“You can take your mangy pet and go straight back to hell, you son of a bitch!” he yelled up at Preacher.
He was amazed at how confident and calm the words came out of him. The ursataur on the porch growled deep and long. Steve knew it understood. Preacher’s smile faltered, but he quickly regained his air of pseudo-benevolence. He bowed his head, eyes disappearing under his broad-brimmed hat. His wristwatch began beeping incessantly. Preacher lifted his arm and pressed a button. The alarm ceased. When he looked up again, he wore a wide smile.
“Oh, I am sorry. Time is up,” he nodded.
He dropped the length of his coiled whip onto the tin roof and gave his wrist a quick twist to uncoil its barbs.
When he opened his mouth as if to speak, it reminded Steve of a garbage disposal working too hard to chew up its load—guttural and gurgling.
The ursataur looked up at where Preacher stood, seeming to see him through the roof above. The guttural noises continued, and Preacher pointed a hookish finger at Steve. The beast responded back. Steve knew Preacher had issued the kill order. Veronica knew it, too.
“NO!” she screamed and emptied the clip, firing at the Preacher.
Steve crouched low over Abby and braced for impact. He heard the staccato repeat of the two remaining bullets. The first went wide, but the other found its mark, hitting Preacher in the back. He stumbled, then recovered quickly. When he turned to face her, Veronica was already running straight at him. At the same time, the ursataur had leapt off the porch and was crossing the small bit of lawn between Steve and itself. Veronica hit Preacher dead-on with a shoulder to his narrow midsection. She caught him off guard, and he had no time to defend against the blow. Even though she was only 115 pounds, she looked to Steve like a massive lineman catching a tiny quarterback in a wide-open blitz.
Her momentum carried them both to the edge of the tin roof and then over. Veronica was screaming in rage. Steve screamed back, all too aware that the demon beast was only yards away. Preacher flew through the air, with Veronica locked on top of him in an embrace borne out of hate. The beast was so intent on reaching Steve that it never saw the danger above.
Preacher and Veronica hit the beast with their full combined weight. The creature’s tremendous rack of antlers impaled them both on impact. Preacher screamed in writhing agony with a shrill cry like a massive turbine engine moving too fast. Veronica screamed as well, but refused to let go.
From his angle, Steve could see that Preacher, being on the bottom, had taken the brunt of their landing. The ursataur’s antlers rose up like tiny bloody mountains across Preacher body, piercing his arms, a leg and his neck. His body convulsed, but between the impaling and Veronica’s weight, he could do little more than jerk his one free leg in a useless spasm.
Steve could tell that at least half a dozen of the massive horns had pierced Veronica. She gritted her teeth as she stared directly into Preacher’s face. His bulging eyes and his lolling tongue were inches from her own face. She could smell his rotting-apple breath with its sickly warmth. It smelled of mold, death. The beast below them whirled about like a drunken marionette, paws in the air, trying to reach them with its talons.
Steve made his move. He left Abby on the ground and scurried to his fallen axe. He ran at the beast, prepared to wade in and do what he could while it was distracted. As he approached, ducking low, the beast grabbed Veronica’s leg. It sank its claws into her calf and tried to pull her free. She screamed, but held tight to Preacher. Steve moved behind the beast, pulled back on the axe and swung hard and high at the ursataur’s back. He hit its neck below the base of its skull. The rusty axe pierced muscles and bone, severing the beast’s spine. It let out a low mewling, like a calf, and then fell forward onto the ground. Its top heavy framed crashed forward into the earth, and Veronica could no longer hold her grip. She fell to the ground and landed on her back. Preacher was still impaled, hanging sideways on the massive antlers, face near the dirt.
The ursataur beneath him pawed at the ground. Gouts of black blood spewed from its nearly severed neck every few seconds, in time with its fading pulse. It was dying, snout down in the dirt. With Preacher’s weight and its broken neck, it could no longer support the weight of its own head. It moaned and tried to push its head up from the ground, but it was too weak. Each time it snorted a breath, a tiny cloud of dust exploded around its face.
Steve rushed to Veronica and cradled her head. She was bleeding from a dozen gouges in her chest, arms and legs. Her face was scratched and bloody. He wiped the blood from her face, and although her eyes were glassy, she managed to focus on him.
“Steve.”
“I’m here, Veronica.”
“I think we-—“ She halted, arching her back as the pain hit her, “I think we. . .we. . .did it.”
“No, you did it.”
She reached up and grabbed his hand. She squeezed once, hard. “Thank you, Steve. Biker was right about you.” She coughed. Tears fell from the corners of her eyes. She groaned and her face twisted into a scowl.
Steve’s tears flowed freely. “Take care of them,” she whispered. When she exhaled for the last time, her grip went loose in his. He wept as he let her go. Then he heard the faint, taunting laugh again.
Rut rut rut rut rut
Preacher hung sideways from the antlers, pinned, but staring at Steve. His laugh mocked Steve’s pain, but it was raspy and Steve could hear a wet gurgling that made it much less threatening. He looked at Steve, his milky eyes bulging. He opened his mouth to speak, but the antler piercing his throat kept any sound from coming out. He coughed, and flecks of black blood splattered up his face. Even from a distance, Steve could smell his evil. It was ripe, overripe, rotten fruit, a compost heap.
Preacher’s presence tainted the air, and Steve tasted the death on his tongue—bitterness that he tried to spit out. “Reap what you sow, you evil bastard,” he said, gritting his teeth. Then he looked around, hoping to locate his rusty axe for one final job.
Rut rut rut ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuoooooooooooooooooo
The wet laugh turned into a loud intake of breath. Preacher began to suck in air with the force of a jet engine. His body began to tremble, but it remained pinned on the ursataur’s antlers. He stared at Steve. His inhaling continued, long and loud, until it became a whirring vibration that began to shake his body. The pitch increased with the volume. He smiled, opening his lips wide. Inky black blood and drool covered his tall teeth and curling lips. The smile grew until it became a sneer.
Recognition hit Steve like a sucker punch to the face. Preacher wasn’t going to go quietly. He saw his axe nearby, but thought better of it. He scrambled to Abby and picked her up around the waist. With a grunt, he lifted her and stood up. He could no longer see Preacher, but the whirring had turned into a high-pitched whine. It reminded Steve of a blaring test of the Emergency Broadcast System. Perhaps this was the ultimate test.
His calves burned as he did his best to carry Abby across the yard to the corner of the house. When he reached the edge of the porch, the whirring tone ended. He threw Abby down on the ground and jumped on top of her to shield her body. As he did, a bright light seared his eyes, coming from the direction of Preacher. Steve felt a sharp pain tugging inside of his skull, as if Preacher were magnetic and Steve’s head a lump of metal. The rest of Steve’s body resisted, but the force was straining the muscles of his neck. He fought to maintain protection over Abby.
The next moment, he felt the heat of a piercing chemical explosion as it burned against him. The shockwave knocked him off Abby and flung him into the air like discarded newspaper in an alleyway. He smashed into the side of the cabin, feeling and hearing his ribs snap like fresh stalks of celery. He collapsed to the ground face down, gasping for breath through compressed lungs.
His chest burned through his fractured ribs. Despite it all, he felt a change in the air around him. The stench of death and bitter hatred was gone. The sun was shining, and the birds had already begun chirping aga
in. It was as if nature itself breathed a strong sigh of relief and cleaned the air of all the pollutants spouted by Preacher.
He squinted through his pain to find Abby. His body couldn’t keep up with the speed at which his mind was racing. Abby was a few feet from him. The shockwave had rolled her over, and he saw that her face had deep gashes from Preacher’s whip. Dirt and grass caked her wounds, and there was too much blood to determine how badly she was hurt. He could see that she was breathing and said a silent prayer of thanks.
He climbed to his knees, pressing his arm to his side to control the burning. When he stood and turned, wanting to check on Martin, he moved too fast and became dizzy. Blackness clouded the edges of his vision, and there was a ringing in his ears. He stumbled and fell into darkness.
Chapter 48
“Steve.”
He heard a far off voice, calling his name. He didn’t like it. It was disturbing his much-needed rest.
“Steve.”
He forced his eyes to open, taking several seconds to recognize where he was. Even without his glasses, he could see the giant cracks in the plaster between the ceiling beams and the faded wallpaper above the bed. He was in the cabin. It all came back in a flood. Martin. Abby. Veronica! He sat up.
“Steve.” He felt a strong, steady pressure on his ankle. Biker sat at the foot of the bed.
“Biker.”
“’Bout time you woke up, bro.”
“The others, what happ—” Steve started sitting up in the bed.
“They’re fine, Steve,” replied Biker, pushing him back down. “I’ll explain it, but please take it easy.”
Steve’s neck was still stiff. A tight homemade bandage wrapped his midsection. He could feel the pinch of cracked ribs when he breathed deeply, but otherwise he felt intact.
“Listen, brother. I have to go. I have stayed longer than planned already, and I have a lot of other people I need to check up on.”
“But, I don’t understand. Didn’t we . . . kill him?”
“Preacher? Well, you didn’t exactly kill him, but he and his cronies definitely won’t be showing their faces around here any time soon. Unfortunately, he’s not the only dirtball who was born to raise a little hell on earth. There are plenty of others out there, and I’ve got to get back on schedule. I don’t think you’ll be bothered for a long time, if ever. Well done, by the way.”
“It wasn’t me. It was Veronica. She’s the one who. . .took him out.”
“No. It was all of you, working together. None of you alone could have done what you did together. You won. You each paid the price, but in the end, you each stepped up and did what you had to do.”
“You said the others were fine? Are they still here?”
Biker chuckled. “Are you kidding?” he asked. “I’ve barely been able to keep Martin and Abby outta here.”
“But Veronica, she’s gone.”
“Yeah, about Veronica,” said Biker, voice going soft. “Martin and Abby were able to tell me most of what happened, and I’ve been able to piece the rest together just by doing a little looking around this place.”
He paused for a moment, searching for the right words. “Listen Steve, Veronica made a conscious decision to do what she did, and it turned out to be the very thing you needed. I told you that you weren’t going to be able to kill Preacher like you could a normal man, right?”
Steve nodded.
“When I told you though, I did not know how you were going to do it. But by sacrificing her own life, Veronica showed us all how it’s done. She knew that no mortal could harm him, so she worked it out that he died via his own goatboy. I don’t know if she had it all planned out that way or not, but it worked, didn’t it?”
Steve wasn’t shocked to hear this. He knew that her sacrifice was the reason the rest of them were still alive. That didn’t make it any easier to face that she had died on his watch.
“I figure that’s why we read her as a ‘positive’ to begin with. And it seems Satan didn’t anticipate a person willing to sacrifice herself for the good of those she loved. That’s where he botched it up something awful. Looks to me like we might’ve found the game-changin’ flaw in his plan though— underestimating the people he’s got his sights on. Believe you me, this is gonna be a big break for us.”
Biker took a small silver box out of his pocket and slid it across the bed sheet to Steve. Steve looked down and picked up the box.
“What is this?” he asked, opening the box on its tiny hinges. It was filled with fine gray ash.
“I think she’d want you to choose her final resting place.”
Steve gasped and shut the box.
“Me?” Steve asked. “What about her family?”
“I think ya’ll here qualify for that title more than anybody else these days.”
Steve sighed. He sat in silence for a moment. He ran his thumbnail along the gilded edges of the shining square.
“I think we should go back to Cozumel then. We can spread them in the water where she loved to dive.”
“I think that’d be perfect.”
Steve clutched the box in his lap. He held back tears. “Biker, I need to ask you something. It has been bothering me since the beginning.”
“Shoot.”
“If you didn’t know how we were going to kill him, how could you be so positive that it would work for us?”
Biker nodded and was quick to respond.
“For the very same reason you agreed to lead this charge, man. It was a question of faith! I believed that you could do it. You believed that you could do it. When it came down to it, you did what needed to be done. You all did.
“Yeah, but we all almost died out there—not just Veronica, all of us!” Steve’s anger was rising.
“Look Steve, that damn Preacher was a trafficker in evil. He was used to dealing with the dirtballs and rejects of society, twisting them to do his will and ensuring their one-way ticket to Hell upon their demise. When you knocked him off up here, Satan tore him a real new one when he got back home. Preacher was too eager for the kill, and he ended up destroying all that set-up work.”
Biker stood up from the bed, talking excitedly.
“Word on the street is that Satan made the biggest snafu himself, though. His whole premise backfired. By killing your loved ones, he drew you four together. He made you stronger than you ever would’ve been on your own. That reliance, trust and teamwork you all showed, it saved you all. It set you free. That’s something you had to do for yourselves, and you did it.”
“So, does that mean it’s over then?”
“Over?” asked Biker, pacing in front of the bed. “For you? Yeah, I think so. You’ve paid your dues and then some. But no, it isn’t over for everybody else. Our spies tell us Satan is raging something awful right now. But that distraction and the knowledge we have about his flaw gives us the upper hand, at least for a while.”
“Wait,” said Steve. “God has spies in Hell?”
Biker sighed, “Brother, this goes deeper than you’d ever care to imagine.”
Steve’s head was aching, and Biker, talking so freely of life and death and Heaven and Hell, still made him queasy. “Is Veronica gonna, you know, be okay?” he asked, looking down again at the silver box.
“She is exactly where she needs to be, and she’s got somebody there who loves her very much.”
Steve sensed the finality in Biker’s words. He had closed the subject of Veronica’s afterlife.
“What about the others? Both of them were hurt pretty badly in that fight.”
“Yeah, they each took some lumps and earned some scars. And they are both feeling it over Veronica. But they understand it, too. I know it’s a double dose of grief that all of you are dealing with, but you are dealing with it, and I promise you, just like I did them, that it does get better.
“Martin got the worst of it. He lost a lot of blood, and on top of that, he’s got an infection from that damn cowface. It’s a bad one, and no earthl
y antibiotic is gonna touch it. I’ve done what I can, but it’ll have to run its course. He’s gonna have bouts of pain and some nasty permanent scars. Eventually, in a few years, he’ll get better. Not just good, mind you, better than he ever was. See, the irony of it is that the infection is also gonna boost his immune system and make him a lot more durable. It wouldn’t surprise me if he started using his new and improved body to do real good in this world.”
“And Abby?”
“Ah, Abby,” Biker smiled. “My lil’ visionary darlin’. You know what? That kid is all right. She’s smart, and she just gets stuff, doesn’t she? Anyway, yeah, she’s still licking her wounds, too. She can still see, but she is gonna be impaired. Not sure she’ll be able to fly a jet plane, but she’ll make it through. She’s always gonna have those scars, and she’s gonna have to be careful with bright light. But you know what? I am bettin’ that she is gonna be able to use that intuition of hers, and with a little focus, I bet she’ll become one hell of a counselor someday. You might want to keep her close—she could come in handy!”
On Tenterhooks Page 31