Jason Sanchez - When They Come

The people in the parish began to scream and throw their hands up in the air. They began to beg God for forgiveness. They prayed for their salvation. They prayed to be taken away from all this terror.

Their township was overrun with the walking dead. The reanimated corpses were fresh. They wandered the streets, limping, jaws open, ready to enjoy some fresh meat and to add another to their ranks.

Many of the church goers brought in their recently bitten friends and family. They knew at this point that a bite from the corpses was the cause of a virus that spread into their blood and turned them into one of the walking dead. They were also convinced that bringing them to church would cure them. It was all they had left. The hospitals had turned them away or had even wrapped up still-living bite victims in body bags and threw them into an incinerator. The family of the bitten wanted any shot at salvation.

“Pray, PRAY my brothers and sisters for the time is now. This is the time our judgment. We must stay pure for our Lord, for he is coming to take us.”

The ones who were dead for a while were being awoken by the passionate preacher.

“When hell is full, my brothers and sisters, the dead will walk the earth.”

The screams of the faithful became mixed with the screams of those whose legs and ankles were being bitten and chewed apart by the freshly awakened dead.

“REPENT, SINNERS, REPENT, OUR END IS NIGH!”

The screams of praise were no longer being mixed with pain. They were being drowned out by it. They became screams of sheer terror.

People began to fall to the ground as their legs became useless. They only served as a fresh meal to the undead. The flesh of the worshippers was being torn off right before each others’ eyes. Mothers watched their children being dragged off slowly while having their feet and legs bitten off, piece by piece. The elderly put up the least fight but gave the most sickening cries for help. They were quickly overwhelmed. Their enemy was not yet standing. All around their feet, the dead crawled around, following their hungry and gnashing jaws to their next meal.

Amidst the chaos, a few noticed what was really going on. They stood up on the pews as the floor was quickly becoming a sea of corpses; the fresh kills, those who were living and flailing around for help, and the undead who were consuming them were almost impossible to tell apart.

Some people didn’t stop praying. They didn’t stop chanting. It was an orgy of cries for help, one that would go unanswered.

Many people tried to escape, but tripped over bodies and were quickly bitten and crippled. Having your legs and ankles ripped apart is a sure way to stop someone dead in their tracks.

One of the undead made his way towards the preacher himself. The preacher, still being a loud source of noise, was sure to attract some unwanted attention. The corpse, still dressed in solid grey suit, got up and began to limp towards the preacher. The holy man had his hands up in the air, praying for guidance and screaming for salvation.

He lowered his arms and his head just in time to see the corpse walking towards him. The man backed away in terror.

“C-Carl? What happened to you? Are you sick? We can fix you, just sit down.” The preacher was nervous, His old friend, Carl, was missing his left cheek. His blood flecked teeth and jaw muscles were exposed. They began to open. The preacher backed away some more.

Crunch

The preacher howled in pain and fell to the ground. A young, blonde corpse had made a quick snack of his ankle tendons. The preacher, nearly blinded by the pain, began to punch at the body, who in turn continued to snack on the fresh wound. The preacher felt her jaws and tongue inside of his body. He felt her take away pieces of him in her mouth.

Carl fell onto him and finished what the blonde had started. Carl tore some veins out of his neck and the preacher’s blood ran all over the carpet, the altar, and more importantly, into Carl’s awaiting mouth.

Margie watched the terrible sight and prayed to both her fathers; the one in heaven, as well as the one being eaten several feet in front of her. Her father, the preacher, had instilled much faith in her, but no one could ever handle this sight. She felt tears rolling down her cheek, but became numb to the scene.

The congregation was in total chaos at this point. Many were attempting to flee through the small double doors. The smarter and more observant had already left. The blindly faithful had stayed behind, and for many, it was too late. They all pushed and ran and screamed at one another as they made haste to the parish’s only double doors out front.

They could not get past each other and would not let the other out.

The herd of people fighting to leave looked like a novelty sized catering sandwich to the undead. They limped and crawled their way over to the loud herd. The one’s in the back of the line were first to go. They were pulled off and quickly dispatched. A few of the dead wandered into the line. The terrified people didn’t even notice the dead right next to them. The corpses just leaned in and chewed through people’s throats. Blood spraying into the eyes of those still in line only added more to their fear.

Their screaming grew louder and only served to awaken the freshly dead corpses who were now making their way towards the meat.

Margie remained quiet. She was able to put two and two together. The more noise they made, the safer she was. They were beyond help. She needed to escape.

Margie, the pale, blonde young adult, stood atop the pews, knowing what might happen if she touched the floor. She began to think and to pray.

“Now isn’t a time to lose faith. I can get out of here”, she thought to herself.

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…”

She began to pray to herself. It always helped her clear her mind in the past and now was no exception.

She began to think of another way out.

“…Thy kingdom come, thy will be done…”

She remembered her father’s office behind the altar. There is a window she could squeeze through in there!

“…On earth as it is heaven…”

She gently hopped from pew to pew making as little noise as possible. She rationalized the situation by looking at the people trying to get out as a big, living hourglass. There was still plenty of noisy sand left for cover.

She ran out of pews to hop across and gently put her feet on the ground.

“…Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us…”

She looked to see if she was being followed or if she had aroused the attention of anything at all. Right now, even the desperate living were her enemy. If just one of those scared people saw where she was headed, they would bring the dead over to her and block her exit.

She crept behind the altar and saw the hidden hallway that led to her father’s office. The cries of the people were getting lower and lower. She could now hear individual pleas for help.

She was running out of sand.

“…and lead us not into temptation…”

She looked through her father’s office. Margie knew that things were only going to get worse and, at this point, anything would help her.

She opened the drawers in his desk.

“Come on dad, you cheaped out at Christmas. Give something nice. Show me you love me”, she said as if someone else was in the room.

In the bottom drawer was her father’s revolver. It was a small thing, but it would do. It was loaded. The weight felt good in Margie’s hand. It gave her some sense of comfort.

She thought about the gun for a second. Why would a preacher carry a gun with him? Margie didn’t care anymore. As far as she was concerned, it was a blessing.