David Dunwoody - Empire

"I'm okay, I guess. As okay as I can be. My faith is my faith. But these people don't have anything to hold on to except each other. I have been ministering to them, through my works — right? — but I'm not about to start preaching. If this is the end of the world, no one cares.

"Do you understand? Whether you meant to or not, you've answered the question of what comes after death. We see it all around us. No one looks for God anymore.

"I just don't get it. If you don't have anything for me, I suppose I'll just keep doing what I'm doing."

Eyes closed, she listened intently with her heart and mind. She thought that maybe, somewhere out there, she felt a slight shrug.

Then she cursed in pain.

A few moments later the reverend returned to the fourth floor. Jenna and Cheryl were sitting in a vacant office, and Voorhees and Duncan were in the hall. They each glanced at her, and the look on her face was enough to hold their attention.

"There are rats on the third floor." She said.

"Dammit. Did you close that door?" Voorhees asked. "Yes," she replied. "Good." He nodded.

"I got bit." Palmer said. She wriggled the toe of her shoe.

"Is it bad?"

"The rat was dead."

Jenna and Cheryl came out of the office. The men rose to their feet. Palmer gave them a pained smile. "I asked for it."

"No, no you didn't." Cheryl exclaimed.

"I can still run. I can lead the rotters away, to the north. You all have to clear out of here. You need to leave the city."

"No. No to all of it. Never." Taking her arm, Voorhees shook his head insistently. "What then, stay and starve?" Palmer snapped. "The city has fallen! It's done!"

"You…" Voorhees bit back his words and stamped his foot. "I get it," Palmer told him. "This is your city. You want to die here, then fine. But don't bring the rest of these people down with you under the pretense that you're protecting them."

"You don't get it at all!!" The cop bellowed. "I don't want to fucking die! I don't want anyone to die! The last thing I'm going to do is let you walk out of here!"

"H-he's right." Cheryl stammered.

"I'm already dead." Said Palmer.

"Are you sure," Jenna asked, "that the bite broke the skin? Here, take off your shoe-"

"I'm going out there. PERIOD." Palmer said. Voorhees tried to grab her again. She shoved him across the hallway. "If you don't want to use this opportunity to escape, don't."

"Leave, stay, leave, stay, what's the fucking point?" Cheryl cried. "Why are we arguing over WHERE we want to die? Why do you WANT to be eaten alive, Reverend?!"

"Because the alternative is that I become undead!"

"I can take you out right now," shouted Voorhees, "without any suffering! You want to be a fucking martyr, that's all it is!"

"My leg-" Duncan began. Voorhees slugged him in the stomach. Jenna threw herself on the cop's back. "Stop it! Don't!" Duncan gasped, pulling at her.

"I'm trying to help you, Voorhees!" Palmer beat her fist against the wall. "I'm trying to help you do your damn job! You cannot save these people AND save Jefferson Harbor!!"

"ALL RIGHT!!!" Dumping Jenna into Duncan's arms, Voorhees grabbed the shotgun leaning in the doorway nearest to him. The others froze, watched him pump it and dig shells from his coat pockets.

"I'm taking you out there. Rear entrance on the first floor should be relatively clear. We've got to make it quick, and we need a distraction. O'Connell, check all these offices until you find Thom's stash of matches. We need fuel — Duncan, grab a box of paper from the copy room. Then you can help me break down some chairs."

Voorhees turned to hand Palmer the shotgun, but she shook her head. "You'll need it more than I will."

"Right." He tried to think of another order to bark, but there was a silence. He looked back at the reverend. "If I was the last one…but I'll never be the last one."

"You're too good at your job." She replied.

Twenty minutes later, a series of blazing torches flew off the roof of City Hall and landed out front in the middle of the plaza. The rotters searched the sky to see where they'd come from, then staggered toward the flames.

The rear door flew open; a jawless zombie cocked its head at the sight. A shotgun blast sheared its torso off at the waist.

Voorhees hustled Palmer out the door. Without a word, she ran for the street. The cop went to shut the door, but he saw something coming from the south. A man on a horse.

As the horse neared the plaza, a rotter emerged from behind an overturned bus with a shovel in its hands. It cleaved right through the stallion's front legs as if they were clay. The man tumbled forward, and clinging to his back, Voorhees saw the little girl. He heard her scream. He ran.

The rotter's detail came into view, and by God he recognized the son of a bitch. "GENE!!" Voorhees shouted. The garbage man turned and caught a blast right in the chest.

The ferals were swarming around the City Hall building. Voorhees ran to the man and girl.

The man looked up. Without reason Voorhees knew immediately who he was.

"Take her," Death rasped. The cop grabbed the girl and slung her onto his back.

"Hold onto my neck," he said to her, and loosed a hail of fire from the shotgun into the oncoming horde. They stumbled and spun and continued forward in a deranged dance. He sent the butt of the gun through a rotter's gnashing teeth and tore its throat open. The door he'd come through was wide open. If he could reach it before any of them saw…please…

"I'M OVER HERE!!!"

Holding a torch over her head, Palmer screamed at the top of her lungs. Another rotter ate shotgun and its cold brains showered over the rest. They abruptly changed course.

Voorhees ran into the building and slammed the door, throwing every bolt and pushing a wall of furniture back into place. The girl hung on him like a corpse. He glanced over his shoulder at her just to be sure.

Palmer's feet pounded the asphalt until she couldn't even feel them, just a vibration in her head, just the cold wind. She looked back and saw even the runners falling behind. She slowed her pace. "DON'T GIVE UP ON ME NOW, YOU ASSHOLES!!"

Their stolen bodies writhed as they pushed onward, driven only by hunger, driven only to survive. They would never know why her death was so much more than that. In that moment, she found a God that she hadn't realized she'd lost.

Then the ones up ahead grabbed her.

One of them rolled back the cuff of its jacket and pointed a revolver into the horde.

Addison's children.

Palmer screamed as they carried her toward a pickup truck with a landscaper's faded logo stenciled on the side.

She awoke in Hell.

The room was so red, so deep red, so overpoweringly monochromatic that it struck Palmer's senses like a wave, all sight sound and feeling. Then the prickling of her flesh gave way to an oppressive heat. Sweat stung the corners of her eyes; she blinked through the pain and tried to discern shape or depth in the room.

The heat faded. So did the light, and it was soon replaced by a soft glow from behind her. She tried to turn and couldn't. She was in a chair, and her arms and legs were bound.

"I told them they might taste you later, if they behaved." A voice at her back said; it was malicious, but youthful. "I'm not entirely disappointed — they couldn't find Lily, but they did fetch one of the maggots that conspired to take her from me."

The speaker stepped around the chair and pulled another from the shadows for himself. He turned it backwards and straddled the seat, resting his chin on the back of the chair. "What's your name?"

"Reverend Palmer. What's yours?" She felt swelling in her mouth, where one of the rotters had cuffed her. The last thing she could remember was being thrown in the back of a truck. If they were Addison's "children" then this was Addison's house. But the man before her wasn't Addison…