"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.
CHAPTER FOUR
"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.
A fat copperhead slid along the back of the pew, and Ginger's nails dug into my palm.
Her gaze was wide behind her glasses. "I'm not convinced."