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The Church- Part 2- The Order of things |
| Written by john mccuaig | |
| Saturday, 16 February 2008 | |
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Share it:      The church bells started to ring, mass was about to start. I hate those damn bells- it always sent the Zombies into a frenzy. A call to “rejoice God” which also doubles as a “dinner bell” to the hordes outside. Reverend McKay expected everyone to attend, not that anything was ever said but it seemed it was the number one rule. As I made my way down from the roof I wondered what would happened if someone ever refused. Would they have been banished outside the walls? I suspect that even the strongest of atheists within our small group were happy to do what was expected rather than risk the repercussions of saying no. He started his sermon exactly the same as every one he had done before. “Faith……Faith in our Lord will keep us safe” He continued as usual along the those same lines, “we are being tested”, and “the true shall overcome” all interspaced with bible readings. To be honest more than half the congregation were really lapping it up. It seems that all they needed was some comfort and some hope and the Reverend was indeed supplying that need, he was giving them their daily fix. My sadness is the only drug I need. From my seat at the rear I could see all my fellow survivors. It was amazing that even in these terrible times people were splitting into different groups, little cliques, even some jostling for positions of power. The saddest group are three men seated to my left, all who arrived separately, they appear to be stuck in a permanent state of shock. No words have passed their lips since they arrived. We don’t even know their names. The oldest one always has his pocket radio plugged into his ears, no doubt trying to find news about some loved ones. There hasn’t been any radio signal for a long time and its batteries must now be long dead; but still he won’t or more likely can’t remove those headphones. Their only small bit of comfort seems to be with each other; maybe the saying about sorrow needing company is in fact true. Standing to the side of the altar is a now familiar sight which worries me, a brother and sister- Wayne and Dawn. They were amongst the first refugees and have the ear and the trust of the Reverend. They act like his disciples, carrying out his wishes, ensuring that every one does their part, all for the good of the Church. It is the way they seem to enjoy that power, not its ends, which is my concern. Once Mass is over its time for work. Even in these crazy times it’s still so stereotypical, Dawn takes charge of the women to sort out the food, washing clothes and looking after the children. Wayne starts sorting the men out into teams to improve our perimeter defences, tend our crops and make some improvised weapons. My job this morning is to check the main gates. Whilst I’m checking the gates welded panels and spikes I notice that I am chuckling to myself. I start to think why. Even now we still have the office politics, nobodies trying to get further up the pack. We were thrown back to almost medieval times but it didn’t take that long for the 21st century self-self attitude to kick in. Abruptly it dawns on me that I am now speaking to myself, great, will soon have to get myself one of those pocket radios. I chuckle again but almost immediately I start to cry. During our mid afternoon break suddenly the bells start ringing again; this has never happened before. Panic sets in, everyone is running to the chapel, once we are all there the Reverend, Wayne and Dawn appear at the alter. “My children” the Reverend bellows “we are the survivors, we are Gods chosen” “We need more food and supplies but more importantly we need to increase our flock” “Tomorrow Wayne shall lead a team out into the wilderness, we must seek out what we need, and we must search for more survivors; for we are Gods chosen” He then reads out the four names to go out, my name is on that list. The rest of the sermon is a blur. Once the Reverend is finished the bells start to toll again. Oh how I hate the sound of those bells. Copyright 2008 john mccuaig |
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