But once the sun set, the balance would shift to the undead and their collaborators.
"I think we should start a compound," he said.
"You mean, like a fort?"
"Not so much a fort as a consolidation. Gather everyone close for mutual protection and pooling of resources."
Lacey nodded. "The Ben Franklin approach."
"Ben Franklin?"
"Yeah. What he said at the signing of the Declaration of Independence: 'We must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately.' "
"Declaration of Independence ... I guess we did that last night."
"Damn right. But with deeds instead of words on paper."
"But as for hanging together, that's the plan—and I don't mean by our necks. The living are scattered all over town now. That leaves us vulnerable to being picked off one by one. But if we use the church as a hub and bring everybody toward the center—"
"Circle the wagons, in other words."
"Exactly. As of now we've got the rectory, the convent, and the church itself. That'll house some people, but it's not enough. We need to expand."
"You got that right."
By word of mouth and who knew how else, the news that someone was fighting back had spread. A steady stream of newcomers, anxious to join the fight, had been flowing to the church all morning. Many of them were not even Catholic. Jews, Protestants, even Muslims were showing up, wanting to know how they could be part of what was happening. Joe had passed the word to welcome everyone. This was not a time for divisions. The arbitrary walls that had separated people in the past had to be knocked down. There could be only one belief system now: the living versus the undead and those who sided with them.
"There's an empty office building across the street from the back of the church," Joe said, remembering the night he and Zev had spent there. Had it been only two nights since then? "That should hold a lot of folks. We'll start there."
"I passed a couple of furniture stores on the way here," Lacey said. She pointed south. "If I remember, they're just a few blocks that way."
"You're right," Joe said. "I know the places."
"We can raid them for bedding."
"Great idea. Once we set that up, we'll take over the surrounding houses— assuming they're unoccupied."
"Pretty safe assumption," Lacey said. "If the owners somehow survived, I can't see them hanging around for long, considering what's been going down in the church."
"But first I want to start blocking off the surrounding streets—get old cars, line them up in the intersections. That'll fend off or at least slow down any blitzkrieg-style counterattacks."
He felt Lacey's hand on his arm and turned to find her staring at him.
"You've given this a lot of thought, haven't you."
"That's just it. I haven't. I'm making it up as I go along. As I told you last night, my original intent was to hold the place for one night, say Mass, then move on."
Lacey smiled. "I was wondering what happened to that idea."
"It got lost in the crowd."
Joe hadn't counted on drawing a crowd. Now that he had, what did he do with them? He couldn't perform the loaves-and-fishes miracle. How was he going to feed them? But seeing the desperate hope gleaming in their eyes this morning, he couldn't simply walk out on them.
"So ..." Lacey said slowly. "Beyond a compound .. . what?"
"I wish I knew."
"You realize, don't you, that we can't win."
"I don't realize any such thing."
"Hey, Unk," she said, her grip tightening on his arm. "We're only a hundred people and there are millions of them. They've got Europe, the Middle East, India, and most of Asia."
"But they haven't got the U.S. They hold the East Coast but the rest of the country is still alive."
"How can you be sure?"
"I was talking to one of the newcomers this morning. His name's Gerald Vance and he's got a battery-powered shortwave radio. He told me he's been talking to people all over the country. Philadelphia's gone but Harrisburg and Pittsburgh have only seen an occasional vampire. Same with Rochester. Atlanta fell but Alabama's fine. The Midwest and the West Coast are still in the hands of the living. So you see, it's not over."
Lacey looked away. "After seeing what's happened to the rest of the world, you could argue that it's just a matter of time."
Joe lowered his voice. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't talk like that. Last night was the first good thing that's happened to these people in a long time, so if you don't mind ..."
Lacey held up a hand. "Okay. 'Never is heard a discouraging word.' But if that's true about the rest of the country, then instead of staying here maybe we should be thinking about throwing a convoy together and heading west."
Joe shook his head. He'd already thought of that.
"We're being watched. We start to assemble dozens of cars, they'll know what we're planning. They'll be waiting for us. We'll be sitting ducks on the road."
He'd seen it play out in his mind's eye. He'd envisioned a line of cars racing down Route 70 at dawn. But he'd also envisioned a Vichy roadblock, gunfire, bloodshed, disabled cars, the convoy stalled, blocked fore and aft, the sun going down, and then . . . massacre.
"We've got a better chance here. I told Vance to get on his radio and spread the word of what we're doing here. Maybe it will spur others to do the same. Right now we've set a fire. If we remain the only bonfire, I agree: we're doomed. But if we can start a trend, inspire a hundred, a thousand fires along the coast, we'll no longer be the center of attention. We might have a chance."
Lacey was nodding. "And if the rest of the country gets the message that there is hope, that resistance is not futile ..." She grinned and raised her fist. "I always wanted to be a revolutionary."
"Well, you're going to get your wish." Joe yawned. When was the last time he'd slept? "My wish is for forty winks."
"Why don't you bed down for a while in the rectory? You catch your forty while I take some people over to that office building and check it out. We'll see how we can divide it up for living arrangements."
Joe stared at her. Where did she get her energy?
"Aren't you tired?"
She shrugged. "I've never needed much sleep. Besides, I had a nap."
"When?"