In the Everglades, deep in the swamps of Mississippi, you can find a structure that’s something between a junkyard and an homage to the Great Wall of China made out of rusted Volkswagen Beetles and other small sedans. This is where I encountered former pastor Thomas Lawerence, who preached at the Wade Baptist Church in Wade, MS. I found him with a handrolled cigarette in his mouth, something scribbled on it burning down slowly, leaving a small wisps hanging in the air, drawing out like his sentences accented by his southern drawl.

You have to understand, first of all, that this is only what happened with our congregation. I can’t speak for religious leaders or churches worldwide, or hell, even nation-wide, but if they were anything like us, there were reasons they were overcome by the dead. Just try not to make assumptions, and don’t let my opinion speak for what’s left of organized religion, or those who fell from it.

*He takes a long drag, eyeing me wearily as he slowly exhales it out*

In those times, before the creatures — let me get this out of the way right now, I’m sorry. I refuse to say “zombie” in reference to the walking dead, I just won’t. There’s too many legends and superstitions from the voodoo people that still wander around here, and they take credit not only for the word “zombie”, but for creating the first ones that caused this whole outbreak in the first place, which we all know is total horse shit, so I just don’t say the word. Anyway, the time we lived in before the walking dead was one of fear already. Our country was in war in the Middle East, and every day there was something new to fear for our lives because of. Whether it was terrorists, or a new strain of the flu, or biological warfare, or that goddamned North Korea threatening to drop a bomb on us, there was always somethin’. So, when a member or two of the congregation would stand up in front of the rest of us, and confess they were worried about the state of the world, and what we should do, my answer was always “Pray, and trust in God.”

That answer worked out pretty well for me up to the point of the outbreak, as no bombs ever fell on us, and Mississippi never experienced any terrorist attacks. The congregation was happy, and I was in the clear for dispensin’ some good ol’, God-fearing, American Christian wisdom. When the outbreak started knockin’ on the door of the US, one of the ladies of our congregation came forward in her Sunday best, and confessed that she was truly scared of what was going to happen, and asked what we as a church were going to do to prepare for the coming apocalypse, how we were going to fortify the church, and if this was God’s judgment. I stood there, blank stares washin’ over me, waiting for my answer. Something burned in my stomach, and the Holy Spirit overtook me.

“This is just the propaganda of liberal communists takin’ over America, tryin’ to corrupt our system and ruin our faith in the good Lord. If ya’ll want to be runnin’ scared of the sins and lies spread by our so-called leaders, then let you leave this town in cowardice. Let the rest of this congregation stand strong together, and unify under the roof of the house of the Lord, and we shall not move, or be scared out of our home. For where the Lord is with us, so we shall stay.”

I sweatin’ under the collar the whole time I was sayin’ it. It was if an angel of the Lord himself was speakin’ through me. The entire congregation rose to their feet and applauded. That Sunday night, we began preparations to meet every night of the week, from then on out, to discover the lies bein’ told to us, and what we as God-fearing Americans could do about it. Everyone brought in food, and we had a magnificent potluck and fellowship every night. The first week went pretty well. Everyone was still on my side, buyin’ in to everything that I was spewin’ out. I have to tell you right now, I believed everything I was sayin’. Honest. I weren’t to believe that I was lyin’ to these good folk for a moment. Not them. They were the salt of the earth.

The second Monday of our daily meetings, that’s when things started seemin’ amiss. We had outta towners rollin’ in big, loud trucks. The tiny main streets through our shops got packed fulla cars, trying to go every which way out of the town. That night, at our meetin’, the congregation was full of yellin’ and fightin’ so fierce, not even I could quell it.

“They’re runnin’! None of it was a lie, they were all right! The dead are walking, and now the town’s so crowded, ain’t none of us gonna be able to make it outta here alive!”

“Let’s hole up! We’ll hold up in the church! We won’t allow any outsiders! We’ll take all the food and water for ourselves.”

“Pastor Thomas.” Now they wanted my attention. “Pastor Thomas, how could you lie to us like this? You said the Lord was on our side! The Lord can’t allow the dead to walk the Earth. Where is the second coming?”

I, of course, had no answers. There was only one thing on my mind from then on, and that was getting the hell outta the town and surviving. While everyone was focused on gathering food and supplies, and trying to barricade the church, I took the opportunity to slip out a window in one of the Sunday school rooms for the children. As I made my way from the church, the outta towners were comin’ in, screamin’ ‘bout how they’d taken all the food, how if there was safety, they were all entitled to it. “Isn’t that the Christian thing to do?” I heard a lot of them say that. They threw bottles with rags in ‘em at the church. Burst it in to flame. Then there was more screamin’. Not the kind of anger, but pain. Panic. People trying to get the children out of windows, adults tryin’ to get out of windows themselves, trampling children. I don’t think any of them made it out alive.

Out in the town itself, the roads were flooded with cars point every which direction. Some were collided in to each other. Some had the trunks popped open, and smears of brown, gross fluid trailed out, and in to the streets. It had already started. There weren’t many of ‘em, but the creatures were already eatin’ the livin’. Blood was staining the sidewalks, sides of buildings, cars. Gunshots could be heard. You always knew who was fightin’ and who was givin’ up. The fighters would climb to roofs, and you’d hear several shots at once. The givers…you just heard one shot.

I made it out of the city limits, away from Wade, and away from Helena. You could still see the fire from the church burnin’ down the road. The swamps of the Everglades extend out here, and this is where I decided to stay.  There weren’t a lot of supplies out there, and I packed out pretty light, having just been responsible for the deaths of an entire congregation and all. It’s been a fight to stay alive, and I’ve done things I wouldn’t necessarily say that I’m proud of. Survival is survival, though. I’ve shot more dead bastards back to death than I care to think about. Shootin’ ‘em ain’t that bad. You know they can’t feel. It’s raidin’ the bodies for anything useful that’s disgustin’. Putrefactin’ smell, and grimy, sticky clothes and pockets, but it was worth it for matches, lighters, water, ammo, hell, I even found a pack of cigs on a guy once. That’s what started me smokin’.

Tobacco’s actually been pretty easy to come by if you know where to look, but it took a long time to figure out where to get the paper to roll ‘em from. I chose the first page very carefully, it took a lot of thought. After several days of mullin’ it over, I smoked my first hand rolled cigarette. The words, “In the beginning” were visible just past the end of my nose. They were the first to burn away. I’ve smoked the whole book of Genesis, and right now I’m working on Revelations. It’s been pretty satisfying to smoke the beginning and the end.