After the apocalypse what rises from the ashes

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Western Pennsylvania

“Consuming sinner and saint alike... who shall be lifted up to rapture when the judgment trumpet blows? None but the faithful brothers and sisters... None but the faithful.” The Preacher raises his figure as if passing judgement over those gathered before him.

“When Reverend?” The woman asks frightfully.

The Reverend looks up from, his glasses removed. His right eye a burnt mass of flesh, “Ma’am?”

“The day of reckoning. How far off?”

“Soon Ma’am... Soon” He lifts a small jar from the table, the object he had previously been peering at, “The Lord will give me a sign.” Inside a small piece of the creature moves.

Time had not been kind to Reverend Meeker. For over two decades the Reverend roamed Appalachia preaching about the end times, waiting for the Lord’s “sign.” His gatherings were always small. A handful of
well meaning but fearful folks hoping for Salvation flocked to hear the words of the mad Reverend. He lived hand to mouth, relying on what meager offerings his poor followers would deposit in the collection plate. Always he remained ready to unleash the Lord’s judgment. All he needed was the sign. Then the dead began to walk the Earth.

June 1st, 2016. West Virginia

His hair long since fallen out, his glasses lost trying to escape the gaping maws of flesh eating zombies. His old body growing weaker by the day. But still he preaches. “The end times are upon us! The Lord has cast his judgement. The Gates of Hell have closed. Hell hath spillith over!” Spittle flies from the Reverend’s mouth as he works himself into a frenzy of rage. Shaking his dirt stained finger at the few people gathered in his church cowering in fear, fear of the undead and fear of the Reverend. These people came here hoping for sanctuary. They are starving, thirsty, and all close to death. They have spent the last seven years fighting day in and day out to survive. To not die. Now they quake under the glare of Reverend Meeker. He provides them just enough rations to stave off death. Just enough to make them dependent on him. Just enough to keep them under his influence. His roaring voice always drawing the attention of the undead, bringing them banging on the doors until he choses to eliminate THEM. They have watched as, rifle in one hand, container in the other, he throws open the doors and lays waste upon those unclean filth that roam the ever growing wastelands. “HE has cast judgment!” His finger jabs up towards the heavens, it’s cracked and yellow nail piercing the air. “JUDGEMENT!” He lifts the container that remains by his side at all time. Long ago he placed the creature in a more secure vessel one worthy of containing the Lord’s reckoning. The crowd gasps. No one knows what exactly the blob behind the glass is, what they do know is that it reacts to the Reverend’s words. Violently. “Hell hath Spillith over! Perhaps now the Lord wants me to cleanse the planet. To disinfect it of this vile plague. To destroy the army of Satan! I alone can do it! I alone stand as the right hand of the one and only true God!”


"O, woe be the day the enemy descends, mourn we will, for the sake of all that's holy in this universe....

... 'cause the Alley Viper Corps is gonna fuck it ALL up!" - NFC

August 23, 2016 at 11:38 AM Flag Quote & Reply

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