A Bible For the Zombie Apocalypse

Chapter 3: Emma

What part did the Religious Cleansing of 2052 play in my grandmother's Christianity? That's a long story. And it is a family secret. But the zombies gathering behind me won't tell. And there's no one else around, so...here goes.

It turns out my grandmother and grandfather, like so many people caught up in those dangerous times, became murdering, get-rich-quick, schemers, too. My grandfather informed on a person who was innocent of religious crimes, just so he could take over that person's position of owner/manager of a small chain of gas station/quick-mart stores.

Despicable, right? I thought so, too, before I heard the whole story. Now I'm not sure what to think.

What happened was my grandfather had a low level, minimum-wage type job in one of those gas station/quick-marts, where people could gas up and get basic groceries in one stop. He didn't hate his job. Just having a job back then was better than the average guy could manage.

But he got the bug to inform on a former coworker of his, who'd previously worked as a cashier in the same store. Why?  In my grandfather's case, it wasn't just for money. It was also for revenge.

You see, the cashier--a guy named Myron--had informed on my grandad's best friend.

Jimmy was another cashier from the night shift. He informed on the original owner/manager of that chain of gas stations. For the record:  the original owner of the chain of gas stations was not guilty of any religious crimes.

The original owner was an older man who was, "practically on death's door anyway," according to Jimmy, who'd been spouting off at the mouth frequently, trying to justify his plans to inform on the old man and get his stuff. My grandad tried to talk Jimmy out of it. But Jimmy had come down with a bad case of something like what people from the old, Wild West days of America used to call, gold fever. He'd already begun to picture himself as a rich man, living free and easy at the top of the food chain. Jimmy refused to listen, even when my granddad brought up the very real possibility that another person would just come along and do the same thing to him.

And that is exactly what happened.

Jimmy and his wife had been living the dream for only a few short weeks when Myron got the same idea Jimmy'd had.  Myron informed on Jimmy (who was not guilty of any religious crimes). Jimmy and his whole family were tried and executed. Jimmy had a wife and a bunch of kids. The youngest of them was only 6 years old. That's what got my granddad more than anything: having to watch the execution of his best friend's entire family, including the little 6 year-old boy, who used to affectionately call my granddad, "Uncle Phil."

After that my grandad had to endure watching "that greasy Myron" living out his best friend Jimmy's dream. Myron stupidly lorded his new position over my granddad, who was still stuck working the register and cleaning the toilets. Day after day Myron pushed my grandad harder and harder, because my grandad was now doing the work of three men. The image of Jimmy's youngest boy being executed right along with the grown ups took up permanent residence in my grandad's thoughts. Pretty soon he'd had it. That's when he began to think about informing on Myron.

What my grandfather didn't know was my grandmother, who'd been working at a nearby preschool at that time, had fallen head over heels in love with Myron's only child, Emma, who was, in my grandmother's words, "the sweetest little thing in the whole world." Grandma didn't know the child belonged to the awful man who'd had Jimmy and his family killed. What she did know was that Emma was being abused.

The first time Grandma came home seething about the way "that man" was treating his precious little daughter, my grandad wasn't very sympathetic.

"How do you know it wasn't an accident?" my grandad asked her.

"Because her mom had a matching bruise when she came to pick Emma up!" Grandma replied. "You know the look--eyes down with embarrassment and shame, trying to make herself as small and invisible as possible."

"Why don't you call the authorities?"

"They won't do anything!" Grandma groused.  "Remember what happened the last time my supervisor tried that? The abused kid got punished, not rescued!

"The authorities punished a preschool-aged child for being abused?" my grandad asked incredulously.

"Of course not!" Grandma replied. "But by not doing anything to protect that child from his parents, they might as well have punished him themselves. Remember? Derrick was in the hospital after that!  His parents said he fell down the stairs. And they got away with it."

"But isn't there a law...?"

"Of course there's a law. But it doesn't do any good when social services is backed up so bad with a million more cases than investigators. Plus there are hardly any foster parents out there! So even if they'd managed to get the kid out of that home, they wouldn't have had anyplace to put him."

"Why not? I thought foster parents got paid to take those kids?"

My grandmother let out a derisive snort. "It's hardly anything! Barely enough for decent food and clothing for the child."

She shook her head. "After all that happened to Derrick I told myself I was going to mind my own business." She was quiet for a minute. Then she added in a whisper, "But I just can't  mind my own business with Emma. Not with those big, sad blue eyes looking into my soul, begging for help. But what can we do for her? It's not like we could take Emma in. We are barely making it as it is, and that's with both of us working full-time!"

"Look here, Janice," my grandfather said conspiratorially, "this time there may be a way we can help."

"Really? How?"

"All we have to do is get rid of that creep, Myron."

"What does that have to do with it?"

"Don't you see? I could take his job! We'd have money! We could afford to be foster parents ourselves--maybe even take in Emma. You could tell social services about the bad things her dad has been doing."

That got my grandmother thinking.

The thought of saving little Emma made informing on Myron seem almost like the right thing to do. After all, Myron was a jerk--the perfect contrast to innocent little Emma, who only brought sunshine to everyone around her in spite of her crappy home life.

In the end they decided to do it. Grandfather informed on Myron, accusing him of praying--actually getting down on his knees in his office when he thought no one was looking.

And even though Myron never prayed once in his life, everything went as my grandparents had planned. Myron was arrested and his family was brought up on charges.

It was only when Myron's little family was brought in for the trial that my grandmother realized who Emma's horrible father was: none other than Myron himself. But by then it was too late. My grandfather couldn't take back his accusations, not without taking Myron's place and getting executed as punishment for perjury.

Little Emma was executed right along with her mom and dad.

My grandad took over the the chain of gas station/quick-marts.

The Religious Tolerance Law of 2055 was passed shortly afterward. My grandparents had secured their fortune. But my grandmother never recovered from Emma's death. She was consumed by guilt. She never went back to her job at the preschool. She went to bed and never got up.

My grandfather was at a loss. He tried talking my grandmother out of her near catatonic state. But she wouldn't budge. So he did the only thing he could do: he threw himself into his new position at work and focused on being a good owner/manager.