The Countertenor Wore Garlic (The Liturgical Mysteries) (11 page)

The final chords garnered rousing applause, but Nancy was already leaning over the organ console.

"You've got to get out of here and see what's going on in the park.
Quick!
"

Chapter 7

When we walked out of the church, the sun had already dropped behind the mountain ridges. Sunset, according to the weather service, was at 6:27 PM, but that doesn't take into account the peaks that surrounded St. Germaine. The sun disappears a good thirty minutes before actual sunset. We'd lose an hour when we went off Daylight Saving Time—something that would happen at 2 AM Sunday morning—and the town would start to darken at five o'clock. So at 6:30, dusk had long passed and it was almost dark. The streetlights around the square were on, of course, and although the carnival was over and the booths were closed, most of the shops were still lit, happy to offer the trick-or-treaters a handout as they came dashing by in their attempt to get to as many stores as they could before forging ahead into the nearby neighborhoods. But, it wasn't the slew of kids around the edge of the park who were commanding my attention.

At the south end of the park, in front of Eden Books, was a long black limousine surrounded by scores of vampires, or rather
hundreds
of teenaged girls adorned in what might be termed "Vampire Gothic." Blood-vial jewelry, white makeup, fangs, black outfits, and tattoos (both real and press-on) were the order of the evening. The bookstore was full since the ones inside didn't want to leave, and the overflow was starting to chatter angrily out on the sidewalk.

At the north end of the park, between the Slab Café and St. Barnabas Church, were hundreds of zombies, all walking around stiff-legged with their arms stuck out like Frankenstein's monster. They were dressed in rags, old torn clothes, hats—whatever they could find—and made up with hideous gashes, scars, and bleeding wounds of every description. Some had rubber zombie masks and gloves, but most of the costumes were handmade and scarier for it. From what we could tell, they weren't talking at all. Just grunting and slathering.

I looked at Nancy, a puzzled expression on my face.

"I caught Jeremy Calloway, of the New Fellowship Baptist kids, and asked him what was going on," she said. "You know what a flashmob is?"

I shook my head.

Nancy sniffed in consternation. "You should really keep up, Hayden. It's a large group of people that form for some pointless activity for a brief period and then disperse."

"Is that what this is?" I asked.

"Sort of," replied Nancy. "This is a zombie-walk. It's like a flashmob except everyone dresses up like zombies."

"This is normal activity?" I asked. "People do this?"

"Not old people like you," said Nancy. "Young people."

"Should we be worried?"

Nancy hesitated, narrowed her eyes, and gauged the situation. "I don't know yet," she said. "Maybe."

"Well, it's particularly appropriate for Halloween, I suppose," I said, waving to Pete Moss who'd come out of the Slab Café to see what was going on.

"Yep," she agreed. "It seems that one of the New Fellowship kids—you know, 'The Zombies of Easter'—put it on Facebook. It went viral and didn't take long for every kid in Watauga County to put on their zombie-wear and head for St. Germaine."

"How many?" I asked.

"Probably three hundred by now and more every minute. I checked the Facebook announcement. The zombie-walk was scheduled for 6:30, but they started showing up about fifteen minutes ago."

"I don't suppose that Brother Denny or Danny or whatever his name is, is taking responsibility."

"Nope. I called him. He doesn't have any salvation tracts left and he's decided to go home and not answer the door. He handed the tracts out to the NFB kids. They were supposed to go door to door behind the trick-or-treaters, give them to whoever answered, and invite them to church."

"Is anyone in charge of these zombies?"

"That's the thing about a flashmob or a zombie-walk," said Nancy. "There is no one in charge. It's performance art. They're sort of like birds, you know? Flocking behavior. They move together, but no one is leading them."

As if in response to Nancy's explanation, the mob suddenly stopped milling aimlessly and began to shamble slowly and methodically in rhythm. The vampires glared at them.

Dr. Ian Burch, PhD, appeared beside us, having just exited the church. "I enjoyed your playing," he said, "but I wish you would have included more quartal progressions utilizing the lowered 4th and 7th tones in the tertiary modal harmonizations. It might have given a more authentic Romanian feel to the 'motif of longing' that you kept reiterating whenever the heroine appeared on the screen."

"Ian," I said, "I don't even know what that means."

"Have you seen Flori Cabbage?" he asked, surveying the park. "She texted me during the movie that she had something important to tell me. I texted her back to meet me here after the movie."

"Nope," I answered.

"I think she wants tomorrow off. She's been taking quite a few days off lately. As her employer, I shall not be happy to grant her request."

"Yeah," said Nancy, her eyes glued to the park and obviously not interested in Dr. Ian Burch's musings.

"She might still be at the bookstore," Ian continued. "She enjoys those vampire stories." He shuddered. "She might not want to give up her position in the line."

"My God," said Nancy, looking at Dr. Burch and wrinkling her nose. "What's that smell?"

"That smell is garlic," said Ian without apology. He held up a string of garlic bulbs that he'd hung around his neck. "If you must know, I am quite superstitious and I have a particular thing about vampires. I do not like them. Not one bit."

Nancy's eyes widened. "You... believe in them?" she asked, taking a step back.

"I do," replied Ian. He pointed to the multitude of vampirey youths in front of Eden Books. "They're not all real, of course, but there are those that are, I assure you. I expect that, within that group, there are those that wouldn't mind a taste of virgin blood."

"That's why you're wearing garlic?" said Nancy. "You're a virgin?"

"Do not mock me," said Ian Burch, his nasally voice rising even higher than usual. He held some sort of wooden Renaissance instrument, cylindrical and about five inches in length, and gave it a startling honk.

"Good Lord," said Pete as he walked up. He stuck a finger in one ear and pretended to clean it out. "What the heck's going on?"

"This is a
racket,
" said Ian Burch, PhD.

"It certainly is," said Nancy.

Ian ignored her. "According to ancient legend, vampires cannot abide its sound."

"Me, neither," said Nancy. "Does that make me a vampire?"

Nancy's snide comments didn't seem to bother Ian and he was happy to hold his prize aloft and continue the music lesson. "I ordered this one last week. The common name is the racket, but it's also know as the
wurstfaggot.
The sausage-bassoon."

"Unfortunate name," said Pete. "And an unfortunate sound. No wonder vampires don't like it." He pointed toward the crowd of zombies. "So what's all this about?"

"Zombie-Walk," I said. "It's a Flashbomb Facemob. Don't you know anything about today's youth?"

"Apparently not," said Pete as he gazed across the sea of undead. "I didn't even know about a wurstfaggot. By the way, how did your movie go?"

"It went well, I think. Although I missed an opportunity to bedazzle the crowd with some tertiary modal whatchamacallits."

Ian sniffed his displeasure.

"Sorry to have missed it," said Pete, "but we were swamped. Those zombies eat a lot of fries." He sniffed the air, stared at Ian for a moment, then decided to ignore the obvious question concerning his bouquet. Instead, he pointed at the horde that had suddenly turned south and was shuffling toward the other end of the park. "Where are they off to?"

"Uh-oh," said Nancy. "Looks like they're ambling toward the bookstore.
Now,
we should be worried."

***

The movie crowd had all exited the church and I expect they were rather stunned to see four hundred zombies converging on an equal number of vampires in Sterling Park. I looked for Meg, then remembered that she was staying to help the Altar Guild clean up for the service on Sunday. Still, if she missed this, she'd never forgive me. I reached out and stopped one of the small Power Rangers that was dashing by.

"You there!" I said. "Mighty Morphing Power Ranger. Would you do something for me? It's police business."

The kid, a boy I think, looked startled, but nodded.

"Go into the church and find Mrs. Konig. You know who she is?"

The Red Power Ranger nodded his affirmation.

I pointed toward the red doors of St. Barnabas. "Run inside and tell her that the chief says to come out. Can you do that?"

The Power Ranger said something unintelligible through his mask, but made a dash for the church doors.

"Shouldn't you arrest them?" asked Dr. Burch.

"They haven't done anything illegal," said Nancy, "but it might get dicey if they try to storm the bookstore. There are a bunch of bad-tempered vampires. I guess they don't like waiting their turn."

I nodded toward the south end of the park. "They're moving fairly slowly. Let's go around the square and form a thin blue line between the vampires and the zombies. I doubt they'll shuffle through a police presence. Pete, you're hereby deputized."

Meg and Bud McCollough appeared on the steps of the church.

Bud was looking at his phone, then he quickly surveyed the scene. "Oh no!" he said loudly, panic evident in his voice. "Elphina!" He took off into the crowd of zombies without another thought and disappeared from view.

"C'mon," I said. "Let's go."

"Do I get a gun?" said Pete, following us down the sidewalk. "I'm pretty sure I need a gun."

Pirate Moosey, still adorned with boils and flies and dragging his feet just a bit—either due to his exhaustion at racing from shop to shop around the town square or the effects of the plague—spotted Meg outside the church and summoned enough energy to dash up the steps. He opened his paper sack for her to appreciate his collected booty. I saw her pull him close, take his bag, and whisper something into his ear. Then they vanished from sight as the three of us turned and set off across the park ahead of the zombies—intent on stopping their progress short of the vampires.

"Who's Elphina?" asked Nancy.

"Bud's girlfriend," I answered. "Occasional waitress at the Ginger Cat."

"Skinny girl? Wears black? Rose tattoo on her neck?"

"That's the one. Elphina is her vampire name. Her real name is Mary Edith Lumpkin."

"I can see why she prefers to be known as Elphina," said Pete. "I know her mother. Toy Lumpkin. Nasty woman."

"You dated her, didn't you?" said Nancy.

"Well, sure," said Pete absently. "She's a sexpot, there's no denying that. But one date, then the stalking began." He eyed the zombie hoard nervously. "I really need a gun."

"Sheesh," said Nancy, hiking up her belt and resigning herself to the inevitable. "I've seen this movie a hundred times and it never ends well for the highly attractive police woman."

***

Facing the zombie flashmob, Nancy, Pete and I stood shoulder to shoulder in the park directly across the street in front of Eden Books like something out of an old western. The vampires were still milling behind us, but staying in their line. They were afraid, I supposed, of giving up their place and hence the chance to have Salena Mercer sign their copy of her latest novel in the
Nimbus
series—the one, according to Pauli Girl, in which the heroine, Swanella Liberty, joins Esau's vampire clan as they face the final battle against Tendril and the coven of sexy were-rats.

The zombies had reached the gazebo and the sea of horrible faces parted as the assemblage slowly surrounded and engulfed the structure, then continued advancing methodically toward the bookstore, their hands outstretched in the customary pose of the undead, and grunts of "Uuurrrrgh" echoing across the lawn. I didn't see Bud. He'd been swallowed up by the crowd. Not literally, I hoped.