F Paul Wilson - Novel 10 (33 page)

 
          
"I'm
sure you gave him a scrupulously evenhanded account of the night's
events."

 
          
She
offered him a tight smile. "Certainly. I requested a detachment of ferals
and a group of tough, seasoned serfs. The plan is simple: tomorrow night they
will firebomb the church and let the parishioners run out into the arms of the
ferals."

 
          
Gregor
had to admit it was a good plan: simple, direct. It would work.

 
          
"And
what did Franco say?"

 
          
Her
smile faltered. "He said he'd take it under consideration."

 
          
Gregor's
mind reeled in shock. Franco is hanging me out to dry! Is this what I get for
my loyalty, my efforts?

 
          
"Is
he telling us to clean up our own mess?"

 
          
Olivia's
eyebrows shot up. "Our mess?"

 
          
"Yes,
Olivia. You were here when it happened. No matter how you spin it to Franco,
he's still going to see it as our mess."

 
          
Gregor
didn't know if that was true, but it didn't hurt to make Olivia squirm, get her
working with him instead of against him.

 
          
"The
vigilantes were your problem long before I arrived."

 
          
"And
I'm telling you these are not the same people."

 
          
"A
very self-serving theory."

 
          
"Their
methods are different. I've been gathering information since it happened. One
of my cowboys—serfs—walked in on them in the church earlier today. They didn't
kill him, just pushed him around and sent him on his way. If it had been the
vigilantes they would have slit his throat and hung him from a pole just like
all the others."

 
          
"Maybe
they've changed tactics."

 
          
Gregor
shook his head. "The church problem was started by a priest and a
rabbi."

 
          
"Working
together? Maybe this is more of a problem than I thought."

 
          
"It
is. But these two are not the vigilantes. They're worse. They're visible, and
they've provided a base of operations, a rallying point for the cattle. They're
doing everything the vigilantes did not do."

 
          
"This
will not get you off the hook, Gregor."

 
          
"Will
you listen to me? I'm trying to tell you there are two groups to deal with now,
separate and distinct. And if they should band together we will be in even
bigger danger."

 
          
"As
I said, Gregor: theory. A theory needs proof. If you're so convinced the
vigilantes are not in that church, then prove it by finding them and bringing
them in. I hope you succeed."

 
          
"I
find that hard to believe."

 
          
"I'm
quite serious. Your serfs are becoming afraid to move about in the day. They
sense a foundering ship and, like the rats they are, they're ready to jump. We
can't have that. We need them to hold the day. If these people take back the
day, then we might lose the night as well."

 
          
That
will never happen, Gregor thought. I will not allow it.

 
          
"I
will bring in these vigilantes as promised. And when I do, I'll bleed them—just
enough to weaken them. Then I'll give them to the cowboys to finish. I'll let
them take as long as they like to exact their revenge. And then they'll see
that we take care of our helpers. And the rest of the cattle will see that
resistance is futile."

 
          
He
had to succeed, had to prove that the vigilantes were not connected with the
church rebels, otherwise the blame for the fall of the church would rest on his
shoulders. His whole future depended on finding those damn vigilantes.

 
          
"Let's
hope so," Olivia said. "Meanwhile, I won't be idle while waiting to
hear from Franco. I'm going to have that church watched closely in case this
priest or rabbi or anyone else from inside steps out." Her eyes blazed.
"I want one of them."

 
          
"For
what?" Gregor asked.

 
          
"For
answers. For leverage. For.. . fun." Olivia smiled. "I can be very
inventive."

 
          
JOE
. . .

 
          
Father
Joe gave the dirt on Zev's grave a final pat with his shovel, then turned away.
He didn't know any of the Jewish prayers for the dead, so he'd made up a prayer
of his own to send his old friend on his way.

 
          
Lacey
walked beside him, a shovel across her shoulder. "You were really close to
him, weren't you."

 
          
"Like
a brother. Closer than a brother. Brothers drag all sorts of baggage into their
relationship as adults. We had none of that. We didn't even share the same
culture."

 
          
"He
seemed like a good man."

 
          
"He
was. He had a kind, generous, gentle soul. I will miss him terribly."

 
          
Joe's
throat clenched. He still couldn't believe Zev was gone. He'd feared him dead
after the vampires invaded, but hadn't really believed it. Now he had no
choice.

 
          
He
looked around. Rifle- and shotgun-toting men stood at the corners of the little
church graveyard. Joe had found spots in the crowded soil for Zev and the four
parishioners who'd died during last night's fight, and this morning a crew of
volunteers—Lacey among them—had started digging.

 
          
He
glanced at his niece, noting the sheen of perspiration on her bare arms, the
nasty-looking bruise below her shoulder. It didn't seem to be bothering her
much this morning. She was in good shape and surprisingly strong. She'd held
her own with that shovel.

 
          
The
midday
sun hung high and hot as they followed the
walk around to the front of the church where half a dozen women were busy
scrubbing the steps. Two more armed men patrolled the sidewalk behind them.

 
          
"Good
job, ladies," Joe said.

 
          
The
women smiled and waved.

 
          
"Sure
looks better than it did this morning," Lacey said.

 
          
Joe
nodded. They'd hurled the bodies of the vampires and the dead
Vichy
out the front door last night. In
hindsight, that had been an error, because the morning sunlight created a
terrible mess, reducing some of the undead cadavers to a foul, brown goo that
stained the steps and coated the
Vichy
bodies.

 
          
Carl
had found a front-end loader and the men used that to haul the stinking mess to
a vacant lot where it was buried in a mass grave.

 
          
Lacey
stared at the stains. "Lots of death last night." She turned to Joe,
her eyes troubled. "Why don't I feel bad?"

 
          
"Maybe
because this is war. A war like never before. In past wars the enemy gets
propagandized into monsters, subhuman creatures. In this war we don't have to
do that. They are subhuman monsters."

 
          
"And
the
Vichy
?"

 
          
"They're
just subhuman."

 
          
She
continued to stare at him. "This is not the Uncle Joe I knew."

 
          
How
right she was. He sensed that memories of last night's carnage and bloodshed
would keep him awake for months, maybe years. But he couldn't allow himself to
dwell on it. He had to move on.

 
          
"Thank
God I'm not. The old Father Joe would have tried to reason with them. But I
worry that many more scenes like last night will change us, make us more like
them."

 
          
"So?
Maybe we need to become more like them if we're to survive. In a war you have
to submerge a lot of the decent impulses and empathy that made you a good
partner or spouse or parent or neighbor. Especially in this war, because we're
dealing with an enemy that has lost all decent impulses. You offer an olive
branch and they'll shove it down your throat. Will we be changed by this? Look
around you, Unk: we already are."

 
          
He
nodded. "We'll all be either dead or permanently scarred when this is
over. And so, in the unlikely event that we win, we'll still lose." He
managed a smile for her. "How's that for optimism?"

 
          
She
shrugged. "One thing's for sure. The Uncle Joe who used to say, 'Just have
faith and everything will turn out fine' is gone."

 
          
Yes,
he is, Joe thought with a deep pang of regret. Gone forever.

 
          
"Do
you miss him, Lacey?"

 
          
"Yes
and no. He was a great, easygoing guy, but he's not what we need now. And
speaking of now, here comes the big question: what next?"

 
          
Good
question. Joe had been thinking about that. He closed his eyes, lifted his face
to the sun, and watched the glowing red inner surface of his lids.

 
          
The
sun ... their greatest ally. As long as it was out, he and the parishioners had
a fighting chance. The
Vichy
, what remained of them, seemed cowed. A few had shown their faces in
the vicinity but were quickly chased off without offering even token
resistance. Every so often Joe would spot one skulking in the shadows a few
blocks away, watching the church, but none ventured close.

 
          
But
once the sun set, the balance would shift to the undead and their
collaborators.

 
          
"I
think we should start a compound," he said.

 
          
"You
mean, like a fort?"

 
          
"Not
so much a fort as a consolidation. Gather everyone close for mutual protection
and pooling of resources."

 
          
Lacey
nodded. "The Ben Franklin approach."

 
          
"Ben
Franklin?"

 
          
"Yeah.
What he said at the signing of the Declaration of Independence: 'We must all
hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately.' "

 
          
"Declaration
of
Independence
... I guess we did that last night."

 
          
"Damn
right. But with deeds instead of words on paper."

 
          
"But
as for hanging together, that's the plan—and I don't mean by our necks. The
living are scattered all over town now. That leaves us vulnerable to being
picked off one by one. But if we use the church as a hub and bring everybody
toward the center—"

 
          
"Circle
the wagons, in other words."

 
          
"Exactly.
As of now we've got the rectory, the convent, and the church itself. That'll
house some people, but it's not enough. We need to expand."

 
          
"You
got that right."

 
          
By
word of mouth and who knew how else, the news that someone was fighting back
had spread. A steady stream of newcomers, anxious to join the fight, had been
flowing to the church all morning. Many of them were not even Catholic. Jews,
Protestants, even Muslims were showing up, wanting to know how they could be
part of what was happening. Joe had passed the word to welcome everyone. This
was not a time for divisions. The arbitrary walls that had separated people in
the past had to be knocked down. There could be only one belief system now: the
living versus the undead and those who sided with them.

 
          
"There's
an empty office building across the street from the back of the church,"
Joe said, remembering the night he and Zev had spent there. Had it been only
two nights since then? "That should hold a lot of folks. We'll start
there."

 
          
"I
passed a couple of furniture stores on the way here," Lacey said. She
pointed south. "If I remember, they're just a few blocks that way."

 
          
"You're
right," Joe said. "I know the places."

 
          
"We
can raid them for bedding."

 
          
"Great
idea. Once we set that up, we'll take over the surrounding houses— assuming
they're unoccupied."

 
          
"Pretty
safe assumption," Lacey said. "If the owners somehow survived, I
can't see them hanging around for long, considering what's been going down in
the church."

 
          
"But
first I want to start blocking off the surrounding streets—get old cars, line
them up in the intersections. That'll fend off or at least slow down any
blitzkrieg-style counterattacks."

 
          
He
felt Lacey's hand on his arm and turned to find her staring at him.

 
          
"You've
given this a lot of thought, haven't you."

 
          
"That's
just it. I haven't. I'm making it up as I go along. As I told you last night,
my original intent was to hold the place for one night, say Mass, then move
on."

 
          
Lacey
smiled. "I was wondering what happened to that idea."

 
          
"It
got lost in the crowd."

 
          
Joe
hadn't counted on drawing a crowd. Now that he had, what did he do with them?
He couldn't perform the loaves-and-fishes miracle. How was he going to feed
them? But seeing the desperate hope gleaming in their eyes this morning, he
couldn't simply walk out on them.

 
          
"So
..." Lacey said slowly. "Beyond a compound .. . what?"

 
          
"I
wish I knew."

 
          
"You
realize, don't you, that we can't win."

 
          
"I
don't realize any such thing."

 
          
"Hey,
Unk," she said, her grip tightening on his arm. "We're only a hundred
people and there are millions of them. They've got
Europe
, the
Middle East
,
India
, and most of
Asia
."

 
          
"But
they haven't got the
U.S.
They hold the East Coast but the rest of
the country is still alive."

 
          
"How
can you be sure?"

 
          
"I
was talking to one of the newcomers this morning. His name's Gerald Vance and
he's got a battery-powered shortwave radio. He told me he's been talking to
people all over the country.
Philadelphia
's gone but
Harrisburg
and
Pittsburgh
have only seen an occasional vampire. Same
with
Rochester
.
Atlanta
fell but
Alabama
's fine. The
Midwest
and the West Coast are still in the hands
of the living. So you see, it's not over."

 
          
Lacey
looked away. "After seeing what's happened to the rest of the world, you
could argue that it's just a matter of time."