arm of a woman, calling out for Mommy.
"She's my mom," Chicory said, "look at her face. Mommy. Mommy, it's me. It's Chicory."
"Let her go, Chicory," Ezekiel said, "your Mommy's dead."
The skeleton tried to drag itself forward with Chicory clinging to its hips. After a few moments the woman raised her fist, hit Chicory against the face, and knocked her on the ground. She kept moving forward and soon disappeared up the street. Chicory lay on the ground where she fell, curling her body into a cloister, covering her face and crying.
"Get up, silly girl," Ezekiel said to Chicory, "come on. You're making me miss out on all the fun."
As if in response to Chicory’s cries, lights flickered on all up and down the street. People came out of their houses to search for their dead relatives. They called the names of people we used to know. They ran up and down Edgewater in a heated riot, screaming and setting fires and breaking windows and clinging to once familiar bones. All the while, the dead remained silent.
Chicory continued to cry. Ezekiel shrugged and walked off, leaving the three of us behind.
"See anyone you know?” Jeanine asked.
"No," I said, "not anyone important, I mean."
Chicory picked herself up off the street. Her face looked like a chunk of bone, a hard white shell.
“Hey, are you all right?” Jeanine asked her.
In response Chicory ran off into the night.
Jeanine and I went after Ezekiel. Ahead of us people continued to scream and cry, calling out the names of the people we used to know. We came across decayed faces dropped onto the asphalt, peeled and clawed and distended from the bone, as well as bits of finger bones and leg bones, the clawed away shreds of funeral clothes.
We found Ezekiel in the center of town, standing on the top of a guillotine platform with one of the senior prophets of the Edgewater Prophet Headquarters. Ezekiel pulled speech notes out of his pocket and looked toward the senior prophet, who was leaned up against the guillotine scratching the rusted blade with his fingernails. The man nodded to Ezekiel.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ezekiel said, holding his speech notes up in front of his face, “Welcome to the Edgewater resurrection. We are gathered here today to witness a rare miracle, the pinnacle of our human condition. To join the indestructible army of God is to be made immortal, the greatest honor that any human can ever hope to have bestowed upon them...”
He paused. He lowered the notes from his face and looked out across the nearly empty courtyard.
“Where did everyone go?” he asked.
“Wrap this up for me, will you?” the senior prophet said.
“But I still have six more pages to read,” Ezekiel said.
“I don’t want to hear it. I’m going home,” the prophet said.
After the senior prophet left Ezekiel stuffed the rest of his speech into his jacket pocket.
"They're still chasing those things," Jeanine said, in way of explanation, "pretty pathetic."
He jumped down from the guillotine platform.
"Whatever. I don’t care,” he said, "I’m bored of this.”
Ezekiel left us alone once more in the stark, empty street.
Jeanine turned to me. Her hair her come undone and now lay across her face in uneven streaks. She picked up a dead man's face from the pavement. When she looked at me her eyes were white and wide enough to walk through.
"This is exactly why I'm getting out of this damned town," she said, holding the face out toward me, her thumbs through the empty places where its eyes used to be.
Chapter Eight
I woke one night to Sissy hanging a kitchen knife by a thread directly above my head.
"What are you doing?" I asked, with Sissy's knees pressed into my shoulders and her body stretched over my headboard as she tied the threat knot on the ceiling.
"How come we never see that girl you’re dating?" she asked, "how come you never take her over here?"
"you mean Jeanine?" I asked
"I want to meet her."
“I’m not sure that’s such a good
"She's my mom," Chicory said, "look at her face. Mommy. Mommy, it's me. It's Chicory."
"Let her go, Chicory," Ezekiel said, "your Mommy's dead."
The skeleton tried to drag itself forward with Chicory clinging to its hips. After a few moments the woman raised her fist, hit Chicory against the face, and knocked her on the ground. She kept moving forward and soon disappeared up the street. Chicory lay on the ground where she fell, curling her body into a cloister, covering her face and crying.
"Get up, silly girl," Ezekiel said to Chicory, "come on. You're making me miss out on all the fun."
As if in response to Chicory’s cries, lights flickered on all up and down the street. People came out of their houses to search for their dead relatives. They called the names of people we used to know. They ran up and down Edgewater in a heated riot, screaming and setting fires and breaking windows and clinging to once familiar bones. All the while, the dead remained silent.
Chicory continued to cry. Ezekiel shrugged and walked off, leaving the three of us behind.
"See anyone you know?” Jeanine asked.
"No," I said, "not anyone important, I mean."
Chicory picked herself up off the street. Her face looked like a chunk of bone, a hard white shell.
“Hey, are you all right?” Jeanine asked her.
In response Chicory ran off into the night.
Jeanine and I went after Ezekiel. Ahead of us people continued to scream and cry, calling out the names of the people we used to know. We came across decayed faces dropped onto the asphalt, peeled and clawed and distended from the bone, as well as bits of finger bones and leg bones, the clawed away shreds of funeral clothes.
We found Ezekiel in the center of town, standing on the top of a guillotine platform with one of the senior prophets of the Edgewater Prophet Headquarters. Ezekiel pulled speech notes out of his pocket and looked toward the senior prophet, who was leaned up against the guillotine scratching the rusted blade with his fingernails. The man nodded to Ezekiel.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ezekiel said, holding his speech notes up in front of his face, “Welcome to the Edgewater resurrection. We are gathered here today to witness a rare miracle, the pinnacle of our human condition. To join the indestructible army of God is to be made immortal, the greatest honor that any human can ever hope to have bestowed upon them...”
He paused. He lowered the notes from his face and looked out across the nearly empty courtyard.
“Where did everyone go?” he asked.
“Wrap this up for me, will you?” the senior prophet said.
“But I still have six more pages to read,” Ezekiel said.
“I don’t want to hear it. I’m going home,” the prophet said.
After the senior prophet left Ezekiel stuffed the rest of his speech into his jacket pocket.
"They're still chasing those things," Jeanine said, in way of explanation, "pretty pathetic."
He jumped down from the guillotine platform.
"Whatever. I don’t care,” he said, "I’m bored of this.”
Ezekiel left us alone once more in the stark, empty street.
Jeanine turned to me. Her hair her come undone and now lay across her face in uneven streaks. She picked up a dead man's face from the pavement. When she looked at me her eyes were white and wide enough to walk through.
"This is exactly why I'm getting out of this damned town," she said, holding the face out toward me, her thumbs through the empty places where its eyes used to be.
Chapter Eight
I woke one night to Sissy hanging a kitchen knife by a thread directly above my head.
"What are you doing?" I asked, with Sissy's knees pressed into my shoulders and her body stretched over my headboard as she tied the threat knot on the ceiling.
"How come we never see that girl you’re dating?" she asked, "how come you never take her over here?"
"you mean Jeanine?" I asked
"I want to meet her."
“I’m not sure that’s such a good
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