Marina's Lament
In which a girl, surrounded by ghosts, must fight to survive
I am afraid.
This is a sentence I have thought several times over the past few weeks—when, in the midst of crisis, I have struggled to adapt to the world and the new realities within it. Now, though, I utter it plainly, on lips cold and without remorse.
I say, “I am afraid.”
The pigeons roosting in the rafters above coo in response. Dumb as they happen to be, they have been my only companions since this whole thing began. Since my brother told me to run.
I try not to think of him as I lie here, under the table, listening to the sound of birds and the wind and everything else the world has to offer. I find, however, that I can’t think of anything but him—and, as a result, begin to tremble.
“You gotta stop,” I whisper. “Thinking about it isn’t going to help.”
But won’t it? Won’t reliving his mistake, at least in part, grant me the experience necessary to not succumb to the same fate that Nathan had?
A sigh escapes me—long and hard and full of fright.
It takes all my willpower not to cry.
He’d done his best to take care of us. To make sure that everything would work out. That everything would be as okay as it possibly could be after that one fateful call.
Get out of the city, our father had said. It’ll be safer.
Safer? Safer?
I could almost laugh.
We’d left the big city to escape the end of the world. But in the end, it had all been for nothing.
Nathan is dead.
I’m alone.
And I am afraid.
The crack of thunder is what jars me to consciousness, but it is the cold seeping in through the one cracked window that causes me to tremble.
It’s okay, I tell myself, grimacing as I roll onto my side and push myself upright. You’re safer. They can’t get in—
“So long as I keep my head down,” I whisper.
A pigeon coos somewhere above, then shifts before fluffing its wings and returning to sleep. I, in response, can only turn my head to the raised dais, then at the massive double doors at the entrance to the old church.
The doors are locked, I think, so no one can get in.
I should be thinking no thing rather than no one. It isn’t the people I’m worried about.
No.
It’s the ghosts.
Most would have laughed had they heard me state this fact. I, Marina Liam, afraid of ghosts? It sounds ridiculous coming from the mouth of a sixteen-year-old.
The only problem is that the ghosts have taken over everything. The people. The country. The world.
I try not to tremble as I turn my head to the distant window—as I see lightning flash and illuminate a long, dark, and skeletal shadow. It’s been stalking the city in all its monstrous glory for the past several days—likely looking for survivors.
Likely looking for me.
I shiver as lightning flashes again, revealing that the gigantic, city-dwarfing creature has come to a halt—
And is looking at the church with red eyes.
It’s consecrated ground, I think. It can’t get in.
But just because it can’t get in doesn’t mean that something else can’t flush me out.
I adjust my blanket over my prone form and slide out from under the covers just in time for a gunshot to ring out in the night.
I swear.
The pigeons coo.
I whisper, “Stop.”
Then, the ghost begins to walk.
Its heavy footsteps causes the ground to shake. Like an earthquake they shake the rafters, causing the flock to coo, to stir—
To scream.
I grimace as the birds’ high-pitched squeals cause the hairs on my neck to stand, and retreat further back into the corner as the monstrosity turns its head to regard the church.
Just stay quiet, I think—hoping, praying, that everything will be all right, that everything will be okay. It can’t find you if you stay quiet. Can’t come in if it doesn’t know you’re here.
Marina, I hear a voice say. Marina.
“No,” I whisper. “Stop.”
I know you’re in there, Marina.
The ghost lowers its head and flashes its glowing, blood-red eyes in through the broad church windows.
“You’re not welcome here,” I whisper, closing my eyes. “You’re not—”
Something begins to bang on the front double doors.
Oh God, I think, trembling, now, more than ever, as I realize what has happened, what is happening.
Quick! Grab your gun!
I spin about, smacking my shin on the heavy wooden leg of the table I am under, and grab the gun just in time for one of the two front doors to come caving in.
A man, and a woman, both in thick coats, come rushing in—flashlights weaving, breaths loud and heavy.
I lift the gun and point it directly at them.
“What’re you—” the man starts.
“Leave,” I say, trying my hardest not to tremble. “This is my place. You’re not welcome here.”
“Honey,” the woman replies. “Please. We beg you. Let us—”
I fire a shot—clumsily at that. It strikes the far wall and causes the woman to scream.
“I said: leave,” I reply. “Before any more come.”
“What’re you—” the man asks.
I hear the snarls of the crazed who’ve been possessed by the ghosts—who under the monstrosity’s thrall are desperate to find and kill anyone who they can.
Just like they killed my brother.
“GO!” I scream, tears burning down my face. “GET AWAY FROM HERE!”
I see the man’s hand move to his coat.
I turn my gun. Fire again.
This time, he goes down, leaving the woman to run into the street—
Right into the path of the crazed ghosts that are little more than zombies.
She screams as they tear into her—as they begin to rip her apart.
And me? I have no choice to run.
I spin, and am prepared to take off out the back door when I see a pair of red eyes looking through the nearby window.
You can’t outrun the devil, the voice says.
“You’re not the devil,” I whisper, before cocking the gun and turning toward the doorway. “And if you think I can’t run…”
I push the back door open, only to be immediately buffeted by rain.
“Watch me,” I then say, before taking off as fast as I can.
Though I hear the crazed ghosts as they take off through the streets, and watch the monstrous entity lift a finger to point in my direction, I realize that I can run. I can hide.
I can survive.
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