Decoration Day by Vic Kerry

seen.
    “Will-o’-the-wisp,” he said aloud.
    He’d heard about that but didn’t really know what it was. His grandfather called it foxfire and said it showed up out over the swamps where he grew up, but David had never seen it. It had never been described as purple that he could remember. Maybe his phone would get enough signal for him to consult Google.
    His apartment felt like a tomb after coming through the clean-smelling sanctuary. The air smelled musty and stale. Even opening the window didn’t help. The damp outside air only brought in the heady smell of rot and wet pine needles. It didn’t sit well on his stomach, leaving him queasy.  
    David grabbed his phone and headed back to the sanctuary. As he crossed over into the church, he saw that his phone had no signal. He stepped on the podium platform, but the signal bar remained the same. Marsh had not been lying. The phone didn’t even give a hint that it would find signal. Maybe he needed to get higher, out of the small valley.
    David left the church building. He walked across the cemetery to his car. Nothing came up or down the road, so pulling out was simple. He eased the car up the road toward the main highway. The shoulder on his side of the road was narrow, and a deep ditch dropped off from there. The other side plummeted to the hollows and valley below. David carefully watched both his phone and the road. The last thing he needed was to meet another tanker truck barreling down the mountain and end up turtled   at the bottom of a hollow.
    Driving higher up the mountain had no impact on the signal. The phone showed no signal bars. He shook the phone as if that would help, but still no change.
    “Come on,” he shouted. “There is no way there is this big of a dead zone.”
    David stared at his phone, willing it to get a signal. He looked back to the road and saw several boulders blocking his way. The excessive rain likely had caused the rockslide. He slammed on the brakes. The car fishtailed as the tires squealed on the pavement. David braced himself, ready to topple down the side of the mountain. Instead, the car spun and slammed into the rocks. The passenger side crumpled in toward him. The impact jarred his phone out of his hand. It clattered to the passenger-side floorboard. The car stopped. He looked out the windshield. Through spiderweb cracks, the great drop-off stared back at him.
    With a clarity that only a near-death experience can bring, David looked around. Adrenaline amplified his senses. The car idled. Nothing knocked in the engine, which was a good thing. He shifted the gears to park and reached to the floorboard for his phone.
    David eased the car into reverse. Metal ground as the car moved against the rocks. When he was sure he could turn without dropping a tire off the side of the road, he put the car in gear and started toward the church. Everything seemed okay. The tires didn’t blow out as he slowly descended the mountain. His brakes held out. The whole way back he kept staring at his phone, hoping for some signal. Now he wanted just enough signal to make a call to the outside world and let someone know where he was. For some reason, despite what God was telling him, the idea of being trapped in Innsboro scared him. No signal appeared.
    As he neared the church, rain began to splatter the windshield. He looked up to turn on the wiper blades and hoped they’d work across the broken windshield. Glowing purple water hit the windshield instead of rain. The entire windshield became a flashing neon sign. David screamed and slammed the brakes. The car pulled to the passenger side, threatening to skid off the road.
    The wipers swiped   the water from the windshield. The glow turned into a fog. The engine shut off. The car sat dead on the side of the road. The violet fog began to sift into the cabin. David still depressed the brake. He shifted the gears to neutral and let off the brake. The car rolled downhill. Without power, the brakes