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To that end, I’d coaxed her to church.
In my experience, every small town had at least two churches. The one built when the town started, and the other that popped up on the other side of town when a part of the congregation got persnickety when the pastor of the first church said something they didn’t like.In our case, the first church was called All Saints and the second, St. Magdalene. St. Magdalene was now ouronlyBaptist church. Well, the only church in town, period. After the pastor of All Saints had gone nuts after his change (into a pterodactyl), he’d wrecked the place before taking off into the sky, never to be seen or heard from again.
Slim Jim swore he sometimes saw what looked like a naked man with wings flying around the forest now and then, but I’m pretty sure it’s just codswallop. As to All Saints, that congregation had disbanded ever since the pastor had turned into a minotaur and retired into the deep recesses of the forest, where he was probably snacking on rats and squirrels these days.
As to the displaced men? They were currently sleeping on the pews in the All Saints Church until something could be figured out regarding their trailers, or someone agreed to take them in. I thought it was a bit ironic and wondered if they were sweating overmuch—I mean, man-whores in church and whatnot.
Dorcas had been opposed to feeding them at first, insisting (very) loudly that she ran a business, not a charity and that they could scrape together their own suppers if they got hungry. She changed her tune right quick when I implied that theymightbe able to use some of her moonshine as medicine to treat their burns and other maladies.
“HURRY UP, GIRL,” Dorcas shouted over her shoulder. What once would have been an aside was now a bellow. Dorcas had gone from hard of hearing to completely deaf after the Fog had turned her into some kind of mole rat creature. “KEEP DAWDLING AND I’LL BE DEAD BY THE TIME WE REACH THE DAMN CHURCH.”
I didn’t think ‘damn’ and ‘church’ belonged in the same sentence but didn’t say anything. We’d have an argument in the middle of the street, and I didn’t want even more people to overhear Dorcas. If the town caught wind of our suspicions, we’d probably have a mob on our hands. So, I forced a smile and nodded, picking up the pace. I was keeping my stride short soshecould move at her own pace. I could have reached the church doors in the time it took for her to say ‘meep-meep’ even with the packages I was carrying.
The sun had settled behind the horizon by the time we mounted the steps and entered the church. I didn’t burst into flames or tremble in fear of the Almighty when I approached the altar which means you can’t believe everything you hear—well, about vampires anyway. I’d like to think my relationship with God was about the same as it had been before I sprouted fangs and anyone who said otherwise could step off.
The first of the four men (and not of the apocalypse, I might add) I came across was Frankie, who started towards us almost immediately. He snatched a handful of chicken wings out of the box and had them halfway to his mouth before I could even set the box down.
Since the coming of the Fog, Frankie had shrunk a few feet and sprouted a bushy white beard, seeming to age thirty years overnight. His eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled, which wasn’t often. The red cap he preferred only made him look more like the stereotype of what he was—a short, slightly overweight gnome. He didn’t offer so much as a thank you as he chewed. No manners at all, which made sense. A man who’d sleep with another man’s wife didn’t have high morals to begin with.
Charlie, the next in line, dipped his head toward the box but then snatched up a mason jar full of moonshine instead, almost crushing the glass between his giant mandibles. One of the more bizarre things I’d noticed post Fog was how people continued to drink alcohol even though it did nothing for them. Force of habit, I guessed. Either way, as a moonshiner, Dorcas was happy enough to be able to continue peddling her wares.
While Frankie made kind of a funny looking gnome, Charlie was intimidating as all get-out. He had huge, disconcerting mosaics for eyes and multicolored fly wings. He reminded me of Jeff Goldblum inThe Fly.And watching him glug the moonshine just gave me the creeps.
Yuck. Just yuck.
The rest of them crowded around the box of chicken wings, though only one of them had the grace to thank Dorcas for the food. Which of course, she couldn’t hear and griped about.
“UNGRATEFUL BASTARDS, ALL OF YOU,” she half-shouted. “BACK IN MY DAY—”
I scribbled on my white board and shoved it toward her.They said thank you, Dorcas.
Which wasn’t true, but I didn’t want her to work up to a proper fight. The men exchanged glances and then began nodding vigorously, seconding my message. Dorcas settled a little, consoling herself with a loud harrumph instead.
I waited until the men had gulped down their supper and stashed some of the booze behind the pulpit for later before sitting next to Dorcas in one of the front pews. She was scowling at the cross hanging over the baptismal font. I hoped she wasn’t working herself up into a lather and about to launch into a lecture about what Jesus had or hadn’t done since the Fog. Blasphemy probably wouldn’t help my cause.
I scribbled another message on my white board and handed it to her.It’s a shame about all these men’s houses. I bet Arnold Gray is in the same position. We should probably stop by what’s left of his house and offer to feed him.
Dorcas turned to me with a scowl. Or at least I thought it was a scowl. It was hard to tell with her new wrinkly face.
“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? I CAN’T MAKE THE TRIP ALL THE WAY TO DEVIL’S RUN! MY POOR KNEES COULD BARELY BRING ME THIS FAR. DO YOU WANT ME TO COLLAPSE?”
I bit my cheek to contain a smile. So, Arnie was living in Devil’s Run. That narrowed our search considerably, but I still wasn’t done. I wrote my follow-up statement and pushed it back at her.
Why don’t I go? I have tomorrow off and I’d be happy to check on him.
Dorcas snorted. “AT THE RATE YOU WALK, HE’LL HAVE CHOKED ON THE SMOKE FROM THE FIRE AND DIED. AND GOOD RIDDANCE TO BAD RUBBISH, I SAY.”
I’d still like to try. Do you have his address?
“WHAT GOOD’S HIS ADDRESS GONNA DO YA? YOU AIN’T GOT A WORKIN’ CAR!”
I think Sheriff Dean could take me.
She squinted her beady little eyes at me and said nothing for a moment. I wondered if she’d cottoned on to my game and I was about to receive a tongue lashing. But she finally shrugged and motioned for me to hand her the white board. She rubbed my message off and wrote an address down in her cramped handwriting. She handed it back to me a few seconds later.
“HERE IT IS, FOR ALL THE GOOD IT WILL DO YOU. NOW WALK ME BACK, IF YOU THINK YOU CAN KEEP UP.”
I smiled. Sweet, sweet success.
