Purpose in Life, Part 1

Told December 3, but covers the days of December 1-3

Frenchtown, N.J.

Obviously I don't need to explain the events to you because I think you know just as much as I do. However, I think it is fair to explain to you that I believe this is entirely my fault. You see, all my life I have been a very religious person. Not to say I was a radical or went door-to-door, but I have always believed that God is above us and He is watching over us. I am telling you this because a couple months ago I asked Him for some help, and I believe that He has answered.

It would be fair to say that my life was not going in a good direction. I had graduated college well enough, but I was not able to land a good job. I was waiting tables to support myself, but I did not see that becoming a career by any means. A degree in Literature was not helping me move up in the world. To add to my frustrations, my college loans were due and I had to take on a couple roommates just to make ends meet. Unfortunately, these ends were not meeting fast enough, and I could not catch a break. My life was not going in a good direction.

There I was, in a dead-end job, living with two people whose company I did not enjoy, and I thought things could not get worse. Of course, they did. My mother, my saintly mother who raised me on my own since birth, passed away suddenly. No, not like you think. She passed in the more traditional sense and stayed buried. The bills for her funeral began to pile up, and I was having trouble settling her estate. I turned to the only place I could, the church. I asked the Lord for guidance. To be honest, I did more than ask. I fell to my knees, tears in my eyes, and begged for His help. I begged for Him to change my life, to change the world even. I wanted Him to fix everything, and I just cried and cried without response. Or so I thought.

Well, I should have remembered that the Lord works in mysterious ways. Subtle ways, too. No one really noticed when things started happening, and neither did I. Sure, I would catch the quick news stories, maybe some gossip at the restaurant. None of it ever seemed to be anything life-altering until it was the only story, the only thing talked about. People attacking people. Massive riots. Mobs in the streets. No way of telling the good from the bad until it was too late. I began to take more notice, and I began to wonder if I should have paid more heed to the signs.

Before I knew it, they were everywhere. When things started shutting down, stores and even my own restaurant, I began to worry. I worried what was happening to the world and if things were actually, finally, at an end. One night a roommate did not come back. I prayed for him, and tried to call the police. I hung up after being put on hold. I did not know what to do. I had no guidance. I had nothing. But then He showed me. He showed me when my other roommate showed up.

I was at my apartment, this apartment, when he, Devon, stumbled in the door. He had gone out for food, while I had not because of the warnings not to. He came in, and immediately went to the bathroom. He was mumbling about being attacked, about having to run for his life. Devon told me outside was Hell. Hell, on Earth? He then told me he felt sick and slammed the bathroom door. I heard the water running, some vomiting, and that just kept repeating for awhile. I asked him to repeat himself, to tell me the full story.

“I went to the store,” Devon began, “to get some food. The place was packed. People were everywhere, grabbing all this stuff. No one was paying, just grabbing and running. So I grabbed what I wanted and ran out of there. But when I got to the parking lot . . . they were everywhere, and there was so much screaming. People were attacking each other. Like, all-out attacking. I don’t even think it was to take their stuff. They were just crazy. This guy came at me, and then another. One of them bit me. He actually bit me! That’s when I took off back here, man. Oh, God.” I heard him start vomiting again. He still refused to open the door.

Eventually I heard nothing and began to get concerned. I knocked on the door. I called to him. There was no response so I went in. He was just lying on the floor, unconscious. His breathing was shallow. I saw where his arm had been injured. The bite marks seemed deep and deliberate. I was concerned and I knew he needed help. So I called the emergency services.

Nothing. I called again. Nothing. I was panicking and I hit redial over and over until finally someone picked up. I immediately told the person what had happened, what I knew, and asked for an ambulance. She told me there were no available ambulances. I told her that was not possible. She told me it was because there weren't. Nothing was available. And then she told me to get out of the apartment. I asked her why.

“Because,” she said to me, “Because when your roommate gets up, he is going to try to kill you.”

I was stunned by this. I mean why, why on Earth would my roommate just get up and attack me? How would he get up in his condition?

“Leo,” she said, “Leo, you have to get out or prepare yourself for what is to come.”

Now I'll ask you this, but I don't expect you to have the answer; how did she know my name? That is something that has gone through my mind since it happened. How did that woman, a person I talked to for only a few minutes, know my name? Did I absentmindedly mention it when I first called? Or was it a sign? Was, “Leo, you have to prepare yourself for what is to come” a message from a higher power, THE higher power? Call me crazy if you'd like, but that was the turning point.

He did get up, my roommate. Devon got up an hour or two after I called. It took him awhile to stand, but he eventually did. He looked confused at first, and then he noticed me. When he noticed me, staring my down with those glazed eyes, he really saw something he wanted. Of course, I had to be sure of what I was doing.

“Devon,” I said to him. “Devon, are you feeling better?” He just stared at me. At first I thought it was a blank expression, but then I noticed the wicked curl of his lips and the focus in his uncomforting eyes. “Devon,” I repeated. “If you are okay, please just say something.” His leg shifted forward and then his body pulled with it, but just one step. “Please, Devon, say something . . . anything.” Another leg forward, and then another.

While I had the best of hopes, I did not enter the situation unprepared. When he stumbled in range I swung hard with my baseball bat. The bat had been a gift from my dear mother on my twelfth birthday. I was terrible at the sport and it was used only twice, yet I never had the heart to get rid of it. It sat in my room, then my dormitory, and then my apartment, for years without a purpose. On that night, though . . . well, I don't think I need to tell you that all things happen for a reason.

I swung hard and connected with his head. The crack was nothing short of thunderous. The damage was not as much as I had expected. He fell, but got up again almost immediately. I struck him again, and then again, and then finally I felt his skull give out. It was sickening. I just stood there, breathing heavy, unsure of what I had just done. Blood covered the end of my bat and was oozing from a pocket I had created in Devon’s skull. Although I literally had not blood on my hands, metaphorically I was soaking in it. Was that truly what God had wanted me to do? I sat on the floor and thought this over. I cursed and I cried and I told myself it was him or me. I fell asleep there, a few feet away from the body. My dreams were filled with my monstrous action. If Earth was becoming Hell, was my action going to keep me there?

The body was still there. I still feel wrong calling it the body, when I should be saying his body. You told me you haven't killed one yet, right? Well, then I cannot expect you to understand the emptiness it causes. I was more than a hollow person after that; I was rotting. I knew of only one place to go. I covered Devon with a sheet and left.

Once out the door I noticed that the parking lot to the apartment complex was empty. Every car, save for mine, was gone. I had never seen it like that, and I took it as a bad sign. Where could everyone have gone? I received my answer right away, of course. There, taped to the security gate at the front of my building, was the notice from the landlord. Everyone was being asked to leave for the emergency centers. I wondered if I had not been notified of this on purpose, or if I simply did not hear the commotion. The sounds of sirens still filled the air at that time. I drove my car to the church I attended as quickly as I could. The streets were full of abandoned cars and every once in a while I saw a group of people. However, I couldn’t say whether these were people I wanted to deal with or not.

Once at the church, I tried to walk in the front doors. They were locked. A church, locked, at a time like this! I could not believe it. I would not give up. I banged on the door, over and over. Nothing. I went around back to the side door. I knocked again and again and again. Finally I started yelling, calling for anyone inside to answer me. I was about to start yelling for God Himself. Eventually the door opened a crack and I heard a voice. I recognized it as the priest, Father Patterson. He asked me who I was. I told him and he opened the door wider. There I saw he carried a pistol in his hand. Can you believe that? A man of the cloth carrying a pistol! I went to walk in but he stopped me. He asked if I had been bitten. I told him no. He stared at me for a moment, then relaxed.

“Enter quickly,” he said.

“Father,” I began, “I have sinned. I have damned my soul, Father.” I could feel the tears building back inside me from the incident. They would have burst forth had the priest not stopped me right there.

“My son, the world has changed. I do not believe you have sinned.” I had not even told him what I had done. He just seemed to know. We sat on a pew together. “These are troubling times. The Lord has seen fit to challenge us, but for what, I do not know.”

“I killed a man, Father,” I blurted out.

“Did you, now?” he asked.

I could not meet his eyes as I told him the story. How my roommate came home sick and injured, and I did nothing. I told him how I made my call to 9-1-1, and how I waited with the bat. I told him how I took my roommate's life and then just drifted to sleep in the very same room. “I am a monster, Father.”

He put his hand on my shoulder. “No, my son, you are not. Your friend, he was the monster. The doctors on television can say what they want, but I know the truth. These bites, these bites from people that transform others . . . these are not the work of a disease or infection. These are the marks of the Devil. My son, you did not kill your friend. He was already damned. You simply released his soul, which was trapped in the unholy vessel.”

I did cry then, but not out of sadness. I was filled with such a relief. Those words made me feel clean, made me feel as if I was not cursed. I felt almost rejuvenated from this knowledge.

“What am I to do, Father? What are we to do?”

Father Patterson stood and walked to the altar. Without facing me, he said the following things. “Son, I can no longer tell you what we will do. It is up to the free will of every remaining soul out there. I will stay here. I belong in a church. You go out and make your own decision. But you should follow the advice you were given before. Prepare yourself for what is to come. I doubt the forces of man will keep us all safe for very long.” He paused and knelt. “Yes, I will remain here and attempt to find out why God is doing this to us.”

I said not another word to him. I left the priest in peace and exited the door I came in. I heard it lock as I walked back to the parking lot. I made my way back to my apartment, safely, and thought of what I needed to do. I decided to take the body outside. I had no shovel to dig a grave. The ground was too cold and I feared being in the open for too long, so I carried it as far as I could across the parking lot. When I made my way back to my apartment, I could still see the red stained sheet in the distance. I scrubbed the blood up the best I could, and made a list of everything I needed. I then attempted to sleep, as if I could with all the sirens still blaring. I must have drifted off eventually, because when I opened my eyes again, it was a new day. It was this day.

You know most of these events, but I need to retell some of them for the sake of this story. I needed to get supplies if I was to be prepared. I know this is a literal way of taking that statement, but I felt it was the best. I drove my car down a few blocks to the department store. The windows had been smashed out and its goods were scattered all over the parking lot. It seemed that I was not the only one who had this plan. Still, I gave it a chance. The main power of the store was not working, but the emergency lights seemed bright enough. I made my way inside quietly. I heard rustling, and every minute or so there were scattered footsteps, but I made no attempt to investigate. Still, my baseball bat was gripped tightly.

Now the first place I went was food. The store seemed to have been without power for days, so the smell was overpowering. Rotting fruit and frozen goods were too much for me to stomach. I made my way to the dry goods, which would be better for long term anyway. When I got to the aisle, I noticed a streak of blood amongst the scattered boxes. And that blood was a pathway that led right to a woman. She was standing, although I do not know how. Her face seemed scraped apart, and something was falling out of her stomach area. I did my best not to make noise, but my gasp was loud enough. She turned to look at me. Her eyes . . . I will just say this: Her eyes were that of a demon. They looked onto me, those dead-white pearls, and her jaw dropped open. She moved at me as Devon had.

She was several away when I first spoke to her. “Ma’am,” I whispered. “Ma’am, I need you to tell me if you’re okay.” Her pace quickened. “Ma’am, just one word from you and I won’t do this.” As I finished my sentence she was lunging forward.

Survival instincts took over, and just as before, I swung hard. The noise echoed inside the store, and fortunately she dropped from one blow. The bat had caught her lower than I expected. Still, once she hit the floor she made not attempt to stand. I just stared down at her as a trickle of blood moved from her. It suddenly curved and came in my direction. I stepped aside and watched it move under a shelf. I could not stand to be in that aisle anymore. I made my way to another, and decided I would take canned goods instead.

Luckily there was a shopping cart. I had not thought of that when I first went in. Too be honest, I had not planned much of this except for what I needed to buy. And yes, I realized that buying was no longer an option. I filled the cart with the best of the foods I could find, seeing which was healthiest and longest-lasting. I found boxed, just-add-water pasta meals as well. You know this because we are enjoying them now. My cart was full and I believed that I had enough to last me for several weeks. I thought this was good enough, and the sound of approaching footsteps encouraged me to leave. And that's when I did, and that's when you and I met.

I don't know what made me look across the street to the window. I don't know why you decided at that moment to look out the window. Neither of us could have heard the other. Maybe divine intervention is too strong for that type of situation, but you must admit it makes sense. And of course we noticed each other, and that's when you opened the window. And that, of course, is when you called to me for help, Kate. I made my way over to hear you better. You told me about the people downstairs, the ones that had the infection. You told me you were trapped. And then you asked me to save you.

You know, then, that I entered the house and saw the two people at the top of the stairs. You heard me call to them, to ask them to say just one word. You know how the one stumbled and fell down them trying to attack me. You know how I took care of him. You saw the body mess when you eventually came down. And you know how the other just stood there watching. You know how I charged him with fury, crushing his skull with a victorious force, over and over again. You saw the blood that had gotten on me from that. You know how I was bawling when you opened the door, begging God for forgiveness about what I had just done. And that's when you put your arms around me, Kate. You thanked me and cried yourself and told me to take you someplace safe. You told me that your parents had called from the emergency center in town and told you not to come. You told me how they said it was being overrun. You told me how their last words to you were, “Keep safe.” You asked me to keep you safe, and I promised I would. And I still will.

We came back to my apartment with the food. We looked around to see if anyone was nearby, human or monster. When we saw that there wasn’t, I made sure both the security gate at the front of the building and my own apartment were locked up tightly. We talked some more and then you asked me the question that just led to all of this. You asked why God was doing this to us.

Kate, I know my purpose now. I am here to save people, to save you, to save as many as I can. I am saving people and their souls. So when you asked me earlier, “Why is God doing this to us?” I think you're wrong. God isn't doing anything to us. God is doing this for me.