World Memorial Read Free Page A

inside.
    Park frowned. The kid in the picture, the dead son of Angie Land, looked older. Looked about three years older, like he would look now. And this Sister Elizabeth woman had dreamt of him? It was all too weird.
    Park watched the last stragglers head into the trees. He'd had some dreams of his own. Had them every night. Some were of a woman he'd never seen before, a woman with dark black hair and a white dress, telling him to stop trying to kill himself. Every morning he’d tell her to fuck off and go back to trying.
    Some dreams were of his daughters, both definitely dead. One torn to shreds by corpses, the other dead at the hands of a man Park had then killed. Other dreams were of Angie and her kids, each looking older, the way they would look now. And there was the boy, Dalton, alive and well. These dreams bothered him. Angie with her living kids, even one he knew to be dead, and his own dead and gone.
    The last stragglers vanished from sight. Park didn't trust them. The whole flock gave him the willies, but Brother Joel especially bothered him. What if Dalton were alive? And why were these people looking for him? What would they do with him? Park knew it was crazy. Dreams didn't mean shit.
    But he also knew how he had hurt his thumb. The day before, Park had hit on a new method of suicide, one that didn't hinge on whether or not his rifle fired. He'd pulled a cinderblock out from under the rear of his trailer and lugged it inside. He'd laid down on his back, holding the heavy block over his head.
    Then he'd let go. The block scraped and jarred his thumb on the way down, and he'd been sure it was headed straight for his forehead.
    Then it was behind him. Somehow, the block thudded to the floor, inches from the top of his head. He hadn't seen it change course. He knew sure as shit he hadn't moved. One moment the block was plummeting for his head, then the next it was behind him.
    "Ain't that some shit," Park had said, his thumb throbbing as he lay on his floor.
    And he stood there in his doorway now, still feeling it. Each pulse reminding him that some weird shit was afoot.
    Fine , he thought, crossing his arms and staring at the snow. Assuming Dalton was alive somehow and Park was having dreams of him, so the fuck what? What the fuck did Park care? His own children were dead. Why should he care if Angie Land lost one of hers? She had a spare.
    Park snorted into the biting wind. He knew the death of his kids wasn't Angie's fault—she'd helped find them. It certainly wasn't Dalton's fault. And the other one, Maylee, had been a good friend to his daughter the last few days she'd been alive.
    In his dreams, Park recognized the area where Angie Land and her kids were living. It wasn't far. A day's walk, maybe two. If he found them, he could warn them about Brother Joel and the others. If not, maybe he’d find some new gloves along the way.
    "Well shit," said Park to no one. “It's not like I have anything to do around here."
     
    * * *
     
    Joel stopped and stood in the snow. He heard his flock stop behind him. He looked up to the sky. It was starting to snow, and it was growing dark.
    He turned to face the flock. "Be of good cheer, brothers and sisters. Your blessing will come."
    Joel stepped over to Elizabeth. She saw him coming and drew herself up proudly. Joel knew she would have to work on her pride. It was an easy sin to fall into when given the gift of visions. It pained him to see her suffer in her sin, but he knew God would see her through.
    "You're sure you saw that man in your visions, Sister?" he asked.
    "Plain as you're standing there, Brother Joel," said Elizabeth. "He's connected to the children somehow."
    Joel looked among the rest of the group. His gaze landed on Franklin and Bud, two good men, strong in the Lord and good with their guns. It was Bud who'd shot the corpse as they’d approached the trailer. He was maybe a little too quick to shoot, but he was good of heart.
    "Brothers Franklin and Bud,"