[b]Lower Queens Schul, Zealot New York[/b]

The low murmur of passing air was the only sound that swept through the blackened husk of the once bustling synagogue. Still the imprint of forgotten papers littered the ground. Black stains and moldy blackened books littered the floor between pews and tables where from the broken and cracked floor grew glowing green mushrooms. The air was musty and damp, smelling of eternal rot but throbbing with a certain energy. In places the ground seemed almost melted and twisted from a strong heat. But the integrity of the structure had remained firm despite the wear.

Above, the ceiling groaned from centuries of weight. Much of the old drop ceiling had fallen out and cleared away by the synagogues minority residents keeping the floor clean and the memory of a once thriving old-world community cleared for any eyes who wished to see it. Illuminated by the dim lighting of the interior the raised bimah stood dusty, where stood the tall stoic form of the ghoul who kept it. Black robes fell heavy from his shoulders. He didn't have much else to wear. A thin beard fell across his chest and a cap covered his balding and peeling head.

There was a soft mournful way he spoke as he read the faded Hebrew of the Torah scroll between his bony hands. His hands shook weakly as he read allowed to the grim and silent congregation of pre-war Jews, facing him and the city of Jerusalem, somewhere beyond the Atlantic. Its survival in this new wretched world unknown.

In the light and given the decaying condition of the scrolls it was hard to believe if the figure at the bimah was actually reading it. But word for word he recited its passages as he had over the two centuries. Hoping that it brought comfort to the survivors and reminders to who they were. The Torah and the Talmud were God's rock, and it anchored them all. Like Moses in the exodus the old laws were their water to life and clarity.

They were Jews, and for all their torture as a race over the centuries they wouldn't falter. God's people didn't simply give up. And in the gaping maw of disaster's coming bravery was in memory. Their collective history as a race and people. As a faith.

The recital came to an end and the small community of surviving ghouls broke into a low song. Raspy and coarse, they rose from their pews. Looking to their ancient and distant homeland as the long robed priest closed the scrolls and turned to the Torah Ark, a small simple feature, a faded rose-red banner with the ten commandments sewn in gold in the crimson fabric draped over top. Along side an oil lantern burned, illuminating the decrepit shrine in a lonely orange glow.

In the old Hebrew tongue they presented their solemn song as the ark was opened and the ancient frayed scrolls were deposited. The lonely priest looked down at them with frowning eyes and sighed, closing the lid and sealing the ancient scrolls away.

He took a low bow, joining the song in a low and operatic voice, vibrating with a staccato rhythm and he joined the prayer. Things had changed. But they still remembered. That was all that was needed to keep them there. To stay anchored to the rock.

As the service closed and the temple went silent the communion – the Minyan – broke from their place of prayer, drifting into a side room in the structure with their heads bowed.

Leaving the tired and dark sanctuary of their worship they moved on into a much more austere and civil chamber. Though graying and peeling back couches and arm chairs filled the room's center, circling about a lonely central table. Wooden chairs, likely pulled from the ruins of restaurants sat in the corners alongside mismatching end tables. A dull light from flickering florescent shone from over head, basking the tired mummified faces of the old Jews as they crossed into the sitting room.

“Whenever I come in here and look up, I hope to see Albert in the corner. Reading the papers from just before the world ended!” exclaimed a scrawny ghoul. He turned to smile at his companions as he came in, “He'd shout whenever I come in, 'Oy Moses, gas is up a hundred dollars again. How am I to drive to synagogue, Moshe?

“And I'd say to him: 'Albert, what does it matter. It is all over anyways and we all live here now!' to which he'd say, 'I know! But I still feel I should drive across town to go to that cheap butcher in Jersey!'”

“May his soul rest in peace.” replied another solemnly.

“Maybe he finally found it.” Moshe shrugged, “Or maybe he hopes peace will come at a discount around Hanukkah. I don't know.”

“Well perhaps you will give us the gas prices then.” the black-dressed ghoul said, passing alongside the smaller Moshe as he took a seat on the ancient couches.

“You know I would love to, but Wall Street is still on vacation, Leonard.” sighed Moshe.

“Nonsense, they've always said we ran Wall Street. So what would you say the price of gas would be these days?” one of the ghoulish congregation said, walking the parameter.

“Oh, I would not mind to see the days of five-dollars for a gallon!” Moshe cheered, sitting down opposite of the Kohanamen, “That would be a steal. Especially for anyone with a corvega! And maybe now we will start seeing the Taxis come back. New York isn't the same without them.”

“Taxis.” scoffed the previous ghoul. His charred skin more red from the rest. His wide barreled hat more ratty than his skin was, “I remember how well most of them would drive.

“I swear, if Dogballs had an army of cab drivers we would have the entire Wasteland conquered by now. How's that for a thought? America: conquered by negroes at the command of the Jews. The dead would be spinning in the ashes crying conspiracy!”

“Then let it be done, Rothman! Let's find us some cab drivers!” he laughed.

“Good luck with that, I hear their booked well until 2800.”

“Oh I've lived two-hundred years longer than I should. What's another six-hundred!” Moshe smiled, “Can't say the same for out 'Solomon', but what does it matter.

“By cab conversion though, how fun would that be? I remember when some hick new to the city found out and tried to tell me about Jesus.”

“Oh, how did you respond?”

“I just stayed quiet. I didn't have anything witty at the time.”