12. The Bishop’s Departure

The Omega Protocol: a Cold War conspiracy theory; a Catholic contingency plan to push along Armageddon should it arrive too leisurely.

The data in Oliver’s archives claim 700 hydrogen bombs buried all over the world that are connected through a closed, self-sustaining network. Six devout orders (one on each of the six habitable continents) covertly keep a key to their assigned Omega Locks. Once all six are engaged, the Pope in Rome turns his own key — the seventh key — and all 700 thermonuclear devices detonate simultaneously. The blasts, the fallout, and the nuclear winter that follow sterilize the planet for Christ.

Here in North America — in my little valley in Pennsylvania — my twin cousin, Bishop William Alexander Gray, was preparing to retrieve the Crimson Confession’s key and do his part to usher in the real end to everything.

Maybe.

It was nearly sunrise when Kyle, Betty, and I emerged from Oliver’s basement. As we walked down the block to return to our homes, Betty and Kyle whisper-argued about how real the Omega Protocol might be. I stared at the camp of the Crimson Confession. A light burned inside my cousin’s golden monstrosity of a shelter.

“Alright,” Kyle yawned when we reached my driveway, “I’m going to get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Betty sighed, “I need to check on Liam. Jack? Jack?”

I hadn’t stopped staring at William’s tent. “Yeah, okay” I said.

I followed Betty into the house but stopped at the hall tree near the front door. I grabbed my weapons belt off its hook and strapped it to my hips. I pulled my 1911 from the holster, chambered a round, and then replaced it without snapping down the thumb break. After shifting the scabbard for my Ka-Bar into a confident position, I smiled at my wife and reopened the door.

“What are you doing?” Betty gawked.

“Fuck it,” I said. “I’m just going to ask him.”

“What?” Betty gasped. “Are you crazy?”

I patted the breast pocket of my jacket and smirked, “I have my radio.”

“Jack!”

I ignored her pleas and marched across the street. Two knights blocked me at the entrance to William’s tent.

“I wish to see the Bishop,” I declared loud enough that my cousin would hear me.

“Let him enter,” William said from within.

“He’s armed,” said one of the knights.

“So am I,” answered my cousin.

The guards stepped aside and I entered. William was reading on his cot. I sat on a nearby tufted chair and lit a cigarette. I held out another and invited him to join me. William sat up, took the cigarette, and placed it between his lips. He leaned into my lighter and I asked, “So where is your Omega Lock?”

William pushed the smoke out of his nose and said, “The letter from The Holy Father claimed that five keys have already been turned. So that just leaves mine. Once engaged, and once His Holiness turns his key, there will be less than an hour before detonation, before 700 holy weapons cleanse this world. A 50 megaton hydrogen bomb annihilates everything within a 25-mile radius. You are within ten miles of the local one beneath my Omega Lock. Do you want to have this last day with your family, or do you wish them to mourn you before they are vaporized?”

I rested my left hand on the pommel of my knife.

William smiled.

The sunrise crept through the flaps and vents of the tent.

“Go ahead, Jack,” William said. “Draw your blade and plunge it into my heart. Unholster your pistol and put a bullet between my eyes. My knights will strike you down and your sacrifice won’t matter. I told you when I arrived that these men are my most trusted. Each of them knows the mission. Each of them knows the location of the lock. Any and all of them will see this charge to completion. We cannot be stopped. Not by you or any man. And not by any unholy monsters. God will not allow us to fail. He has made us — as a whole — invincible.”

An air horn echoed through the neighborhood and the radio in my pocket squealed to life, “All Ears; Sentry East. We got sprinters! Six — no — seven of them. They’re fast.”

William followed me outside.

“Sprinters?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I nodded, “sometime they’re... Why do you look so confused? Never mind. Drop these tents and pull back to the street, to behind the breastwork.”

“Gray House; Sentry East. Jack, I hope you’re up. I’m guessing the monsters smell those horses, because they’re making a beeline for the Bishop’s camp. I estimate contact in about four minutes.”

I pulled the radio from my jacket and replied, “Roger that.”

I squinted against the rising sun and saw the zombies running toward my position. They would indeed cover the half-mile breadth of the killing field in just a few moments. Then I noticed the trees along the river bank. Their leaves were gold and orange and red, and everything in that moment felt more absurd than ever.

“Knights,” William bellowed, “to arms! To horse!”

“To horse?” I laughed. “You’re going to meet them in the field?”

William was brought his pale stallion and saber. He slung the blade over his back and mounted the horse. “We will dispatch these demons,” William declared, “so you may have your last day and I may be finished with God’s work.”

William commanded his horse into a trot. His knights formed around him, rifles at the ready. William drew his saber and ordered a cavalry charge toward the seven attacking zombies.

I walked back toward my house. Betty was on the balcony behind the machine gun. Liam was next to her prepping ammo cans.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Betty yelled.

“Solving a problem,” I answered. “Liam, will you bring my rifle, bandolier, and binoculars to the front porch?”

“You got it, Dad,” Liam saluted.

I climbed onto my porch and sat in one of the wicker rockers. Kyle jogged across my driveway, AK-47 in hand, and sat next to me.

“Didn’t you tell him?” Kyle asked.

“I tried,” I said.

“You don’t seem too worried about it,” Kyle frowned.

“Don’t go soft on me now,” I said.

Liam opened the front door and handed me all I had requested.

“Thank you,” I said, “now go help your mother.”

I handed my rifle and bandolier to Kyle and said, “Load this, please.”

Through the binoculars, I watched William and his cavalry engage the monsters about 200 yards from the street. Perhaps three dozen shots were fired before five of the knights were tackled from their saddles. The others tried to reform the line. Knight and horse fell. Their screams and whinnies echoed through the crisp autumn air. William somehow extricated himself and hobbled toward my house. Behind him, the zombies shredded and consumed their kills. When I deemed my cousin far enough away from the carnage, I keyed my radio and said, “Light it up.”

The M2 on my balcony fired. Far up the street, its sister gun came to life. Tracers streaked through the air in bursts. Die, motherfucker, die! That’s how Walter had taught us. Push the trigger down for no longer than it takes to say, “Die, motherfucker, die!” Release. Take a breath. Do it again. The ravenous zombies, the fallen priests, the tattered horses: all were pulverized by volleys of .50 caliber rounds.

I pushed talk on my radio, “Hold fire. Hold fire. Standby.”

The guns went silent. I focused my binoculars on the pile of zombie, human, and equine remains. There was no movement.

“Targets destroyed,” I said into the walkie-talkie. “Sentry East, advise.”

“All Ears; Sentry East. We’re clear. I repeat. All clear.”

I lowered my binoculars. Maimed as he was, William had managed to crawl, limp, and stumble his way out of the killing field. He squeezed past the breastwork and collapsed onto the street in front of my house.

Kyle moved to follow me; I shook my head no. He rested my rifle and bandolier on the rocking chair and returned to his own porch. As I approached my mangled cousin, I held up my hands to the gathering neighbors. The crowd stayed back.

“Jack,” William pleaded when I knelt beside him, “Jack, you have to!”

He seemed more blood than flesh. An open chest wound gurgled as he spoke.

“Jack!” he grabbed my arm. “It’s mercy, Jack. End the suffering.”

I bent closer to William and whispered, “Where is the Omega Lock?”

He cried out, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”

Blood gushed from William’s mouth. His eyes rolled back into his head. His grasp on my arm relented. His chest wound stopped gurgling.

I stood up. Betty joined me.

“Is that it?” she asked quietly. “Game over?”

“Not quite,” I said as I stared down at my cousin’s corpse. “Now we go retrieve the key and destroy it. Tonight.”