VIRTUE AND VICE

Hope. It is the one thing that sustains us during these trying times. The hope for ourselves, for each other and for our children. The hope that we will all watch the sunrise after this blackest night together. No matter how many trials and tribulations, heart aches and pains, just know that the Lord is still with us. For it is he who has a plan for us, to give us a future and hope for better days to come, either in this life or the next. The hope of the righteous brings joy, while expectations of the wicked will perish. So let us all prey. For renewed strength, for the healing of our wounds, and for these dark days to pass. Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

Father Jerome Ashter's tired eyes roamed the text of his online sermon. All he would have to do was type "Amen" and hit SEND to reach anybody still alive outside the church walls. Amen…so be it.

Truth.

The truth was that Jerome didn't know what to believe anymore. As far as he was concerned, he reckoned these words didn't mean a thing at all. Everything had stopped making sense a month ago when creatures straight out of our nightmares suddenly appeared on Halloween night. Vampires, werewolves, demons, zombies, even reports of massive Lovecraftian creatures along the coastal seaboards all descended upon thousands of helpless trick or treaters and party goers. The results were immediate and catastrophic. It was like every natural disaster had occurred at once, every emergency and medical service overrun across the country. Jerome's state of Louisiana didn't fair much better, with supernatural beings popping up from the Big Easy all the way to the muddy waters of the bayou. Luckily, his church provided shelter from the demonic hordes for himself and the handful of survivors inside.

But for how much longer?

Jerome was tired. Sleep came fretfully, and on nights when he did manage to doze off, his slumber was interrupted by the sounds of gunshots and screaming. The computer text cursor blinked at him, beckoning him to finish. Words don't mean a damn thing. Jerome hit the SEND button.

While Jerome couldn't offer anything to the people outside of his church besides empty words, he could at least see how the people he was holed up with were doing. The churches nave had been transformed into about as efficient of a makeshift command center as they could make. Boxes of canned goods and nonperishable foods from their annual food drive sat in the choir section of the front stage along with medicine and other first aid supplies that were pilfered from the local clinic. Despite the size of the nave, the room felt smaller. The somber wood walls and boarded up stained glass windows constricting.

There were more of us back then. Jerome thought grimly. Poor souls who had put their trust in a man whose beliefs had faltered long before the nightmare had even begun. Jerome found his friend Bernard LaCour in the corner of the nave cleaning firearms. Friend was somewhat of a misnomer, as Jerome had known the elderly historian his entire life and they couldn't look any further different. With his portly yet stocky build, salt and pepper beard that had been left untouched since this all began and wire rimmed glasses, Bernard looked like a black Santa Claus, and with the shotgun and bandolier shell sling across his chest he looked like a black Santa Claus from some post-Apocalyptic action movie.

"Priest," Bernard said as Jerome pulled up a chair across from him.

"Need any help Bernie?" Jerome asked, using the childhood nickname he used to call him.

"Nah, I'm almost done. Besides, these old hands gotta stay busy doing something."

Jerome couldn't help but notice the two bottles of beer among the gun parts and cleaning supplies. "Looks like those guns aren't the only things getting greased. Been dipping into our stash of holy water?"

Bernard chuckled. "Pulled one out for you too. It's a little lukewarm but beggars can't be choosers now."

"You know me too well good sir," Jerome said as he grabbed a bottle and took a deep swig. It was a bit lukewarm, but drinking was a guilty pleasure that he didn't get to indulge in too often, with the whole trying to stay alive. Still, it felt good to calm his frayed nerves and share a drink with an old friend.

"Aliens," Jerome said suddenly.

Bernard's tired eyes narrowed at him from behind his glasses. "Aliens?"

"I know it sounds crazy, just hear me out. What if the creatures we perceive as all these supernatural beasts are actually aliens in disguise? Maybe they put something in the water or pumped some pheromone into the air, altering our perception of what we're really seeing."

"Riiiiigt," Bernard said, getting back to his cleaning.

Over the past couple of weeks, Jerome and Bernard entertained each other by coming up with various theories as to the creature's origins. Jerome was more of a radical theorist (the world is a simulation and the creatures are glitches, the aforementioned aliens), while Bernard opted for a more biblical interpretation, which was ironic considering Jerome was the priest. It was mostly silly shit, but it felt good to question their situation, because in reality no one knew a damn thing.

"You got any theories, I'm all ears," Jerome said, taking a swig from his beer.

Bernard feigned thoughtfulness. "What if -and just hear me out- the creatures we're seeing are a sort of collective memory, manifesting as beings that the human psyche is familiar with?"

"You mean like a sort of ghost?"

"For lack of a better term, yes. This whole country is one big Indian burial ground, that's a lot of unavenged souls."

Jerome stroked the stubble of his beard. "Talking about souls leads me to think there's more of a religious angle here, but nothing like this appears in the Book of Revelation."

"What are you getting at?"

"It feels like we've been overrun by the forces of Hell, so how come we haven't gotten any help from-" Jerome gave a short whistle and pointed up.

"Mysterious ways? I don't know man, you're the priest!"

"it's your theory!"

It felt good to banter, to take their minds from their increasingly dire predicament, even if it meant dredging up past grievances. As selfish as it sounded, when the creatures first appeared Jerome wanted nothing more than to feel vindicated by their otherworldly presence, that there was truly something more to life than hollow words and blind servitude. That vindication soon turned to confusion which boiled over to bitterness. If they were truly being besieged by the forces of Hell, where were the forces of Heaven to protect them?

Where was God?

"I don't know Bernie, mysterious ways or not, this whole shitshow would test the most devout of believers."

"Your daddy always believed," Bernard said. "Even as that damn cancer broke him down and put him on his deathbed, he always had faith. Maybe all this is just God's way of testing our faith." He sighed, a sound rife with hardship and what he had personally lost. "Lord knows I can use all the faith I can get now."

Bernard's husband Michael was one of the poor souls who had put their trust in Jerome. After breaking into a sporting goods store for supplies, their group had been ambushed by a pack of werewolves. Michael had stayed behind to fend off the beasts, giving them a chance to escape. His screams still haunted Jerome, so Lord only knew how Bernard was holding up.

"I'm sorry Bernie," Jerome said.

Bernard held up a hand. "What's done is done. We just gotta keep pushing forward to honor their memories."

Jerome held up his half-drunk beer. "To Michael, the best saucier N'awlins has ever seen!"

Bernard raised his bottle. "To Jacob, toughest S.O.B. this side of the Mason Dixon."

"I'll drink to that."

The two men downed the rest of their beers. Jerome felt buoyed by not just Bernard's words, but his indomitable spirit as well, so much that he questioned whether he could start believing again. Wasn't that what pushing forward was?

Hope?

A screech of tires and explosion of metal from outside shattered their wholesome moment. The beer that had settled warm in Jerome's stomach now sluiced like ice in his gut. He jumped to his feet and Bernard followed him, shotgun in hand. The back door to the nave burst open and the remaining three survivors stormed into the room.

"What the hell happened out there?" Jerome's assistant, a youthful, caramel skinned teen named Charity Baptiste said.

A woman's high pitched screams cut through the night like a blade, her cries full of terror before stopping.

"Nothing good," Jerome breathed.

"We have to see if they need help!" Linda Lafleur said. Jerome gave her a sideways glance, partly because she used the word 'we' despite being five foot tall and so far into pregnancy she looked like she was smuggling a basketball beneath her shirt, and also because he wasn't so sure that was a good idea.

"We'd be letting whatever's out there know our location," Linda's husband Percy echoed Jerome's sentiments.

Linda wasn't having any of it. She stomped her feet and give them a withering glare. "If we have a chance to help someone in need and don't, what good are we? How can we even live with ourselves?" she turned to Jerome, head held high in defiance. "A generous person will prosper; whoever refreshes others will be refreshed."

"Proverbs 11:25," Jerome grumbled. As much as he hated to admit, she was right. They were all survivors in this mess, and if they had the chance to help someone in need, then he hoped others would do the same for them if the shoe were on the other foot. "Those guns ready Bernie?"

Bernard hefted one of the pump action shotguns and racked the slide back. "Locked and loaded."

Jerome brandished one of the loaded shotguns and said, "Bernie and I will check it out."

"Wait, I'll come too!" Percy said. Jerome admired the young man's resolve, even if his dark face was a mask of concern. Percy stooped his six foot frame and gave Linda a quick but longing kiss. "I'll be back."

"You better," she said, her pale blue eyes watering.

"You ever use one of these before?" Bernard asked Percy as he handed him a pistol.

"I used to hunt gators in the bayou with my da-"

"Good enough," Jerome said as he stuffed shotgun shells into his pockets and headed for the front door. "Charity, keep an eye on Linda until we get back."

The three men gathered at the entrance, Jerome's grip tight on the brass handle. It's now or never. He edged the door open and they slipped out into the cool night.