Patrick tried to look or breathe as they carried the body across the border. Then they set the disgusting bundle down and waited.
Belief in Saint Michael was strong and at any given time, the number of people praying to him was enormous. The very second they crossed the border out of the Dead Zone, Michael's body began to repair itself.
Inside his rotten body, muscles began to reform and veins reconnected. His heart gave a reluctant beat, pushing blood which had turned to sludge back through his body. Another beat, and then another.
Lungs reformed and even before his skin had begun to fix itself, Michael gave a desperate gasp for air. And inhaled a tooth which had landed in his throat. He turned his rotten head as he began to cough furiously, half-aware body trying to dislodge the obstruction. The tooth shot out of his airway and landed on Patrick's foot. Patrick whimpered and shook if off of him before hiding behind his brother.
And then Michael screamed, at least as much of a scream as his broken body could manage. As his brain fixed itself, the agony of what had happened and what was happening to his body reached his mind. Even half-alive, he could sense pain for what it was. Broken wails of anguish pushed past his rotten gums and swollen tongue.
His flesh turned from greyish-black to pale and healthy looking. It knitted itself back together visibly, pushing out offending bugs and worms which had happily set up home there in the weeks since his death.
His screaming ceased. Finally able to move more than his head, Michael twisted and lifted himself up on his arms. His lungs were full and he needed to empty them. He coughed again, his breath ragged and desperate. Immediately Patrick recognised what was happening and he reached into the bag he had brought for a water bottle.
With all his coughing, Michael finally managed to expel the dirt and detritus which had taken over his lungs. Maggots wriggled unhappily in the expulsion and then Michael turned green and vomited yet more dirt, slime and bugs on top of everything else.
Awareness was setting in and Michael remembered what had happened. There were more important things to deal with though, before he even began to think about processing that.
"Water," he gritted out, and Patrick was at his side immediately with the bottle, having already twisted the top off. Michael drank deeply and then he poured more over his hair before running his fingers through it to dislodge a few stray worms. His stomach was knotted in hunger but he felt too nauseated to eat. He was weak and sore, but very much alive.