"Not up mine, you ain't," Joe muttered. "I bet that'd smart some."
Father Le Moyne signed the cross in the woman's direction. She gave the priest the middle finger, waving it at him. Father Le Moyne struggled within, resisting the urge to return the gesture. With both hands.
"Forgiveness," Father Le Moyne muttered. "Always forgiveness. Remember that God is Love, and vengeance is His alone."
"Not in this case, Father," Joe told him. "Go ahead and shoot her the bird. 1 guarantee you, it'll make you feel a lot better."
"You're probably right, Joe," Father Le Moyne admitted. "It would appease the human side of me. But that is not my function here on earth."
"Then I'll do it for you." Joe extended the middle finger of his right hand toward the woman.
The woman, who used to be a member of the Methodist church, Joe recalled, hunched her hips in his direction and shouted curses at him. "Bitch!" Joe muttered, watching the woman in the side-view mirror.
There was not a shop, store, or business open anywhere in Logandale. It was a dead town, Sam thought. In more ways than one. The caravan pulled to a halt in front of the closed sporting goods shop. Parked directly across the street, the three policemen who had supposedly resigned the Logandale P.D. were in a police car, watching the small procession. The three men got out of the car and began walking across the street toward Sam's pickup.
"You there!" Jim Peters called to Sam. "Get out of that truck and raise your hands."
The window down, Sam said, "What have I done?"
"Just get out of the goddamn truck and keep your fucking mouth shut!" Bob Carson told him.
Sam stepped out of the truck and raised the AK., the weapon on full auto. "Stop right there," he told the three men. "If 1 have to repeat it, you're dead meat in the street. Understand?"
The men halted their advance. They seemed disoriented and unsure of what to do. Carl Medley finally spoke. "All right, don't shoot."
"Remove your gunbelts and lay them in the street," Sam ordered. "Then step away from them, to your right, and lay down in the street. Belly down and arms and legs spread wide. Do it and don't move."
The trio belly down on the concrete, Monty gathered up their sidearms and then opened the trunk of the police car, removing two riot guns. The ex-chief put those in his car. HeJooked at Sam.
"Kick in the door of the sporting goods store and you and Noah gather up every gun in there and all the ammunition you find. Divide it out among the cars. Get tarps, survival gear, knives, rope, lanterns and fuel, axes, dehyde food, and anything else you see you think we might need. For we might have to take to the timber before this is all over. Let's move it."
Monty did not hesitate. There was no doubt in his mind now that this was anything other than pure survival of the best prepared. But he still had doubts as to the need for any killing. That would come home to him later. Monty kicked in the front door of the store, smashed the lock with the butt of his rifle, and with Noah right behind him, entered the shop.
From far up the street, Sam could hear the crowd gathering in strength. They were slowly marching toward the center of town. They were chanting a strange intonation in a language Sam did not understand.
But he knew what it represented.
"Shake it up there!" Sam called. "John, you and Richard and Byron help out. Move it, we don't have much time."
The ministers, frightened looks on their pale faces, jumped from their cars and ran into the sporting goods store and started a modern day fire bucket line, passing down cases and crates and bags of supplies.
"Joe!" Sam called. "Take my truck and get to the church and then the supermarket. Start loading up with food and bottled water. You know what to get. I'll take your car. Nydia, you and Mille go with him in your car. You two stand guard. Take off!"
The ominous chanting of the swelling crowd was growing in volume. Sam checked his AK to see it was still on full auto. "Looks like I get to open this dance," he muttered. "So let's get on with it."
Sam stepped out into the street. "One more minute!" he called into the store. He shifted the AK to combat arms and got ready.
"We'll make it!" Noah returned the shout. "You just give us that minute, Sam."
The chanting was growing louder, the words hateful and evil in the strange tongue. The first column of marchers swung around the corner. They were less than a block away, shouting the evil.
Sam lifted the muzzle of the AK and burned half a clip in their direction.
The rhythmic chanting changed to screaming as the slugs tore into flesh and bone. Three men and a woman flopped on the street, howling in pain. A man and a woman lay still, their faces torn apart by the 7.62 ammo. The crowd turned into a panicked mob, each person trying to shove the other out of the way, seeking refuge from the hail of automatic weapon fire. Behind Sam, men were racing in and out of the sporting goods store, throwing arm loads of goods into cars.
"Let's go!" Sam shouted. "We're all out of time." He burned the rest of the clip at the retreating backs of Satan's followers, dropping three more bodies onto the concrete. He changed clips and blew out a store window on the corner of the block, sending glass and brick chips and lead flying. The caravan was moving, tires protesting on the street as the small group of Christians raced away.
They slid into the parking lot of the big supermarket. Like the sporting goods store, it, too, had been closed. The front doors of the supermarket were shattered. Joe had blown them open with his slug gun. Cases and boxes of food and jugs of bottled water were stacked in front of the big store.
"Everybody!" Sam yelled. "Out of the cars and start helping out."
"We got what Father Le Moyne wanted from the church," Joe panted. "I heard shootin'. You get a few of them?"
"Half a dozen or so. 1 left the cops in the middle of the street."
"Should have shot them," Joe said with a grunt. "Be three less to have to deal with later on."
"I would have if the civilians hadn't been watching me." Already Sam's mind was separating soldiers from civilians; warriors from recruits; noncombatants from fighters.
Then there was no more time for conversation as all bent their backs loading supplies into the cars and trucks of the caravan.
When they had loaded all they could, the caravan moved out. They were meeting no further resistance. The Satan worshippers had been routed, but all knew the lull would not last for long. And the next encounter between them would find the followers of the Dark One well armed and ready and willing for a fight.
They filled their tanks at a service station, after breaking in the doors, turning on the electricity, and unlocking the pumps. They pulled out for Fox Estate. Halfway there, they found the road blocked by heavy trucks.
"Rabble!" Princess Flaubert hissed her anger, the words coming from her mouth like a snake uncoiling. "Cowardly rabble, all."
"They thought it would be easy taking the Christians, Princess." Norman Giddon attempted to sooth the young woman. "They did not know—nor did I—that Sam Balon would open fire on unarmed men and women."
"Well, they should have been warned!" Xaviere snapped. Her words cracked like tiny whips. "Sam Balon is just like his father. God's personal killers. That's all. They must not reach Fox Estate. You will see to that. Now get out!" she screamed at him.
Norman Giddon, trembling from fear, slinked from the room much like a whipped dog.
"God's personal killers," the old warrior said, his voice rumbling across the firmament. "I think it has a nice ring to it, don't You?"
But the Ruler of the Heavens did not find His friend's remarks amusing. He glared at him.
The warrior refused to be intimidated, just as he had been doing for more years than would be imaginable for humans to comprehend. "You began it all, remember? You could have just as easily killed the Son of the Morning, you know. Then all this would have been prevented."
"1 would rather you not refer to that filth as the 'Son of the Morning.' Please."
"Pardon
me. Shall we have it stricken from the Bible? Gutenberg is somewhere around this area, I believe."
"You try My patience, old warrior. But I am not deceived by your actions. You're attempting to anger Me so I will order you from the firmament. Then you could meddle in Earth's business. I know all your tricks, Michael, and you should be ashamed."
"Should be, perhaps," the ageless warrior replied. "But I am not."
"All that violence," He muttered.
"You are concerned about the violence in one insignificant little village when the entire planet of Earth is exploding in war daily? I—"
"Speaking of that!" the voice thundered.
"Am I about to get another lecture concerning the Middle Eastern portion of that planet?"
"Yes. You meddled."
The warrior sighed and prepared himself for a scolding. But he was used to it. It had been occurring for thousands of years.
And had not deterred him from single action.
"I know a shortcut," Noah shouted. "Back up and follow me."
The column backtracked, following where Noah drove. He cut off the county road onto a dirt road and roared around the gravel curves, the rear end of the vehicles fishtailing in the loose gravel. They angled back toward the highway, finally bouncing onto the road, north of the blockade. The caravan headed for Fox Estate. Homes were fewer in this part of Logandale, but much more expensive.
They drove past the Giddon House and cut into the curving drive of Fox Estate. They had accomplished the first leg of their journey.
Sam saw Jimmy Perkins shuffle from the rear of the house and run for the thick brush and timber to the rear of the estate. Sam jumped from his pickup and triggered off a long burst from his AK. The slugs hit Perkins in the back, knocking the undead sprawling. The others watched in amazement as the man jumped to his feet and ran into the timber, apparently unhurt from the lead that stitched his back.
"But you hit him!" Monty yelled. "It was a good hit. I saw the slugs dot the back of his shirt. But—Jesus! There was no blood!"
"Bullets won't kill him," Sam explained calmly. Monty stood with an astonished look on his face. "Jimmy Perkins has been dead for almost a quarter of a century."
"What?" Monty yelled the question. "That's not possible, Sam."
"Oh, it's possible. I'll tell you about it later. Let's get this gear into the house. Joe? Check out the house. If there is anybody in there—kill them."
"With pleasure," Joe drawled.
TWO
"Put the vehicles in the big garage around back," Sam told the group. "Secure the garage doors with chains and locks. Find some boards and nails and make damn sure what you build is sturdy enough to keep people out. We're going to be needing those vehicles. When that is done, start going over the nomenclature of the weapons of your choice. You've got to learn how to use them. And we don't have much time to teach you people."
Sam then prowled the big house, inspecting each room. He forced himself to enter the bedroom where he and Desiree had made love. He stood for a few moments, feeling the dark force attempt to cloud his mind and wriggle like a snake into his rational thinking process. Sam fought the Dark One's mental manipulations and smiled victoriously as they fought back each mental thrust from Satan.
"You can't get to me that way," Sam said aloud. "Not anymore. Never again. Not to me, not to Nydia, not to Father Le Moyne, not to Noah. So leave me alone."
"You didn't mention the others, though, did you?" the sinister voice whispered in Sam's head. "Oh, no. Because you can't be sure of them, can you?"
"How can I be?" Sam questioned.
"Then I'll just be on my merry way," the voice spoke cheerfully. "All my magic to perform. Ta-ta, Mr. Balon."
Sam felt the force leave the room. He left swiftly and located Father Le Moyne.
"Satan just attempted to influence my thoughts," he told the priest. "Upstairs. When he found he could not do so, he suggested the others who did not have our faith. He's going to try to shape their thoughts."
"Mille and Joe will stand firm. So will Jeanne. I'm certain the ministers will do the same. I can't be certain about Monty or Viv, Desiree. We'll have to keep close watch on them. I—am hesitant to tell them of Satan's plans. It might prove detrimental; make them so nervous they would be vulnerable to his influence."
"So all we can do is watch?"
"I'm afraid so."
Sam left the priest and continued his inspection of the huge mansion. He saw Barbara Morton sitting alone in a small drawing room. She lifted her eyes from the Bible she was reading and looked at the young man.
"We'll make it," Sam assured her. He could tell the woman was badly frightened. "I won't tell you not to be afraid; that would be foolish. But I can tell you with enough faith, we can make it through this thing."
Barbara was a very pretty woman. In her late thirties, Sam guessed. A knockout when in high school or college, he thought. Cheerleader type. Big blue eyes, soft honey-colored hair, very fair complexion. And a good figure, too. She looked like the picture of a Southern girl. Sam said as much, trying to take her mind off their present danger.
"I'm originally from Tennessee," she told him. Sam picked up just the faintest trace of an accent. "I met John in college. Cambridge. He used to kid me because 1 never took the Devil very seriously. I used to laugh at horror movies. You know, about possession and Devil worship—things like that. John would never watch the shows. He said it was just too real for his tastes."
"And now?"
She met his gaze. "It's—real enough. John told me all about you. He's spoken at length with Noah and Father Le Moyne. You're quite a young man, Sam Balon."
Sam shrugged off the compliment. "1 did what 1 had to do, Mrs. Morton. Just like now—with all of us here. We're doing what has to be done."
"Barbara, please. And I think you're being much too modest, Sam."
Sam began picking up vibes; and he didn't much like the message in the silent pulsations. "All right. Barbara it is, then."
She closed her Bible, laid it aside, and stood up. A very good figure. Sam readjusted his original estimate of the woman. But something in the woman's eyes sent warning signals flashing in Sam's brain.
"I'm so frightened, Sam," she said. Her voice was small in the room.
Just as she stepped toward the young man, Joe called from the foyer. The shout was faint in the huge mansion.
"Excuse me, Barbara," Sam said. "You just take it easy. Everything will be all right. Bet on it. And," he added as an afterthought, pointing at her Bible on the table, "keep your faith."
Sam was relieved to be leaving the woman's presence. Barbara Morton was disturbing to him. Sam said as much to Joe.
"She spreads her legs from time to time," the man informed him in a low voice. "But she's real discreet about it. She don't give it away to just anybody."
"The priest's wife!" Sam was shocked and made no attempt to hide it.
"Yeah. She's human, Sam. 'Way I get the story, she likes more action between the sheets than her husband does. But she tries to be faithful to him. But John has what the doctors call a low sex drive. Barbara's in high gear all the time. But when that woman kicks it into overdrive, look out, 'cause she's gonna find her a man and get him in the saddle for some hard ridin'."
Sam stood for a moment, shaking his head. "Well, that tells me something then. I could swear Barbara was coming on to me in there."
"That don't surprise me none, Sam. She's one we're gonna have to keep an eye on. I just spoke with Father Le Moyne," he explained. "He told me what you told him 'bout the Devil and all."
"Joe, has the—have you heard any strange voices in your head?"
Joe smiled. "No. I think Old Lucifer knows to leave me alone. I think he knows none of his whisperin' would do a damn bit of good far as I'm concerned. I ain't the most Christian feller in the world; I've sinned—mostly with women. And I have asked for His forgiveness. Don't get me wrong, Sam. I never messed around none on any of my wives. All my sinnin'
was done before marriage or in between wives. But I never lied nor stole or anything like that. I just don't hold with that sort of doin's. I wasn't raised that-a-way."
And Sam knew then that Joe might be killed by a bullet or knife; he was mortal. But Satan would never sway him by temptation.
"You're a good man, Joe."
"I'm just a man. No better or no worse than most others. Reason I called for you was to tell you 'bout that preacher's wife. But you done put all that together. She's a real looker, Sam. That there is what you'd have to call prime. We'll both watch her close. I think she's a good person in her heart. But to put it bluntly: she just likes to fuck, and that sums it up."
Sam laughed at the man's frankness of speech and continued his inspection of the huge mansion. The field of fire the house afforded was excellent. There was no doubt in Sam's mind they could be overrun by the sheer numbers—if Satan chose to go that route; but Sam did not believe the coven members would be allowed to do that. Too much danger of Nydia, Little Sam, and himself being killed. And he knew Satan had plans for the three of them. So it would be a war of nerves for a couple of days, maybe longer. Satan would attempt to lure the Christians into his camp with mental manipulations. Then, when that failed—and Sam hoped it would fail—only then would a lot of deadly force be used.
He hoped his assessment was correct.
"Sam?" Joe called from the downstairs.
Sam stepped to the balcony's edge and looked down. "Right here, Joe."
"That there Flaubert woman wants to talk to you." Joe pronounced it Flourburt. "She's waitin' by the gate at the stone fence, on the Giddon side of the line. You be careful, now. 1 don't trust that bitch."
My daughter, Sam thought. "All right. Coming down." My daughter. And the daughter of the Devil. And 1 know 1 will have to kill her someday. If 1 can, that is.
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