The Creepers (Book 1) by Dixon Norman

Author:Dixon, Norman [Dixon, Norman]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Published: 2012-11-05T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16

The pain left along with the cold weather, but the itching had become maddening. If only he could scratch the itch, give in to the temptation, such an easy thing . . . if he only had a leg to scratch.

Pastor Craven leaned on his cane, Good Book grasped tightly, staring out the window onto the Settlement’s grounds. The winter had been long. They lost two young ones, and three others over those trying months. All of the deaths could have been prevented, he was sure, had Lyda been alive. And Randy still remained silent about the boy’s whereabouts—the stubborn bastard wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t lie even after, at the Pastor’s orders, his meals were withheld. It still amazed him how much weight the massive man lost over the course of the winter.

For all he knew the disgusting child died at the hands of one its own, but he couldn’t quite talk himself into that scenario. Yannek was too capable a survivalist to fall at the hands of the dead. Would he make for the Baylor’s train? Or would he head further north, Wyoming perhaps, to carve out a new life? The Pastor dug his knuckle into the rough pine of the windowsill, twisting until his dry skin cracked, bleeding now, he ground the sharp point of bone harder, harder still.

Working his way through the pain frustration continued to mount. Even the Lord offered no guidance when it came to the matters of the engineer and the child. He must not fret—spring demanded a clear head—there were matters to handle.

Jackson, Thomas, and a few of the younger men were already on their way to Baylor’s stop to barter for whatever they could. Pastor Craven dragged his knuckle across the wood, wishing he had been able to travel with them, but his lame leg would not allow it, besides, the Lord wanted him to remain with the flock. His orders, however, were quite clear. If Jackson were to encounter Yannek and the boy he was to eliminate them in the name of God.

Blood running between his fingers filling the craggy wrinkles with tiny rivers of red. The Pastor swirled his digits in a stiff glass of whiskey. He welcomed the pain. It allowed him to communicate clearly with the Heavenly Father. Since Randy destroyed his leg it was the only way he could hear the will of Heaven at all.

“I thank you for this bounty, Lord,” Pastor Craven said, raising the blood-clouded glass to the sunlight. He clinked it off the windowpane and sipped. The injury, along with his healthier drinking habit, added years to his sagging face. His eyes found despair wherever he looked, and to think, just a few short months prior he, not only saw, but knew hope on an intimate level.

“Lyda . . ." A rare, wayward tear navigated the uncharted territories beneath his eyes. “Lord, please guide me through these dark days. I must keep our people on the path to Heaven. I must avenge you, O’Lord, I must set things right.

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