Reverend Alan Delarosa
Day 21
From the steeple of the 14th Street Baptist Church, Reverend Alan Delarosa watched as society crumbled to dust. It had been three weeks since what many of his church members believed to be the Tribulation had begun.
Fires raged as far and wide as corpses walked over what used to be suburban America. Off in the distance, automatic gunfire echoes nonstop.
Three weeks, that's twenty-one days. There was a phrase he'd once heard, it went something like; "The only easy day was yesterday". In those twenty-one days it still held as true of a meaning, if not more so, than it ever had. Every day the corpses were a little more frequent, the authorities were fewer and a little farther away than before.
The parish shrank and worried stories of the blights spread coupled with news of who'd fallen ill grew more common. After three weeks his flock of one hundred twenty-five shrank to zero, excluding himself.
A red minivan sped past, passengers and supplies packing every inch of space within. Corpses covered almost all of the outside of the vehicle. It was a wonder the driver could even see, what with all the bodies on the van. Nonetheless it kept driving, slamming through a battered and burning police car before swerving down a side street. On the background of the crackle of the many fires, sirens and alarms, growls and roars of the corpses, and reports of gunfire a single shriek rang through the air. A sole sign that someone else was alive.
Though not for much longer.
Alan descended from his perch. His thoughts at the moment was on his family. His brother-dead, most likely of his own accord. His sister-most likely headed North. His son-now theres the odd one. His son was a bit of an unpredictable one so who KNEW where he was. His wife-joined the ranks of the corpses. She said some "old homeless guy tried to mug me" back on day 5. She then went to the local clinic for what she thought was either the flu or the stomach bug.
She never came back.
Later that night, as Alan waited for the wife who would never return, he happened to have the TV on. The news reported the sickness that came with the attack.
It didn't take long to put two and two together.
He blinked rapidly, no tears. She was in a better place now. Then again, any place was better than the one he was in now. Having reached the ground floor, Alan took stock of his items. About 16 industrial surplus cans of food from the last food drive, some bottles of water his last parishoners had left in goodwill. That just left his bag.
It was an old Army bag, left over from his days as a soldier. Nowadays soldiers were greeted with open arms, back then...not so much.
He went into his office. On the back wall was a M14, the old kind that looked like someone had fashioned it out of the leg of a dinner table. He took it off the wall, set it down on the table, then opened a closet. Inside hung some Army fatigues. He put them on. They were a bit snug, but they fit. He hadn't worn those in 40 years, was it 40? 40.
He then picked up his rifle, put the supplies an ammunition into the bag an shouldered the bag. He walked to the front of the doors. Then went out.
Went out into a new world.
