Anything But Zombies by Gerald Rice Page A

seniority offered him that privilege.
    â€œActually, Jonah, I think Bethany means it —the big thing we’ve all been waiting for.” Keith was a good-looking boy who might one day grow out of the acne-pocked cheeks and forehead if he were very lucky. He was one of the afternoon crew chiefs at Burgeropolis, someone Jonah felt could go far unless he wanted to pursue a college degree or vocational training as a mechanic. The other workers respected him, even liked him, and his shifts were always tight, well-run crews with minimal mess and waste, much like Jonah’s. “We all see the signs and we know it’s just a matter of time. We’re ready to step up and do what’s needed, like Paulo did.”
    Jonah was puzzled. “Why would you want to do what Paulo did?”
    Bethany said, “Because it prepares the Way.”
    Chrissy said, “Because it opens the Gate.”
    Ibram said, “Because it brings the Fire from the Sky,” in his thick Eastern European accent, making it especially ominous.
    â€œIt’s time,” said Keith. “And we’ve been waiting so long. All we need now is for you to take up your mantle and lead us.”
    â€œIn prayer?” Jonah felt very uncomfortable. “I’m not much for prayer, but if one of you would like to lead us in a prayer for Paulo, I wouldn’t object.” He looked from one confused but expectant face to another. He watched them all unwrap their foil loaves and stand.
    â€œIt’s time,” Keith said again.
    â€œI don’t know what any of you are talking about, and you’re kind of freaking me out.” The only sound was the crackling of foil and the shuffling of feet as people rose and began to walk toward him. “Look, guys, today was pretty tragic and I know I don’t ever want to see it again, but it was a onetime thing. No one is paving anything for anyone. It’s been a hard day, so how about you all head home and we’ll regroup in a few days?”
    â€œBut darling, we really need to get started,” said his mother. She stood at the entrance to the completely disused dining room opposite the living room. A dark red curtain hung over the arch entrance, and Jonah suddenly couldn’t ever remember a time the curtain wasn’t there. It had never in all of his nineteen years ever occurred to him to pull aside the curtain and take a peek inside. She did it now and the room was lit by what appeared to be hundreds of candles covering a sideboard, the windowsills, and the top of a china cabinet Jonah had never seen before. The movement of the curtain released a wave of heat into the main room. Jonah could feel the warmth on his skin, and he broke out in a sweat. An oblong table stood in the center of the room, draped from head to foot in a deep red runner. Within the china cabinet, candles sat on plates and in goblets and the light flickered and bounced from the glass fronts.
    From behind him the German shepherd crossed into the room and, in a smooth leap that would surely leave gouges, landed on the tabletop and he lay down on the bloodred runner. It rolled onto its side and panted lightly in the heat.
    Jonah’s mother handed him a long knife with a wavy blade and a handle that felt warm and pulsing. She gave him a little push toward the room and the dog.
    Jonah turned, his mind swimming with the heat and fear and with his crew standing behind him. They were now eating their loaves of wet bread that looked soggy with red in the candlelight.
    â€œPrepare the Way. Open the Gate. Bring the Fire,” they began to chant. They closed distance to Jonah quickly in the small room, blocking the front door and the staircase to the second floor. Jonah was trapped. With no more room to walk, they pressed closer to him, pushing him toward the waiting dog.
    â€œLike this, dear.” His mother closed his fingers around the handle and raised it above his head. “Normally, we