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Reverend Loki stood on the steps of the First Baptist Church of Meadowtown. It was a hot, steamy July morning and with the exception of the cicada's making their machine - like mating calls, it was quiet, dead quiet. Of course with his church out in the woods of Southern New Jersey, quiet was a constant, but never on a Sunday. He looked out on the dirt road, buffeted on either side by stately scrub pines, but saw no signs of cars, no dust rising in the distance to herald the arrival of the devoted. He checked his watch; it was five minutes after eight. The church was usually filled by this time on Sunday mornings. He could not understand what the problem was.

The bridge, he concluded, the blasted bridge must be out. It was the only way to his small church. You had to cross the old wooden gangplank that covered Honeysuckle creek just off the highway, and of course you had to hope that the main road was not having some kind of work done to it, or that an accident was not diverting traffic.

Heaven knows he had petitioned the county to replace the bridge several times, or to put in a new road, but to no avail. Sure, they would bend over backwards to accommodate a new shopping mall or fast food restaurant, but to assist a man of god? Well, there was no money in that now was there?

Peeking once more to the left, past the wild morning glory vine that covered the railing, and still not seeing anything, he stepped back into his church, past the framed photos that hung in the vestibule of the last tent revival, past the photos of him and Doctor Jerry Falwell, past the photos of his congregation during their march on Washington protesting gay rights, and into the chapel proper. Stained glass windows made rainbow images on the floor of the hall of worship. He strolled to the left of the altar, and walked into his office. Picking up the phone, he dialed Mrs. Culligan. She was always the first to arrive on Sundays. Perhaps she knew what was going on. He dialed then held the receiver to his ear and a prerecorded voice said, "The number you have reached is temporarily out of service, please try again later". He shook his head, hanging up The poor thing, he thought, she must have forgotten to pay the phone company last month. He dialed several other parishioners and got the same-recorded announcement. He hung up the phone perplexed.

The night before, he had spent at the church fasting and praying, a ritual he had been doing for years. No television or radio ever on the weekends, that was his motto. Now, hating himself for backsliding, but hoping that god would take in to consideration his concerns, he turned on the small transistor radio that sat on top of his filing cabinet. He found static on most of the stations but at the top of the dial he discovered a broadcast…

… at first, he did not understand what he was hearing. Was this a hoax? Maybe someone was pulling another, "War of the Worlds". He switched to another station and heard similar things. Reports coming in from all over the world, reporters saying unbelievable things …as the messages continued, the reverend fell to his knees … he prayed as details were broadcast into the office … he wept as he learned that somehow, for some unknown reason, the newly dead were rising, and not only that, they were cannibalizing the living … he wept as he learned of martial law …he wept as he heard tale after tale of unspeakable horrors befalling mankind … he wept as he learned of world wide chaos … he wept as he heard that the scientific community was befuddled over the cause of this phenomena … he wept.

He wept with joy.

It was judgment day, praise Jesus, the tribulations have come, and he was going to witness it, praise be, the sinners were going to pay and the righteous would be triumphant!

Suddenly Reverend Bartholomew Loki was filled with joy, the Holy Ghost had taken him and he was consumed with such ecstasy he thought he might begin speaking in tongues. There was so much to do, he thought wiping the tears from his face as he turned the radio off. He must bring his congregation together, surely they had all been spared, they were living in the spirit, and they must all be with him on this most glorious of days.

He stopped for a moment in front of the small mirror in his office and looked at the reflection of the middle aged, wiry man that looked back. His hair a shock of snow white had once been jet black, his skin had a constant ruddiness to it these days, though he recalled a time when it was perpetually tanned. His body, once so fit, was now scrawny He recalled a time when he himself had been a young handsome man. Of course that was a long time ago, practically another lifetime ago When he had walked in sin for so many years, and his sins had been the worst, he had been an abomination in the eyes of the almighty…for when he was younger, he gave in to the most unholy sins, demons that looked like handsome men tempted him and he fell to his knees and worshipped these demons, in back alleys and back rooms of darkly lit bars on the wrong side of town, the demons had their way with him and he basked in the most sacrilegious of acts, after awhile he began to loose count of the demon-men who took him… and then a judgment befell those like him. Many years ago he began seeing others who walked the same path fall, due to a mysterious disease. That had been enough for him to change his ways and come home to the lord. Shortly after his conversion he attended classes at a Baptist university and became a preacher. Now, he would stop at nothing to end the ways of the homosexual or the abortionist or the fornicator, and all the other sinners of the world … and today, praise Jesus, today, the chickens have come home to roost!

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