“You know what God does to liars and thieves?” The leader—this was how Clay saw him, tall and heavy-bearded with deep authority in his voice—did not wait for a reply. “Now let’s get these men back to town. The Reverend will be happy with this latest bounty the Lord has given us.”
* * *
The men placed Clay on George’s horse, George on Clay’s horse. The boy they placed behind George. It was awkward riding like this with your hands tied behind your back, the threat of losing your balance a constant worry, but the men took them at a modest pace and they arrived at the next town less than two hours later.
Just like the last town, this one wasn’t large, only a couple buildings along the main street. Unlike the last town, this one contained people. Just a few, all men standing along the street watching them, but still there was life here. This town wasn’t, as the boy had crudely written in the dirt, DED.
They eventually came to the jailhouse. The men dismounted. They took the boy down from George’s horse, then took down George. They left Clay where he was for a minute, and Clay had the crazy notion that they were going to kill him right there on the horse. The leader—the one with the heavy beard and deep voice—would pull out his gun and shoot Clay right between the eyes.
Clay even lowered his head and closed his eyes, said a quick prayer, in case this was the plan.
Then, before he knew it, the men were taking him off the horse, their strong hands gripping his arms and legs. It would have been so much easier had the men at least freed his hands, allowed him to dismount the horse himself, but instead they went through the rigmarole until he had his two feet planted on the ground.
“All right then,” said the leader, “take ’em inside.”
They were ushered into the jailhouse. Here there was nothing more than a desk with a lamp on top. Three separate cells took up the rest of the space. Each cell had a short bench against the brick wall barely wide enough to support a grown man.
The door of the cell on the left was jerked open, its hinges screeching loudly. They shoved George inside. The boy went in the middle cell, Clay in the last.
“Listen,” the leader said. “Roy is going to stay here and keep an eye on you. He has orders to shoot you if you do something he don’t like. Understood?”
Clay and George didn’t answer.
The leader cleared his throat. “I said, understood?”
They nodded.
“Now all of you turn around so Roy can take off those ropes.”
Both Clay and George did as the man said. The boy did not. He stood at the bars and began to mewl.
Roy stepped forward and shouted, “Shut up!” He kicked at the bars, his boot up high toward the boy’s face. The boy skittered back and stumbled over his own feet and went down hard. “That’s what you get,” Roy said with a laugh. Then, staring down at the boy: “Joe, does this one look familiar to you?”
The leader didn’t step forward for a closer look. He just shook his head and said, “Don’t matter either way. Now, do as I say and take off those ropes.”
Roy went first to George and undid the ropes around George’s wrists. Then he went to Clay and did the same. Both men took the kerchiefs out of their mouths.
“What about the boy?” George asked.
Roy said, “What about him?”
“You just can’t leave him in there like that.”
Roy seemed to find this quite funny. Joe just stood there, his mouth a tight line. When Roy’s laughter quieted, Joe turned and started toward the door. “Nothing foolish now, you hear?”
Neither Clay nor George made a response. Even when Joe walked through the door and left them with Roy they said nothing. They just stood at the bars in their separate cells, while the boy lay crying on the floor in his own cell between them, and watched Roy leaning against the desk, a grin on his face, his hand resting on the holster of his gun.
* * *
How much longer before the door opened again, Clay didn’t know. Time had seemed to take on a strange quality inside the jailhouse. A minute could have passed. An hour could have passed. All he knew for certain was the sun was still in the sky and that he and George and the boy were now sitting on their individual benches in their individual cells. Then the door opened and they all looked up, expecting to see Joe again.
Only it wasn’t Joe.
Walking toward them, a jug in one hand and two tin cups in the other, was Clay’s dead daughter.
4.
At once Clay and George stood up from their individual benches and approached the bars of their individual cells. Clay exchanged a glance with George, and knew his friend saw the same thing he did.
The resemblance was remarkable.
This woman had the same blond hair that turned an autumn reddish brown when Ellie was out of the sun. The same winter-blue eyes. A similar summer white dress to the one Ellie loved to wear all year round.
Clay was in a trance, staring at her, when the boy suddenly popped up from his own bench and hurried to the bars. His hands were still tied behind his back, the kerchief still in his mouth, so all he did was mewl urgently.
The woman turned to Roy who was loafing on the chair behind the desk, looking on with amusement. “Why isn’t this boy free of his bindings?”
Roy shrugged. “His own fault. He didn’t follow the rules. Why are you here anyway?”
“To give them water. I only brought two cups. I knew nothing of the boy.”
“With that kerchief in his mouth,” Roy said with a grin, “he can’t do much drinkin’ anyhow.”
She turned back to the cells and approached Clay first. She came up very close. She mouthed: You are not safe.
There was an ever so subtle downturn to her lips that reminded Clay of Ellie once again. He found his thoughts flashing back to a series of memories he had hoped he would never have to revisit. Hearing noises through the parlor window. Walking outside to find his daughter and Bolton’s son in the backyard. Seeing what Bolton’s son was doing to his daughter. Feeling a rise of rage unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Releasing that rage on the young man ...
Clay blinked as the woman handed him one of the tin cups. Her eyes shifted up to meet his, looking to see if he had understood her. He said nothing, because now, with the woman so close, he was able to see past the similarities to Ellie. This woman’s eyes, even in winter-blue, reflected an injured, haunted soul. And the lines that formed the story of her face were sketched in anguish and mistrust.
Without another word the woman poured water into the cup. She risked another look at Clay, then made her way down to George. She gave him the second tin cup and mouthed the same four words.
George nodded slightly, thanked her for the water, and raised the cup to his lips.
The woman turned to Roy. “This boy needs water as well. Would you be so kind as to take off his ropes?”
Roy shook his head. “No, ma’am. Don’t think Joe would like that none.”
The woman started to say something else when the jailhouse door opened.
Through the door stepped a man of small stature, barely taller than the woman. Slight in the shoulders, thin in the face, his eyes dark wells. His jaw line was sharp and firm and displayed the assured presence of power and authority.
“Gentlemen”—the man’s voice boomed—“my name is Reverend Titus Willard, and I would like to welcome you to our town.”
The woman slowly stepped away from the cells, distancing herself from the trio behind the bars.
“I do so humbly apologize for the circumstances that brought you here, my friends. I am told they were most unfortunate and unpleasant. However, now that you are here, let me be the first to tell you just how grateful we are for your presence. God has indeed blessed us all.”
“Let us out and we’ll hurry on our way,” George said. “We won’t cause you no trouble.”
“It will be my pleasure to set you free, but I am afraid you misunderstand the situation—and rightfully so, under t
he circumstances.” The Reverend’s voice was both magnetic and fervent. “However, let me assure you, there is no need to hurry on your way. In fact, I would be honored if you would join us for dinner tonight. As my way of asking forgiveness for the trouble we have put you through.”
George said, “That won’t be necessary.”
“I insist.”
“We would be happy to join you,” Clay said. He could feel George’s heated gaze on him and quickly added, “However, my friend is right. We need to be on our way after the meal. Hope you don’t mind. We have a long journey ahead of us.”
“I am certain you do,” the Reverend said. He motioned for the woman to leave. She left with the jug in hand. The Reverend nodded at Roy who stood and approached the cells, pulling a single key from his pocket. “In the meantime, we will be honored by your presence.”
“Reverend?” George said. “Our boy here wasn’t treated too nice by your men. They wouldn’t untie him.”
The Reverend peered down at the boy through the bars. “I see that is so. Roy, why wasn’t this young man at least untied for the time being?”
Roy looked down at his feet. “Reverend, Joe said—”
“I don’t care what Joe said. Untie the boy now.”
Roy nodded and hurried to the middle cell. The boy, who had been mewling quietly this entire time, backed away from the bars.
“Come here,” Roy said. When the boy wouldn’t, Roy inserted the key into the lock, turned it, and opened the cell door.
The boy backed against the brick wall.
“Reverend?” George said. “The boy doesn’t seem too fond of your man. Maybe me or my friend should untie him instead.”
The Reverend thought this over for a moment. “Of course. Roy,” he said, motioning at Clay, “let this gentleman out first.”
Roy used the same key to open Clay’s cell.
Clay stepped out cautiously. The Reverend seemed to want them to feel welcome, but it was difficult to believe after everything that had happened so far today.
He set the tin cup aside and went into the middle cell where the boy still had his back against the wall.
“Shh,” Clay said quietly. “It’s okay.”
The boy seemed to relax a bit. The mewling sound faded. He gave Clay no trouble when Clay undid the ropes around his wrists, or when Clay took the kerchief out of his mouth.
“Excellent,” the Reverend said, smiling.
Roy opened George’s cell. The door screeched again. Roy stepped back to let George walk out, but George didn’t move.
“Is there a problem, my friend?” the Reverend asked.
“The other town,” George said. “What happened to all the townsfolk?”
The Reverend’s smile faded. “I am afraid they’ve succumbed.”
“Succumbed?”
“They are all dead.”
“All of them?” Clay said. “The entire town?” Thinking of the three letters the boy had written in the dirt under the shade of that tree.
“I am afraid so.”
“How?”
“Why,” the Reverend said, his voice all at once somber, “the same way such things always occur in the darkness of this world. At the hands of the Devil.”
5.
The boy did not accompany them to dinner. Once he was free from his bindings, he seemed to settle down. Roy took the boy away in a different direction than the one Reverend Titus Willard led Clay and George, down the main street to a house at the end. Inside, the woman was already waiting for them, now wearing an apron.
“Gentlemen,” the Reverend said, “I know your paths crossed briefly already, but I would like to formally introduce you to my lovely wife Marilyn.”
Clay was momentarily taken aback. Marilyn was very much younger than the Reverend. It wasn’t unheard of that a man would take on a young bride, but the difference in age was maybe thirty years, if not more.
“Please, please,” the Reverend said, “you gentlemen are guests in my home, so please, do make yourselves comfortable.”
He led them into the dining room, where a long wooden table was already set. He showed each man to his seat in an overdramatic flourish, and then sat down at the head of the table.
“I hope you gentlemen are hungry. God has blessed this occasion with a mighty feast indeed.”
Clay wasn’t sure what he expected the dinner to be—surely nothing extravagant despite the Reverend’s claims—but he was quite surprised and pleased when Marilyn brought in first potatoes, followed by beans and biscuits, and then, finally, a large, juicy chicken.
Once all the food had been served and Marilyn took her place at the table beside her husband, the Reverend asked, “Would either of you gentlemen care to say grace?”
There was a beat of silence. A grandfather clock ticked in the next room.
Clay cleared his throat. “I would be happy to.”
All four of them folded their hands and bowed their heads.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” Clay began, “thank you for the food we are about to receive, and thank you for the generous hospitability the kind Reverend Willard has given us. Amen.”
The Reverend nodded. “That was mighty nice. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Thank you for feeding us.”
“My pleasure,” the Reverend said, smiling broadly. “Now, please, help yourselves.”
“What about the boy?” George asked.
“What about him?”
“Isn’t he joining us?”
The Reverend produced that broad smile again. “No, he’s eating with the other children. I assumed he would be more comfortable among those his own age.”
“Where are the other children?”
“They’re safe. Why do you ask?”
George hesitated. “He’s just my nephew, is all. I worry about him.”
“As I imagine you would. Now please, do help yourself before the food gets cold.”
They dug in. Clay, who hadn’t had a proper meal in over a week, had to control himself to not eat too much at once. Everything—the potatoes, the beans, the chicken—was delicious.
After a few minutes, George said, “So what happened to the other town?”
“Hmm?” the Reverend said, chewing on a chicken leg.
“You said they were dead. That it was the work of the Devil. What did you mean by that?”
“You didn’t tell me. Where were you three headed? I am assuming, of course, you came from out east. Illinois, perhaps?”
“Missouri,” George said.
“Ah yes,” the Reverend said, pleased with himself. “I was close. Wasn’t I, dear?”
Marilyn, who still hadn’t spoken a word since they arrived, nodded as she kept her gaze on her plate.
“My nephew,” George said. “We were taking him out to California. That’s where my sister is.”
“Is that right?” the Reverend said musingly, helping himself now to one of the potatoes. His gaze shifted to Clay. “So then if he’s his uncle, what does that make you?”
Clay, like George, hesitated for only a beat. “I’m his uncle as well.”
“I see,” the Reverend said. “Well, I trust both of you are God-fearing folk?”
Both men nodded.
“Then you understand the Lord acts in mysterious ways. We do not always know what it is He wants for us, but we are free to ask. ‘If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.’ James, chapter one, verse five. Tell me, what do you know of the Devil?”
Clay and George exchanged a glance.
“He’s a fallen angel,” Clay said.
“Yes, and he’s quite wicked. He uses our earth as his playground and does as he wishes. He thinks his mischief goes unnoticed by God, but the Lord notices all. And his Heavenly Father protects those that maintain their belief in Him. That is why, gentlemen, myself and my bride and the rest of those faithful in this town are still here today.”
Geo
rge asked, “And why those in the other town are dead?”
Reverend Titus Willard nodded empathetically. “Not just that town, either. This whole area of the earth has been overrun by the Devil’s minions.”
“The Devil’s minions,” Clay said.
The Reverend nodded again. “Yes, absolutely. They have scoured this part of the earth looking for more human souls.”
“So why are you still here?” George asked.
“Pardon?”
“If something is terrorizing the area, why not just pick up and leave?”
“Young man,” the Reverend said, his voice going low, “don’t you think we have already tried? It was one of the first things we did when we realized the danger. Well, it was one of the first things our sheriff did when he realized the danger. He got a group together to try to leave. I myself had been praying to God and knew leaving would not be an option. I tried telling everyone that we needed to stay. Sadly, they would not listen. So the sheriff took his group, about maybe half the town. They were gone most of the day when a few survivors returned. There were only two of them, and they were covered in blood and near death. Regrettably they died the next day, but before they did they told us what took place. How the Devil’s minions attacked them. How the Devil’s minions killed everyone.”
Quite suddenly, Clay lost what little appetite he had left. He was ready to leave, turn his back on all of this foolishness and continue on toward California. Their lead on Bolton and Logan and whatever men they had rounded up was diminishing by the minute.
“Reverend,” George said, clearing his throat, “I think maybe my friend and I will collect the boy and—”
“Just how strong is your faith? Do you both consider yourselves soldiers in the Lord’s army? Because that is exactly what we need to keep this town safe. God can only provide so much; man must do his part to answer the call. This is, after all, why the Lord has spared me and my flock thus far, and why He has brought the two of you here to this town. You are to become warriors against these demons of the night.”
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