He looked Alex up and down. “A lost scholar.”
Alex nodded. “Fair enough. I’m Alex Greene.”
He approached the horse. “This is your prophet.”
Horace didn’t react to the snakes. Most horses I knew were terrified of them. This one simply looked at the man through his pale lashes.
And then he turned to me. “And a Plain girl who is not yet filled with God.”
I swallowed, lifted my chin. “
Ja
. I am Katie.”
The old man mumbled to himself, again in the unintelligible language. He squinted at the sun lowering on the horizon. “I’m Pastor Gene. You’d best be getting inside before the sun sets.”
My hands wound in Horace’s reins.
“And the horse, too. The Darkness will come and tear him apart if you leave him.”
He turned and disappeared inside the church.
Alex, Ginger, and I stood rooted in place. None of us wanted to go first.
“Snakes or vampires?” Alex asked.
“The snakes . . . I don’t understand.” I shook my head.
“That’s part of the Pentecostal belief system. He believes that the Holy Spirit keeps him safe from venom,” Alex explained.
“I hate snakes,” Ginger said. I could see the pulse thudding along her collarbone and sweat prickling her brow. “But I hate vampires more.”
“
Ja,”
I said. “The least of the things to fear.”
“‘And the serpent said to the woman, ‘You will not surely die.’” Alex’s mouth turned down. “That’s what they said in Genesis, anyway.”
“
Ja
,” I sighed.
Alex climbed the stairs first, and we followed him into the shadow of the doorway.
It took some time for my eyes to adjust from the gold gloaming of the sunset to the shade of the church. I smelled dust and roses. For a moment, I was blinded in red sun shadow, and all I could hear was my breathing in my ears and a low sibilance.
My vision cleared to show a boxlike room with benches on the right and left of a center aisle. The floor was scarred pine, and light poured through the windows in broad orange shafts. In the ponds of sun on the floor, I saw a rat snake sunning itself. An altar at the front was decorated with brittle white roses, dried up and crumbling. A wooden cross adorned with a dove looked over the shattered flowers, a copperhead curled around it. Bits of the ruined flowers were strung in garlands on the pews, dropping petals on the floor. A blacksnake slipped beneath the altar.
Pastor Gene was walking up the aisle, heedless of the snakes. “Don’t mind the reptiles. Or the décor.”
Ginger was frozen in the doorway. I took her hand and tugged her inside. Horace’s hooves clomped on the old boards. Alex closed the doors behind us.
“How did . . . how did they get here?” I asked.
Pastor Gene reached out and grasped a white rose at the end of a pew, pinched it. The petals dissolved. “We were going to have a wedding here when the End Times came.”
“I meant the snakes.” My voice was timid, echoing up to the dark ceiling.
The snakes had begun to drop off of the pastor, the heavy weight of them striking the floor, slapping the boards with echoing thumps. They slithered off beneath the pews. Behind me, Ginger whimpered.
“They began to show up shortly after the Darkness fell. When the news anchors were reporting that an infectious agent had been released on the East Coast, were telling everyone to stay indoors, I came here to pray, and noticed all the snakes on the bank of the creek.” He pointed through a window. “This is the creek where we do baptisms. Sunday Creek.”
Minding where I stepped, I peered through the thick glass. The creek shimmered in the sunset. I saw ribbons of snakes in blacks, browns, and greens knotted in a mass on the bank. The sight transfixed me—it was like watching living water.
“I knew it was a sign,” he said.
I swallowed. “Back in my community, the ravens all left.”
He nodded. “God speaks to the animals.”
I glanced at the garter snake staring at me, unblinking, beneath his beard. “Do you . . . talk to them?”
He chuckled. “No. I don’t. But I have no reason to fear them. The Holy Spirit moves in me. It’s one of God’s gifts. The Bible tells us:
And these signs shall follow them that believe: In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues. They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover
.”
“From the Book of Mark,” I said.
He smiled. “You’re a good student of the Bible. And: ‘Behold, I give unto you power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy: and nothing shall by any means hurt you.’”
“Luke,” I said.
His eyes shone, and I wanted to believe him. The garter snake flicked its tongue out at me.
I flinched in the face of that evidence.
“Do you feel the Spirit dwelling in you?” he asked.
I stared out the window, at the last bit of sun reflected on the baptismal water of Pastor Gene’s creek. “I . . . I have not been baptized.” My cheeks flamed. “Amish are not baptized until they are old enough to choose the church of their free will.”
“And you didn’t choose to?” His dark eyes searched me. “Or didn’t have time?”
“My parents wanted me to be. But . . .” I struggled for words. “Before the end of Outside, I had intended on going on
Rumspringa
. With some of my friends, and a boy.”
Pastor Gene glanced at Alex. “That boy?”
I shook my head, and my blush deepened. “No. An Amish boy. Elijah. We were to be married.” I could hear the words coming out of me in a flood, like the stream below, didn’t try to stop them. “He was baptized in a hurry after we learned of the end of Outside, before the Darkness. I wasn’t ready. I was too . . . rebellious.”
The corner of Pastor Gene’s mouth quirked up. “That boy, Alex—was he part of your rebellion?”
“
Ja
. In a way. I found him injured beyond the fence of our property. The Elders told me to leave him there. They knew that the Darkness had come, but I couldn’t leave him to die.” I folded my hands at my waist. “I could not accept the
Ordnung
, the rules, and be baptized while harboring a fugitive.”
“And the woman, Ginger? Was she also a fugitive?”
“No. She just happened to be on our land when the order to close the gate came. I breed—used to breed—dogs, and she sells them for me in the English community.”
“I see. And your community?”
I shook my head. “The vampires were let in. Not by me, but they are inside. The Elders put us under the
Bann
. . . turned Alex, Ginger, and me out. So I don’t know what happened after I left. I hope that our Hexenmeister can help them.”
“What’s a Hexenmeister?” His brow wrinkled and he lingered a bit on the first syllable.
“He does the Lord’s work,” I explained. “But not in the way that clergy does. He paints hex signs and writes letters to God—
Himmelsbriefen
. He knew about the vampires, tried to keep us safe.”
“I’ve known some Plain folks in my time, and I’ve never heard of that.” His words were slow, a bit suspicious.
“Our community is a bit different from other Plain communities, in that way,” I said. “The Hexenmeister came over with the Pennsylvania Dutch. We have always kept a remnant of those old ways.” I stared at my reflection in the glass. “It may be a good thing. If they listen to him.”
It was a while before Pastor Gene spoke. “My parishioners are baptized at a young age,” he said, without judgment. “Usually in summer, when the water’s warm.”
“You walk in the creek?”
He shook his head and lowered his hands. “All in. The Spirit dwells within all of us. Baptism fills us up with God. The Lord washes us clean of our sins. And then there’s a picnic.”
I could picture it: a sunny day, by that cheerful creek, people playing in the grass rather than snakes, the smell of good food.
“Where are your parishioners?” I asked. “And your family?”
His gaze was far away. “I tried to tell them. They were afraid. A lot of them thought I was crazy—that I was one of those doomsday prophets talking about the end of the world. I think that much of it was that we’ve been moving too far into the future. In the modern world, God exists as an abstract. Everyone wanted to believe in sunshine. But not the Darkness. Not in evil.”
“They all . . . they all left?”
“Most of them went southwest, to the nearest military base. Some wouldn’t let their children be this close to the snakes.” He smiled sadly. “They didn’t believe.”
I swallowed. I understood. In a strange way, it was hard to believe in an absolute good when I knew there was absolute evil in the world.
“When the evil came close . . . when people were being slaughtered in their sleep, they came here to the church. But they heard their friends and families calling to them from outside.” Tears filled his eyes.
“The glamour,” I said. “They came to us. They called to their families too. Convinced them to let them in . . .”
Pastor Gene shook his head. “I kept them from letting the evil in, but I couldn’t keep them here. One by one, the Darkness called them. They called my wife, my sons.”
“And they answered.”
“They did. They slipped outside and became part of the Darkness. Became vampires. Those they don’t devour completely become part of it.”
“But not you.”
“No . . . I heard only the hissing. Just the snakes.”
I screwed up my courage, reached out and touched his sleeve. The garter snake slipped down over his elbow and flicked its tongue at my fingers. “I am sorry for your losses, Pastor Gene.”
He shook his head. “I thought I was the last one on earth. Meant to suffer, like Job.”
“No. There have to be more,” I insisted.
His fingers closed over mine, and the striped green snake fell into my palm. I reflexively caught it. It was no larger than a pencil, warm and dry in my hand. I could feel the articulation of its spine as it moved.
It reminded me of when I was a child. Elijah had found a little garter snake in the barn. I’d taken it from him and set it free in a field. It had given me some satisfaction to see it vanish into the green grass, melting into the world.
“We shall have to take that as an article of faith.”
***
Pastor Gene brought us a loaf of sandwich bread and canned meat from the church cellar. We fell upon it, ravenous. We sat in the first pew of the church, our feet tucked beneath us, one eye on the snakes and the other on the setting sun. Clouds were gathering in the west, blotting out the gold.
When the last of the light drained from the windows, Pastor Gene lit an oil lamp and set it on the altar.
“I sleep in the dark,” he said. “But I thought that you might not be so used to the snakes.”
“Thank you,” I said. I had my feet on the pew before me, my arms wrapped around my knees. I could see the reptiles moving, hear them. It was more awful in the dark, not knowing where they were. I was not as afraid as I had been when I’d entered the church. But I was always unsure about the strength of my faith.
Ginger rubbed her arms. She kept turning her head right and left—I knew that she couldn’t see well through her glasses in the dark, and the faint light sparked off the lenses.
I reached for her sleeve. “We should pray,” I suggested.
“Yes. We should,” Pastor Gene said. “The vampires are coming soon.”
I bowed my head beside Ginger. I could see Alex silhouetted beyond us. He bowed his head respectfully, but his voice did not join the Lord’s Prayer. Ginger and Pastor Gene spoke in English, and I spoke in Deitsch. I heard a tapping on the rafters above us, the beginnings of rain.
“Our Father, who art in Heaven . . .”
The pastor’s voice was lovely, a large baritone. I thought to ask him if his church sang. Ours did, in our curiously chant-like way.
Rain pattered on the thick glass. Somewhere inside the church, I heard a trickle of drizzle from the roof. A copperhead slithered from the altar to a puddle forming on the floor.
I heard a huff in the back of the church: Horace fidgeting. His white shadow turned toward the window, and he tossed his head. The snakes began to hiss.
A soft scraping began at the window. I tried not to look, but I couldn’t help it.
The glass was black and wet, and a white hand was pressed against it.
“Don’t look,” Pastor Gene ordered.
I was certain he’d said that many times before. More white fingers made trails in the runnels of water on the glass. I caught a glimpse of a wristwatch, of a wedding ring, a ponytail. It reminded me that they had once been people. Maybe people that Pastor Gene knew.
The pastor wobbled to the altar. His gait was unsteady. A copperhead snake was wrapped around one wrist.
“Gene?” Alex asked. He leaped to his feet to follow.
The pastor turned. His eyes were vacant and garbled speech poured from his mouth. It sounded like gibberish, but his voice was loud and insistent, as if he was issuing a sermon in another language. He didn’t seem to be speaking to us, didn’t even seem aware of us at all. It was as if he’d dropped deep within himself, had closed himself off to the world and the terrible tapping on the windowpanes.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered.
“No one does,” Alex said. “He may not even understand himself. He’s speaking in tongues. The Spirit speaking through him. A gift.”
I cocked my head. Why would God speak in a way that no one could understand?
“He’s crazy,” Ginger whispered. I took her hands in mine, squeezed.
“Quite possibly,” Alex agreed. “But I’m not sure that matters at the end of the world.”
I shuddered at the sound of the squeak of fingertips on the window, the scrape of a fingernail. I heard high-pitched pleas outside. I wondered if Pastor Gene’s wife and children were there, if he’d flung himself into this ecstatic state to keep from looking at the chalky woman with the fathomless eyes behind the glass.
“They can’t get in. They can’t call us. They don’t know us, have no tie to summon us. We’re safe here,” Alex said.