by Ronald Kelly
Boyd laughed. “I was just teasing him, but it looks like he took it seriously. I know him. He’ll leave us in the dust if we don’t hurry.”
As they picked up their weapons and began to climb through the dense branches of the fallen oak, Tammy turned toward the brawny carpenter. “Boyd?” she asked.
“Yes?”
Tammy looked at him, her eyes big behind the lenses of her glasses. “Boyd, I just want to say… thank you. Thanks for helping me do this.”
Boyd reached out and took her hand. “Thank you, Tammy. Believe me, if you hadn’t come by and talked some sense into my sorry head, I’d still be hiding in a whiskey bottle, instead of here, trying to save my kids.”
Tammy blushed in embarrassment but squeezed his hand, letting him know that his thanks were appreciated. Then they made it past the tree and hurried up the road to join Caleb, who was already a good seventy feet ahead of them.
Chapter Forty
They reached the mountain church by four-thirty that afternoon.
Caleb had been right. After leaving the road, travel had grown more difficult. At first, they’d encountered acres of dense thicket and thorny bramble, and large stands of pine where the heavy boughs seemed to join and form a nearly impenetrable wall. They had finally battled their way past those obstacles and begun to make their way toward the southern side of the mountain. They seemed to fare no better there. Tall limestone cliffs replaced the steep slope of the mountainside in several places, some stretching fifty or sixty feet from bottom to top. More than once they found themselves scaling the high bluffs with nothing between them and the open air but a narrow ledge no more than a foot wide. Tammy had frozen once, unable to move after she’d looked down and seen the leafy spikes of treetops fifty feet beneath her. Fortunately, Caleb and Boyd had calmed her, telling her to focus on her climbing and to ignore the drop beneath her.
When they had finally reached level ground, or the closest thing to it, they found that more than an hour had passed since they had left the Blazer on the far side of the fallen tree. Picking up their pace, they continued on, eager to reach their first destination. Tammy felt her ears begin to pop the higher they climbed; before long her head felt clogged and congested. She took a pack of gum from her blouse pocket and passed the sticks around. Caleb and Boyd took theirs gratefully, although both of them were more accustomed to the increase in altitude than she was.
Eventually, they spotted the steeple of the old church above the treetops. As they picked their way through a dense grove of black oaks, Tammy peered up through the foliage and saw that the sun was already dropping in the sky, shifting down toward the western horizon. It wouldn’t be long before it was gone completely and darkness would cover Craven’s Mountain like a blanket. She had hoped that they would have plenty of time to do what they needed to do, but the difficulty of making the wooden bullets and bolts, as well as the unexpected obstacle of the fallen tree, had robbed them of several crucial hours. She just prayed that they would finish their work at the church and reach the Craven house before twilight. If they didn’t, they would face much more opposition than they’d first expected.
When they reached the old church house, they found it cloaked in long shadows. Only a few beams of sunlight broke through the tall trees that stood like silent sentinels around it. The structure was weathered a dull, lifeless gray, but its windows still held much of the stained glass that had been placed there well over a hundred years ago. Tammy could see that half of the building’s roof had caved in, while the other seemed intact, its rafters still holding firm. The single door at the front of the building was closed. Tammy had never seen a church door that looked less inviting than the one she stood before at that moment.
“Well, this is it,” said Boyd. “Doesn’t look like much, does it?”
“Quicksand doesn’t look like much, either, until you step in it,” said Caleb. “Are we ready to go in?”
Tammy nodded. “I guess so.” She cocked the crossbow and placed a wooden bolt in the cradle of the catapult. She felt at her right hip. The modified tool belt was there, holding the rest of the bolts and the Colt Navy pistol.
Boyd and Caleb also checked their weapons. When they were satisfied that all were in working order, they turned toward the church house. Together, they approached the weathered structure that had once served as a house of the Lord.
They opened the door and stepped inside. The roof of the church had collapsed for several yards. It hung scarcely a foot over their heads in some places. They began to walk down the center aisle. To both the right and the left stretched oaken pews, some fallen, some standing upright. Rays of sunlight filtered through holes in the roof, but for the most part the structure remained in darkness. Up ahead stood the front of the church and its unadorned wooden pulpit.
“How do you want to do this?” asked Caleb. Although he whispered, his voice carried.
“I’ll take the front,” Tammy told them. “You two take the pews and make sure no one is hiding there.”
Boyd and Caleb took flashlights from their pockets and began to search the dark shadows between the pews, while Tammy headed toward the front of the church.
Wendell opened his eyes. His sleep had been interrupted by the sound of soft voices. He listened closely, but heard no further talk. Instead, he heard the sound of footsteps walking down the center aisle of the church. They were the light footsteps of a woman.
The minister focused, sharpening his hearing even more. He detected the woman’s frightened heartbeat and recognized it immediately. It was his wife’s. Tammy was here, no more than thirty feet away. And he knew what she had come for, too. There was only one reason he could think of, and that was to destroy him.
Wendell smiled. The fool. How could she possibly expect to kill someone as powerful as he was? Of course, it was daylight and he wasn’t as strong as he would be come nightfall. But even at his weakest he possessed the strength to break dear Tammy’s neck with a single snap of his fingers. He sensed that someone else had accompanied her. He could hear their excited breathing further away, toward the rear of the church house. But that changed nothing in his mind. He would deal with them… after he dealt with his traitor of a spouse.
He crouched in his makeshift coffin—the hollow interior of the pulpit—and waited. He listened as Tammy’s footsteps grew nearer, anticipating the moment he would leave the shelter of the podium and reveal himself.
Caleb was checking the pews on the left while Boyd checked the ones on the right. Suddenly the beam of Caleb’s flashlight picked out more than dusty wood. Lying on the seat of one of the pews was a pretty blonde woman in a floral housedress. He took a couple of steps closer and directed the light at her face. Her skin was as pale as biscuit dough. He didn’t have to reach out and touch her to know that she would be as cold as ice.
“Boyd!” he called in a whisper. “Come here. I found something.”
Soon Boyd was standing behind Caleb. He peered over the man’s shoulder and nodded. “It’s Karen Hughs,” he said.
“Shit!” cursed Caleb. He held the Hawken rifle in his free hand, but the muzzle was pointed toward the floor. “Now that we’ve found one of ’em, I don’t quite know what to do.”
“Shoot her through the heart, just as we discussed,” Boyd urged.
Caleb hesitated. “Maybe Wendell hasn’t turned her into one of them things just yet. For all I know, she might still be alive.”
Boyd shined his flashlight on the woman, throwing even more light on her prone form. “No, she’s one of them, all right,” he said. “Remember Jamie Bell? Wasn’t that how she looked?”
“Yeah,” replied Caleb. “Right on the money.”
“Then you’ve got to do it,” he said. “Or I’ll do it for you.”
“No,” Caleb told him. “I signed up for this outfit of my own free will. I’ll do my own dirty work.” He handed Boyd his flashlight and lifted the Hawken, resting his shoulder snugly against the curved buttplate and aiming down the
octagon barrel.
He drew his mark on the center of the woman’s chest, which rose and fell shallowly. Caleb told himself that it was not the breath of the living, but the involuntary action of something that had been wrenched from death and forced to act as if it were alive again. He curled his forefinger through the trigger guard of polished brass, resting it lightly against the trigger. Then laying the ball of his thumb against the hammer, cocked it back.
The crisp snap of the mechanism jolted the woman awake. Karen Hughs opened her eyes and stared up at him.
“Shoot her, Caleb!” Boyd rasped behind him. “Now!”
A grin crossed the woman’s face—a grin that possessed an evil she had never known in life—and abruptly she began to sit up.
“Now, Caleb!” urged Boyd, his voice high with panic. Caleb squeezed the trigger. The Hawken went off with a thunderous boom and a burst of burnt powder. At first the mountain man couldn’t be sure he had hit his target.
Then, as the gun smoke began to clear, he saw that his aim had been true. Karen Hughs had fallen back onto the pew. She writhed and bucked, clutching at a dark hole in her chest. He watched for blood but saw none. Only a nasty, bluish smoke curled from the wound, smelling like scorched flesh. Karen’s eyes widened and her mouth opened, exposing sharp fangs, but she did not scream. She stayed in that horrible position for a long moment, then relaxed. Caleb waited for her to move again, but she didn’t.
Boyd laid a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “You did it, buddy. You handled it just—”
An angry roar cut Boyd off in midsentence. He whirled, shining his flashlight toward the other side of the church. A dark form hurled itself from between the pews, landing in the center aisle. The pale light revealed it to be Bill Hughs, dressed in slacks, a white shirt, and a gray cardigan.
Before Boyd knew it, Bill was on top of him, knocking him onto his back on the pew where Karen lay. Both flashlights had fallen from his grasp, but still he could see the shoe salesman’s pale, dead face leering down at him from out of the gloom. His eyes blazed like twin flames, burning into Boyd’s brain, paralyzing him. In terror, Boyd watched as fangs sprouted from the corners of Bill’s mouth, fangs sharp enough to rend flesh with little effort at all.
Bill was dipping his head toward Boyd’s throat when another gunshot went off. This time it was the crack of Caleb’s flintlock pistol. Boyd cried out as the bullet opened the top of Bill’s skull and cold brains splattered across his face. He looked up into the man’s face, but there was no sign of agony like that which had gripped his wife’s during her demise. Bill laughed and continued to lower his mouth to the side of the carpenter’s neck.
Boyd shuddered. He could feel the creature’s icy breath against his flesh. Boyd knew that he had to do something quickly. With difficulty, he clenched his eyes shut and felt the strange paralysis leave him. He was lying on the hard column of the Mississippi rifle; it was still slung across his back. He moved his hand along his waist and found the butt of the Colt Dragoon jutting from his belt.
He felt the sharp prick of fangs bearing against his throat, ready to open his jugular, when he drew the gun and pointed its barrel upward. He felt the muzzle touch the bony plate of Bill’s sternum. Without hesitation, Boyd cocked the gun and fired. The revolver bucked in his hand, belching smoke and flame. Bill recoiled as the wooden projectile burrowed into the bloodless sack of his heart.
Boyd didn’t stop there. He fired three more times, point blank, at the vampire’s chest. Bill gasped and lurched away, landing on his back on the pew. He twisted and turned as he tore at the front of his shirt, smoke curling between his fingers. Then a rattling sigh escaped his lungs and he settled down onto the oaken seat. A moment later he, too, was gone.
“Are you all right?” Caleb asked. His concerned hands grasped the carpenter’s shoulders and helped him up. “He didn’t get you, did he?”
Boyd’s heart leapt and he placed a hand to his throat. He relaxed when he found the skin unbroken. “Thank God, no,” he said.
They retrieved their flashlights and examined the bodies of Bill and Karen Hughs. They were both dead. Truly dead.
“Well, we got ’em,” Caleb said with a sigh.
“Not quite,” said Boyd. “We still have to find the girl.”
Caleb swallowed nervously and nodded. Then they went back to searching the pews one by one.
Tammy was nearly at the front of the church when the boom of the Hawken rifle echoed through the ancient structure. A moment later, several more shots rang out—one pistol shot, followed by the rapid fire of Boyd’s big .44 Dragoon.
She turned and stood there, scarcely breathing. Tammy was unable to see anything in the darkness of the furthermost pews. When the gunshots had faded, she considered calling out to the two men and asking if the were all right. But for some reason, she didn’t. She continued to stare into the gloom, but could only make out two shadowy forms moving among the long benches. Was it Boyd and Caleb? Or was it Bill and Karen Hughs?
She took a step forward, hoping to find out for sure when she heard the creak of a floorboard behind her. She froze for a second, then slowly turned around. She wasn’t at all surprised to see Wendell standing behind the pulpit, grinning contemptuously down at her.
“You’re the last one I expected to come here, Tammy,” he said, his red eyes brimming with amusement.
“I don’t know why,” Tammy told him. She tightened her grip on the crossbow and brought it into view “You’re my husband, aren’t you? You’ve treated me like a dog, but I still love you. That’s why I came here today. To save you from what you’ve become.”
Wendell stared at the weapon in her hands. “A crossbow? Oh, how quaint, Tammy. Right out of the Middle Ages.” A wicked glint sparkled in his eyes. “Of course I’m impressed that you even thought of it. Knowing you I would have suspected something more simple. A squirt gun filled with holy water, perhaps.”
“I’m not stupid, Wendell,” she snapped. “I never was.”
“You are right,” he said. The minister left his place behind the podium and stepped down off the platform, slowly edging his way toward her. “You turned out to be much more clever than I would have ever imagined. How did you know you’d find me here?”
“You’re a preacher,” she said. “Where else could you go to find refuge and build your own congregation?”
“Another burst of inspiration,” said Wendell. “My, the little lady has been using her brain lately.”
“Shut up, Wendell!” she yelled. She lifted the crossbow and aimed it at his chest. “I’m tired of your condescending crap.”
The smile left Wendell’s face and he regarded the woman seriously. “You don’t want to kill me, Tammy,” he said.
“No,” admitted the woman. “But I have to. You’re too dangerous.”
She expected her husband to laugh, but he didn’t. Instead, he spread his hands outward and walked toward her.
“Why do you say that, Tammy? I really don’t know what you mean. You’ve been suffering delusions, my dear. All this evil you’ve seen… it’s all been in your mind. Look at my face. Does this look like the face of a vampire?”
Tammy looked at him and was shocked to find something entirely different than what she’d expected. Wendell’s face was no longer pale and his eyes were no longer a blazing crimson. Instead, his cheeks were tanned and healthy, and his eyes were as clear and blue as they had ever been. He looked like the man she had married five years ago. He looked like the Wendell she had fallen in love with.
“I’m not some monster,” he said, his eyes pleading. “I’m your husband. I’m Wendell. And I love you.”
Tammy felt her resolve begin to crumble. The crossbow grew heavy in her hands. She let it sag toward the floor as the young minister walked toward her. “Oh, Wendell,” she moaned. “Is it you? The real you?”
“Yes, dear,” he said, no more than six feet away. “Throw that thing down and come to me. Come to me and let me love you.”
&
nbsp; Tammy was about to let the crossbow slip from her fingers when she saw Wendell’s face change abruptly. Once again it grew pale of flesh and its eyes blazed with angry crimson.
“No!” he screamed, and stumbled backward.
Tammy didn’t know what was happening, until she noticed Boyd and Caleb standing to both sides of her. They brandished the crosses Boyd had made, holding them at arm’s length. “Are you okay, Tammy?” Boyd asked her.
She felt strangely lightheaded. “What happened?” she muttered.
“He played a trick on you,” said Caleb. “Made you see something that wasn’t really there. I’ll be damned if it didn’t look like you were about to go to him.”
“I was,” said Tammy. “What about the Hughses?”
“We got Bill and Karen,” Boyd told her. “It was a close call. I almost got my throat ripped out.”
Tammy turned back to her husband. She was satisfied to see the fearful look on his bloodless face. “Not so cocky now, are you, Wendell?”
“You may destroy me, but you won’t be as lucky with Grandpappy Craven,” he said with a smirk. “The old man will kill you all.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Boyd.
Suddenly, movement came from the darkness beyond the pulpit.
“Who’s that?” asked Caleb, shifting his eyes from Wendell to the pale form that emerged from the shadows of a far corner.
“Miss Tammy?” came the frightened voice of a small child.
The woman walked toward the platform. “Penny? Is that you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said.
Tammy grew closer, trying to see clearly in the gloom. “How do you feel, Penny?”
