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Father Dillon's Funeral
Marc woke up with a start. It took him several seconds to get his bearings, but he soon realized he was still in the car.
“Hey, ain’t that that retard boy, Will Sutcliffe?”
A man was shuffling by the side of the road, a hundred yards down.
“You’re an asshole, Steve….” Marc glared at his brother.
“Hey, no need for names, I just say it like it is… That Sutcliffe boy IS a retard…”
“He has Down’s Syndrom Steve…”
“I just tell it like it is.”
“Being a jerk doesn’t make you honest, it makes you a jerk. Just, shut up, man. How close are we?”
Steve and Marc were on the way to the old Baptist church in the next town. Father Dillon, an old family friend, had died the day before and they were on the way to his funeral. Steve slowed the car as they passed the walker. He was large, young man, almost a head taller than the average person, and more than a few pounds overweight, wearing coveralls and a t-shirt. It was Will. He was limping.
Marc told Steve to stop. “Why?”
“He looks hurt.”
“Godammit, Marc. Special People always walk funny”
Marc gave him a withering look and stepped out of the car. He started walking towards Will, who picked up his pace. Steve got out and stood in the open driver’s side door. “Hey Will, you alright, boy? Ain’t been trying to chase squirrels up the tree again, did ya?” Steve chuckled to himself.
As Marc got closer, he noticed that Will had blood on his face. He also had a tear in his pants, exposing a raw kneecap, and his arm was hanging limp. He looked as if he had been hit by a car. Marc sped up a little. “Will, buddy, you okay?”
Will was only a few steps away now. “Oh, Christ son, what happened?” Marc reached out to give Will a hand.
Will’s mouth opened. He started wailing, a loud, incoherent cry. But it didn’t sound like he was in pain. It sounded desperate. He lunged at Marc with is good arm, and fell on him. He started biting at Marc.
“Holy Jesus! Steve!”
Marc pushed back with all of his strength, just barely avoiding being bitten by Will. He was staring him right in the face. Will’s had scrapes all over it. His eyes were glassy, but worst of all, his gaze was predatory. He moaned, grabbed and bit at Marc.
Steve ran full tilt toward his brother and Will. “Godammit you tard, leave him be!” Steve kicked the young man with all of his strength. Steve wasn’t as big as Will, but he was still a good-sized man. There was a popping noise as Will slumped off of Marc, who scrambled to his feet. Judging by the sound, Steve had just broken a rib or two. Will did not react as if in pain. He got to his feet and started towards the two brothers, now growling. “Marc, back to the godamn car. Will’s rabid or somethin’!”
They ran, and Will followed, but couldn’t keep up with two healthy men. The pair got in the car and slammed the doors. Steve hit the door lock and threw the car into gear. They sped off.
“What the hell happened to him!?” Steve yelled. Marc was shocked. “I don’t know. He must be delusional, or sick. He never acted like that before.”
“Fucker should be chained. Godamn retard”
“Shut up, Steve! Will isn’t like that something is very, very wrong. We need to get to a phone and get him some help.”
“What phone? There isn’t shit ‘til we get to the church.”
“Then we’ll use that one! Christ, shut up and let me think.”
They rode in silence for several minutes. Steve mumbled to himself, occasionally slapping the steering wheel. Marc chewed his thumbnail, a little shell-shocked by what had just happened. “Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“What do you think happened? Really?”
“I don’t know, little brother. Something’s not right.”
After a little while, they rounded a bend in the woods. There was an old building, whitewashed with a shingle roof and dark green doors. They were at the church.
They had apparently arrived later than everyone else, and were forced to park the length of a football field away. “Popular old fart, wasn’t he?” Steve commented as they pulled in.
“Aw, man. What the hell are we going to do?” Steve stopped halfway getting out of the car.
Marc looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“We can’t just bust in to an old priest’s funeral and demand to use the phone…”
Marc huffed. “A man may be dying out there, they can get over it.”
They started toward the front entrance to the church. The door was slightly ajar. Halfway there, the door opened a little and a priest stepped out. Steve waved his hand and yelled out, “Hey,Ffather O’Flannagan! We need some help!”
The man turned towards them. Marc followed up. “We saw Will Sutcliffe down the road. He was all banged up, like he was in an accident. I think he must have hit his head because he was acting like an animal.”
They slowed down as they got closer. The priest didn’t really react. He just stared at them as they approached, his jaw slack, eyes wide. Marc stepped a little ahead of Steve. “Um, Father O…..Flan…a….”
It wasn’t O’Flannagan. It was Father Dillon.
“What the fu…” Steve trailed off. Both stood in shock. Steve had seen Dillon the day before. He had most certainly been dead. There was now a weird moaning coming from the side of the church, away from the brothers. They started to back up. Dillon started toward them, slowly, his expression never changing. From around the side of the church, came a herd of mourners.
They all moved slowly, sharing the dead priest’s expression. All of them quickened their step as they saw the brothers. Both turned white with dread. “Marc….”
Marc grabbed Steve’s arm. “Run!”
They sprinted to the car. The shambling mourners began moaning louder and shuffled as quickly as they could through the gravel lot toward Steve and Marc. Steve was shaking. He almost dropped the keys. “Godammit Steve, use the keyless lock!”
Steve hit the button, the car unlocked, and they both jumped in. Still shaking, Steve started the car and put it in gear. A mourner he couldn’t place, but recognized, walked up to the car and began pounding on the window, snarling. She had a gash in her neck.
Marc thought, in the back of his mind, that it bore an odd resemblance to an apple someone had taken a bite out of. Blood was smeared over her shirt. Steve hit the gas, and sped out of the parking lot. The car skidded in the gravel. The woman was tossed aside, but many more mourners were grabbing onto the back bumper or trying to reach for the car. Both men were yelling incoherently until the tires grabbed the ground and the car lurched forward.
“Where the hell do we go now!?” Steve shouted.
Marc stared in the rear-view mirror at the quickly dwindling crowd. “I..I don’t know..”
“What the fuck do you think is wrong with them?”
Marc thought quietly for a few minutes. “Marc?” Steve was getting impatient.
“Just a second…. Did you see that woman’s neck?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“It looked as if it had had a chunk bitten out of it.”
“Are you shittin’ me?” Steve looked at Marc as if he was retarded as well.
“No, I am not shitting you. And correct me if I am wrong, but that was frigging Father Dillon out front of the church. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Steve was stumped.
Marc sat up in his seat. “You know what I think?”
“No, what do you think?”
“I think they are dead.”
Steve looked over at Marc in disbelief. He slowed the car so he wouldn’t go off the road. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Marc glared at him. “No, I am not fucking kidding. So far we have seen a dead priest, a crowd of mourners attacked us, and a ‘retard’ as you put it tried to take a fucking bite out of me this morning. It sounds as plausible as anything to me right now.”
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