Page 8 of Such a Feral Little Lamb
Rae sidles my way. Autumn is still standing on the path, but when Dane gestures at her impatiently, she scurries over to him and into the church too.
“What is all this?” Rae asks.
“I don’t know.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dane linger in the church doorway, watching us, before he vanishes inside with the rest.
I survey the graveyard again, and I don’t like the thoughts bubbling up inside of me. This isn’t how zombies work. It just isn’t. If someone is infected, they die and they turn. There have been reports of freshly dead—as in, within minutes—turning too, if the zombies dig in early.
But this? I step gingerly over the grass and study one of the gravestones. Eighteen ninety-three. It’s too long ago. Far too long. There would have been nothing within but bones.
Rae darts a look up at the church as though checking we’re alone. “You don’t think…?”
I shake my head, pressing my lips together. She can’t voice what she’s thinking aloud. Voicing it makes it real, makes the idea more likely to escape, and at best the others would hear and ignore it, but at worst…
The Citadel does not tolerate dissention. Even from its hunters.
I leave Rae standing by the path and slowly wander among the graves. Every single one of them appears to have burst open years before. Wood erupts from the earth, edges worn away by time and the elements, but still, I’m careful where I step.
Not a peep reaches me from inside the church, but that’s not strange at all. If Otto, Dane, and Blake haven’t swept the entire place, they need to be quiet. I adjust my grip on my bat. Don’t think I’ll come across anything out here, but I can’t be certain.
One lap of the graveyard tells me the damage has an epicentre. I pause by that grave, just to the left side of the church. Autumn appears in the doorway. “All clear,” she says. “There’s a locked door, but we can’t hear movement.”
Locked. Still locked? I frown. Maybe the man is on the other side of it, but this doesn’t feel like a trap.
Rae heads up to meet her and I circle the grave I’ve found. I’m right about what I can see. I’m sure of that. All the damagecame from this one point, rippling through the earth and leaving destruction in its wake.
The gravestone that remains is small, plain. Moss adorns it. Dirt and rain have damaged its surface, but I reach down and brush debris aside.
The first name is entirely pitted away. I make out the surname. Hoar. The dates, too—only the years are readable.
Nineteen seventy-two. Twenty ten. Whoever they were, they weren’t that old when they died. And they died the same year everything began, all this—
“Isaac,” Rae calls. “Come on. Let’s check this place out.”
I give the gravestone one last lingering look before I walk up to meet her.
Chapter Four
Theinsideofthechurch is a wreck. I pause just inside, taking it all in. Pews are knocked over or hastily shoved up against the walls. The candle stands that are still upright are rusted, covered in wax. Wind whistles through broken windows, all of them shattered except for the huge, stained glass one that faces the doors.
The sun finds a gap in the clouds, sending a beam that hits the glass and lights up the entire church. My breath catches. Autumn jerks her head up, eyes going wide.
Religion is nothing new to her. It is doing better than ever within the Citadel’s walls. But this? This must be new. There’s little space for luxury there, and no money or artisans for something like this.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs, then flushes, glancing around to see if anyone heard.
I keep my eyes fixed forward. Beautiful it is, but there’s an unsettling feeling in here, too. None of the town is as destroyed as this church and its graveyard.
Maybe no one came up here after whatever happened. But that makes little sense, considering the relative intactness of the town.
I explore the church, ignoring whatever crunches beneath my boots, and make my way to the altar. The silence pushes in on me, heavy enough to make me want to go to my knees. I don’t know the figure in the window before me. They’re a stranger, hand outstretched in welcome, surrounded by bright, shining light.
It takes effort to tear my gaze away, my breaths coming faster. The graveyard is the first mystery to solve. How would a virus even work on bone? Long-dead bone, at that? Because that’s the slow conclusion I’m coming to—that all the dead out there burst out of their graves, only it doesn’t make a lick of sense because a virus can’t just wriggle its way into dead bone and make it move all by itself.
Zombies don’t look like that. They can’t. Rotting, bloated, skin sliding off glistening, deteriorating muscle, sure… But all bone? No. It takes a zombie longer to decompose than a regular corpse, but in time, they’re nothing but bone, too.
“Fuck!” Blake’s voice echoes around the church, making all of us jump. I glance through one of the holes in the ceiling. Fat, grey clouds float overhead.
“Really? Let me—”
