“Where is that goddamn priest!” Harry called out in a thick accent, “We got goulies all over the place!”
He was shouting into the receiver of a simple walkie-talkie, his spittle flying in the direction of the speaker. All around them, the sickening noises of the undead rang out. The other survivor, Paul, jumped a bit as he heard the long drag of determined fingers scrape at the wall he was currently pressing his back to. He took a brief moment to take in their surroundings; a dark and simple room, a splintered couch currently pressed to one of the doors. He watched as it shuddered again and again, as if alive. He knew that hundreds of decomposing monstrosities were clamoring against the makeshift barricade. It would not hold long.
“We got him comin', Harry,” came a response after what seemed eternal, “Jus' hold tight.”
“Hol' tight?” he roared in response, “I got an active feeding group right on ma balls, man!”
An impossibly bright light suddenly illuminated the two boarded windows and the area beneath the doorway. A sudden, intense daylight appeared to be shimmering from the other side of the room.
“That him?” he muttered in the radio.
The area suddenly grew very silent. The couch halted it's maddened chattering.
Paul jumped a second time as the front door fantastically exploded from it's hinges, tossing the old piece of furniture away as if it were made of paper. An imposing figure was present at the newly opened passage. Paul squinted his beady eyes to see through the brightness.
“God have mercy upon you, my son.”
The simple chant was followed by another loud boom that shook the foundations of the old building and set one of the walls aflame. As Paul's eyes steadily adjusted to the light, he began to see details. The figure wore a long, white coat, complete with toughened, bleached boots. A ponytail decorated the figure's back; a light amber color.
“Well, I'll be damned!,” Harry whooped, the radio at his side, “Le's get te hell outta here, man!”
The figure stepped inside. Paul could feel judging eyes upon him.
“Come,” it spoke in a deep, refined tone, “Let's leave this place.”
“Good idea enough fer me!” Harry exclaimed while rising to his feet.
A force collided with the man in white. Paul winced as he saw one of them, it's skin long rotten and eyes putrid and unfocused. It clawed at the man's elegant robes with a frenzied vigor.
“I say to thee, rest.”
The creature burst into a white-hot flame. It screamed and instantly released it's hold upon the man before settling into a pool of filth upon the floor. Paul watched in awe as the man withdrew two long firearms of some sort. Two more horrid, twisted shadows leapt into the room. Two piercing sounds later, both were writhing upon the ground. The man moved forward, toward the door. It was time to go.
They emerged from the household; a fresh pile of scorched, smoldering corpses met Paul's eyes. The sight hardly phased him anymore.
“There's more of them,” came the voice of their savior, “Let's go.”
They ran from the building and into the night. Paul bit back a shout as several more bounded toward them from up ahead. The robed man stopped a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“Take with you to Heaven.”
The area before them instantly exploded in intense light. The galloping attackers seemed to vanish in a mist of reddish-black.
“Man, I could get used to this,” Harry chortled in response to the impressive display of power, “Where do you folk learn these crazy things, anyway.”
The man unprecedentedly glared at Harry. Paul could almost feel his back stiffen.
“This is not a gift,” he replied with a narrowed gaze, “We fight our brothers so that you can live.”
He continued on then, Paul having to sprint to keep up.
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