Ortega spoke calmly as we shoved our way through the underbrush. He seemed unaffected by what had happened to Hooper. True, the preacher hadn't known him, but it was just so fucking grisly. He should have had some reaction.
"Corinthians, chapter fifteen, verse twelve, tells us: 'Now if Christ preached that he rose from the dead, how can some of those among you say that there is no resurrection of the dead? But if there is no resurrection of the dead, then is Christ not risen; and if Christ is not risen, then is our preaching in vain, and your faith in vain?' That's always been a favorite verse of mine."
"That's wonderful," Runkle said. "But I don't think any of us are in the mood for a sermon right now. How about you tell us what's been happening here? Who crucified those zombies back there in the woods?"
"I did."
"You?"
"Yes. You see, gentlemen, with the power of the Lord, I can bring people back from the dead. Just as Christ brought back Lazarus; just as our savior was delivered on the cross."
Mitch stopped walking. "You're insane."
"Am I?"
Ortega turned and winked; then he continued on his way. We emerged from the tree line and approached the back end of the warehouse.
"You saw for yourselves," Ortega continued. "Back there in the clearing. You saw them rise. You beheld the mystery. They were asleep-dead-and now they are changed. They live again in death. Christ told us, 'I am the resurrection and the life.' He is working through his faithful, giving the gift of eternal life to all. This is happening all across the world. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed!"
Mitch shook his head in disbelief. "You crucified them by yourself?"
"Well, it wasn't easy. I'm not as young or as strong as I used to be. But the Lord is my strength. My sword and my shield. He gives me the power to do his will."
We approached the chapel door. The preacher reached for the handle, but Runkle stopped him, motioning with his pistol for the man to step aside.
"I'll go first."
Reverend Ortega smiled. "As you wish, young man. This is the Lord's house. All may enter freely. I told your friend the same thing before I administered Communion."
' This was the second time Ortega had mentioned giving Turn Communion. I didn't know Turn very well, but he hadn't seemed like a religious sort. The statement didn't ring true to me.
"What do you mean?" I asked, stepping forward. "What's this Communion shit?"
Ortega frowned. "You aren't familiar with the rite of Holy Communion? It symbolizes Christ's pact with man. He gave us his flesh and shed his blood. It is through his blood that we are born again. It is his blood that's responsible for what you have seen. That's why the dead return to life-because of his blood."
"They're zombies," Tony shouted. "You and your God didn't have anything to do with it. Everybody is coming back from the dead because of a fucking disease. Don't you know that?"
The preacher's expression darkened. "The Lord has shown you proof. He has shown you miracles- the miracle of the resurrection. And still you don't believe. You're just like the first one I crucified. 1 removed his eyes and tongue before I nailed him to the cross. 'If thy eye offends thee, pluck it out. If thy tongue offends thee, cut it out.' Those aren't my words. They're God's. Who am I to disagree?"
Flinching, Runkle shoved the chapel door open. Mitch ran after him. They both shouted for Turn. Meanwhile, Tony and I held Ortega at gunpoint and warned him not to move.
"I'm not going anywhere," the preacher said. "Not until I die. Then I will-"
"Would you shut the fuck up?"
Tony slapped him with the back of his hand. Ortega collapsed to his knees. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His eyes narrowed, and when he spoke again, his kind tone had vanished.
"You struck me. I came to you in peace, ready to share the glory of God, and you greeted me with violence. But you will see that I'm right. Even now, your friend is undergoing the transformation. Christ's blood moves through his veins."
"What are you talking about?" I raised my hand as if to hit him again, and Ortega scuttled backward, whimpering.
"I told you," he whined. "I administered Communion. I gave him the flesh to eat and the blood to drink. The flesh and blood of our Lord. The sacrament. He didn't want to partake, of course. They never do. So I had to force him. 1 clubbed him over the head and then forced it down his throat before he regained consciousness."
I reached down and ripped the collar from around his neck. "Who's blood? Who's flesh? What the hell are you saying?"
"That's where the power comes from-the flesh and the blood of Christ."
Runkle and Mitch came back outside, supporting Turn between them. He looked weak and pale.
"Something's wrong with Turn," Mitch said, sounding worried. "He's really sick."
I flung Ortega to the ground and stood over him, pistol pointed at his face. "Where did you get
"What blood?" Runkle asked. "What's he talking about?"
