The Things We Bury - Part 2: No Big Apocalypse [Completed]

Chapter 5: From the Ashes (Part 1 of 7)

The hollowed out eyes of a time ravaged zombie stared at Horus. He ran his towel over the bathroom mirror before his reflection was claimed by the steam. The image in the glass was horrifying but he couldn't keep from looking. His wasted, scarred body made him want to break down in sobs, but he held himself straight and refused to give into the impulse. If he took that plunge into self-pity, he might never find his way back out.

He chose to take solace that the shower had improved the appearance of that dirt and blood cover wreck who stepped into the bathroom.

Onward, he thought. Upward.

Slipping into clean clothes, Horus wondered who they had belonged to. They weren't Kyle's style. They were plain, heavy-duty work clothes. Perhaps they had belonged to the original owner of the house before the infestation of Kyle Silvers took over.

The weight of them pressing against his skin was foreign. The hefty twill was both a luxury and burden after the threadbare rags he was used to. When he was dressed, he looked almost human. Trimming his hair and beard would help even more with the illusion, but he had lingered too long already.

It had been a big risk cleaning up. Every second that ticked by, the police and firefighters were getting closer. Someone must have seen the flames, even in this remote location. There would be a response. The question was: how long would it take to reach this mountain hideout?

The risk had been necessary. There was no way he could get by in civilized society looking they way he had. He wouldn't make it very far in the world. He'd be picked up and sent for a psych evaluation by the first cop he came across. That might have been okay if he was just looking for rescue, but Horus still had work to do—work that couldn't be accomplished from inside of a hospital.

He had almost left after dispatching the two Kyles in the kitchen. He hadn't been thinking clearly and ran outside with no plan and nothing in his hands but the old cavalry saber. A row of parked cars was out front and he tried one locked door after another. His mind was pitched between panic and a sense of total defeat as none of them yield to him. Then a cry erupted from the church.

A chorus was cheering in joyous Hallelujah.

How many of the bastards were in there? Twenty? Thirty? A hundred? They were buzzing around inside the church like a nest of feral yellow jackets. The jubilation of their voices twisted in his gut and he knew he couldn't leave them to continue their evil plots.

The cars were forgotten about and Horus made for the long, utilitarian building where the Kyles congregated. First, he was bold and almost stormed up the steps, but then slyly, Horus slunk around the side. Using the base of a massive five hundred gallon propane tank to boost himself up, Horus peered in a window.

The lights were on and the place was brightly lit. The benches were just as full as the night they had paraded him down the aisle, a lifetime ago. Rapt faces stared up in unison to the pulpit, where words drifted out from the thin pane of glass.

"I say again," the voice was screaming in rage and rapture, "The new world begins today. The Beast has been freed from its cage and is unleashed. The old world is in decline. It is already crumbling. It is rotted from the inside and will fall on its own. But I ask you, will we wait for its demise? Will we sit idly by and wait for it to collapse under its own bloat?"

The congregation shouted back, "No!"

"Will we meekly keep hidden and let the world end with a whimper?"

"No!"

"No." The preacher paused for dramatic effect. Horus still remembered Sunday services well enough to guess the preacher was glancing at his audience, driving his point home with a fierce look in his eyes. "We will usher in this new age. We help the Holy Beast in its crusade of destruction. We will be the instruments of prophecy and will not rest until the cities are on fire."