The dead had risen. They were coming down Main Street before anyone spotted them. The first scream should’ve been a warning, by the time I was at the window that scream became a chorus and I knew something terrible had happened.
Mind you, I was busy with my own problems.
I had been up half the night sand-bagging the house before coming to town to protect the shop. The flood waters hit around noon. Sandbags at front and back doors, the stock on tables and the electric pump running to bail out the water. My first mistake, the power went, so I was down to buckets and brooms to save the shop.
It was dusk when I heard the screams. The flood waters had come from the south of town through the cemetery, a cemetery that serves five counties.
Coffins are full of air, polished pine and oak makes for a fine sea going craft and sitting water softens freshly dug soil.
As the last month of funerals bobbed down Main Street, carried by rising flood waters, the Town of Resurrection gather at our windows to farewell them a final time, each worried that we would soon join the parade.
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