As the Moon Climbs

We’d thought the church would be safe from the legions of undead. We were wrong. Alone, they were weak and easily dispatched, but together they formed a battering ram of flesh that turned the tall oak doors into firewood. Even the stained glass windows eventually buckled inward under the press of bodies, turning the floor into a patternless kaleidoscope.

Bruce and I huddled together in the sacristy, praying for a miracle, but we were short on hope since the Rapture. Obviously, neither of us had earned one-way tickets to the spirit in the sky, but we’d been making the best of it until the dead rose.

“Cigarette?” Bruce asked, offering me his pack.

I took it with a smile. “Smoking kills, you know.”

He laughed humorlessly and lit up, looking around as he took a deep drag. “Never thought I’d be smoking in a church.”

“Never thought I’d die in a church.”

Bruce nodded. We smoked our cigarettes in silence. I flicked the glowing butt of mine into a basin of holy water, where it hissed out. Then they were on us.

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