Story of map

Every night the old people gathered at the church. It was an old brick building at the very top of the hill. the bricks were leaching out minerals, decomposing, this gave them a scaly white surface. Boston Ivy covered one side of the building. the side that had windows. Because the town was next to the ocean sand was everywhere; sweeping was a full time job. the church floor, large enough to seat only forty people, was covered in sand. the pews were stained so dark one might think they were painted black. It was dark inside, lit only by huge white candles that gave off the smell of old onions while they burned.
The preacher would start from his house at the bottom of the hill at five o'clock every day. He was a tall and stooped man in a ratty black suit. In the dim light of the candles he resembled a giant spider. He would close the door of his house and lock it. he was the only one in town who locked his door. His house looked like all the other houses in town. Once painted white it had been polished by time and sand to a dull gray. the color of the exposed wood siding blending into the ground, blending even into the dead grasses that sprouted in tall clumps in lieu of lawns. little work had gotten done since the disease had come.
It had come five years ago. the Crawford's baby had been the first one to start coughing. then a day later his fever peaked and he started to bleed out of his nose and ears. he was dead by the third day. some people tried to run, but you couldn't outrun it. Tom Nathon, the town doctor, was out of morphine in a week. people were dying in severe pain. Tom was dead in two weeks. In three weeks everyone under sixty five was dead. No one over sixty had been effected.
the preacher would start up main street, one of three streets in the town, walking with his cane. he move slow. He shuffled and clutched a bible in his claw hand. Behind him the old people would slide silently out of there houses. They lurched and sputtered and coughed up the hill. Main street may have been paved before the disease, who could remember. Now it was covered with a good half foot of sand. The sand was filled not with footsteps but with lines, as body's too stubborn to die dragged themselves upwards. As the silent procession passed the shops, kept open more out of habit than necessity, the shop keepers would close for the day. they would pull the door and shutters closed, having to fight against the salty sea winds. they would wrap shawls and scarves tight. They would lean on each other, drag each other, will each other towards the church.