Her mother moved a little closer to her, and Caelyn dropped her head again.
“Do you recognize them?” her mother whispered.
Caelyn shook her head. Her mother’s eyes were not as good as they used to be.
“It’s not that group from out near Baylor—”
Caelyn raised a hand to cut her off.
“Can you see them? Do I know them?”
“No, Mom, you don’t know them.” Caelyn pushed a clump of brush away, hoping to see a little better. “They’re not from around here.” She swallowed a knot of fear and lifted her head above the grass again.
There were a couple of old men among the group, with graying hair and fat bellies, but most of them were young. All of them had the same look, dark and tough and mean. Hard lives. Hard men. Men who didn’t care. As she watched, the oldest of the men moved toward their hiding place. Stopping, he looked directly over their heads, staring at the country house behind them. Caelyn’s heart skipped. Ellie was back there, playing in the yard! Had she seen them run? Would she follow her mother across the fields? She gulped again in fear.
The stranger lifted a hand and motioned toward the house. Another man came and stood beside him and they both laughed.
Beside the old trucks, one of the men snapped the bolt on his rifle, pointed toward the herd, settled on a target, and raised the gun. A loud shot thundered toward the women, far more powerful than the first sound they had heard. The thunder echoed across the open field, seeming to carry on for miles. The nearest heifer fell to her front knees, bellowed once, her back legs stiff and straight, then wobbled and fell over, her head thrashing blood and spit. Caelyn stifled a sudden scream. Another shot rang across the open fields. The young cow jerked once more from the impact, then didn’t move again.
Caelyn lowered her head, her mother trembling at her side.
Another shot burst across the open air. Caelyn lifted her head above the grass. Another cow was down, the animal bellowing as it jerked its neck from side to side. The two women in the front seat climbed out of the ancient truck. Caelyn stared at their clothes, outfits from a different world: thick, multicolored dresses hanging to their boots; suede jackets with long sleeves rolled up past their elbows; floppy hats against the breeze. The women walked toward the downed animals, long knives in hand. The larger of the women stood over the first cow, pushed its head back with her boot, leaned over, and slit its throat with one long stroke. The ground turned dark red, almost black, from the spilling blood. The second cow let out a final dying bellow, thrashing its legs in pain, bloody-red froth spitting from its mouth. The other woman walked toward it, knelt across its head to hold it down, and expertly split its throat as well. Near the old green truck, the shooter dropped his rifle to his side, satisfied. Two of the younger men immediately started fighting for his gun. Caelyn could hear their shouting voices, which at first were merely angry but rapidly grew more full of rage. The larger of the young men prevailed, pushing the smaller boy back. Turning, he hoisted the rifle and raised it toward the herd. Aiming quickly, he shot, but he missed, and his father yelled at him, words Caelyn couldn’t understand. The young man aimed again and fired, bringing down another cow. Another shot. Another cow down. Caelyn hid her head.
“They’re going to kill them all!” she whispered in anguish. “It makes no sense!” Her heart sank into despair, a thick blackness all around.
Amid the blackness, Caelyn felt a stab of anger. “Heavenly Father, is this really the way you want it?” she prayed desperately. “If they kill our animals, we will starve to death! Are you going to beat me down until I have to fail? Is this supposed to keep me humble? Believe me, Lord, you’ve got me on my knees. Why have you left me here alone, without my husband, having to take care of my parents and my little girl!”
The thoughts came crashing even faster, a rush of hopelessness.
“Can you hear me, Heavenly Father? Are you there? This is more than I can handle. I want to crawl into a hole.
“I have always believed, even from the time I was a little girl, that you were out there and that you loved me, but I don’t know if I believe that anymore. How else am I to read this? You don’t love me. You don’t love Ellie. You don’t care about us anymore.” Rolling to her back, she brushed away tears and frustration. “Heavenly Father,” she whispered finally, “are you really there?”
The doubts gathered deep inside her and she stopped praying, falling into silence. Her mother watched her, reaching for her hand.
Caelyn thought the doubt and desperation that tumbled from her were coming from her soul, but the seeds were
something different, something much more dangerous, more severe.
And though she felt him, she didn’t recognize the blackness that was near.
“Heavenly Father,” she repeated slowly, “tell me, are you there?”
Chapter Thirty-Four
No, he’s not there!” the Great Deceiver sneered as he paced behind Caelyn, taking delight in her despair. “Don’t you know that you’re alone here? He’s not going to save you. Miracles are only for other people. He’s not going to help you now!”
Lucifer smiled as he spoke. This was when he was at his best. Get them scared. Get them to take fear in the future. Weaken their faith, and it was an easy step to convince them that God didn’t love them anymore. So he kept his focus on her, twisting her natural apprehension into faithless fear.
Beside him, Balaam watched, a tiny turn of his thin lips toward his eyes. Other dark angels danced behind them, lesser servants of the Great One, not as talented, less determined, but still willing to participate in any scene of despair. And their delight was usually full now. So many scenes of horror filled the world.
To Balaam’s right, a group of female spirits leaned toward the two women who were working over the cows. These evil spirits, Balaam trusted, for he had heard their cunning lies. The male servants of the Great One were far too clumsy, too abrupt and demanding to entrap the women in their deceptions. But his dark sisters were much more patient and subtle in their words. He shivered as he imagined the deceits that were coming through their lips. “No one loves you. You have nothing. Do what your man tells you and don’t ever say a word. Don’t complain. Don’t stand up. You are lucky, you ugly fool. What other man would even have you?” Balaam smiled maliciously as he thought of their lies. “You are worthless. You are different. You’re not worthy of anything but indifference and disdain.”
Such were the lies the fallen women were whispering to the mortals, so effective over time. And the evil sisters knew them well, for they were the same words the Great Deceiver spoke to them every day.
Balaam watched his wretched sisters, closed his eyes, and shivered.
The Master focused his attention on Caelyn, his dark whispers so overpowering they bled despair into her heart.
Behind him, the lesser angels continued crying and shouting as they danced around the dying animals. Their lust for blood was nearly overpowering. Blood. Flesh. The human touch. All things of the body. The ache for such things they would never know or experience was all-consuming in their dark and bitter world, and there was constant glee in the killing of the gift they’d never have.
Balaam watched, disgusted at their ignorance. There was no reason for their shouting. He hissed, a snakelike sound emitting from his throat. Walking toward the other angels, he brushed them away with a violent motion of his hand, then, turning to the mortal men, he started speaking in their minds. “Kill the entire herd,” he prompted in a whisper. “If you let the animals live, the Anglos will butcher them, providing food for the long winter. But if you kill their cattle now, they will starve to death. So kill the entire herd. Leave them nothing but rotting flesh. After what the Anglos have done to your people, they all deserve to die.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Caelyn’s stomach turned, the muscles in her chest growing tighter with every breath. Her mother grabbed her arm, her eyes red with fear and sadness. “Can you
see Miller?” she whispered. “Your dad will die without him. Can you see him? Is he there?”
Caelyn shook her head. “No, Mom, I didn’t see him.”
“But did you look?”
“I didn’t see him, Mom.”
“My eyes aren’t good enough to see anymore, especially in this dying light.”
Gretta glanced fearfully toward the darkening sky. Where had all the light gone? What had happened to the sun? The afternoon had grown so dark so quickly, she didn’t understand. But even she, an unbeliever, felt the evil of the black soul standing near. She didn’t have a name for it, a name for him, but she felt the cold chill of his soul and shivered. She looked at Caelyn now, scared and uncertain at the sudden dying light. Reaching out, she touched her daughter’s arm. “Will you please see if you can see him? Your dad will have to know.”
Caelyn waited, then carefully lifted her head and looked out, her eyes scanning the ground around the men. Looking closer, she saw the dog, halfway between the trucks and the grass where they were hiding, a mound of brown fur stretched out in the dirt. She stared, then started crying, warm tears falling down her cheeks. “I’m so, so sorry, Mom.”
Her mother clenched her arm, her fingers digging painfully into the soft skin, then raised her head and peered through the cattails that were rustling in the wind. “They didn’t have to do that,” she whispered angrily. “They didn’t have to kill him.”
Another shot rang out across the darkening sky. Another cow bellowed out in pain. The herd startled at the gunshot but still they didn’t move—too dumb and domesticated to understand their own fear.
Caelyn almost retched in pain and fear. “Please don’t kill them all!” she prayed again.
One of the fat men who’d been leaning against the old truck yelled and darted forward to pull the rifle from the shooter’s hands, swearing and cursing all the time. Peering over the tall grass, Caelyn watched as he slapped the younger man upside the head. He was the leader of the gang, she could see that, his chest puffed with pride. Even from a distance, she could see that his arms were darkened with homemade tattoos. His hair was a wild mat, his Wranglers tight around his thighs, his gut spilling over the front of his jeans, a huge silver buckle flashing on his leather belt. Swearing again, he pushed the butt of the rifle against the younger man’s chest. The kid wobbled—was he drunk?—swept his hands in a wide arc, gesturing toward the herd, and stepped back. The leader frowned, spoke as if he needed to instruct him, raised the rifle, and shot again, downing another cow.
Hearing the shot, Caelyn bowed her head again.
Two more shots. Two more cows down. She stifled the urge to scream. “Please, Heavenly Father, please don’t let them kill them all! Please, you’ve got to help us! The meat will rot! It will be wasted. Please, don’t let them kill them all!”
A flock of birds suddenly cried and lifted from the line of trees along the road. The afternoon grew even darker, the sun falling behind a bank of low clouds. She fell back against the grass, unable to watch the killing anymore.
What could they be thinking!
Then she realized.
They weren’t thinking. They were killing. And now that it had started, it wouldn’t end. The bloodlust, stupid and unexplainable, would drive them in a fury until the herd was dead. This wasn’t about food. This wasn’t about survival. This was about killing and destruction and that was all it was.
Across the field, the young women worked desperately to butcher the cows, paying no attention to the men. Caelyn felt the sense of blackness falling deeper.
Killing and destruction.
The spirit of the Dark One settled over her.
Killing and destruction.
She almost heard him laugh.
Then a cold and deadly chill ran through her, the hairs on her neck standing on end. A knot of new fear rose up inside her. Something different, something vital. What was it that made her panic? Something urgent . . . something worse than any fear she’d ever had . . .
“Ellie! Ellie!” a voice seemed to shout inside her head.
She turned instantly, looking toward the house. Ellie was walking across the open field, her light hair blowing in the stiffening breeze. Caelyn’s heart shot up to her throat, her blood turning cold.
“Mom? Grandma?” Ellie called against the wind.
Chapter Thirty-Six
East Side, Chicago, Illinois
ara Brighton pulled again on Sam’s arm. “I don’t think it’s such a bad idea to pray for them,” she said.
Sam shook his head. “I’ve used up all my prayers, Mom.” He smiled just a little. “You and my brothers forced me to cash in pretty much every prayer chip I ever had.”
“God doesn’t keep track of any prayer chips,” Sara smiled back at him.
Sam turned away, looking down the crowded street again. “I think I’m being stupid anyway. There’s no way the dude needs me. Believe me, Mom, if there’s anyone in the world who can take care of himself and his family, it’s Bono. He’s probably sitting on his country porch right now, sipping a little hot chocolate, cleaning his gun, looking over a field of grain and counting the fat cows tied up in the barn. Maybe he’s the one who should be praying for us here, you know? I’m sure he’s doing just fine.”
“I kind of doubt your friend is lounging around the old farm enjoying his two-week vacation.”
Sam squinted against the falling sun. “Probably not.”
“And you keep thinking of him?”
“All the time.”
Sara let her eyes drift toward the ground. “Your prayers can make a difference. If there’s one thing I have learned, I now know that’s true. I have felt the power of others praying for me and my family—the Spirit has told me the exact moment when they have knelt in prayer. It can make a real difference just knowing others care enough to pray.”
Sam turned and looked at her. “Do you really think so?”
“Yes. I really do. And there’s more, Sam. Maybe lots more reasons than that. Why do we put our names on temple prayer rolls? Why do we fast and pray, sometimes as a family or congregation? We may not know, we may not see the miracles that take place on the other side of the veil, but they happen. There is a battle going on, and I know it can be influenced by what we do. We may not understand the help that is mustered there as a result of our humble prayers.”
Sam hesitated, then turned toward her. “Help me, Mom,” he said.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Four Miles West of Chatfield
Twenty-One Miles Southwest of Memphis, Tennessee
Balaam looked across the open field, sneering at the two mothers who were hiding in the grass. The young one he wanted with a particular gnawing rage.
He was the one who had convinced the foreign gang to cross the border. He was the one who had led them to this place. He was the one who had identified the young woman and her soldier-husband from the previous world, the one who’d realized what powerful enemies they had become. He couldn’t remember every detail—much of the memory from the premortal world had been taken from them when they’d been cast out from the light—but there were enough fragments for him to know that Caelyn and her husband were two mortals he wanted to destroy. Worse, he sensed the coming battle and the part that they both would play. So he gloried in the killing of the animals, knowing it would bring suffering to the humans in the end.
Across the field, the Master turned away from Caelyn, stopping suddenly to turn. “Look! Look there!” the Liar cried out as he pointed toward the farmhouse. He ran toward his mortal servants who were busy shooting cows. “LOOK THERE, FOOLS!” he screamed.
It took a little while, but the mortals finally stopped their killing spree. For a moment they looked at each other, wondering what they should do now.
“TURN AND LOOK!” Satan cried to them, frustrated at their inability to hear his voice.
A small sound carried across the open field and the mortals turned at last. A small, blonde-haired girl
was walking toward them. Drawing closer, she stopped, her eyes growing wide.
“GO!” Satan hissed. “Go now. Kill the girl!”
* * *
Coming closer to the strangers, Ellie finally stopped, looking from one man to another. She saw the dead cows, the pools of dark blood against the ground, and though she didn’t understand what was happening, an instinctive look of terror flashed across her face.
Caelyn watched in horror for half a second, then, standing, she rushed toward her child. Gretta started to chase after her, then stopped and turned toward the men. Frozen there, she hesitated. Her face was long now, tight and stern. She wasn’t frightened any longer, she was full of rage. Swearing, she tightened her fists and marched across the field toward the drunken men. “HEY THERE!” she cried, her voice shrill. “YOU KILLED MY DOG! YOU KILLED MY COWS. WHAT ARE YOU THINKING, YOU STUPID MEN!”
Running to her daughter, Caelyn grabbed Ellie and pulled her close, placing her hands over her eyes to protect her from the horror that lay before them. Gretta turned and shot a frantic look toward her. “Run,” she mouthed in desperation, “run, baby, run!” Turning back, she faced the strangers. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!” she screamed again.
The men stared at her as she approached. They didn’t talk, they didn’t lift their guns to protect themselves, they didn’t react at all. It was as if they were watching a stray cat move across the field.
Gretta glanced down at Miller as she passed. The bloodhound was stretched across the closely cut hay, his front legs reaching toward the house, as if he had tried to paw his way home before he died.
A couple of the strangers finally raised their guns. Gretta glared at them and kept on walking, coming to a stop in front of the gang leader. “What do you think you’re doing!” she screamed in his face.
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