Europe 1812

Chapter 1: God is With Us

A gloomy sky enveloped the small village along the Polish border in a deadly leaden gray. The freezing rain of early season poured down like needles of ice, beating endlessly against the weathered roof of the old church.

The heavy oak doors slowly creaked open, ushering in a bone-chilling gust of wind alongside the tall figure of Pastor Ignacy. Wiping away droplets clinging to his dark cloak, he offered a gentle smile and ruffled the hair of little Tomek, who came pitter-patter running toward him.

"You've returned, Pastor Ignacy!"

Pastor Ignacy stroked the boy's head fondly, pulling a few cellophane-wrapped candies from his pocket and handing them over. "Here you go, little one. Share them with your friends."

Inside the convent, the cozy warmth stood in stark contrast to the relentless cruelty outdoors. Dim yellow candlelight flickered against stone walls, illuminating the cheerful smiles of the orphans. Yet, worry remained etched deep into Pastor Ignacy's eyes. He approached a busy young nun.

"Sister Tekla, is everything alright? Have the windows been thoroughly reinforced?"

Sister Tekla offered a reassuring smile.

"Everything is fine, Pastor. The windows have all been securely boarded up with sturdy timber.”

Pastor Ignacy let out a long sigh of relief. He turned to join the children in their simple games, but the brief moment of joy was short-lived. Just as he was about to sit down to tell them a story, a violent, desperate pounding rattled the main entrance.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The wood groaned as if on the verge of splintering under the pressure from outside, accompanied by a frantic, broken voice:

"Please... save me... Open the door! It hurts so much... Please!"

Sister Zofia hurried over, cautiously opening the door a sliver. "Excuse me, sir, do you need..."

Before she could finish her sentence, a man burst inside like a madman, slamming the heavy door shut behind him. A massive chunk of flesh had been torn from his right arm, exposing stark white bone and ragged muscle fibers smeared with thick, blackened blood. Pastor Ignacy rushed over to check on him.

"What happened to you? Where did that wound come from?"

"They're here... They've come!" The man collapsed to his knees, his eyes wild with raw terror. "My wife... my children... they tore them apart! Save me!"

Before Pastor Ignacy could press for answers, black veins bulged across the man's neck, writhing like squirming worms beneath his skin. His pupils darkened before bursting into a horrifying crimson. Blood gushed uncontrollably from his nose and eyes, dripping onto the tiled floor.

The nuns recoiled in horror, while the children cowered behind them, unable to bear the gruesome sight before their eyes.

The man began to writhe violently, his spine contorting into an unnatural arc. Dry, sickening cracks echoed as his bones snapped. His groans twisted into unearthly shrieks; his dislocated lower jaw sagged unnaturally, dragging strands of thick, blood-stained drool.

"EVERYONE, LEAVE THROUGH THE BACK DOOR! GET TO THE CHURCH NOW!" Pastor Ignacy bellowed.

Snapping out of their shock, the nuns frantically gathered the crying children and rushed toward the rear exit.

At that moment, relentless pounding battered the front entrance again. Pastor Ignacy desperately dragged heavy wooden cabinets, tables, and chairs to barricade the main doors. Sprinting toward the back exit, he glanced over his shoulder—the man had risen to his feet, his body twisted at sickening angles with knees snapped backward. Baring his bloody teeth in a demonic grin, he raised a deformed index finger and pointed straight at the pastor, like a fatal curse.

Pastor Ignacy slammed the back door shut and bolted into the night.

The world outside had transformed into a living hell. The air reeked of a choking, metallic stench of fresh blood. Across the slushy, mud-soaked ground lay the scattered corpses of villagers, their bellies torn open and organs spilled out. But far more horrifyingly, those corpses were moving. From blackened, necrotic wounds, their emaciated flesh twitched as corpse after corpse slowly dragged itself upright.

Their necks snapped sideways, milky-red eyes locking onto Ignacy. Many had half their faces torn off, exposing jawbones that clattered continuously in a sickening clack-clack-clack, accompanied by gut-wrenching, demonic shrieks.

"PASTOR! HURRY, WE'RE HOLDING THE DOOR!"

A young man shouted from the direction of the main church. Summoning every ounce of strength, Pastor Ignacy kicked away a crawling corpse and lunged inside the sanctuary. Instantly, the village youths slammed the heavy oak door shut and slid the wooden crossbeam into place.

"Hurry! Push the heavy pews against the door!" Pastor Ignacy barked out, gasping for breath.

In a frenzy, they stacked the massive wooden pews into a dense barricade. Outside, countless pale, gray hands with splintered fingernails began clawing wildly at the wood.

Scratch... Scratch... The sickening sound of nails scraping against wood set everyone's teeth on edge.

Turning around, the pastor saw that the sanctuary was filled with women and young children hiding in fear.

Pastor Ignacy rushed to a corner of the sanctuary and pulled back a velvet carpet, revealing a narrow, descending hatch to a deep underground cellar. "Sister Tekla, Sister Jadwiga! Get the women and children into the cellar! Hurry!"

Little Tomek grabbed hold of the pastor's cassock, tears streaming down his face. "Pastor... are we all going to die?"

Pastor Ignacy gripped the boy's shoulders, striving to keep his voice steady. "No, child. God protects us here. Quick, down into the cellar!"

"Hurry up, everyone! We can't hold them off much longer!"

Just as the last nun guided the children safely into hiding, the heavy door latch shook violently. A rusted axe head splintered through the thick wooden door, leaving a dark fissure through which blood-red, manic eyes glared into the sanctuary.

"THEY'RE USING AN AXE! HOLD THE PEWS!" a young man screamed in desperation.

Pastor Ignacy and the men threw their full body weight against the barricade. But the overwhelming strength of the horde outside was unstoppable. They rammed relentlessly against the wood, the sickening sound of their own breaking bones crunching against the barrier.

And then…

BOOOOOOM!

A deafening explosion tore through the sanctuary. The heavy doors and the barricade of pews were blown inward, shattered to pieces. A choking shockwave flung Pastor Ignacy and the young men across the hard stone floor.

Pastor Ignacy's ears rang, his vision blurring to gray. The acrid smell of gunpowder mixed with the foul stench of rotting flesh rushed into his lungs, choking him.

Slowly lifting his head through the hazy gray smoke, Ignacy's heart stopped. The strongest barrier had crumbled. Through the shattered threshold, dozens of twisted corpses crawled and lurched over the rubble. Some had their lower bodies blown away, yet they dragged their gray, dangling entrails with shredded arms, opening their disfigured faces to let out savage shrieks as they charged into the holy sanctuary.

A rotten tide of the undead rushed in, swallowing the last lingering hopes inside the church. The crunch of snapping bones and the sickening tear of flesh collided with blood-curdling screams.

"Ahhhh, save... m—"

A young man was pinned to the cold stone floor by three corpses. Pale, decayed hands with broken nails plunged into his abdomen, ripping out steaming entrails in a gruesome feast. Beside him, a middle-aged man shrieked as two mutilated corpses joined forces to rip his leg clean off, blood spurting like a severed pipe.

A villager frantically trying to crawl across the slick floor was grabbed by the hair, his head yanked back before black teeth sank deep into his neck. Fresh blood splattered across the stone, turning the sanctuary into a harrowing river of red.

"Ahhhh! Help... it hurts so much!"

"Get... away... from meeee!"

"My... my arm!!!"

Pastor Ignacy kicked away a corpse crawling at his feet with all his strength. Backing toward the altar, he watched in horror as his parishioners were torn apart before his eyes. Desperately, he looked up at the large crucifix hanging on the wall, an overwhelming wave of despair crashing over his soul.

"I have devoted my entire life to You, O Lord... Have You truly abandoned us?" Ignacy choked out, his voice trembling amidst the carnage. "If these monstrosities are a demonic plague sent to punish us, can Your holy light drive them back?"

In the pitch-black, cramped cellar below, the women and children huddled together, trembling violently. Sister Tekla and Sister Jadwiga covered the children's mouths, tears streaming down their faces, yet no one dared utter a sound. Suddenly, the chaotic sounds of tearing flesh and demonic screeching above ground ceased completely. In their place, the firm, steel-jawed voice of Pastor Ignacy echoed down through the floorboards:

Pastor Ignacy snatched the heavy brass crucifix from the altar, raising it high into the air, aiming it directly at the horde gorging on warm flesh.

"FALL BACK! GOD IS HERE!"

As the candlelight glinted off the brass crucifix, a miracle occurred. Dozens of ravenous corpses suddenly froze in their tracks. Groaning in agonizing moans, they raised ulcerated arms to shield their bloodshot eyes. Pastor Ignacy took step after resolute step forward, the crucifix emanating an authority that forced the undead back.

Then, a deep, commanding roar echoed from the main doorway.

The retreating horde parted instantly like a wall of rotting flesh, clearing a path for a figure advancing at a slow, deliberate pace. Heavy leather boots thumped in a rhythmic pattern across the blood-slicked stone floor: Clack... clack... clack…

Pastor Ignacy Dąbrowski's eyes widened, the breath catching in his throat. Emerging from the zombie horde was an undead commander wearing the military uniform of a French officer.

His dark blue wool coat (habit-veste) was frayed at the shoulders, yet the golden fringe of his epaulettes glinted beneath the flickering candles. Imperial Eagle brass buttons clung to fabric stained dark with dried blood. Atop his half-rotted head—exposing bare skull—sat a proud bicorne hat adorned with a faded French revolutionary tricolor cockade. Mud-caked white breeches tucked tightly into tall cavalry riding boots.

The creature advanced without a trace of fear. The crucifix in Ignacy's hand was completely useless against it.

The undead commander stopped just a few paces away. Slowly, he drew a tarnished brass flintlock pistol from his hip. His cold, lifeless crimson eyes locked onto the pastor, the dark barrel pointing squarely at the center of Ignacy's forehead.

Ignacy froze in place. The flintlock pistol from the Grande Armée roared with a deafening blast.

BANG!

A dense cloud of white smoke billowed forth. Pastor Ignacy's body collapsed onto the stone floor, facing the ceiling. His fingers remained tightly clenched around the brass crucifix—his final piece of faith—as he drew his last breath.

The horde stirred, preparing to rush forward and tear him apart, but the undead commander raised a withered hand to halt them. Drawing a rusted battle-axe from his back, he stepped forward and swung downwards. A sickening crunch echoed as the pastor's head was severed from his neck, blood spraying violently across the floor.

The undead commander impaled Ignacy's head onto a wooden stake right in the middle of the sanctuary—a brutal warning to all living kind. His task complete, he turned and marched away. The entire horde silently followed his lead out of the church, leaving the border village submerged in absolute darkness and death.

(To be continued)