“It’s just like the government says, Jenny—terrorists. The devil has nothing to do with it. You’ve been watching too many movies.” He turned from Jenny to face the group. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful to any of you, please believe that. But I’m not much on religion. That’s the reason Jenny’s folks didn’t attend the wedding. We got married outside the church.”
“Were your parents religious, Russell?” Ruth Pearson asked.
“No, ma’am. Not at all. They were both agnostic.”
“I see,” the older woman said. “Well, since your home was destroyed, why don’t you both stay here for a time? We have the room, and you need a place to stay until you can find another house. And a job,” she added.
Jenny turned to face the woman. “We accept.” She cut her eyes to her husband. “Don’t we, Russ?”
If a man has any sense, it doesn’t take him long to discover the unwritten rules of marriage. “Oh, sure,” Russ said quickly. “Absolutely. That’s very kind of you. Well, I reckon I better go into town and start putting in applications. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
When the front door had closed behind Russell, Hank said, “He’ll come around, Jenny. Believe me, it won’t take long.”
“He’s pretty stubborn,” the young lady replied.
“A mule will drink when it gets thirsty enough,” Cole said. “I agree with Hank, Jenny.”
“I just hope it doesn’t take too long,” she replied.
“You were raised in the church?” Ruth asked her.
“Oh, yes, ma’am. Baptist. My parents were really upset about me not having a church wedding. Dad more than mother. Dad sort of disowned me.” She smiled. “But he really didn’t mean it. My father and Russell, well, they never really hit it off. Dad said you can’t make any money in law enforcement and Russell was just throwing away his college education. But I have my degree. I graduated just a few months ago. So with both of us working, we’ll be all right. Mrs. Pearson, I saw a computer in the office. My degree is in computer science; would you mind if I booted it up?”
“Of course not, dear.” Ruth smiled. “Whatever that means.”
* * *
Invisible battle lines were being drawn all over North America, without the participants on either side being aware of it.
Forces not of this earth can be very subtle. Using technology still centuries away from earth residents, they can organize without the knowledge of the people lining up on one side or the other.
A whispered comment here and there, an ugly remark, a racist remark, an anti-Semitic remark, an out-and-out lie, a half-truth, a vulgar statement, dirty gossip. Go ahead and cheat this customer. Lie about the real condition of the car. Roll the miles back on that odometer. Go ahead and keep that just-found wallet; a person who carries that much money around probably won’t miss it, anyway. Slip those earrings in your purse while the clerk isn’t looking; the store won’t even notice. Boost that six-pack of beer. So you run over your neighbor’s pet, big deal; it’s just a goddamn dog, who cares; no need to tell him it was you—the kid’ll stop bawling in a little while. Don’t tell the sales clerk they made a mistake in totaling up your bill. So the shortage will come out of her paycheck—so what?
So what is this: God keeps a tally book on us all, listing all the points, good and bad. As does the Prince of Darkness. And the devil and his helpers laugh each time another entry is made with the tip of that fiery pen. The points add up quickly . . . too quickly. Doesn’t take long for one to step off the clear path into the rocks and thorns and ravines, and once there, the points really start mounting. Soon the way back becomes obscured. And then is lost forever.
And the Dark Prince has gained another soul to do his odious bidding. Especially if he has outside help—way outside.
* * *
Russ was gone a lot longer than a couple of hours. He returned just after four that afternoon. His expression was grim. He headed straight for the wet bar in the den and fixed himself a hearty knock. The others sat in silence and watched the young man. He sipped his drink and then turned to face the gathering.
“I couldn’t get a job in this county shoveling crap out of a cuckoo clock,” he announced. “I thought I had friends here. Boy, was I in for a surprise today. It’s weird out there, people. I mean . . . strange.”
“Explain strange,” Hank said.
Russ took a sip of his drink. Set the glass down on the bar. Took a stool. “Stores are open, doing business. But nobody’s talking much, or smiling. I didn’t hear one person laugh today. Well, that’s not true. But it was ugly laughter. Dirty, sort of. Mean . . .”
“Evil,” Hank prompted.
“Yes, sir,” Russ said. “I guess you could call it that. Evil. People are gathering in little groups. It’s like, well, they’re choosing up sides, sort of. The churches are brimming over full, and those there look scared. I’ve never seen so many people going to church on a weekday.”
Hank snorted contemptuously.
Bev patted his leg. “Calm down, dear.”
“Don’t you have a church, sir?” Russ asked Hank.
“Had. I resigned the pulpit two weeks ago.”
Cole glanced at him. “I didn’t know that, Hank.”
Hank shrugged his shoulders. “Go on, Russ. What else is happening in town?”
“Sporting goods and hardware stores are sold out of guns. Nobody is paying any attention to the waiting period law. And I wasn’t the only deputy fired. Sheriff Boudy replaced nearly everybody; replaced them with real jerks. Bullyboys. They’re strutting around like they own the town. And I’d say that two or three hundred people have pulled out. Just left. I don’t know where they went. Maybe they didn’t go anywhere,” he said, his voice no more than a whisper. “I didn’t think of that. Maybe they’re just hiding.”
“From what, Russ?” Hank asked.
The young man’s eyes were haunted. “I think you know that better than me, sir.”
“Yes,” Hank’s reply was soft. “Yes, I do.”
“I wonder what comes next?” Gary asked, holding Sue’s hand.
When the music spilled into the room, it was so loud, it rattled the pictures on the walls.
The old fifties hit, “Kiss of Fire.”
Six
The rain had stopped, and the night was surprisingly cool; cool enough for the ladies to put on sweaters and the men long-sleeved shirts.
Russ sat beside his wife, watching Cole and Jim clean their weapons. Cole had opened yet another hard carrying case and was carefully cleaning and oiling his weapon.
“What is that thing?” Russ asked.
“Civilian version of the M-14,” Cole replied. “Excellent long-range rifle.”
“The only thing I got to keep was my 9 mm,” Russ said. “I bought it on my own. It’s a good one.”
“Out in the car?” Jim asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Go get it and keep it close at all times.”
“I’ll walk out with you,” Jenny said. “We’ll walk down to the gates and back.”
“Stay on the driveway,” Jim cautioned.
“Yes, sir,” Jenny replied. “We will.”
Cole lifted his handy-talkie and said, “Gary? Russ and Jenny coming out. They’ll walk down to the gates and back.”
“Ten-four,” Gary responded.
The group sat in the den and watched the news. The death count from the bombing of the federal buildings was now over twenty-five hundred and still counting. Officials were estimating the death count from the nationwide rioting at over five thousand, but that was considered a low figure.
“I think it’s unfair that you are not including us in the standing of watches,” Ruth said, during a commercial break. “And I don’t mean that in any sexist way.”
Cole smiled at the woman. She was one tough-minded lady. “Ruth, you and Jenny and Sue and Katti are not trained operatives. None of you have ever been in a firefight; never shot at a human being. When violence h
appens, it comes suddenly, many times without a second’s warning. Sometimes it catches trained people off balance.”
Ruth nodded her head. “All right. I’ll accept that. But from ten to six, each of us will pull two-hour shifts with you. And that’s final.”
Cole laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”
Forty-eight hours later, nearly everyone staying at the Pearson country home was beginning to question their actions. There were no more bombings anywhere in the nation, no more rioting. Dozens of people had been rounded up by the Feds for questioning, but no one had been formally arrested and charged for any of the bombings.
“The calm won’t last,” Hank cautioned the group. “Trust me on this. It will not last much longer.” He held up a hand. “I have an idea.” He walked to the phone. “This is a friend of mine up in Michigan. I want each of you to call a friend of yours some distance away. This should be interesting.” He put the phone on speaker and punched out the number. “Sal? This is Hank down in Tennessee. How are you doing, ol’ buddy?”
“Hank! Man, I am so happy to hear a friendly voice. I can’t tell you how glad I am.”
The two men talked of small things for a moment, then Hank asked, “Sal, what’s the general mood of the people where you are?”
“Hard to describe, Hank. The best I can do is to say that it’s weird around here. At first I thought it was just my imagination, but I soon discounted that. Many of the people are behaving, well, they’re not themselves, Hank. Surly, I guess is the word. They . . . well, seem to be choosing up sides. Shortly after the bombings, the churches were jam-packed full. Now the attendance has returned to normal. But there has been a lot of spray-painting going on. Filthy words sprayed on churches. Some of the words and phrases are really quite vicious. I’m worried, Hank. Terribly worried that all this is building toward something really bad.”
“Sal, you have, say, a little circle of friends that you can count on in a pinch?”
“You bet. And we’ve met and talked this thing out. Let me tell you what we’ve planned . . .”
After Hank had said his good luck and goodbye, Jim called a friend of his in Texas. Same story that Sal told.
Cole called a friend of his up in Vermont. Same thing.
Gary called an old Marine Corps buddy in Virginia. The story was the same.
Beverly called a high school friend that lived in Montana. Same story there.
Katti called a college friend now living in California. Same story as the others.
Ruth called a friend of hers in Washington State. The story was identical.
Sue called a friend in Florida. Same story.
The all-news network on the wide-screen TV was suddenly blacked out. There was no video, but the audio came on strong. A choir singing “Nearer My God to Thee.”
The singing stopped. Silence for a few seconds. Then a long, loud, wet fart was pushed out of the speakers.
That was followed by chuckling.
The news program returned to the screen.
“Well,” Ruth said, after clearing her throat. “I certainly don’t need further convincing.”
Everyone in the den agreed with that. Including Russell Hampton. Russ was sitting staring at the screen, his mouth open in unconcealed shock.
Jenny smiled up at him. “Told you,” she said.
* * *
After three days of quiet, many of the National Guard troops were ordered to stand down and were sent home. Sheriffs and chiefs of police dismissed their auxiliary members. Conditions slowly began to settle back into a normal routine across the land.
But all over the nation there were hundreds of little groups, usually numbering less than ten or twelve men and women, who knew that conditions were not back to normal . . . and never would be. Most did not know how they knew, or why they had been chosen to receive that knowledge . . . they just knew.
Most preachers who are sincere in their faith, and who do not believe that theirs is the only true religion and that all others are doomed to the pits of Hell, will admit (although not necessarily to their various congregations) that Heaven is going to be a very sparsely populated place, and come Judgment Day, there are going to be a lot of very disappointed people.
Accepting that there is a higher power and trying to live a decent, moral life is much more important to God than dressing up in one’s finest and parading off to church, especially when the next day the same person is back hard at work cheating others in business, trying to screw his or her secretary, browbeating employees, badmouthing others, spreading malicious gossip, and doing a thousand and one other things that God frowns upon.
Cole stilled the ringing of the phone. He listened for a moment, then hung up without saying a word.
“Who was that?” Ruth asked.
“I don’t know. Some nut with a very filthy mouth. A man. He said that tonight it’s our turn. Our turn for what, he didn’t say. It may have been a crank call, but I wouldn’t count on that.”
“I’ve had a scary feeling for about an hour,” Jim confessed. “I didn’t say anything about it, because I couldn’t explain it.”
Cole nodded his head as he looked out the window: dusk was about a half hour away. The sun was low in the horizon. But there was a very odd-looking haze covering the ball of fire as it slowly began sinking out of sight. Cole suddenly experienced an uneasy sensation. He glanced at Katti, who was looking at him through worried eyes. “Will you see to the making of a lot of sandwiches, honey? I have this feeling that we’re not going to have time for a sit-down dinner this evening.”
“I’ll help,” Sue said, standing up. “I have to say this: I’ve had the jitters for about an hour. I thought it was just my imagination working overtime. But now . . . ?”
“Me, too,” Jenny said. “About an hour ago I had this awful urge to look over my shoulder. I felt chill bumps all over my arms.”
“You’re not alone, girls,” Ruth said. “I experienced the same sensation.”
Bev whispered to Hank, “I didn’t feel a thing, baby.”
Hank smiled. “That’s because you’re a warrior, sweetheart. Or should that be a warrioress?”
“Mr. Hardesty is down here at the gates,” Russ radioed. He was taking a shift at guard duty. “Says he wants his pay for looking after the place. Says he’s through working here.”
“Let him in,” Ruth said. “I’ll get my checkbook.” She paused. “That’s odd. He’s been with us for years. Very faithful and trusted employee.”
“Hardesty is on his way,” Russ radioed. “And I see a pattern developing here. It just came to me. The day the sheriff fired me, I noticed he apparently had not bathed for a couple of days. He smelled bad. So did the men he hired to replace the fired deputies. So does Hardesty. Mean anything?”
“Maybe,” Cole radioed. “Thanks. Stay sharp down there.”
“That’s ten-four.”
“Cleanliness is next to Godliness?” Bev asked.
“So I’ve heard all my life,” Hank replied.
Hardesty raised the hackles on Cole the instant he opened the door to let the man step inside. He cut his eyes to Jim. The ex-state trooper was experiencing the same feeling; Jim had suddenly tensed at the sight of Hardesty.
Ruth held out her hand to Hardesty. He refused to take it. “You smell, Hal,” Ruth bluntly told the man. “Have you given up bathing?”
“Just gimmie what’s due me,” Hal Hardesty said. “I’ll take a bath when I feel like it. Ain’t none of your concern.”
“You’ve been employed here for over twenty years, Hal. What’s the problem? Why are you quitting without notice?”
“Don’t feel like workin’ for you no more. That’s why. I didn’t come out here to argue. I want my money.”
“I’ll write you a check.”
“Cash money,” Hardesty said. “I don’t want no check. Gimmie cash money.”
“I don’t know if I have that much cash in the house, Hal. You’ve always taken a check. What’s the matter with yo
u?”
“Gimmie cash money, goddamnit!” the man shouted. “I don’t wanna fuck around with no check.”
“Watch your mouth,” Cole told the man.
“You kiss my ass, mister!” Hal said, whirling around to face Cole. “This ain’t none of your business.” He again faced Ruth. “You don’t gimmie my money, I’ll call the sheriff and by God we’ll let him settle this thing.”
“I have some cash,” Jim said. “How much is he owed?”
Katti had come out of the kitchen and put a restraining hand on Cole’s arm. She could tell by the look in his eyes he wasn’t far from jacking Hardesty’s jaw.
Money in hand, Hardesty paused at the front door and glared at Cole. “You and me, big man. We’ll meet again.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Cole told him. “Maybe tonight?”
“Could be,” Hardesty said, a mean glint in his eyes. He turned and walked out of the house.
“I’ll tag along behind him,” Jim said, and stepped outside. “I got a hunch he didn’t come out here alone.”
The television screen suddenly went blank. Music began playing. The words to an old song sprang through the speakers: “Live Fast, Love Hard, and Die Young.”
Seven
The long line of cars and trucks started rolling by moments after the caretaker had left, the occupants staring at the locked gates to the estate.
“I know all those people,” Russ said. “Or as least I thought I did.”
“Tell me about them,” Hank said.
“Well, the man in the Cadillac is Gene Weber. He’s the mayor. He owns the motel this side of town. The guy in the fancy pickup truck with all the chrome is Frank Bass. He’s a farmer and owns the big feed and seed store. Andy Bennett built the mall in town. Jack Wilson is a real estate agent. Ellie Greene owns a fancy dress shop. She got her money by screwing Bob Montgomery, the banker. Paul Mason built and owns the country club. Robert Holland owns most of the houses in the poor section of town. I guess you could say he’s the town slumlord. Peter Bruce owns the motel and fishing camp over on the lake. Judy Graham owns a honky tonk out in the county. Wayne Black is in construction. Jimmy Duncan is—”
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