s right, Steve?” Sally whispered.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know damn well.”

Steve hesitated before replying. “Frankly, no I don’t.”

“There won’t be any hope for us at all.”

“If this is Hell, maybe not. But why should it be any worse for us ?”

“How can you ask me that? After what we-”

“ Did? We’ve done a lot of things. Which particular mountain are you making a molehill of?”

“That’s backward.”

“Yeah, I’ve always had trouble with that one.”

“I know.”

“I don’t believe any of MacAleer’s horseshit anyway,” Steve continued. “And neither should you.”

“ I believe it,” Linda said.

“Glad to hear you admit it,” Steve said.

“Couldn’t you see it on those things’ faces?” Linda asked.

“See what?”

“That they’re straight out of Hell.”

Although he couldn’t swallow MacAleer’s theory, Gary knew all too well what she meant. Just looking at them was like being stabbed in the eyes. Even in the thick of combat, even while shooting at them, he’d been strongly tempted to jerk his face away.

“They’re ugly all right,” Steve admitted, with a glibness that Gary found almost idiotically shallow. How could Steve trivialize the threat in such a fashion? Even if they weren’t in Hell, they were clearly experiencing a side of reality that would do for a stand-in.

“ Ugly?” Linda demanded.

“Downright hideous, okay?” Steve said. “But what does that tell us? That they’re the damned? That the whole Christian world-view is true? Come on.”

Point Steve, Gary thought. Is he back on track?

“I dreamed I was at the Last Judgment,” Linda said. “And then the world ended.”

Steve laughed. “So this is how the world ends, huh? What makes you so sure it’s all over?”

Just what I would’ve asked, Gary thought.

“I have eyes,” Linda said.

“So why don’t you just give up right now?” Steve asked.

Yeah, why not, Linda? Gary wondered.

“Maybe there’s a way out,” Linda said.

Please Linda, not God…

“What’s that?” Steve asked. “Religion?”

“You said it, not me.”

Oh Linda, ugh…

“Sure hasn’t done you any good so far, has it?” Steve asked.

“I’m kind of new at it.”

How feeble, Gary thought, thoroughly back in Steve’s camp now.

“Well, good luck,” Steve said. “But I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you. God’s a fantasy, mere wishful thinking. Made in our own image, because we can’t stand to face the facts.”

“What facts?”

“That we’re the source of everything that’s really divine. That we can’t rely on anyone or anything else to save ourselves.”

“If we’re so godlike,” Linda said, “why don’t we realize it?”

“Because of guilt-trips laid on us by people who want to control us. That’s all religion is. A chain to keep you down.”

“Some people should be shackled,” Linda said.

“Folks like MacAleer? Maybe. But who’s to say what’s right for someone else? Nobody’s going to tell me what’s right or wrong. I decide that.”

“Because you’re God, right?”

“We’re all God. Or might as well be.”

“You really shouldn’t try to argue with him,” Gary said. “You just better hope he’s right.”

Linda slipped her hand from his. “Our only hope is if he’s wrong. ”