Last Days With the Dead by Stephen Charlick Page B

away during the night, never to be heard of again, and later, a few of the younger novices had even been stolen away by the very men they had mistakenly offered sanctuary. Only their Mother Superior, Sister Josephine, had been able to leave them peacefully in her sleep. She had been the first in eight years not to come back, and her death had heralded a new hope for humanity. She had passed over, leaving her body a simple shell at peace with the natural order of things. Thanks to the smallest of God’s miracles, the virus within baby Charlie, had mutated and become airborne, infecting them all with the promise of a final death, and with that true death, they knew life finally had a chance.
    The stubby , smoky, candle she had placed on the altar had done little to push back the cold darkness of the chapel, and as the flame sputtered on some unknown impurities on the wax, Sister Rebecca’s eyes momentarily dropped from the face of the Holy mother.
    ‘Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen .’ She softly prayed, her eyes drifting back up to the carved features as she passed another Rosary bead through her fingers.
    ‘Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou amongst wom…’ suddenly the word froze on Sister Rebecca’s lips, as another woman’s name suddenly came to her.
    ‘No…’ she managed to say, the string of Rosary beads slipping from her grasp to fall to the cold stone floor.
    ‘What is it Rebecca?’ asked Sister Claire, worry and concern etched on her wrinkled features.
    ‘I know who she is,’ Sister Rebecca replied, turning to look at the worried woman next to her, ‘Holy Mother protect us, I know who she is.’
    With that, Sister Rebecca pushed herself up from her knees and gathering up the fabric of her habit, turned and ran down the aisle.
    ‘ You know who ‘who’ is?’ Sister Claire called after her, as Sister Rebecca reached the large carved wooden doors of the Chapel.
    ‘Hide in the storage room, Claire ,’ Sister Rebecca answered, ‘I’ve got to warn them.’
    And with that , Sister Rebecca had pulled open the heavy door and disappeared into the darkness.
    She knew she had to get to Patrick or Phil as soon as possible and tell them just who Lissa really was , but as she turned a corner, she suddenly caught sight of movement in the dark shadows further along the hall and froze. Pressing herself tight against the wall, Sister Rebecca threw a prayer to the Saints that the darkness would hide her presence, and as she held her breath, she watched the dark form slowly move down the corridor and disappear round the corner. With her heart thumping in her chest, she forced herself to wait, hoping to put some distance between whoever the shadowy form had been and her. When she thought she had waited long enough, Sister Rebecca edged her way slowly along the wall to the end of the hallway. After a nervous glance in the direction that the shadow had gone, she threw herself away from the wall and ran to the small stone staircase that led up to the sleeping cells.
    When she reached the top, she paused briefly by the window, listening for any more movement in the dark. With no sounds but the heavy thumping of her own heart coming to her, Sister Rebecca bolted to the room she knew Patrick shared with Helen and their baby.
    ‘Patrick ,’ she cried, banging franticly on the door, ‘Patrick, open the door!’
    Almost instantly, she heard movement from within the room and as the sound of a crying baby began, Patrick threw open the door, a length of metal pipe already in his hand.
    ‘What is it, Sister?’ he asked, panting as the surge of adrenalin from being woken by her cries pumped through his body.
    ‘We’re in danger, Patrick . She’s been lying to us,’ Sister Rebecca said, the relief bringing tears to her eyes.
    ‘Who ,’ asked Helen, standing in the shadows behind Patrick with Jasmine in her arms? ‘Who’s been lying to