And If I Die

by John Aubrey Anderson

  There was no one near him when he heard the words, and he wrote the message off to an overactive imagination.

  That same day, as he was lying down for his afternoon nap, he heard it again—the same voice conveying the same two-word message: “Be ready.”

  Shortly thereafter, when Mason went for his Sunday-afternoon ride, he carried along two rifles and a shotgun.

  Three hours later, he was standing in the center of the Cat Lake bridge, engaged in an incredible struggle—a battle—and he was the only person holding a gun. In the space of a few minutes, using all three guns, he shot and killed twenty-some-odd cottonmouth water moccasins—snakes whose bodies were being used by demonic beings in an orchestrated assault on Missy. Because of God’s direct intervention, Mason and the girl survived unscathed.

  Fifteen years after the incident on the bridge, the messenger’s voice came to him in the predawn hours, speaking the same two all-important words. Later that day, he carried a deer rifle and shotgun out to Cat Lake and saved the girl again. During the second conflict, which proved to be no less bloody than the first, he had to help kill a man he’d known for thirty years.

  “Have you got a gun close by?” he asked.

  His question told Missy that God’s answer to her urgent prayer was It’s starting again, honey, and you’re right in the middle.

  She sighed, “Yes, sir—got it right here in my hand.”

  “Do you have your back to a wall?”

  She mentally slapped herself on the wrist and backed against the wall by the phone. “I do now.”

  “Okay. Now . . . were you awake when you heard it?”

  “Not the first couple of times, but I was just now. I was sittin’ in the den.”

  “Tell me what you heard.”

  She gave him a detailed account of what transpired, and waited.

  He took a few seconds to weigh what she’d told him then said, “Sounds just like what happened to me, baby.”

  “So it was an angel, wasn’t it?”

  “Yep.” There was no doubt in his mind or tone. “An’ if what’s happened in the past is a guide, you can know he’s warnin’ you to be ready to deal with what’s comin’ from at least one demon.”

  Missy had been trying to prepare herself for what the man was going to say—mentally resisting the inevitable. Hearing his assurance that she was destined for an encounter with a demonic being was like taking a body blow with a large mallet. He could hear her take a deep breath. Her words, when they came, were emphatic. “A. J., I do not want this.”

  Mason understood. The words from one of Martin Luther’s old hymns coursed through his mind. His craft and power are great, and armed with cruel hate, on earth is not his equal. Only a fool would relish an encounter with a satanic being.

  He looked at the saucepan full of boiling coffee and used it for an excuse to say, “Hang on just a minute. I’m gonna put down the phone an’ pour me a cup of coffee.”

  He put the receiver on the counter by the sink and filled a mug half full of the black brew. He moved to the window and held the cup against his chest as he prayed silently, Lord, You an’ I know You could’ve picked anybody You wanted to handle what’s comin’. I ask that You’d give me the words that will show this young girl how special it is that . . . of all the people on the earth . . . You chose her.

  He picked up the phone and said, “You still there?”

  While he was pouring his coffee, she’d been digging in her heels. “I am, an’ I still do not want to do this.”

  “How come you called me, then?”

  She could feel her face get hot. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “Mmm.”

  “What do you think I ought to do?” she asked.

  “Well, I think it’d be a good idea for us to pray.”

  “You go first.”

  “Fine . . . an’ you need to keep your eyes open.” He bowed his head. “Lord, we got no idea what You’re gonna bring us, on this day or any other, but we know You’ve warned this woman, an’ we have to figure that whatever comes will be bad. I pray, Lord, that You would make her strong an’ watchful, an’ that You’d see fit to protect her an’ them she’s near. Amen.”

  Missy had been listening and thinking while Mason prayed. When he finished, she cleared her throat and said, “Father, forgive me for not comin’ to You first. I don’t know what it is You have in mind for me, an’ I don’t know when it’s comin’ . . . I just know I want to do what’s pleasin’ to You when it gets here. Lord, there’s so much to pray for . . .” She stopped again and used the sleeve of the robe to do double duty on her nose and eyes; she wasn’t saying what she felt.

  Silence came and went over the phone. The old man was weighed down by recollections of the past tragedies and horrors portended by the voice she’d heard. The girl’s mind was occupied by memories of the same events, and she could feel her knees beginning to shake. Finally, she said, “Lord, I don’t like anything about this. I’m not all that good with a gun, an’ I’m . . . I’m . . . uh, just me. Why would You choose somebody like me for somethin’ like this?”

  Mason waited for the girl to ask for God’s help, but the request didn’t come. When the line stayed quiet, he asked, “Are we through prayin’?”

  “I guess . . . for now.”

  Mason said, “Amen.”

  “Well . . . what do you think I ought to expect?” she asked.

  “Gimme a minute.” Mason leaned against the kitchen counter and lowered his head, using his free hand to push his glasses up and pinch the bridge of his nose as he said a second silent prayer, Lord, I’m not sure what’s goin’ on in this child’s heart . . . but You are. I ask that You would see fit to bring her close to Yourself . . . give Your angels charge over her protection, an’ hide her under Your wing. Amen.

  If there were words to help her without upsetting her even more, they eluded him. He settled his glasses back in place. “You were there both times it played out for me, Missy. If this is about you havin’ to stand against one or more demons, you’ve got your work cut out for you. Demons don’t give no quarter . . . you need to start right now an’ figure it’s gonna be as bad as a person can imagine . . . an’ expect it to be worse.”

  “I guess I knew that, but I wanted really bad not to hear it.” She was having a hard time getting her breath. “What do I do first?”

  “Well, keepin’ that gun close is a good idea, but prayer is the most important thing.” He looked at the darkness on the other side of his kitchen window and asked, “Have you got all your house lights on?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, when you get off of the phone, get ’em turned on.”

  “Yeah, I thought of that. What about things I might not think of?”

  He knew Missy had been handling guns all her life. He also knew she’d never shot at a man. “If this plays out like it did for me, you’ve already figured out you’re fixin’ to be standin’ in the middle of hell on earth. That means you need to be gettin’ your teeth set for havin’ to do some shootin’—it could be a man or an animal or both. It’ll help if you get it fixed in your mind that when a demon takes over the body of some animal or human, it’s not a man or an animal anymore—it’s God’s enemy, an’ you’re His right hand . . . an’ the only way you’re gonna be able to get it stopped is to break its legs or cut its spine.”

  “Okay.” Involuntary tremors were taking control of her body. “A. J.?”

  “Mm-hmm?”

  The quaking in her body worked its way into her voice. “I’m shakin’ so bad, I couldn’t hit the inside of the house.”

  “That ain’t something you got to worry about . . . God ain’t askin’ you to be accurate. I always figured God called on me back yonder ’cause I’m a shooter, but when it comes right down to it, all He’s lookin’ for is the person who’ll stand where He tells ’em to. You just get yourself ready . . . God’ll take care of where any bullets go.”

  Her mind stepp
ed away from the man on the phone, and she whispered her next question to the empty kitchen. “Why is this comin’ to me?”

  He said, “God’s gonna be there, Missy. He says He is.”

  His words brought no comfort. “He was there the last three times the shootin’ started, A. J., an’ we lost a good man every time.”

  Mason needed to get her thinking about something that would steer her away from uncertainty. “How many guns you got in the house?” he asked.

  She took a ragged breath and shuddered. “Two or three handguns, maybe two rifles, some shotguns.”

  “Are those shotguns loaded?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” she sniffed. “Buckshot.”

  “Good. I’d scatter them around where I could get my hands on one quick like.”

  “I thought about that.” She dried her eyes again while mentally picking places where she and Pat would put the weapons. “You think that’ll be enough?”

  “Honey,” he grimaced, “I hate to tell you this, but when this gets kicked off, one of them .50 caliber machine guns wouldn’t make the difference. God’s already decided how it’s gonna come out; He’s just lettin’ you have a part.”

  She thought A. J. would encourage her, but she felt as if she were caught in an emotional undertow. “How long do you think it’ll be before it starts?”

  “Well, for me, it all happened the same day I heard the voice, but I had a few hours both times . . . to get ready, I mean. What you’ll need to do is keep a gun in your hand or next to you ’til it’s over . . . an’ it wouldn’t hurt to keep some extra cartridges in your pocket.”

  “Okay.” Her voice was trembling, but she didn’t have to take notes; plans for keeping guns near at hand were forming in her mind.

  “Where’s Pat?”

  “Still asleep.”

  “Mmm. Well, wake him up soon’s we get off the phone. He needs to be gettin’ his head clear.”

  “Okay. Anything else?”

  “What’s on your schedule today?” He was trying to see the future.

  “Normal stuff. Pat will putter around here most of the day; I’d planned on goin’ shoppin’. If nothing happens, we’ll see Jeff an’ Ceedie tonight . . . at . . .” Her voice trailed off for a moment, then came back in a harsh whisper, “Oh . . . great . . . please, God . . . You can’t be lettin’ this happen.”

  “Missy? Are you okay?”

  “I just remembered. We’re supposed to go to the stock show rodeo tonight.”

  Mason’s mind filled itself with imagined opportunities for calamity at a livestock show; there were too many animals, powerful animals. “Do you have to be there?”

  “Yeah. Pat an’ I promised the young man who works in his office that we’d be there to watch him compete . . . last night and tonight.” She didn’t want to say Bill Mann’s name over the phone, but A. J. would know who she was talking about.

  A. J. did know, and he dreaded hearing the answer to his next question. “Compete how?”

  “He’s a bull rider.” She looked at the sink, thinking that spitting might take the bitter taste out of her mouth.

  “Lord, have mercy on us all.” The old man’s worst fears were confirmed. “What’re the chances of gettin’ him to stay away from there tonight?”

  “Somewhere between zero an’ none, I guess, but I’ll talk to him.” The probability that she was facing a battle with demonic forces, coupled with multiplied memories of Bill’s unflagging contempt for the things of God, brought her frustration to the forefront and made the edges of her words sharp. “We’ve met this kid’s granddaddy, an’ that old gentleman has tried to reason with him, but the boy’s too confounded stupid to hear him.”

  Mason had made two trips to Denton over the past couple of years—once with Missy’s parents, once by himself. On both trips, he spent almost the entire time with the old fellow they called Mose Mann.

  “Is the granddaddy gonna be at the rodeo?” he asked.

  “Yep. He’s gonna be sittin’ with us.”

  Mason’s face hardened. In spite of the social conventions of the Deep South, Mason and Mose Washington were longtime friends. The idea that a stubborn kid would allow himself and Mason’s good friends to be exposed to danger rankled him. He said, “Well, you can’t take anything for granted, but I think you’ve just figured out where the trouble’s gonna start.”

  “What about the folks out here?” she asked. “Do I tell ’em what I heard?”

  “I think that’d be a good idea.” A. J. and FBI agent Jeff Wagner had been on the same side in a gunfight, and he’d had opportunities to visit with the sheriff and Clark Roberts. “Jeff knows how to handle himself good as any, an’ that sheriff an’ deputy should know what to do. It’d be best to let them in on what’s happenin’.”

  “You’re right.” She nodded. “An’ Jeff has been through this before.”

  “That’s right. An’ if what I hear’s true, that sheriff’s deputy ain’t no slouch.”

  “Yes, sir. He’s tough.”

  They’d said almost all they could say, but he wasn’t ready to let her hang up.

  “One last thing, Missy.”

  “Yes, sir?” The conversation had taken a lot out of her, and she was ready for a break.

  “I want you to think over what I’m fixin’ to tell you.” He paused for a moment, then said, “You an’ me don’t know exactly what’s comin’, but we know God picked you to deal with it before He created the earth. You been right in the middle of two of these—really three, if you count Dillworth—an’ they’ve shaped your choices for your whole life. You’ve always been different, Missy . . . practically fearless . . . I’ve watched you face up to the kind of things that would run a brave man out of town. There ain’t been a day in your life when you weren’t headed toward something bigger than what the rest of us are lookin’ at.” He paused, then spoke emphatically. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen out there, but it makes all the sense in the world that He’d choose somebody special to handle it. That’d be you.”

  Half the people in the Western Hemisphere had spent the summer telling her she was special—and she was fed up with it. “Is that all?”

  Mason heard the defiance in her tone and chose to save his breath . . . she wasn’t defying him. He said, “Yeah, I reckon that about does it.”

  She hung up without saying “Good-bye.”

  She woke Patterson and told him what she’d heard. He was on his feet seconds later. “You were wide-awake?”

  “Sittin’ down for my quiet time.”

  She told him what had transpired during the past five minutes, including a condensed version of what Mason said. While she talked he dressed. He put on a dark blue windbreaker, then took a twin of Missy’s pistol out of his shirt drawer and dropped it in his pocket.

  “We’ll go see Mose.”

  “Is it too early?”

  “No.”

  As soon as Patterson was ready, they called Mose and told him they were on the way to his house.

  He didn’t even ask why.

  Mason was ten or twelve hours from Denton, Texas . . . too far to stand next to the girl but close enough to pray. He finished his Bible reading, then picked up his cup and walked down the hall toward his bathroom. Five minutes later, he was moving his electric razor in slow circles on his face, following the movement with his eyes, seeing nothing . . . trying to pray for the girl.

  He’d been standing in this same spot the last time he heard the voice. Now, eight years later, the only words he heard were in his own mind . . . from one of his favorite scripture verses, 1 Samuel 14:7. “Do all that is in your heart,” Jonathan’s young armor bearer told his master, “turn yourself, and here I am with you according to your desire.” Mason’s prayers felt weak to him, but the Lord says His words will not return to Him without accomplishing that for which He sends them. Turn yourself, and here I am . . . turn yourself . . . here I am . . . here I am . . . here . . . here.

  When he finished shaving
, he picked up a small, round brush and watched whisker clippings accumulate in the sink as he cleaned around the razor’s cutting edges. Turn yourself . . . and here I am with you . . .

  He walked into his bedroom to get his wallet, keys, and pocketknife. He settled the wallet in his pocket, staring into his dresser’s mirror; an old man, bent and honed by old age, stared back—neither saw the other. It was at least twelve hours from his house to Denton, Texas. He went to his gun rack, praying, Lord, if You want me by that girl’s side, You’ll have to pick me up and put me there.

  Minutes later, when he left the house, he was carrying his Bible and a Winchester pump shotgun, 12-gauge.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The dog was on the porch to greet Missy and Patterson. Mose served coffee in the kitchen while they waited for Mann to get dressed. When Mann came to the kitchen, Missy mentioned that his left eye was puffy.

  Mann waved away her concern. “It’s nothing . . . probably got bumped during the dismount last night.” He grinned. “Will would swap places with me . . . I imagine he slept sitting up last night.”

  He poured his coffee while Missy began relating her morning’s experience.

  When she finished, Mose said, “Well, it don’t surprise me none . . . an’ I guess the same goes for you. We been lookin’ for it since late May.”

  Missy didn’t tell him she hadn’t spent the summer expecting to get called into a fight with the forces of darkness. She looked at Mann. “You’re stayin’ pretty calm.”

  The young man who wasn’t interested in angels was concentrating on stirring sugar into his coffee. “Sorry. I know you’re upset, but none of this makes sense to me. If angels are really warning you, why can’t they fight the battle?”

  Missy sat back and took a breath.

  When Mose stood up, Mann’s eyes followed him. “Did I make you mad?”

  “No-no. I’ll be right back.” The others could hear his footsteps as the man made his way to his bedroom. He was gone less than a minute, and when he came back he was carrying an ancient revolver in his belt.