Omega Days (Book 2): Ship of the Dead by John L. Campbell

and use her right there on the asphalt, he would—
    “WRONG!”
A thunderous slap rocked his head to the side, the Air Force ring chipping a tooth.
    Peter covered his face with his hands and wept, shaking his head. “I don’t understand.”
    “That is because you have strayed from my grace. Do you wish to return?”
    The minister hesitated before nodding. Had he ever actually
been
in God’s grace? Wouldn’t the real God know him for what he was?
    “Then hear me. I know
exactly
what you are. You’ve become a screwup, Pete, a confused, dirty little screwup who people distrust and avoid on sight. Look at yourself. You’re about to reenter the company of other people, of whom you are not in charge and whom you cannot push around.”
God looked over His glasses again.
“They don’t know and don’t care who you were.”
    “What should I do?”
    “You will pull it together. Clean yourself, stop sniveling, behave like a normal person.”
    Peter sniffed at his runny nose. “I can do that.”
    “Put on the charm that seduced millions into emptying their pockets for the horseshit you were selling.”
God smiled.
“I have faith that you can do it, Pete. Who’s a bigger liar or fraud if not you?”
    “Right.” Peter smiled back.
    “Ingratiate yourself, be the Peter Dunleavy we all know and love.”
    “I will.”
    “And most importantly,”
God said,
“don’t let them find out.”
    “Find out what?”
    God fingered one of the medals on His uniform for a moment before looking up.
“Don’t let them find out that you’re dangerous, and batshit crazy.”
    “Okay.” Peter nodded. “Good idea.” He wanted to chuckle. He was certainly one of those things, maybe both. Oddly, the idea didn’t bother him.
    “I still have a purpose for you,”
God said, resting a hand on Peter’s knee.
“I will reveal it in time.”
    “Will I see you again?”
    “I think we should meet again,”
said the Air Force shrink, and Peter heard the words like an echoing memory.
    “Thy will be done.” It sounded like the right thing to say to the Almighty, even if He was a dream.
    God nodded.
“Think what you like, Peter, but tuck your lustful thoughts away, for now. They’re a distraction. You’ll get what you want eventually, as long as you do what I say.”
    Peter licked his lips. “Will I get to have the woman?” He looked toward the van where Angie slept.
    “Pete, my boy, when the time comes, you’re going to get to fuck them all.”

EIGHT
    During the weeks that followed the initial outbreak, each of the Alameda survivors had encountered and observed the behaviors of the walking dead, and formed opinions about what they could and could not do. Father Xavier Church was convinced that they could not see long distances but had good hearing. He was wrong on the first count and underestimated them on the second. The dead had exceptional hearing. As to their vision, it was not only as acute as a man’s, it was even better at night.
    Angie West did not fully appreciate their herd mentality. Often, when one started moving for whatever reason, others within visual distance would do the same, perhaps instinctively believing that food was in the area. Angie was correct in the assumption that they could become distracted and confused, but this was not an absolute. Many of the dead, once they started walking, simply kept heading in that direction until they encountered an obstacle and were forced to move around it. Corpses behind them would follow, and the corpses behind
them
would do the same.
    So it was in Alameda, California, that the undead—drawn by engine noise and distant gunfire—began moving west through the city, toward the old naval air station. Like cattle, block by block those behind followed those in front, ever backward, across the bridges into Oakland like a long, moving chain. The dead in that city slowly noticed the movement and soon over a million corpses joined the herd, shuffling toward the bridges. Flowing