The Sword of Saint Michael

middle; her right arm, a white skunk with a black stripe.
She didn’t look intimidating, even after all of her sword-fighting, martial arts, and shamanic training. She thought by now she should look formidable.
Shedding her jacket and sweatshirt, she stripped down to a t-shirt. She continued to wear her wet jeans—eighty degrees inside had warmed her core, and now she wanted to remain cool. A boxed board game lay on the only table in the small cabin. It was for one to five players. She opened the box and set up the board, tokens, dice, and cards. The goal was to escape the haunted house before going insane.
Insanity reminded her it was time to take her pills.
She had just enough, plus one extra dose, to complete her vigil.
Saint Michael towered over Jocelyn in her Inner Temple, wearing a robe in the most vibrant shade of red she’d ever seen, the trim dark green. His sword sank right into the stone floor, the hilt hovering in front of his neck, seven feet tall.
She kneeled, looking up at his face. Even though she stood at 5’ 8”, the same height as her physical self, she could make herself as big as him, but she thought it inappropriate. Plus, she liked him larger than her; it gave her the proper sense of humility.
He chose to look the same age as her with a well-cropped black beard disappearing into the hood of the robe.
He jerked the sword out of the floor, lifted it up high, then brought it down gently, the flat of the sword tapping and resting on her head. “I initiate thee as a shaman and a warrior.” His voice wasn’t loud or overpowering, but nonetheless he boomed, igniting the surrounding air with magical energy. When he spoke, Jocelyn felt every molecule of her body vibrate at a distinct frequency.
In the first two years of training, she had learned to wield a sword as a warrior, while these past two years, she had learned the ways of the shaman.
“Rise, my child.” Saint Michael pulled the sword away, and she stood up straight. He gave a gentle smile. “At ease, child, this is not the military.”
She forced herself to relax.
“Go forth into the world and do me proud.” He kissed her on each cheek. He stood back upright but kept his eyes on hers. “Use your warrior and shaman skills well . . .”
His face darkened. She saw hatred, anger, and fear. He thrust his sword into the stone, lifted his hands and declared in a loud voice, “Because you will need them!” He clapped. It was sudden. It was loud. And she involuntarily opened her eyes, gasped, and found herself in the cabin.
It was cold and dark. The fire in the wood stove had gone out.

Chapter Two


Day Zero
Alexander considered jumping off the chairlift in mid-course, but it was a good forty feet down onto the path of grass between the trees. The pace of the lift was excruciating. It would take several minutes to get to the lower terminal. That gave him plenty of time to think—and panic. He did not know what these creatures were, although the fact that they ate human brain matter and apparently came back to life forced him to tentatively call them “zombies.”
He tapped the emergency button on his smart watch. How was he going to explain this? No one would believe him if he said they were zombies.
“Hello, this is 911, what is the emergency?”
“I’m at the Beaver Park Ski Resort,” Alexander began, out of breath with heart racing. He hoped the dispatcher could understand him. “A lot of people are physically attacking others. I think it’s a terrorist attack.”
“Sir, what do you mean by physically?”
“Hand-to-hand, with no weapons.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m on a ski lift going down the mountain.”
“So where was the attack?”
“Ummm.” Alexander had to think. “At the cafe on the top of the mountain.”
“Can you see the end of the ski lift? Is anyone attacking there?”
He couldn’t make out any details at the end yet, but he knew they were there, so he fibbed. “Yes, there are.”
“Okay. Don’t panic. I suggest you run and shelter once you reach the end. Please stay on the line—”
“Fuck that, lady!” Alexander hung up.
Alexander hit the speed-dial button to call his wife, Teri. After a few rings, he heard her recorded voice say, “Teri Williams,” followed by a woman’s voice saying, “is not available. After the tone, you may leave a message.”
At the tone, he said:
“Honey, it’s Alexander.” His heart pounded, and he shook from adrenaline, but he tried to remain calm. “I . . . uh . . . I think there’s a terrorist attack going on here in Beaver Park.” He couldn’t tell her it was zombies, could he? She was liable to think he was pranking her. “A mob of people are attacking, and I’m on a ski lift, and they’re at the bottom, and, fuck, I’m scared, and I need you to understand that I love you, that I’ve loved you since we first met, and that I’ll always love you. Because . . .” He stopped because he realized he was sobbing, and he needed to get this last bit out. “. . . because I’m not sure if I’ll make it out alive. Tell Cody and Amber that I love them, too, that I’ll always be in their hearts long after I’m gone.” He paused, weeping again. “I will hang up now and try you again hoping I’ll get you live. Please get back to me when you get this. Goodbye, Teri. I love you so much.” With that, he hung up. He tried several more times, but she didn’t pick up each time.
And then a sense of horror crept in—what if this thing was happening in areas other than here? What if it was happening to his family as well? Not likely, but still . . .
He was about to try his parents when the platform came into