The last thing he remembered was sharing a drink with Jon and the Mayor. He pulled weakly at his restraints, accomplishing nothing more than aggravating the wound on his ankle.

At least it's not infected. Could have woken up as a zombie. Things could be worse.

A low moan from somewhere in front of him a.s.sured Sunshine that things were indeed worse. He lifted his head as far as possible, but couldn't see much of anything. He was able to make out the altar. A small table covered in purple and gold cloth, empty except for a silver chalice and a book, presumably the Bible. An American Flag hung on a small pole to the right. Behind the altar he could see the standard large wooden crucifix, with Jesus nailed firmly in place. He was missing his crown of thorns and one of his shoes.

Shoes?

Sunshine wasn't a religious man, and even if he were he would have been a religious Jewish man. But he was certain Jesus on the cross wasn't supposed to be wearing black shoes ... or jeans.

"What the -?"

Jesus moaned. Sunshine screamed. The thing on the cross struggled and Sunshine could see that the hands and feet were indeed firmly nailed into place. One hand was almost completely severed. There was a crow sitting on its shoulder, occasionally dipping its beak in the side of the thing's cheek. The bird tugged at a stringy treat and Sunshine felt his gorge rise.

"Jesus!"

"Braaiinns," Jesus answered.

Sunshine heard a door open and what sounded like several people enter the church, but he couldn't turn his head far enough to see.

"Help! Someone help me." Because I'm sure these fine people have nothing to do with me being here.

Jesus became agitated and started hissing and moaning, causing Sunshine to become agitated too. He could hear people moving behind him, taking their seats, murmuring what sounded like polite greetings.

"Untie me please. I just want to leave."

A man walked up to the altar. Sunshine could see that he was barefoot, but otherwise neatly dressed in black.

"Hey ..."

A hand grabbed Sunshine's head and stuffed a piece of cloth in his mouth. He tried screaming for a few seconds, but soon the need to breathe overcame the need to shout.

The man in black spoke to the room. "Peace be with you."

The congregation responded. "And also with you."

"Yesterday unbelievers came to me, seeking pa.s.sage through the tunnel. A man spoke about needing to go west. He claimed he had a vision."

Sunshine heard the crowd murmur, and someone behind him whispered.

"The undead summon and the remnants respond."

The man in black wiped his forehead on his sleeve.

"He would not tell me anything more about his vision. But we know what he saw, don't we, brothers and sisters? We know where he's going."

The crowd grew louder. "Praise Him," someone shouted. "Praise the rock."

Sunshine vainly pulled at his restraints. He might not have any visions, but he was pretty sure he wouldn't like where this was going.

"The SOURCE! He wants the SOURCE!" the man shouted, flinging his hands into the air. The audience answered with their own cries, and he waited for quiet to resume.

"There's a storm coming, brothers and sisters. It's coming and there's nothing that I, you or anyone else can do to stop it. This man, this dreamer, is part of it. That much I know. And who are we to deny what must be?" More murmurs.

"But even so, there's a price that has to be paid ... always a blood price. We need a savior." The man picked up the American flag and jabbed it at the thing on the cross, eliciting a soft, angry moan.

"Our savior is just about all used up. We need a new shepherd."

"Amen."

Sunshine redoubled his efforts to free himself from the restraints, eyes wide with fright.

"We need a new guardian of the night."

Sunshine heard what sounded like clanking and rattling.

Chorus: "Protect us from what we cannot see."

"We need a messenger from the Light and the Dark."

The cross started to lean forward, and Sunshine could now see that it was supported by heavy metal chains.

Chorus: "An angel to keep the dead at bay."

Sunshine screamed against the gag as the cross was lowered, the top half slowly coming closer to him.

"A Lazarus to rise again and keep watch."

No, please.

Chorus: "Let the dead walk on by."

The large crucifix kept on coming, and by the time the thing came face to face with Sunshine, his screams echoed throughout the church, gag or no gag.

Chapter 39.

Tunnel Vision "Eeny, meeny, miney, moe." Jon stretched his back, working out the kinks from the long drive.

They stood before the twin bores known as the Eisenhower Tunnel. Even in the bright midday sun he could barely see more than twenty yards into either.

"These tunnels go right through the Continental Divide," Timmy chirped. Jon shot the kid an annoyed look.

"What?"

"These mountains are almost solid granite. They divide North America right down the middle. The tunnels go through the mountains so that you go in on one side of the Continental Divide and come out the other."

"My very own post-apocalyptic Google," Jon muttered. "I don't suppose you know how long these tunnels are?"

"Almost two miles."

"f.u.c.kin' yay."

Timmy gave him a disapproving look, which Jon easily ignored. From what he could make out, a few abandoned cars stood on the road before the entrance ways and just inside. Plenty more where those came from, I'm sure.

Jon walked back to the car and fished out their backpacks and the shotgun.

"We hoof it from here." He threaded the shotgun through the two cloth loops on the larger pack, making sure it was secure but loose enough to ensure quick access in case of emergency. "At least until we're out of the tunnel." He handed Timmy the other backpack. "Flashlight's in the front pocket there."

Jon was happy to see the kid's enthusiasm noticeably cool at the news.

"Why aren't we driving?" Timmy stared doubtfully at the tunnels.

"Too dangerous and too slow." Jon donned his backpack, adjusting the straps a bit.

"From the looks of things, these tunnels are going to be filled with abandoned wrecks and G.o.d knows what. I doubt we'd be able to make our way through in the Escalade."

Timmy swallowed.

"I don't see why we don't at least try -"

Something crashed to the ground and they both spun around. Two zombies were on the move, about a hundred yards away. Well, one was moving. The other was on the ground, entangled in a wooden saw horse meant to warn traffic away from a rather large pothole.

Jon drew his revolver and started toward the undead pair. It had been a long, dull morning and dusting a couple of corpses might be just what the doctor ordered. He was twenty feet away and pausing to take aim, when he saw the others. A lot of others. Couple of dozen, at least. They were shambling more or less in their direction.

He reluctantly put the gun back in his waistband and turned round to Timmy. "Time to -"

Timmy was already halfway to the tunnel.

Jon chuckled. "No need to run. Our friends aren't going to be winning any marathons." I should take the other tunnel. Let the little b.a.s.t.a.r.d walk alone for a while. The thought made him smile. I bet that pretentious little s.h.i.t would come out the other side a new person. Let's see how much he loves the Eisenf.u.c.kinhower Cunintental Divide then.

He started after Timmy, refusing to run. And then he heard the pitter patter of little feet.

There were six of them, all children. All dead. And they were running. They were running fast. By the time Jon started running, the pack leader, a lanky girl with filthy blonde hair and dead eyes, was only about seventy yards away, and she was hauling a.s.s. Jon ran faster.

Long seconds later he was cursing himself for smoking and eating Arby's, and the girl and the others were maybe fifty yards behind. Six children running as fast as they could without making a sound. No screaming. Not even the sound of breathing. Just the sound of small feet hitting pavement, announcing they were getting closer.

By the time he reached the tunnel, the harsh roar of his labored breathing drowned out everything else. As he was enveloped in darkness he felt the hairs on his neck stand at attention. Two miles. f.u.c.k. Me.

Not daring to turn around for fear of tripping, he kept running. They couldn't be more than a few yards behind him.

How are they moving so fast?

Deciding to risk a quick look over his shoulder, Jon ran smack dab into an SUV. The collision knocked the wind out of his lungs and sent him sprawling backward, landing flat on his back.

All thoughts of zombies forgotten, he lay on the dark asphalt, mouth opening and closing like a fish in a futile attempt to suck in air. When a small hand grabbed at his shirt, poor Jon could hardly manage a squeak.

Chapter 40.

Divorce Fred felt stronger than ever. His control over the undead was complete, except for the brat. He was a lean, unclean, multi-tasking machine.

Just today he had sent all his runners ahead to scout out the area and wait for the rest of the corpses at the tunnel. Wonder of wonders, they went. They all went, including Karen, leaving ... leaving the woman alone with Fred for the first time since he could remember. Her name is ...

The rest of the zombies more or less fell in line at his command, and by midday they were already in sight of the tunnels.

On the IQ front, however, things weren't so rosy. He kept blanking out. That was bad. Now he was forgetting things. That was worse. And not little things, like where he put his eye patch or who he had for dinner. He couldn't remember his son's name for starters. He knew he had a son and he knew that was important. Why? He didn't remember.

The woman with the pretty eyes gently b.u.mped into him, causing Fred to lose his chain of thought. G.o.ddammit. He'd have to tell her to stay back. Lately he felt like she was smothering him. The whole G.o.dd.a.m.ned countryside to shamble around in and she had to keep b.u.mping into him? Aleta! Her name's Aleta!

Some part of Fred may have known that Aleta was there because he told her to be there. But the part of Fred that was p.i.s.sed wasn't hearing any of it.

Soon we'll be through the tunnel and then ...

And then what? He could see the tunnels clearly now, about a quarter mile down the road. A couple of breathers - looked like a man and a boy - were milling about an abandoned car, probably working up the courage to enter the darkened corridor.

I need something. On the other side. Oh yeah, the ...

The woman b.u.mped into him again and Fred moaned in anger, all coherent thoughts disappearing again.

"Braaiinnss," he moaned in frustration. He absently swatted at the woman; his arm connected solidly against her chest and she staggered a few feet away.

When he came to again, he was just a hundred yards or so from the six runners who were more or less standing still and looking up at the sky. The breathers didn't seem to notice them. Fred saw that the breathers were armed. No big surprise there. Something about the man made him uneasy.

I've seen him before. Haven't I? It was nonsense of course. They were too far away for Fred to make out any details. And the boy - The boy. Is that ...?

Fred moaned. It looked like the man had finally spotted them. He walked toward the runners, a gun in hand pointed casually at the ground. He didn't look scared. Fred knew if he didn't give new instructions, the runners would just stand there while the man shot them dead again. But there was something about the boy - the way he held himself maybe - that caused Fred to hesitate.

He couldn't just let the man shoot his runners ... but the boy. He couldn't kill the boy.

Why not? Why not, Magic 8-ball? Should I let them live? I think I should. I think ...

The woman gently b.u.mped into Fred and he went into a rage.

Fetch!

Immediately the six children stopped what they weren't doing and started running at the man. The man raised the gun and then hesitated. Evidently he'd never seen a zombie run before. The boy, Fred noticed, was already running into the tunnel. The man soon followed suit; electing to save the fight for another day, he ran for the tunnel. The children followed. Fast.

Something about how the boy ran, a familiar, gangly lope, made Fred wish he could smile. My boy used to run just like that ...