Dead Men (and Women) Walking Read Online Free PDF

wetter in the front than even rain
would cause.
    I didn't see what happened,
but I heard Mary. "It's a miracle! The blessed Lord's gone and sent
my Tim back to me."
    She tried to rush forward,
but Richard's eldest boy James grabbed hold of her. My mother later
told me that Tom had to grab hold of Conner to keep him from
leaping upon the coffin with his pike. They were the exceptions,
though. We men tasked with lowering the box into the ground pulled
it back up; after that, we made like everyone else, and tried to
get as far away from it as possible, while still staying close
enough to watch in sick fascination.
    I suppose we would have
sought advice from Father John. Too bad for us, then, that he had
fainted dead away at the sound of Tim's voice. I know I certainly
would have been comforted by a priest's advice about then.
Especially since we didn't know if we were dealing with something
from Heaven, or some horrible blackness brewed up by the
Devil.
    I think it was the sight of
Tim breaking out of the coffin, and bellowing to stun a banshee
that finally did it. As his head, then his body emerged, we broke
and ran. None of us had ever seen a man come back from the dead,
and I think we had all mutually decided that Conner was right when
he called it unholy. To my credit, I did pick up my mother and
carry her as I ran in fear for my life and immortal soul. I hope
someone did the same for the likes of Father John and those other
poor sods who were unable to get fast away on their own. I was
slowed down a bit, but wasn't about to tell my mother she needed to
cut down on the tea and cake. Even if I'd been able to form the
thought and make it come out my mouth at the time, my mother,
potential legion of hell on our heels or not, would likely have
knocked me senseless.
    Tim Finnegan was the first
of them, but he wasn't the last. In the days following his waking,
more men and women climbed from their graves. As near as we could
tell, Tim dug up those who died before him, and then poured the
water of life over them. With each new arrival, there were more
hands to do the work. Soon, they started visiting the recently
dead; raising them up shortly after they passed.
    People were staying shut up
in their homes. Few traveled the streets, and then only when
necessary. When someone would die, often with a look of fear frozen
on their face, their relatives would try and hide the bodies the
best they could. Those who had no relatives weren't so lucky. Old
Man Conner died in his bed, and was among their ranks within
days.
    I was a wreck; jumping all
the time at sounds, and flinching at every shadow. My mum's health
hadn't been grand for years, and the added strain was taking a
visible toll. I watched over her night and day; often forgetting to
attend to my own needs.
    Even shut up, rumors still
managed to spread. Seeing an insurrection of some sort, police and
British soldiers had gathered in force. They tried to kill Tim and
his crew, but failed utterly. Their bullets and bayonets had no
effect. The men didn't know how to fight corpses, and many were
killed: more than a few deaths occurred as they stepped into their
comrades lines of fire in their haste to escape. In brighter days,
news of this defeat being suffered by the British would have
brought rejoicing. Instead, it only deepened our fears.
    Even worse than the
solitude, I felt, was the lack of a drop to drink. The dead had
taken it all, and were residing in Bobby's pub. Whenever some fool
who hadn't heard, or didn't believe, the news came with a new load,
it was quickly taken from them. We thought it might be the only
thing keeping them alive, but every attempt to take it back from
them failed; so even had our idea had weight, we were never able to
find out.
    The days dragged on.
Eventually, my mum went to bed one night, and never again woke. I
went out of my mind with grief at her loss. She had been the only
thing I had during those days. Unable to see those few people I
knew I could