F Paul Wilson - Novel 10 (27 page)

 
          
"You're
a priest? You don't look like one."

 
          
Joe
slapped him across the face. Hard. It snapped the creep's chin toward his
shoulder. That felt even better.

 
          
"Shut
up and listen. Tell him Father Joe Cahill is back—and he's pissed. Tell him
that." Another chest shove. "Now get out of here while you still
can."

 
          
Rubbing
his cheek, the man backpedaled and hurried out into the growing darkness. Joe
turned to Zev and found him grinning through his beard.

 
          
"
'Father Joe Cahill is back—and he's pissed.' I like that."

 
          
"It'll
make a great bumper sticker," Lacey said, her eyes wide with admiration.
"You were great! I never knew my uncle the priest was such a tough dude.
Maybe we've got more than a prayer tonight."

 
          
Joe
didn't know about that. He hoped so.

 
          
"I
think I'll close the front doors," he said. "The criminal element is
starting to wander in. While I'm doing that, see if we can find some more
candles. It's getting dark in here."

 
          
On
the front steps he unhooked the left door and closed it. He was unhooking the
right when he heard a woman's voice behind him.

 
          
"Father
Cahill? Is that you?"

 
          
He
turned and in the dying light saw a lone figure standing by a children's red
wagon at the bottom of the steps.

 
          
"Yes.
Do I know you?"

 
          
He
heard her sob. "Oh, it is you! You've come back!"

 
          
Joe
hurried down to the sobbing woman. "Are you all right?"

 
          
"I've
been praying for your return but I'm such a sinner I thought God had turned his
back on us all. But you're back! Thank God!"

 
          
Something
familiar about her voice . .. but she kept her head down. Joe reached out, and
tilted her chin so he could see her.

 
          
He
gasped when he saw her tear-stained face. He barely recognized her. Her skin
was pale, her cheeks sunken, but he knew her.

 
          
"Sister
Carole!"

 
          
Impulsively
he threw his arms around her and pulled her against him in a hug. He wanted to
laugh but feared if he opened his mouth he'd burst out crying. Sweet emotions
roiled through him, making him weak. She was here, she was alive. He wanted to
tell her how he'd missed her—missed knowing she was in the neighboring
building, missed seeing her walk back and forth to the school, missed the smile
she would flash him whenever they crossed paths.

 
          
"It's
so good to see you, Carole!" He pushed her back and looked at her, hoping
to see that smile. But her eyes were different, haunted. "Dear God, what's
happened to you?" Immediately he thought: Stupid question. The same thing
that's happened to us all. "Why are you here? I thought you'd gone to
Pennsylvania
for Easter."

 
          
She
shook her head. "I had to stay behind ... with Sister Bernadette ... they
... I had to . . ." She loosed a single, agonized sob. "How could I
stay in the convent after that?"

 
          
Joe
wasn't following. Her speech was so disjointed. This wasn't like Carole. He'd
always known her as a woman of quiet intelligence, with a sharp, organized
mind. Everyone left alive had suffered, but what had she experienced to leave
her so shattered?

 
          
"Where
have you been staying?"

 
          
She
looked away. "Here and there."

 
          
"Well,
you're staying here now." He took her arm. "Come inside. We've
got-"

 
          
She
pulled away. "I can't. I've too many sins."

 
          
"We're
all sinners, Carole."

 
          
"But
these are terrible sins. Mortal sins. So many mortal sins."

 
          
"This
is where sins are forgiven. I'm going to try to say mass later."

 
          
"Mass?"
Her lip quivered. "Oh, that would be wonderful. But I can't. Even though
it's a Holy Day, I—"

 
          
"What
Holy—?" And then he remembered. With all that had been going on, it had
slipped his mind. "Oh, God, it's Ascension Thursday, isn't it."

 
          
Sister
Carole nodded. "But I'll just have to add missing Mass on a Holy Day of
Obligation to my list of sins."

 
          
"Come
inside, Carole. Please. I'll hear your confession."

 
          
"No."
She paused, as if she were listening for something. "To receive absolution
I must be sorry for my sins and promise to sin no more." She shook her head
and something flashed in her eyes, something hard and dangerous. "I'm not.
And I won't."

 
          
Joe
stared at her, trying to fathom . . .

 
          
"I
don't follow you, Carole."

 
          
"Please
don't, Father. It's not a path you want to tread." She bent and grabbed
the handle of her little red wagon, then turned and started away. "God
bless you, Father Cahill."

 
          
Joe
hurried after her. He couldn't let her go. It was too dangerous, but more than
that, he wanted her near, where he could talk to her, be with her. He grabbed her
arm.

 
          
"I
can't let you go."

 
          
She
snatched her arm free and kept moving. "You can't make me stay. Don't try.
I won't. I can't." The last word was couched in a sob that damn near broke
his heart.

 
          
"Carole,
please!"

 
          
But
she hurried on into the shadows without looking back. Joe started after her
again, then stopped. Short of picking her up and carrying her back to the
church—and he couldn't see himself doing that—what could he do?

 
          
Suddenly
weary, he turned and climbed the steps. As he finished closing the front doors,
he took one last longing look at the night.

 
          
Carole
. .. what's happened to you? Please be safe.

 
          
He
closed the door and wished the lock hadn't been smashed. He turned and found
Lacey and Zev standing in the vestibule.

 
          
"We
were getting worried about you," Lacey said.

 
          
"I
ran into one of the nuns who used to teach in St. Anthony's school."

 
          
Zev's
eyebrows arched. "And you didn't let her in?"

 
          
"Wouldn't
come in. But she reminded me that this is a Holy Day: Ascension Thursday."

 
          
Zev
shrugged. "Which means?"

 
          
"Supposedly,"
Lacey said, "forty days after Easter, Jesus ascended into Heaven to sit at
the right hand of God." She smiled. "An ingenious way to dodge all
those inconvenient questions about the state and whereabouts of the remains of
the 'Son of God.' "

 
          
Joe
looked at her. "Lacey, you can't still be an atheist."

 
          
She
shrugged. "I never really was. I call myself that because it's such an
in-your-face term. Like dyke. But atheism implies that you consider the question
of a provident god important enough to take seriously. I don't. At heart I'm
simply a devout agnostic."

 
          
Joe
was glad Carl wasn't here to hear this. He wouldn't understand or appreciate
Lacey's outspokenness. But that was Lacey. No excuses, no sugar coating: Here I
am, here's what I think, take it or leave it. Through the years she'd made him
angry at times, but then she'd smile and he'd see his sister Cathy in her face
and his anger would fade away.

 
          
He
pointed to the gold crucifix hanging from her neck. "But you wear a cross.
Didn't you once tell me you'd die before wearing anything like that?"

 
          
"I
damn near did die because I wasn't wearing one. So now I wear one for perfectly
pragmatic reasons. I've never been one for fashion accessories, but if it chases
vampires, I want one."

 
          
"But
you've got to take the next step, Lacey. You've got to ask why the undead fear
it, why it sears their flesh. There's something there. When you face that
reality, you won't be an atheist or agnostic anymore."

 
          
Lacey
smiled. "Did I mention I'm a devout empiricist too?"

 
          
"Like
a worm, she wiggles," Zev said. "Too many philosophy courses."

 
          
Lacey
turned to him. "That's not exactly a mezuzah hanging from your neck,
rabbi."

 
          
"I
know," Zev said, fingering his cross. "Like you, I wear it because it
works. That is undeniable. Where its power comes from, I don't know. Maybe from
God, maybe from somewhere else. The how and the why I'll figure out later. I've
been too busy trying to stay alive to give it my full attention." He held
up his hands. "Talk of intangibles we should save for the daylight. Now we
should ready ourselves. I believe we'll soon have uninvited and unsavory
company. We should be prepared."

 
          
Looking
unhappy, Zev wandered away. But Joe didn't want to let this drop. He sensed a
chance to break through his niece's wall of disbelief. By doing so he might
save her soul.

 
          
He
lowered his voice. "If the power of the cross is not from God, Lacy, then
who?"

 
          
"Might
not be a who," she said with a shrug. "Might be a what. I don't know.
I'm just going with it for now."

 
          
"
'There are none so blind as those who will not see,' " Joe said.

 
          
"It's
not blindness to not see something that won't show itself. Where's your god
now?" She jutted her chin at Zev's retreating figure. "His god and
yours—where's he been? This is Ascension Thursday, right? Think about that.
Maybe Jesus ascended and kept on going. Turned his back on this planet and
forgot about it. After the way he was treated here, who could blame him?"

 
          
Joe
shook his head, feeling a growing anger mixed with dismay. He hated to hear his
niece talk like this. "Are you still an anarchist too?"

 
          
"Damn
betcha."

 
          
"Well
now, it looks like you've got what you wanted—a world without religion, without
government, without law—what do you think?"

 
          
Joe
could tell by the set of her jaw and the flash of fire in her eyes that he'd
struck a nerve.

 
          
"This
is not at all what I was talking about! This undead empire is more repressive
than any regime in human history. It makes Nazi Germany and Stalinist Russia
look like Sunday school!"

 
          
"And
they're here to stay," Joe said, wondering if all today's plans and
preparations weren't an exercise in futility.

 
          
He
wondered where Palmeri was and how long before he got here.