by Sam Witt
There was a hollow thud from inside the trailer, the sound of something wet and sticky bursting. Red splashed over the grimy windows, and a gout of it spurted out from the doorway, unfurling like a great, bloody tongue.
Half the spew caught Al as he was leaving the trailer, soaking him to the bone with gore. He tripped over the corpses and fell, his hand inches from one of the gnashing heads.
Screeches poured out of the trailer, the cries of a million bats swarming, ready to hunt.
The nightmare ruckus kicked Al into gear. He scrambled toward the cars, a billowing cloud of hungry bats pouring out of the trailer after him. Stevie was muttering something, eyes rolled up in their sockets, tongue darting and flicking in the air like a serpent’s.
Walker grabbed Al by the arm and hoisted the boy into the circle, pulling him up and over the mystical barrier with the ease of a mother lifting a child.
The bats were too close, less than a yard away. Joe closed his eyes and waited for the fangs.
The ground bounced, and Joe choked as the invisible hand of a pressure wave squeezed the air out of his lungs.
A wall of wind erupted from Stevie’s circle and roared outward, kicking up gravel and dirt before it. It smashed bats apart, shredding them with raw force. It destroyed the trailers, as well, splitting them open and scattering their contents with a tornado’s strength. Corpses sailed through the air, clumsy cartwheels that ended with liquid thuds.
Walker and Zeke both eyed Stevie with equal parts suspicion and respect. Joe found himself looking at his wife in much the same way.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m handy like that.”
Stevie grinned at Joe, her mouth lopsided and quivering. Blood leaked from her left ear, and red tears ran from the corners of her eyes. Stevie staggered, caught herself on Al’s shoulder for a moment, then passed out.
CHAPTER 51
STEVIE DROVE SLOWER as they left the trailer park than she had on the way in. Her fainting spell hadn’t lasted long, but Joe watched the Rambler for any signs his wife might be having trouble. He’d never seen anything like that before, the casual way she’d bent the world to her will made his skin crawl. It made him proud. He couldn’t reconcile the two feelings.
Zeke pointed out ahead of the Rambler, at something across the road. “What’s up there? My eyes ain’ what they oughter be.”
Joe slowed the truck, then stopped it twenty yards behind Stevie’s Rambler, which sat in the road in front of a pair of patrol cars. “Sheriff’s deputy,” Joe muttered. “This’ll be fun.”
He tucked both pistols in the back of his belt and eased out of the truck. He watched the two deputies leaning against their cars and spoke to Zeke out of the side of his mouth. “Keep your head down.”
“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” Zeke said.
One of the deputies was tapping on Stevie’s window when Joe reached the Rambler. Joe showed his empty hands, and the deputy gave him a curt nod.
The officer leaned back from the car, all his attention on the Night Marshal. “Joe,” he started as he unsnapped his holster. “Some people want to talk to you.”
Joe gave the young man a tight smile. “Dan have a change of heart? Send you boys to round me up and finish what he couldn’t?”
The deputy grinned. “Not just us. You’re a popular sort of guy these days, Joe.”
“Yeah,” Joe ran his tongue over his teeth, wishing for the taste of whiskey. “I’m really feeling the love out here.”
The other deputy fumbled with the snaps on his holster. Joe raised an eyebrow. “One of you might get a shot off before I return the favor, but not both. Why don’t you two get in your cars and drive the fuck out of here before we see who dies today?”
“We don’t want everyone, okay?” The first deputy’s hand was on the butt of his weapon. “Just you. You come with us, we let everyone else go.”
“Get your cars out of the road.” Joe’s hand found the pistol and whipped it free of his belt. The big barrel was pointed at the deputy so fast he didn’t even know it was happening until it was over. “Now.”
The deputy swallowed so hard Joe could hear it from twenty feet away. “Okay, Joe. Okay.”
The second deputy didn’t wait for his partner to give the order, he jumped back in his car and hightailed it down the road. Working for the half-made girls hadn’t made the deputies any braver.
“What’re you waiting for? Get going.”
The deputy backed up to his car, hands over his head. “When they come for you and your family, remember we offered you a choice.”
Joe laughed. “They took my girl. Tried to kill us all not a half hour back. Take your choice and shove it up your ass.”
The deputy nodded and opened his car door. “Still.”
“Get the fuck out of here.”
The deputy sat in his car, staring at Joe for a long second, deciding on his next move. Joe kept the pistol aimed at the kid’s head, finger trembling on the trigger.
“Didn’t have to go down like this.” The deputy took his hat off, dropped it on the seat next to him. “People are scared. Been scared a long time.”
Joe let the pistol drop to his hip again, the barrel suddenly too heavy to hold. “I’m not exactly feeling all fat and happy, myself, these days.”
“I guess you know how we all felt, then.” The deputy slammed his door and fired up the cruiser’s engine. He spun the car in reverse, pointed its nose down the road, and stepped on the gas.
Joe watched the deputy drive away, then crouched to look into Stevie’s window. She rolled it down, and he was struck again by how strong, how vibrant his wife looked. Despite her white skin and dark eyes, she radiated a vital strength Joe hadn’t seen in years. He felt sick, ashamed, for how he’d made her hide her true self. He’d just have to deal with his hurt feelings and get on with it. Things had changed.
“Change of plans,” he said. “Head for the old deer camp”
Stevie nodded. She held Joe’s eyes with her own. “What he said, it’s not true.”
Joe sighed and reached into the car. He cupped the back of Stevie’s head in his hand, just for a moment, just until the darkness welled up through the magic between them and he felt his face turn to stone and his eyes go dark. She retreated from him, breath caught in her throat.
“It is, I guess. In a way. Somewhere along the way I turned into a scary bastard.” Joe stood up and patted the top of the Rambler. “Let’s get moving, I’ve got a bad feeling about this roadblock showing up just now.”
“Drive safe,” Stevie called as she stepped on the gas and sent the Rambler racing down the road.
Joe hauled himself up into his truck and hoped Zeke wouldn’t notice the tremble in his fingers.
CHAPTER 52
JOE HADN’T BEEN to the deer camp in years. His father had loved to hunt, but Joe never seemed to find the time to put bullets through defenseless animals. There were always too many monsters to deal with, human and otherwise. He peeked in through the cracked glass window in the front door and worked the key into the lock. There was rust around the edges of the keyhole, but it only took a little muscle to get the door open. “Welcome to your new home, friends and neighbors.”
Walker limped up onto the short front porch and sniffed at the dark interior. “This is a dump.”
Joe ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if you noticed, but those sheriff’s deputies back there didn’t seem very friendly. They’re looking for us, preacher. Probably all of us.”
“They would not dare harm me. They have no idea of our confederation.”
Joe stabbed a finger toward the still-spotless white Hummer. “They didn’t, but they do now. You think they were too blind to see that big ol’ showboat of yours following my truck?”
Walker grumbled and stomped into the cabin, leaning on his cane. Zeke followed the preacher, grinning at Joe as he passed. “Nice place ya got here. Looks like it’ll do us fine.”
Joe swatted the old man on the bac
k of the head as he passed, then walked to the Hummer. They’d stowed the table in the vehicle’s enormous cargo bay before leaving the trailer park. He wanted the two experts to get a chance to look at it in a more relaxed atmosphere.
The rear hatch popped open as Joe approached it. He pushed it up and slid the table out of the back. Then he paused and looked back at Preacher Walker’s driver.
The man sat behind the wheel, bald head facing forward, hands on the wheel precisely at ten and two. He looked like he was ready to drive at a moment’s notice, like he was always ready to drive at a moment’s notice. Joe decided he had more important things to worry about just then than whatever hoodoo Walker had spun his driver from, but it was something he would keep in mind.
Joe was wrestling with the table, trying to get a good grip on it, when Stevie showed up and grabbed two of the legs. “Thanks,” Joe said, and grabbed the other two.
Stevie lifted her side and started walking backward, pulling Joe along. “I’m fine, you know.”
“You didn’t look fine.”
“It’s like,” Stevie paused to get up onto the porch. She tilted the table sideways so they could fit it through the doorway, “pulling a muscle if you try to lift too much weight. I’ll be sore for a while, but it’s nothing that won’t pass.”
Joe grunted, but he wasn’t ready to agree with his wife just yet. “I appreciate what you did back there, but a little restraint wouldn’t kill you.”
Stevie grinned and helped Joe flip the table up onto its feet. “It might’ve, back there. Didn’t have time to figure out how much oomph to put behind it.”
Joe rolled his eyes at his wife, then turned to the old men. “All right, boys, time for you to earn your keep and tell us what the hell is going on out there.”
Walker limped over and tapped the old propane lantern that hung from the rafters over the table.
“I doubt that has any gas,” Stevie said.
The lantern came on with an audible pop, though the flame had a faint gold tinge to its pure white light. Walker flashed a broad shark’s smile and bent his attention to the table.
Joe motioned to Stevie from the cabin’s little kitchen, giving the old men space to argue over the arcane mess.
Stevie leaned against the counter and waited for Joe to speak.
“Elsa,” he stopped, gathered himself, started again. “Do you feel anything out there? At all?”
Stevie’s hand curled protectively across her stomach. “She’s out there, but that’s all I can get. There’s something between us. Blocking me.”
Joe rifled through the cabinets, came up with a bottle of whiskey. He had the bottle halfway to his lips before Stevie’s fingers brushed the back of his hand.
“You need that?” She tipped her head toward the bottle.
Joe put the bottle on the counter, laid the cap back on the neck. “I reckon I can go without for a bit longer.”
But his fingers were shaking. He felt a tingle of rage down deep in his gut that had nothing to do with the curse laid on the two of them. It was the anger he’d seen often enough in bars and on front porches, the rage of a drunk confronted with his own weakness. He couldn’t hold his wife’s gaze. He felt small. Ashamed.
Stevie left the kitchen. Joe stared out the window at the untamed forest. His fondest childhood memories of this place were always of the smell of brisk morning air, tramping around in the fallen leaves and early snow, rifle across his shoulder. He could taste the gamey, savory heft of fresh-killed, roasted venison.
Then other smells intruded. Blood splashed and dried on his skin until he felt like he’d never be clean. The chemical burn of batshit. The rich, final stench of a gut shot.
Joe stared at the bottle, willing it to vanish, hoping he could keep his hands off it.
“Joe?” Zeke’s voice was low and cautious. “Yer gonna wanna see this.”
Glad for the distraction, Joe followed the old man to the table. The gold-white light made it easier to look at its surface, as if the pure, clean radiance stole some of its malevolent energy.
“It is a map,” Walker stated, tracing its edges with a finger-pointing gesture. “And also a bible. And a set of instructions.”
Joe sighed. “I’m not sure if you jackasses remember, but some scary bitches stole my daughter this morning, and I’d like to hurry it up and get to the point where I can go and get her back.”
“Zip yer lip; might learn somethin’.” Zeke pointed at the outline of the map. “This part, looks like ’twas carved earlier than the rest. Newer carvin’ slops over it here and again.”
Walker took up the explanation. “I can’t read the writing they’ve hacked, but these symbols are obvious. They mark where the girls were brought over.”
Joe nodded. Each of the symbols was a big snarl of overlapping spirals and tiny etched figures, all surrounded by concentric rings. Where the rings overlapped, there was a fourth symbol. One big circle held three smaller spirals in a tight triangle. Glancing at it sent a stab of pain rocketing through Joe’s forehead. For a moment, Joe was looking down on the scene, watching from somewhere outside of his body.
He stumbled back from the table, left hand clutching his face. A voice echoed in the back of his skull, taunting, “I I I see you you you.”
Zeke helped Joe catch his balance. “Yer oughtn’t look right at it. Reckon ya oughter know better, idjit.”
Joe shuddered and took a deep breath. He wanted to scrub the inside of his skull with steel wool and lye. There was a pull, a feeling of falling toward the table, deep in his gut. He stabbed his finger at the center of the table, where a wide circle filled with eldritch runes dominated. “What the fuck is that?”
Walker rapped his thick knuckles near the center of the table. “That would be number four. These symbols all align with that larger circle, as if these others were feeding into it. It looks more impressive than the first three.”
Impressive was a massive understatement. Joe could feel that central circle tugging at his eyes. The other symbols marked some of the worst atrocities he’d seen in a life spent hunting darkness. His spit dried to dust when he tried to imagine what was going to slither out of the big one. “Great.”
Zeke clucked his tongue. “There’s more. Yer not gonna like it.”
Walker stabbed his finger at the first three symbols. “Some of this is written in Enochian as near as I can tell.”
Joe raised his hand. “You’re trying to tell me angels wrote this shit?”
Walker frowned. “Enochian is the language of creation; angels are not the only creatures who know how to call things into being. I do not have the time or tools I’d need to translate all of this, but the bits I can make out refer to seeds spreading on the wind.”
Zeke raised an eyebrow. “And a burnin’. A cleansin’.”
The preacher continued. “I do not think those girls are an end in themselves, Joe. They are just the tip of the spear of what is happening in Pitchfork. They are harbingers of something bigger.”
Joe’s forehead itched. He remembered Elsa’s words in the church. She’d called the first girl a seed. The three of them had been spread around Pitchfork, and now that they’d sprouted, whatever pulled their strings was coming for the harvest.
Joe wished he had his shotgun. “If whatever put them here shows up, there’s going to be a world of hurt coming down.”
“For anyone not in on the deal,” Zeke agreed. “Which is, ya know, all of us and then some.”
Joe racked his brain, pulling back the details he remembered from the church and the springs, from the Pryor house and the Blackbriar place. “Red Oak. Chickinee. Onandaga. They’re all holy places, right?”
He paced the floor, pieces of the plan falling into place. “I think I know how we can stop this.”
Joe sketched out his plan, leaving out a few critical pieces he knew neither of the old men was going to like, and one that Stevie would like even less. He was just guessing that it would work, but it felt right. W
hen it came to the Left-Hand Path, and how to fight it, sometimes the only things he knew he could trust were his guts.
Walker leaned on his cane. “That all seems simple enough, but you know as soon as we put that plan in motion those monsters will be all over us.”
“Not if they’ve got something else to worry about.” Joe nodded toward the fourth circle. “Whatever they’re gonna do, it’ll be there, right?”
Walker shrugged. “That would make sense, based on what we have here, but these people are insane.”
A hearty laugh escaped Joe at that. “Preacher, anyone who begs for a god’s attention is fucking crazy. They’re just a different kind of crazy from you.”
Joe waved off Walker’s protest. “I think this plan is the only fighting chance we have against these assholes.”
Zeke tugged at his beard. “I reckon we’re short one person for yer plan.”
Joe shook his head and pressed his knuckles into the small of his back. “You and Walker can take down two of them. That’ll be enough.”
Stevie piped up, stepping away from the wall. “I’ll do it.”
“No.” Joe’s voice was flat and cold. “My family’s shed enough blood for one day.”
Stevie smiled at her husband and the lantern flickered. A cold wind tugged at her hair and washed over the men in the room. “I wasn’t asking. She’s my daughter, too. I’ll take the third.”
Joe sighed. He hated to admit it, but Stevie was right. With her help, they had a chance to pull this off. Without her, everything was a long-odds crap shoot. “Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to come early.”
CHAPTER 53
FOG CURLED UP from the cold ground, hugging the earth like a wet blanket. Stevie stood at the kitchen window and listened to the others going about their morning rituals.
Zeke groaned from the main room, his old joints popping and creaking as he rolled out of his cot.
Walker’s footsteps shook the little cabin as he paced the floor, reciting prayers in his low, rumbling voice.
