between her fists and pulled and pulled until the ground turned bald.
“Stop please,” Chicory kept repeating, her voice muffled underneath him, “let’s go back.”
Ezekiel couldn’t speak. Strained, burbling noises hit the back of his throat. The shiny sphere in the back of his head glowed so bright and so hot I thought it might peel back all the layers of his skull.
Down in the field the machines spewed a flash of fire into the darkness. The miasma cleared. The soil squirmed and a mass of dirty white material shot up out of the ground. It writhed in the air, tumbled the soil underneath it until the ground itself seemed to be alive. But soon the dirty white was given definition, the soil receded. They were bones of our dead.
As they pulled themselves up out of the soil those bones spit out their teeth and straightened their spines. They uncurled their clutching fingers. Their stiffened stomachs unfurled, their arms and legs rolled out from their sides and smacked the dirt. Silent, they filed past us and marched out of the machine fields toward Edgewater.
Ezekiel stopped convulsing and Chicory uncoiled herself from his limbs. He gripped her wrist but she kicked away from him.
“Get off of me!” Chicory cried, but Ezekiel had already let go of her wrist and wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. He tilted his head back toward the fields and laughed.
"Isn't that something?" he said, "Look at what God did. Look at what I did."
The dead filtered out of the machine fields in stark white rows as Ezekiel lay in the grass and laughed and laughed. As they approached us the fog peeled from their faces and revealed in detail all the empty spaces between their bones, the sockets of their elbows and knees pulled apart in an invisible suspension. As they got close Chicory was the first to recognize them.
"I know that girl. That's Reverend Elli's sister." Chicory said, as a creature wearing a black funeral dress dragged herself past us. "And look over there, that's Jenny Sikes. You know, the crazy English teacher that had sex with all those underage girls. God, she walked like she was dead even while she was still alive."
Chicory was right - these were people who had died in Edgewater in the last twenty years, maybe even longer. I found myself searching for the face of my father.
"I think I saw my parents up there," Chicory said, "Didn't you see them?”
Before Ezekiel or I could tell her to stop, she ran ahead of us and disappeared into the folds of the marching dead. Ezekiel and I trailed behind.
"Where is she going?" I asked him.
"I have no idea what that girl's doing," he said, “come on, let’s follow them out. God tells me they're going to the capitol,” Ezekiel said.
"For what?"
"Why, to join God's army and go kill heathens and heretics of course," Ezekiel said, and he smiled a big, bloody, dinner steak smile.
We left the machine fields behind and followed the path the dead made through Edgewater. I called out Chicory’s name several times. No answer.
“Stop worrying about that girl,” Ezekiel said, “she’s fine.”
We walked past the derelict houses and chiaroscuro streets of the night, past the closed shops, the monster holes and preaching zones and blood spattered execution platforms. They dead always stayed a step ahead of us.
We passed Jeanine's house. Jeanine sat outside on the porch in a pink nightie, her black lion’s hair pinned to the back of her neck. She smoked a cigarette with insomnia cracking her eyes. When the dead passed her house in their silent formation she raised the cigarette to her lips without a moment’s hesitation, or surprise. Then she saw me and Ezekiel. Ezekiel waved at her. She stubbed her cigarette out on the porch balustrade and walked out into the street toward us.
"What's going on?" she asked me.
"Ezekiel raised the dead," I said.
“Again?” she asked.
We continued walking. Jeanine followed us. We found Chicory up the street, tugging on the desiccated
“Stop please,” Chicory kept repeating, her voice muffled underneath him, “let’s go back.”
Ezekiel couldn’t speak. Strained, burbling noises hit the back of his throat. The shiny sphere in the back of his head glowed so bright and so hot I thought it might peel back all the layers of his skull.
Down in the field the machines spewed a flash of fire into the darkness. The miasma cleared. The soil squirmed and a mass of dirty white material shot up out of the ground. It writhed in the air, tumbled the soil underneath it until the ground itself seemed to be alive. But soon the dirty white was given definition, the soil receded. They were bones of our dead.
As they pulled themselves up out of the soil those bones spit out their teeth and straightened their spines. They uncurled their clutching fingers. Their stiffened stomachs unfurled, their arms and legs rolled out from their sides and smacked the dirt. Silent, they filed past us and marched out of the machine fields toward Edgewater.
Ezekiel stopped convulsing and Chicory uncoiled herself from his limbs. He gripped her wrist but she kicked away from him.
“Get off of me!” Chicory cried, but Ezekiel had already let go of her wrist and wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. He tilted his head back toward the fields and laughed.
"Isn't that something?" he said, "Look at what God did. Look at what I did."
The dead filtered out of the machine fields in stark white rows as Ezekiel lay in the grass and laughed and laughed. As they approached us the fog peeled from their faces and revealed in detail all the empty spaces between their bones, the sockets of their elbows and knees pulled apart in an invisible suspension. As they got close Chicory was the first to recognize them.
"I know that girl. That's Reverend Elli's sister." Chicory said, as a creature wearing a black funeral dress dragged herself past us. "And look over there, that's Jenny Sikes. You know, the crazy English teacher that had sex with all those underage girls. God, she walked like she was dead even while she was still alive."
Chicory was right - these were people who had died in Edgewater in the last twenty years, maybe even longer. I found myself searching for the face of my father.
"I think I saw my parents up there," Chicory said, "Didn't you see them?”
Before Ezekiel or I could tell her to stop, she ran ahead of us and disappeared into the folds of the marching dead. Ezekiel and I trailed behind.
"Where is she going?" I asked him.
"I have no idea what that girl's doing," he said, “come on, let’s follow them out. God tells me they're going to the capitol,” Ezekiel said.
"For what?"
"Why, to join God's army and go kill heathens and heretics of course," Ezekiel said, and he smiled a big, bloody, dinner steak smile.
We left the machine fields behind and followed the path the dead made through Edgewater. I called out Chicory’s name several times. No answer.
“Stop worrying about that girl,” Ezekiel said, “she’s fine.”
We walked past the derelict houses and chiaroscuro streets of the night, past the closed shops, the monster holes and preaching zones and blood spattered execution platforms. They dead always stayed a step ahead of us.
We passed Jeanine's house. Jeanine sat outside on the porch in a pink nightie, her black lion’s hair pinned to the back of her neck. She smoked a cigarette with insomnia cracking her eyes. When the dead passed her house in their silent formation she raised the cigarette to her lips without a moment’s hesitation, or surprise. Then she saw me and Ezekiel. Ezekiel waved at her. She stubbed her cigarette out on the porch balustrade and walked out into the street toward us.
"What's going on?" she asked me.
"Ezekiel raised the dead," I said.
“Again?” she asked.
We continued walking. Jeanine followed us. We found Chicory up the street, tugging on the desiccated
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