The Devil's Heart

by William W. Johnstone

  "The only humans," Nydia said.

  Linda shuddered with fear. Sam had a brief fleeting thought of putting his arm around her shoulders, but gave up that idea when Nydia read his thoughts and gave him a look that would fry bacon.

  "Sam?" Nydia asked. "What is an od force?"

  "Beats me. Where'd you hear that?"

  "It just popped into my head."

  "It has to do with the supernatural," Linda said. "Sorcery … stuff like that."

  Eyes swung toward her. Nydia stiffened on the day couch.

  "My little brother got all involved in that stuff for a time, until my parents made him stop it," Linda explained. "He was—right there at the end—trying to get in touch with the dead; all that junk. I heard him mention that od force thing several times. My uncle, Uncle Homer, really used to kid Billy—that's my kid brother—about it. It got to the point my brother hated … really hated Uncle Homer. He'd go in his room at night with a doll he'd made—called it Uncle Homer—and read and light candles and chant all those weird incantations, trying to get something to happen to Uncle Homer. Finally Dad made him quit; said Uncle Homer didn't mean anything by it. But Billy hated Uncle Homer until the day he died. Billy refused to go to the funeral."

  "The funeral?" Nydia asked.

  "Yes. Uncle Homer was killed one day; strangest thing, too. Just walking along the street in Buffalo and a small piece of steel fell from up where some workers were doing repair work—really high up on a building. Split his head wide open. Died right then and there."

  "What was Billy's favorite way of killing his Uncle?" Sam asked.

  Linda blinked, paled, then said, "Hitting the doll on the head with a … hammer."

  TUESDAY NIGHT

  Sam had taken the heaviest pack and distributed the weight of the other materials evenly among the young women. He had looked for his father's picture, literally tearing up the room in his search. But the picture was gone. He gave up the search, turning as Nydia slipped something into his pocket.

  "What's that, babe?" he asked.

  She smiled. "I thought they might come in handy. Little pills you can buy on campus—if you know the right person—just before you have to start cramming for an exam."

  Amphetamines. Sam returned the smile. "I heard that."

  "How are we going to get out of here?" Linda asked. "Won't they stop us?"

  "They would if they saw us." Sam grinned. "But I'm betting they won't."

  "How do we manage that, Sam?" Nydia asked.

  "You remember complaining about all that rope we took from the storage area that night?"

  "Yes. So?"

  "We're going to climb down, ladies," Sam said, pointing to the window. "Right through there and down."

  "Sam! … that's fifty feet."

  "Not really. It just seems that far." He smiled mischievously. It was about forty feet down, though, but he wasn't going to tell them that. He pulled a knotted rope from under the bed. "I did this while you two were napping this afternoon." He secured the rope to a bed post and then opened the window, removing the screen. "You two go, then I'll secure the rope from that drain bracing just outside the window, crawl out on the ledge, and close the window behind me. The doors are locked to both rooms, so with any luck we'll be able to fool them 'til morning." He took a firm grip on the rope. "You first, Nydia. Easy does it."

  She hesitated only long enough to kiss him on the mouth and then was gone down the rope, scampering to the ground. Sam looked at Linda. She shook her head.

  "I … can't. I'm afraid of heights, Sam."

  Sam was painfully blunt with her. "How would you like to be gang-screwed, Linda? Passed around among ten or fifteen guys? And then positioned on your knees and fucked like a dog—right up the asshole?"

  She looked at him in shock, then without any further comments, she went out the window and down the rope, fear making her strong.

  Sam watched the two women gather together on the ground. then untied the rope from the bed post and secured it to the drain brace. He lowered the three packs, then the other equipment, finally the weapons. He slipped out onto the ledge, feeling the bite of the suddenly cold winds of November as they came singing from the north.

  He was halfway to the ground when he felt the rope begin to give in his hands and the bracketing spikes pull away from the brick and mortar. But Sam was a veteran parachutist, young and in excellent physical shape, and a fifteen foot drop was no more to him than stepping off a curb. He hit the ground rolling and sprang to his feet.

  "Better this way," he said. "The rope won't be dangling for anyone to see. Besides, we might need the rope before we're through."

  Sam struggled into his backpack and the others did the same, Nydia asking, "Which way do we go, Sam?"

  "North, to the high ground," he said, pointing through the darkness. "That ridge about three-quarters of a mile from the stone circle. I want to see this calling out of the forces." He turned and took the point, leading the way, three who refused to bow to the whims of Satan, three who chose to fight rather than surrender; three who maintained a strong belief in their God.

  But as they walked through the night, toward the deep timber, one among them looked back at the great house … and smiled … oddly.

  Since he had first noticed the unusual activity in the Heavens, the astronomer at the observatory in California had been quietly working overtime. On his own time and with his own equipment. He had asked for and received permission to take two weeks of his vacation and Ralph was now deep and high in the rugged mountains of California, maintaining a vigil, sleeping during the day, working from dawn to dusk.

  He had discovered another area where unusual activity was periodically occurring. And he spent his nights alternating his powerful telescope between east and west. His wife, Betty, although not a professional stargazer, did have enough experience in the field to be more than an amateur, and, like her husband, was a Christian. If Ralph said he saw the face of God, then he saw it. Period. Now Betty would like to see His face. Or she thought she would.

  "Why are you changing scope position tonight?" she asked, watching her husband reposition the small but extremely powerful scope, shifting it to the east.

  "Hunch," he replied. "You ought to know after all these years of putting up with me that I'm a hunch player.

  "What do you feel is going to happen?"

  He shook his head. "I … can't really answer that, honey." He glanced at his watch. Seven o'clock, PST. Ten o'clock over most of Quebec Province. He didn't know how he knew, but he felt time was growing short. Two more hours, maximum, until … whatever it was would occur. Unless he was all wet in his hunch playing. "Make us a fresh pot of coffee, honey," he said. "Maybe sandwiches, too, if you will, please. Come midnight, hereabouts, we'll be too busy for anything else."

  "Ralph! You're being deliberately vague."

  "No. No, really that's not true. I just don't know … what we're going to see. And … I'm a little afraid of it, I think."

  She shivered beside him.

  He put an arm around her shoulders. "Cold?"

  "No," the reply was softly given. And he asked no more questions, just held her to him in a loving embrace. They clung together for a few seconds before she pulled away. "Ralph! Now don't you get any funny ideas."

  "Why not?" He grinned at her. "We have two hours."

  She returned the grin and took his hand. As they walked to the solid little cabin they had built—working side by side—more than twenty years back, she said, "Ridiculous! And at our age, too."

  The mist that was Balon's shape on earth shifted almost nervously. He sensed something was building, far to the east, and he was worried, wanting to go to his son, but knowing he could not. His place was here, with Jane Ann and the others, and young Sam would have to work it out alone. The mist seemed to smile. Well … not quite alone. The warrior was there … he knew the warrior was there, and knew, too, that the mighty one would help Sam all he could. But if Balon's suspicions wer
e correct, the warrior would have his hands full combating the forces that would soon leave the netherworld, trekking their way past the smoking veil and into present life and form.

  It would be an awesome sight, Balon felt. And one hell of a fight.

  "Here." Sam dropped his pack to the ground. "We can see it all from here and still have time to run if they spot us."

  "Run where?" Linda asked.

  "Run and run," Sam answered the edgy question. "Run. Hide. Then run some more. Until it's time to make a stand and fight it out."

  "When will that be?" Again, the questioner was Linda.

  "When it's time," Sam told her, patience in his tone. "I'll know."

  "How?" she pushed him for a firm answer.

  Nydia gave him a look that said all her past suspicions were returning.

  "I can't give you a flat, firm answer to that." Sam looked at the flat plain that contained the dark circle of stones. The altar, although Sam could just barely make out, held a vivid white slash across its top. "But I'll know."

  His answer did not satisfy the young woman, but she shut up.

  "1 wonder what their reaction will be when they discover we're gone?" Nydia asked.

  "Rage and hate," Sam said, shifting the Thompson from left hand to right. He looked at Linda. "Can you fire a weapon?"

  She shook her head. "My dad never allowed them in the house. He said guns kill people."

  "People kill people," Sam said, rebutting her statement. He glanced at Nydia, and she picked up the unspoken question from his thoughts.

  "I can shoot. Rifle, shotgun, pistol."

  "All right!" Sam smiled.

  "But I've never had to shoot at a human being," she added.

  "These aren't human beings," Sam reminded her.

  Linda shifted her butt on the ground. Nydia put her hand to the side of her neck, touching the tiny bite marks. They itched. She wondered what had bitten her. "What time is it, Sam?"

  "Eleven-thirty, Eastern time," Ralph said to his wife, "We'd better get into position."

  She grinned at him.

  "Old lady," he returned the grin, "you are a wanton woman."

  "I'm a-wantin' you," she aped a southern accent. "Again."

  "See me next week, some time." He zipped up his jacket.

  "Getting old, eh?"

  Ralph waggled his eyebrows and grinned lewdly at his wife. He stepped out into the cold mountain air of the Sierra Nevada range, striding purposefully to the small observatory he had built on one of the highest peaks of that range. His wife was only seconds behind him.

  "Wait up," she called, and he stopped, holding out his hand.

  "What's the matter, old woman—did I wear you out?"

  "Dream on, stud." She squeezed his hand. They walked for a few seconds in silence, his wife breaking the mood by asking: "Ours has been a good marriage, hasn't it, Ralph?"

  "Any better and I couldn't have stood it," he joked.

  "No, I'm serious, honey."

  "It's been the best, and I mean that. Why are you asking that at this time?" He stopped, looking at her in the brightness of starlight. Stars that seemed close enough to reach out and touch.

  "It's just … well, we enjoy … it so much. You know what I mean? Sometimes I think we enjoy it too much."

  He laughed aloud, pulling her to him. "Honey, you worry about the darnedest things. Nowhere in the Bible—that I can find—does it say a married man and woman can't enjoy all the slap and tickle they can handle. And I think if I ever find that passage, I'll just ignore it; pretend like I didn't see it. I might even petition … someone to get it thrown out."

  She smiled. "They have been good years, Ralph. I wouldn't trade them for anything. I mean that."

  "You're in a very reflective mood this evening. Why?"

  "You know I always get that way when we come up here. It's ... a feeling of being so close to all things that really matter."

  "A feeling of being closer to Him?"

  "Yes," she said softly.

  "Well … so do I, honey. That's why I love to come up here."

  She kissed him and said, "Let's go view the Heavens."

  "What time is it now, Sam?" Nydia asked.

  " 'Bout three minutes later than the last time you asked me." He grinned, white teeth flashing against the tan of his face.

  She squeezed his hand. "Anybody ever tell you you're a handsome fellow?"

  The look Linda gave her, hidden in the gloom of the timber, was of hate.

  "Oh. dozens of girls. Hundreds. And one guy."

  "Are you serious?"

  "About the guy?"

  "Yes," she laughed.

  "Sure am. Never ran so fast in all my life. Fellow tried to kiss me … right on the mouth."

  Linda did not share their humor, sitting glumly on the ground behind them, her eyes full of hate.

  Nydia laughed softly. "I don't believe you, but tell me about the girls."

  "Oh … they all lusted after my body. Nearly drove me crazy. I finally had to get a big stick and carry it with me. One time I started a riot; all the girls started chasing me and fighting over who got to keep me. Why …"

  "Sam," she stopped him, "that is the biggest lie I have ever heard."

  "Yeah," he grinned, "I guess it is, at that." He put an arm around her shoulders just as Linda got to her feet and walked to the crest of the ridge where they stood.

  "Oh, my God!" she said, pointing to the dark circle of stones. "Look down there. Past the stones and stuff. Over by the house."

  A long wavering line of torches smoked the night, casting trembling evil flickers of light into the sky. The line marched toward the circle of stones.

  The trio on the ridge above the sin-stained circle of stones watched for a few moments. The line came to the barren plain and slowly began to circle the stones.

  "What time is it?" Linda asked.

  Sam glanced at his watch. "Eleven fifty-five."

  MIDNIGHT

  "You are too close," the voice boomed into Sam's head. "It is dangerous where you are. And it is not advisable for mortals to view this awfulness."

  "I have to see what I am to fight," Sam replied, as Nydia and Linda looked at him in surprise. "Stubborn. And young. Very well. Have it your way, young warrior."

  The mighty voice faded.

  "Who were you talking to?" Linda asked.

  "The Other Side," Sam replied.

  "The other side of what?"

  "Life." Sam thought for a few seconds, then added, "As we know it."

  Linda pulled her attention back to the torches. She shook her head in disbelief. Neither Sam nor Nydia knew if the almost indiscernible movement of her head was meant for Sam or the scene before them.

  On the fringe of the torch-lit circle, the trio on the top of the ridge watched as shadowy figures moved closer to the light, walking in a peculiar, hunkered manner. Even at this great distance they looked grotesque … not human.

  "The Beasts," Nydia said.

  "I wonder where they came from?" Sam mused aloud.

  "I mean … what was their origin?"

  "Hell, I suppose," she replied. "I don't know, Sam. You know as much about them as I do."

  Linda was strangely silent.

  God's failures! The phrase leaped into Sam's mind.

  And the young man questioned that statement: but how can . . . could God fail at anything?

  He wished for the mighty voice to return: to answer his questions, but the voice was silent. Then he remembered something his mother had told him, something his real father had told her: nobody knows how many times God tried to make man in His own image … and failed.

  Sam pondered that for a few moments, thinking: were the Beasts God's failures? What happened to cause the failure?

  "I can't answer that, either, Sam," Nydia said. "Only He can answer that."

  "I forgot you can read my thoughts. I wonder if we'll always have that power?"

  "I … really hope not, Sam."

  "Yeah,
me too."

  "You two can read each other's thoughts?" Linda asked, astonishment in her voice.

  "Yes," Nydia said. "And sometimes other peoples' thoughts as well."

  Sam glanced at her. "You know something I don't? he projected.

  Nydia refused to reply.

  "There's something going on down there," Linda said. "Look."

  The participants in the calling of the forces had gathered in circles, several rings of them, each growing progressively smaller inward, the Beasts forming the larger outer circle. The circles began moving, the first clockwise, the next counterclockwise, the third circle clockwise, the inner circle counterclockwise. It was a grotesque form of dancing, the women dancing back to back, the men front to front. They hummed lowly, the faint humming only occasionally reaching the ridge, Standing by the dark altar was Falcon, his face whitened with makeup, in stark contrast to his black robe.

  Sam stood with Nydia by his side, both of them watching through binoculars. "Hideous," was her only comment.

  The humming changed into a chanting, the dancing becoming more profane. The chanting changed into a low roar as three young girls were dragged screaming through the dancing, leaping, chanting circles of worshipers. One was stripped naked, her clothing ripped from her. She was secured to the altar, her legs spread wide, bent at the knees. She could not have been more than eleven or twelve.

  "I don't want to watch this," Nydia said. She lowered her binoculars and turned her face from the scene of depravity and sin.

  "I want to see it," Linda said.

  "I suspected you might," Nydia said, just loud enough for Sam to hear.

  Sam's face remained impassive. He said nothing. He knew something was going on between the two young women, but did not know what. Linda took the binoculars, lifting them to her eyes. Nydia turned her back to the obscenity below her and sat down on a log, zipping up her jacket to her throat for protection against the strengthening wind.

  "Call the hyenas!" a voice screamed, and the chanting grew thunderous.

  "Dogges, Dogges," the circles screamed. "Hear our cries, 0, Dogges."

  "Call the centaur!" the voice commanded.