The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

Chapter 20

Officer Zundi sat on the large rock that rested just ten feet away from the church's entrance and watched with surly, red eyes as his subordinates carried one blanketed, dead body after another out of the church and to a truck where they were eventually tossed in the back like sacks of potatoes. The thin, middle-aged Zundi sat uncomfortably upon the rock dressed in his blue short-sleeved shirt and black shorts watching and waiting in anticipation for all of the bodies to be carted out of the church, while in the far off distance he could spot onlookers gawking with binoculars at the scene that he himself should have been involved in more personally.

"Wait a second!" Zundi stood up and went straight for one of his men that were carrying a cadaver.

Zundi paused for a moment before sighing and pulling back the black blanket that had Silas' mutilated body underneath. Just gazing down at the man's torn neck and dazed out stare in his still opened eyes was enough to make Zundi hurriedly place the blanket back onto his body and turn away in repulsion.

"Go on." He waved the officer away.

Zundi looked on and on before he finally gathered enough courage to go back inside the church where he had secluded himself from just two hours earlier. The man stepped ever so lightly through the demolished front doors to find the sanctuary's walls still splattered with blood from one end to the other. The pews were littered with blood as well, along with a few eyeballs and a couple of fingers along the way.

Zundi tried in earnest to keep his eyes focused on the parts that weren't so tortuous to view before seeing the old woman still seated in her pew staring far off away. Zundi spotted another one of his officers trying to coax the woman up.

Instantly, Zundi went over and asked the man, "Why are you not able to get her out of here yet, mon?"

Appearing disgruntled and confused, the officer looked up and said, "Sir, she won't move. Her hands are locked to de pew."

Zundi viewed the old woman's withered hands that looked as if they had made dents in the pews wood. Zundi then attempted to pry her left hand from off the wood only to realize that he was straining himself to the point of giving up.

"Sir, de ones dat got away, some of dem are going around saying dat de devils are back again." The officer stammered.

Zundi stood back up and looked at the man as though his words were ridiculous. "We need to find dem and figure out what did dis."

"Sir, we know what did dis." The officer ardently beseeched.

"No we do not!" Zundi adamantly fired back. "Get someone in here to get her out of here, now!" Zundi roared before turning and leaving the pew altogether.

"But, sir," the officer zealously followed in behind Zundi, "with de rest of de church members running around out dere, dere bound to tell what it was!"

At the snap of a finger, Zundi grabbed the officer and whipped him inside the room where Arthur once resided just to get him all alone.

"Now, you listen to me!" Zundi snarled into his face. "Dose people dat escaped here were lucky! We do not need anyone running around telling ghost stories!"

"Commander, dere not ghost stories," the officer pleaded. "We all know how dis began—

Zundi spun around and slapped the officer across the face so hard that the man fell backwards onto the ground where Arthur's torn clothes were still lying.

"Listen to me, dis was an animal attack, nuting more!" Zundi threw his arms up in the air. "We need dese tourists, see?"

The officer, wiping blood from off his lip, looked up at Zundi and frowned, "Tourists?"

"Yes! My wife serves dem every day! We have seven children! We need de money!"

The officer got back to his feet and skittishly approached his commander. "Sir, it is still out dere. If we do not try and stop it den we will not have any more tourists to serve."

Zundi turned away in anguish and paced around the small room before catching a glimpse of black fur lying on the floor before him. The man reached down and picked it up before sniffing at it.

"Dose white people dat were here, dey were filmmakers." The officer explained. "Perhaps dey caught something on their camera equipment."

Zundi looked back and watched as the man ventured outside the door before picking up the camera and recording machine from off the floor. Immediately, Zundi dropped his fur and raced out only to snatch the equipment from the man and slam it back down onto the ground. He then took the camera and ripped out all of the film that was inside before taking and tearing it apart.

"Dis is de last we see of any of dis!" Zundi held up shredded pieces of film for his officer to see. "Only seventeen people were killed. We are fortunate enough for dat much. All we can do now is hope and pray dat dis is it." Content © NôvelDrama.Org.

The officer only stood by and gazed on in somber despondency. Looking like his world had shrunk even more by that point. Zundi remained with his hands on his hips while breathing heavy. He scanned the entire sanctuary where the sunlight was still creeping in and out in corners and crevices all around.

"Give me one of your smokes and your lighter." Zundi commanded the forlorn officer.

The man reached into his back pocket and pulled out a cigarette and lighter before handing it to Zundi. Zundi lit the tip of his cigarette and puffed away before heading back over to the old lady. The Commander sat beside the woman on the pew and stared into her blank eyes for a minute before taking the lighter and igniting the flame in front of her face. It took at least ten seconds before her eyes eventually connected with the tiny fire. Once they did, she began trembling all over again.

With his eyes peering through the flame, Zundi uttered in a scratchy, ominous voice, "Go home, old woman."

Gradually, the woman finally released her grip from off the pew and got up before limping her way out of the church. Zundi then handed the lighter back to the officer.

"Get dat last body out of here. Den, burn dis place down." Zundi dropped his head as he walked out of the church and back outside to the truck where all sixteen bodies were waiting to be carried away for the final time.