Sam dropped the empty Thompson on the box, jerked the stake from his belt, and ran toward the thrashing creature, driving the stake deep in its chest. A horrible howling ripped from the mouth of the Undead. A stench filled the dark, musty basement as pus erupted from its throat, spraying Sam with foulness. Using both hands, Sam worked the stake deeper, until he pierced the heart. The un-Godly squalled in pain as it fell back against a wall, moaning and kicking as it died.
The lights came back on.
Sam stood panting, his chest heaving from fright and rattled nerves. He watched the metamorphosis take place as Bill Mathis finally died, the creature working its way back through time-only God and Satan knowing just how far back. Within seconds, only a rotting pile of stinking rags marked the spot where Godless met Godly.
Sam picked up his Thompson and his Zippo, bending down to ignite the pile of newspapers, watching them roar into flames. He walked up the steps, his back tingling, as if expecting a blow. He met Chester at the top of the stairs.
"I never heard such howling in my life. What in God's name was that?"
"Bill Mathis. He was one of them. Like Michelle."
"Might account for so many of the kids going over Satan's side."
"Yeah." His eyes touched Chester's. "I know, Chester.. I stink. Come on, let's drag these bodies into the house. Burn them. That way we'll know they can't become what I just destroyed."
So they dragged the twisted, mangled, broken bodies into the smoky house, Chester said, "I wish there was some other way. Can't people like these be helped, Sam? Isn't there some way we can undo what has been done to them?"
"I don't know how to exorcise an entire county, Ches. I really don't understand exorcism to begin with. But I do know it's got to be done one on one." He piled another bloody corpse in the living room. The floor was beginning to get hot from the flames in the basement. "Unless God intervenes, I'm afraid this is the only way."
Outside, the men stood away from the house watching it explode into flames, the roof caving in.
"Don't feel sorry for them, Ches—they knew what they were doing; what they were accepting They had a choice. It's nobody's fault but their own."
"Maybe somebody will see the smoke,' Chester said, watching the smoke soar into the sky. "Come to help us."
"No," Sam said. "Nobody will see it. A plane could fly a hundred feet off the ground, right over it, and would not see it. Their Master has taken care of that. We're in this alone, Ches. Better accept that fact."
Driving away from the smoking ruins, Sam said, "Yes, Ches, they can be helped—but they've got to want that help. God does not expect man to be perfect, but He does expect man to try. Our God is a vengeful God, Ches. It's not wise to cross Him."
"After we pick up the extra gas cans," Chester said, "we'll stop at that old dump, pick up a couple dozen empty whiskey bottles. They make dandy Molotov cocktails."
"Yeah," the preacher smiled. "Mix a little with the gas and you've got homemade napalm."
"I don't like the idea of you going out alone and—headhunting," Wade said. "I think it best we stay together from now on."
Late afternoon in Fork County, the shadows beginning to paint the rolling hills and prairies with a darker brush, the deepening gray reminding them all that night would soon be on them, and the evil that would surface with the darkness.
"I agree with Wade," Miles said. "I think we'd be safer in a—a—"
"Wolf pack?" Sam finished the sentence.
"Yes," Tony said. "If that's what you want to call it."
Sam rose from his squatting position, a freshly sharpened stake in his hand. "None of you realises what you're in for—what you're saying, But perhaps you're right. We'll do this together." He searched the prairie in all directions.
"What are you looking for, Sam?" Jane Ann asked.
"Some of the Undead. They're out there. I can feel them."
The small group looked around them, fear touching each heart, brows wrinkling with concern. Hands unknowingly went to weapons, as if the lethal steel or the smooth stock or butt of the weapon would somehow comfort them.
"I don't feel anything out of the ordinary," Jimmy said, but his hand did not leave the butt of the .38 belted around his waist.
"That pistol won't do you much good against the Undead," Sam told him. "I put thirty rounds of .45 caliber ammunition into Bill Mathis. I literally blew him to bits with this Thompson. But he kept coming. They are not human, you all must remember that. They are not human, and they are not animal—they're dead people walking upright. I want you all to keep a canteen of Holy Water with you at all times. And a stake." His eyes touched them all. "We took the fight to them this morning; we hit them where they live, and they can't allow us to get away with that. So they'll be coming at us tonight. For now, you all had better get some rest. Go on, I'll take the watch."
He walked up the small hill above the cottonwoods where they made camp. He stood alone on the hill.
"I feel as though I should be up there with him," Jane Ann said. "But I also feel he would send me right back down here."
"He would," Anita agreed. "Sam looks upon this as his battle—his fight. We're just his soldiers."
"You should have seen him this afternoon.' Chester spoke from the shade of his pickup. "He moves like a cat. I did some work with Marine Raiders once; Sam is as good and probably better than those guys. I didn't believe anyone could come up behind me without my knowing it, but Sam did. And damn near scared me out of my pants doing it. But Wade is right: we're going to have to stay together."
One by one they drifted off to sleep in the late afternoon. Jane Ann was the last one to slip into the silence of deep rest. When she finally closed her eyes, the thing she remembered was the outline of her man, alone on the hill, with his weapon, his stake, his Holy Water, and his God, watching over them all. Sam, calm, sure, strong—waiting for the night to bring the fight to him.
And the thought came to her: Sam would willingly die to save them.
She slept restlessly.
Sam touched her on the shoulder, bringing her out of sleep, her heart pounding. Full dark on the prairie. She could see only the bulk of him.
"They're coming," he told her. "I've told the others. Get ready." He was gone into the night.
Sam had changed clothing, into black, to blend into the night.
"We're awake, Janey," Faye said. "I saw Sam, I'll be darned if I saw where he went when he left you. The man moves like a ghost."
A scream cut the night. A horrible choking sound; a cry of pure anguish, tapering off into a blubber of pain. Silence. They heard Sam laughing in the darkness.
"He's deliberately goading them!" Peter said. "He's killing them, then taunting them."
Miles suddenly ran to the edge of the camp, a stake in his hand. "They're all around us!" he shouted. He stepped into the blackness.
A hissing in the night. A coughing thud. The thump of something heavy falling to the ground.
"MILES!" Doris shouted.
Screaming from out of the darkness, ending with a strangling sound. Miles backed into his circle of friends, his hands shaking.
"I killed one of—Them!" he said. "Oh, my God!"
The yammer of Sam's Thompson split the night. Things ran away into the blackness.
Silence.
Sam walked back into the camp, as calmly as if he had done nothing more exciting than duck hunting. He built up the fire, then looked at the body lying between two trucks. A long stake protruded from its chest.
"I don't know this one," Sam said, walking over to drag the carcass out of sight. The face was pockmarked and rotted, and the stench was the worst he'd smelled thus far.
Sam picked up a foot and began to drag the Undead from their camp. The leg came off in his hands.
Behind him, Jane Ann began screaming. "That's my father!" she shrieked. "My father!" She fell unconscious to the ground.
Tony gave her a shot after Sam carried her to their sleeping bags. "This
will keep her out the rest of the night and probably most of next morning. She needs it, Sam. That was a hell of a shock she just had."
Sam pulled a blanket over his wife, then walked back to the fire with the doctor. He poured a cup of coffee as Miles said, "Mr. Burke has been missing for years. His flesh was—" He swallowed hard. He shuddered. "Rotted," he managed to say. "Where do they stay? Are there more of them?"
"I guess they sleep, Miles," Sam picked up a sandwich from a covered plate. "And, yes, I'd say there are probably a lot more of them." He chewed slowly.
Wade looked at him with his face mirroring shock. He wondered: How can he do it? How can he sit there and eat! There was blood on the front of Sam's shirt.
"Were you people this calm when you did your jobs in Korea?" Wade asked.
Sam glanced at him. "Usually." He stood up, wiping his hands on blood-stained trousers. "I'll get Janey and put her in the truck. Let's break camp. I've got a feeling our luck's run out in this spot."
They had carefully reconnoitered the dry creek bed, some ten miles from where they had been attacked. They made camp in the dark, Sam gently placing the sleeping Jane Ann on blankets, covering her. He softly touched her face, wondering, as he caressed her cheek, how much time they had left together?
Walking to the group, eating cold sandwiches as they huddled in the dark in the dry creek bed, Sam told them, "This is the way we stay alive. We eat, then move. We sleep, then move. We do not stay in one spot for any length of time. We pick our spots at night, and make them come to us. During the day, we take it to them, cut, slash, and run. How far are we from the Sorenson ranch?"
"About fifteen miles," Jimmy said. "To the east."
Sam smiled his warrior's smile. "Tomorrow, we destroy them."
His friends looked at each other in the night. Only Chester returned the smile.
Black Wilder glanced out a window into the night, a disgusted look on his face. "One man," he said. "Just one man stands in our way. Kill Balon—possess his mind—and his little group falls apart."
"Perhaps our people did just that this night?' Nydia said.
"No, they failed."
"Then let us take him," Nydia suggested, hopeful tone in her voice. She wanted Balon. Wanted to make love to him. And wanted him for another reason. A demon son from Balon's seed would be a force to reckon with.
Wilder slapped her on the face, knocking the witch sprawling on the floor. His eyes burned at her. She did nothing, did not move from her reclining position, for she was too afraid of Wilder and his awesome powers.
"Stupid bitch!" he hissed at her. "You know that is our last resort. You must know the rules of the game! You should, I've been patiently explaining them to you for centuries! Foolish woman, do you want to feel God's hand on your backside? Do you wish to spend the next thousand years crawling the earth as a bug? We don't break the rules. Send everything we have at Balon—yes. We can tempt him. We can try his patience; as you are trying mine. We can kill his friends. Then, after we've done all that, if he still fights us, and only then, with our Master's permission can we confront him. Only then, Nydia—do you understand?"
He glared down at her, his eyes yellow with rage. "You are beginning—again—to forget just who is in charge here. Perhaps you need a lesson to remind you, Nydia?"
"No!" she screamed, remembering the last time, two centuries ago, when Wilder had her punished. While Satan rocked with laughter, the witch had been placed in a convent in France, to remain there for years, conforming to the Sisters' teachings.
It was altogether the most disgusting, degrading thing that had ever happened to her.
She still had nightmares about it.
Nydia crawled to her knees. "Please. No! Black, you are my Master here on earth. I'll do anything you ask. Anything."
Theirs was a most peculiar relationship. At times Nydia loved him. Other times, she hated him.
He wound his fingers in her black hair, twisting her head cruelly. "Don't interfere with me, Nydia. I won't tolerate it. Our Master must have a place here on earth. Those are his orders. Whitfield must be taken by us, for him. Nydia, you must learn to control your rashness. You are not a child."
"I know, Black. And I will." She unzipped his fly, fondling his penis, huge even in its softness.
"No," he pulled away, pushing her back. "Not you. Not this night."
"Please!"
"Find me a young girl. One who is soft and unskilled in love making. I would have her. Now, go!"
She rose to her feet, slipping silently through the door, blending in with the night, a black cloak wrapped around her dark gown. She was lucky to have received only a verbal scolding from the Master on earth. She knew that was true. It could have been much, much worse. Nydia recalled one rebellious witch who crossed Black Wilder. He had her powers taken from her and she was given to the Beasts.
She shuddered as she glided through the night seeking a proper young girl for the Master on earth.
She passed several homes, finally selecting one, entering without knocking. The occupants froze death-like in the darkness of the smelly home, for they knew the witch was second-in-command of this Coven. And the witch had powers none of them understood.
She took a young blonde girl by the hand, leading her to the door. "You should all be joyful." she said to the girl's parents. "This night she will please Wilder."
The mother and the father smiled and nodded their pleasure, for that was good. Their eyes glowed with pride. Their only regret was that they would not be permitted to see the penetration. In what had once been the parsonage of the Christian Church of Whitfield, now the residence of Black Wilder and Nydia, the Master of the Coven smiled as he thought of what Balon would think once he learned his home was now the home of Satan's agent. He laughed aloud, looking up as Nydia entered with the young girl. He nodded his approval at her selection. ''I remember her, Nydia. You did well." The witch smiled at his compliment. All had been forgiven.
"Make her ready to receive me," he ordered, "Let me see you work. Amuse me, Nydia—you do it so well."
Nydia dropped her robe on the floor, and the girl stared at her beauty. The heavy, rose-tipped breasts, the flat stomach, the thick, dark bush. Nydia stripped the girl, knowing this was what Wilder enjoyed—among other things. Long before this night was over, before the dark softened into day, the young girl would know full well the power and perversity of Black Wilder.
She slowly removed the girl's clothing, smiling at her high, not-yet-mature breasts. She licked her lips at the blossoming pubic hair. Wilder's eyes glowed with a yellowish light of desire as he took in young beauty.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Keri."
"Do you love me, Keri?"
"With all my heart, Master."
"Good," Wilder smiled. "Very good." He looked at Nydia. "Continue."
She pulled the girl to her, a young mouth closing around a nipple. Nydia slipped her hand over the girl's flat belly, caressing her. Her hand found the opening between her legs, wetting her.
"Take her to a bedroom," Wilder ordered. "I'll be along after a time. In the interim, Nydia. you may love her as you wish."
The witch smiled.
When they had gone, Wilder picked up the phone, and gave the operator the number of the asylum. "Loose the idiots," he said. "Then get out." He replaced the receiver in its cradle and sat for a time, smiling. This would give Balon something new to combat.
Later, Wilder entered the bedroom, standing over the bed, smiling as he listened to the moans and cries from the young girl. Nydia's hair was fanned out over the whiteness of the teenager's belly, the witch's mouth busy between widespread legs.
Wilder undressed, his huge penis dangling between his thighs, beginning to stiffen with desire. He rudely pulled Nydia from the girl and climb onto the bed.
"You know what to do," he told her.
She slipped around to the teenager's head, pinning the girl's slender arms to the bed. As Wilder began his pu
sh forward spreading the wet wetness, the girl screamed in pain.
Nydia and Wilder laughed at the child's wailings. Wilder's hugeness pushed further, ignoring the thrashing beneath him, loving the agony that writhed under him, the slender young legs jerking, flashing white in the darkness.
And one could almost hear Satan's howling.
Friday - The Second Day
Jane Ann awakened in Sam's arms, for a moment not remembering where she was or what had happened to bring her to this much confusion. She felt drugged.
And then she remembered the sight of her father. His rotting flesh. His stink. His dying with a stake through his heart. Sam's holding of his leg.
She trembled, and Sam tightened his arms around her. "We'll make it, honey. With God's help, we'll make it."
"My father—"
"He's gone, now. You have to believe he did not voluntarily become one of—Them. You have to believe he's with God."
"God's on our side, Sam? Are you sure of that?"
"Yes, I'm sure. Don't ever doubt it."
She kissed him, pushing the ugliness of the previous night from her mind. "What happens today, Sam?"
"You're going to have to be strong, Janey. We're few and they are many. I need you. Today? We're going to destroy the Sorenson ranch. I think it all began there, years ago. I think Sorenson founded the cult and somehow began communicating with Satan." He slipped from her, standing up, stretching. "Anything out there, Tony?"
"Nothing, Sam. It's almost eerie with nothing moving."
"Don't worry," the minister assured him."There will be plenty moving in a few hours. Straight to Hell!"
The caravan moved slowly through the prairie, Sam in the lead truck. Jane Ann sat beside him, by the open window, her shotgun at the ready.
Tough lady, Sam thought, stealing a glance at her profile. I hope we have a son.
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