Wood worm holes peppered the alter at the back of the church. Rain fall rattled against the stain glass windows of all colours, the pitter patter was surprisingly serene and calming.

Standing atop the alter, Joshua stood stoney faced looking out upon the blanket of equally stoney faces with eyes all fixed on him. His voice was cracked and he struggled to raise it to anymore than a whisper. This was now the seventh time in as many weeks that he had stood at the alter, to bid fond farewells to his friends and loved ones. The epidemic was now spreading, and all thoughts seemed to be on who may be the next to take the final journey.

Yet even in this, the darkest of all situations, Joshua’s bleary eyes were drawn to the church doors. Seven figures stood hand in hand, broad smiles were painted on the faces of six. The middle figure yet had no visible face. This did not surprise him, for those who had taken the journey so recently always took time to become clear. Only Joshua saw them, and for this he was glad.