A Conversation on God

by Mason Yeats

“What do you think this is?”

“I think it’s a test.”

Zoe rolled her eyes at the answer.  Everything to Michael was a test—a test given by God to see if humans were able to endure and push through certain trying situations.  She wished that, for once, something wouldn’t be a test, but the challenging situations, unfortunately, did not have an end in sight.  Laying on her back, she took a deep breath and listened to the continuous moans below.  They—the deteriorating undead—were clawing against the sides of the church.  She could not only hear them do so, but she could feel it, too.  The wood against her back trembled ever so slightly. 

“Do you think that this could have possibly just been an unfortunate situation?” she asked with a sigh.  Zoe rolled on her side, then set her elbow against the wood under her.  She planted a part of her chin in the palm of her hand and gazed at Michael, who was also laying on his back—the best thing to do so that the undead could not see them from below.  “Do you think that maybe it’s just a coincidence that we went out of the gates just as a hoard was passing through.”

Michael shrugged, his shoulders scraping against the wood as he did so.  Then, he looked at her, and his thin pink lips stretched into a smile.  “Everything happens for a reason.  You know there’s no such things as coincidences.”

“I hate to believe we’re living a script,” Zoe said and shook her head.  “I’d like to think at least we have freedom to make our own decisions.”

“We do,” Michael told her and let his blue eyes refocus on the sparkling bell above them.  Even though the night had descended upon them over an hour ago, the pale light of the full moon shimmered on the copper bell.  “It’s not like a script.  God gave us choice.”

“Did you see what I saw?” Zoe questioned.  “Did you see their numbers?”

Michael grinned.  “I saw them.”

“Then how could you believe we have a choice?” Zoe asked.  “What choice?  Do you see any choices?  I only see that we either stay up here or go down there to be eaten?”

“See?”  Michael chortled.  “That’s a choice.”

Zoe scoffed.  “I can’t with you, Michael.”  She returned to laying on her back, and like an obnoxiously stubborn child, she crossed her arms over her chest and huffed.  Within minutes, she relaxed her shoulders and stared at the enormous bell above her, then at the ceiling above the bell that was cluttered with abandoned spiderwebs.  All in all, the wooden belfry was spacious.  They had put aside their rifles and a few boxes of ammunition and had used the rest of the space for laying down.  They were boxed in by four waist-high wooden walls.  If they stood up, the ghouls would see them.

“Why won’t you just admit the truth?” Michael asked after three or four minutes. 

“What truth?” Zoe sighed.

“The truth of there being God,” Michael responded. 

“There is no God,” Zoe said with a quiet, irritated laugh.  “Can’t you see that, Michael?”

“All I see is God,” Michael told her.

Zoe shook her head.  “You’re delusional.”  She listened again to the monsters below.  An image planted itself inside her thoughts: thousands of zombies surrounding the bell tower, those pale faces gazing up at the wooden box above them, their yellow eyes transfixed on the bell.  “I don’t think we’re getting out of this.”  She felt a weight placed on her chest.  All the sudden, she found that breathing did not come as easy as it had before.

“Sure we are,” Michael reassured her.

A tear sprung from her eye and trickled down the side of her face.  “No, I don’t think so, Michael.  I think we’re stuck up here, and they’re going to keep coming and coming and coming.  This is the end.”

Michael shook his head.  “Calm down, Zoe.  God will send rescue.”

“No.”  Zoe started sobbing.  “He won’t.”

“Yes.  He will.  Wait for it.”  Michael crossed himself.   He peered up at the sky on the other side of the belfry’s ceiling.  The stars twinkled, and the pale full moon shined like a spotlight.  In a little while, he told himself, there would be something.  He could feel it.  He sat up.  “If it comes in the next two minutes, will you believe in God?”

Teary-eyed, Zoe glanced at him.  “Yeah.  If rescue comes to save us, sure.”

“Give it two minutes,” Michael told her and held up two fingers.  “Two minutes.”

But it only took thirty seconds.  Somewhere in the distance, a loud crack! echoed over the rural landscape and through the dark woods that surrounded the town.  A gunshot.  Zoe started to sit up, but Michael pushed her back down.  He held a finger over his lips.  “Don’t move,” he said to her in a whisper.  “Wait for them to move off.  Then, we can make our move.”  

And it was one or two minutes later when they started down the bell tower.

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Mason Yates is from a small town in the Midwest, but he currently lives in Arizona, where he studied at Arizona State University. He has interned with the magazine Hayden’s Ferry Review and has served as the fiction editor for ASU’s undergraduate literary magazine Lux during the 2021-2022 school year. His works can be found in magazines/webzines such as Land Beyond the World, Scarlet Leaf Review, Fabula Argentea, Idle Ink, Pif Magazine, and others. To read more of his publications, go to https://linktr.ee/masonyatesauthor.