Turner hid in the shadows and took it all in. He remembered the times before things got so far out of hand. He thought about when the people were actually people, and there were so many more of them. When his nerves could take no more, he slid back deeper into the dark and thought. These days, he found himself doing a lot of thinking.
The screaming had stopped and he heard Them slurping away at the woman, the one who was screaming. Soon enough she'd be lumbering along right beside them, looking for other people, maybe looking for him. That is unless They were really hungry, and if that were the case... Turner didn't want to think any harder on it than that.
It used to be that They only seemed to come out when it was dark. That was when there were more people. Now, that didn't seem to matter, day or night. Now, nothing really seemed to matter. Turner used to live a good life, and he never once took that for granted. Now, being alive as Turner was, would have to be good enough.
He tried to think about how this whole mess began. It was impossible to say who lit that first fire... because it was burning long before he was born. It was burning long before his parents, and their parents were born as well. Turner guessed it came to be in simpler times. The people had questions they could not answer. They needed simple explanations to satisfy their ignorance of how everything worked. Those fantastical stories they told had to be the start of it, he mused.
He was getting hungry, and thinking it was time to get back so he could prepare something to eat. Turner knew that if you didn't draw attention to yourself, and did not get too close, you were usually safe. With that thought he shook his head. No, I don't know... this is just how it appears. Still he felt fairly confident in this assumption.
Turner had been a shut-in his whole life. He felt socially awkward around people. He did not do well in crowds. He did not like being the center of attention, and he always kept to himself. The irony of him needing to leave the safety of his home now, after the shit had truly hit the fan put a smile on his face. He just couldn't stand being cooped up there like that. He crept out of the shadows, and trying to be inconspicuous he headed for home.
They were on both sides of the sidewalk, so he walked down the middle of the road. None of them were on the street. It was like part of their brain remembered the way things used to be. Only now there were no cars crowding out the streets... none that were moving anyways. On the way he thought more about how this mess just might have started.
They had their stories, explanations which were spun out of thin air. Something to appease themselves, and satisfy their curiosities. Time moved on and necessities arose. People began asking questions, and the spook stories began.
He ate in silence. He basically did everything in silence. This was no different than the times before the infections. He wondered if there were any more like him. The woman earlier was the first he had seen in a long time. If he saw her again, walking, he'd know if she was one of them...one of the believers.
The spook stories kept people in line. Insubordinate behavior promised great suffering in life and death. For a long time this was enough.
Turner thought of his parents, and for once was glad they were long gone. Like himself, neither were believers. However, he was glad none the less they were spared these harsh times. He thought how it would of killed his mother, and smiled wryly at his pun.
This wasn't like any movie he had seen. They never truly died, they just got infected and became. It spread like wild fire among the believers. He spoke softly to himself, "You did this...to yourself."
They created a perfect human. Their inability to behave in his manner was the first real downfall. They put words into his mouth, and changed them to suit their needs. They spoke of love and practiced hate. When their hatred of any non conformists got too much to bear, things began to sour. Then they started fighting among themselves. Turner nodded to himself. That's when this really began. It was like the bloodshed and hate made this thing gain a life of its own. Once it started living on its own terms, the believers lost control of it, and themselves.
The news barely had time to report the incidents as everything went down so fast. Whole parishes became infected and filed out to spread the word. To spread the disease. Back then...when they could still speak, they'd preach the word and hand out flyers. It seemed to Turner there were more believers than he had thought. People like him were immune.
Once it started living on its own terms, the believers lost control of it, and themselves. Then a relatively harmless scarecrow became something deadly and infectious...
Turner could not bring himself to believe he was the only sane and well person left. By now though surely all the believers had caught the disease.
They spoke of "Love Thy Neighbor", but did not practice it. They spoke of "hate the sin"...but hated the sinner as well. They spoke of an undying unconditional love which they could not give. The spoke of an End of Days, and a Hell on Earth, and they got their wish. Turner thinking aloud said, "Be careful what you believe in."
Three days later Turner was reassured he was not the last of the non believers. He saw a car which contained two women and a man. To his relief, they were like him. Meanwhile, they spied him on the street and took him for what he was, one of them. As he climbed in the backseat he regarded Reverend Jones and his parishioners. They were shambling on the sidewalks with no one left to convert. As they took off to the others he thought to himself, it's good to be an Atheist.
