Cole was amused at Sue, who was giving the voice a double bird, both fists clenched, middle fingers extended. “Bastard!” Sue muttered.
“Go see about Gary,” Cole told her. “Calm down. Save your anger for tonight. You’re going to need it.”
“You think you know what that . . . thing is going to do tonight?” Katti asked. The unseen entity was always referred to as “thing.” No one could bring themselves to call it Satan. Yet.
“The only thing he can do,” Cole replied. “Throw people at us.”
“More Mr. Browns?” Ruth asked.
Cole shrugged his shoulders. “Nobody forced them to choose the side they did. There might have been some trickery going on, but we didn’t fall for it.” Cole paused for a moment. Cut his eyes to Hank. “You think God is actually allowing . . . ?”
“Maybe,” the priest cut him off. “The weak always get culled from the pack. The healthiest females won’t breed with the weak. Mother Nature sees to it that the strong survive. And who is Mother Nature? God.”
Sue had paused in the doorway. She had a horrified look on her face. “What are you men saying?”
“Survival of the fittest,” Cole told her. “God is allowing the . . . say, unfit to be culled.”
“That’s monstrous!”
“It would explain a lot of things,” Katti said.
Sue shook her head and walked outside.
“Load up every gun in the house,” Cole said. “Keep plenty of ammunition at hand. If somebody will clean up what’s left of the TV and move it, I’ll get the one out of our room and hook it up. Although I don’t believe we’re going to have much time for TV watching this evening.”
Cole put two people at each of the four points of the house. He assigned Jim to the outside rear, and he took the front. There was no shortage of guns, for Ruth’s late husband had been an avid outdoorsman and gun collector. And there was enough ammunition to start World War Three.
Which this just may turn out to be, Cole had thought more than once.
Cole was certain that this little group was not the only one of its kind in the area, but if that were true—and he was sure it was—where were the others?
He was also certain that sooner or later the group would have to leave this location, and that might come within hours, for there was no way ten people could hold off a mob of several thousand.
But where would they go?
Cole had given that some thought, too, and had settled on the Smoky Mountains. His tours in Vietnam had turned a frightened boy into an experienced, hard-assed and ruthless guerrilla fighter, just as Jim had become, and Gary, too, but in another secret war a few years after Vietnam, in which the U.S. was involved. Hank was an ex-cop, Bev was tough as a boot, and Ruth was solid. The whole group would stand to the end, Cole was sure of that.
Yes, the Smokies would be ideal. The group would be reasonably safe in the mountains and deep forests and brush. But getting there would not only be dangerous, it might prove to be impossible.
For security reasons, it would be best if they could link up with another group. He’d have to get Jenny working on that. And soon, for Cole was sure the phone lines would eventually be cut to the house. Yes, they would have to make plans to shift locations.
If they survived the night that stretched out dark and evil ahead of them, that is.
Cole wondered about Scott Frey, his wife, Vivian, and George Steckler. Wondered if they were all right. For Memphis, just like most major cities, had turned into a battleground.
And according to the last newscast he’d heard, the other side was clearly winning.
But Cole wash sure in his heart that would not last.
God wouldn’t permit that.
Right?
But so far, He had not interfered, at least not that Cole was aware of. It was Rome all over again, the Christians being fed to the lions. And there were lots of hungry lions.
With no end in sight.
Cole still was unsure exactly why he, and the others, had been spared. He’d reviewed his past and, to his mind, had come up wanting. Oh, he’d been baptized as a boy, but after Vietnam he’d wandered away from the church. There was just too much hypocrisy there to suit him. Too much politics, too much inner squabbling.
He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d walked through the doors of a church.
Years ago, for sure. Other than to attend funerals of friends and fallen officers, that is. The department had always sent him, and he’d been all over the nation attending the funerals of officers killed in the line of duty.
Standing in the darkness, for he had ordered the house blacked out, Cole cut his eyes up the highway. Headlights from dozens of cars and trucks were coming up fast.
He lifted his walkie-talkie. “Here they come, folks. And this time they mean business.” He slipped the walkie-talkie back into the carry-pouch and clicked his M-14 off safety. “Okay, boys and girls, let us rock and roll.”
The wild sounds of “Good Golly, Miss Molly” shattered the stillness.
Ten
When the first shot cracked from a vehicle, the bullet whining off the stone of the house, Cole gave the car half a magazine, the steel-jacketed slugs tearing holes in the metal of the car, shattering windows, and ripping into flesh and breaking bones. The car slewed wildly, ran off the road, and came to a stop in a ditch, the impact breaking both headlights.
The long line of vehicles stopped, and in the glare of headlights Cole could see rifles poking out of open windows. Cole zigzagged to the gazebo and crawled under it just as gunfire erupted from every vehicle in sight.
Cole lined up a driver’s head in his sights and squeezed the trigger. When the bullet struck, the driver’s foot slipped off the brake pedal and the dead foot floored the gas pedal. The car surged forward and slammed into the back of a pickup truck. The gas tank of the truck exploded; the impact of the rear-ending slammed the truck against the car in front of it, splitting the gas tank. The fumes exploded and, in a matter of seconds, an inferno was blazing on the road in front of the house, lighting up the night for hundreds of feet around.
Nobody would ever accuse Cole of being a nice guy when it came to warfare. As the men and women leaped from the cars and trucks, he coldly shot them. The people in the front of the house began firing at the night-blinded men and women in the devil’s caravan. It was carnage on a country road.
Those behind the burning cars and trucks began backing up, and those in front pulled away as quickly as possible. The breeze picked up and the smell of charred human flesh drifted toward the house.
“Something is moving out back!” Sue shouted.
“Turn on the floods!” Jim yelled.
Cole watched as the rear of the house was bathed in harsh light.
“Those goddamn things are on the prowl behind the house!” Gary hollered. “But they’re staying well out of range.”
Cole moved toward the shattered front window of the house. “Hank? I’m going down to the road.” He slipped out the nearly empty magazine and popped in a fresh, full one.
“Cole?” the priest said. “You don’t think those burned corpses will, ah, join the other, ah, walking dead, do you?”
“Why not?” Cole replied. “I think when you’re dealing with the devil, anything is possible. Start packing up, Hank. Take everything we can possibly use. Load up the Pearsons’ extended cab truck. I checked the gas tanks. They’re both full. This place is no longer safe.”
“All right, Cole. I’ve been thinking along those same lines. We’ll get right on it.”
Carefully making his way down to the fence, Cole stood behind the brick gate posts and looked at the scene of burning devastation. Several people were still alive, including one rather pretty young woman. She had been blown out of some vehicle when the tanks exploded and both her legs were broken, twisted into grotesque shapes. She ignored the pain and snarled at Cole.
“Why?” Cole asked.
Her reply was to pick up a t
ire iron and hurl it at him. The tire iron bounced off the bricks and fell to the ground.
“It’s Ruth,” the woman’s voice came from the darkness between the burning vehicles and the house. “Coming up behind you.”
The woman with the broken legs snarled at Ruth as she came into view.
“Her name is May Staples,” Ruth said. “She used to do my hair in town. Hank is right behind me.”
The woman spoke in some language that was unfamiliar to both Cole and Ruth.
“What language is that?” Cole asked.
“I have no idea. It’s nothing like I’ve ever heard before.”
“A dead tongue,” Hank said, walking up to stare at the broken woman. “Probably spoken thousands of years ago and long-forgotten.”
“What does it mean?” Cole asked. “The implication of it?”
“Satan’s hand is growing more powerful, I’d guess. He’s exerting more and more control over his subjects.”
“You’ll never get out of here!” The woman startled them all. Her voice was deep and with a slight echoing sound behind the words. “Every road is blocked. You will all diediediedie!” Then she threw back her head and screamed. The wailing brought chill bumps to the flesh of those close to her and sent shivers of dread racing up and down each spine.
Hank shifted his 7 mm mag and Cole cut his eyes to the priest. “Relax, Cole,” Hank said. “I’m not going to shoot her. But I have absolutely no sympathy for her or her kind. They walk willingly into the arms of Satan. And they know they’ve done it even when sitting in the house of God, listening to a passage from the Bible. Her type of person makes me sick.”
“Fuck you!” the woman said. She hacked up phlegm and spat at Hank. She was short of her mark.
“Enjoy Hell,” Hank told her, then turned and walked back toward the house, Ruth going with him.
Cole took a closer look at the woman. Blood was pouring out of her mouth. She obviously was badly injured internally.
She held out a hand. “Help me,” she begged.
All Cole’s senses began working overtime at those words. He shook his head. “I don’t think so, lady. You will forgive me if I don’t trust you.”
“Oh, but you’re a good Christian,” she taunted him. “You have to help me.”
Cole smiled at the savage expression on her face. “God helps those who help themselves, lady.”
“You miserable son of a bitch!”
Cole sensed someone behind him. He cut his eyes. Jim was standing a few yards away. Cole began backing up, not wanting to turn his back on the woman.
“I’ll live long enough to see you crucified!” the woman screamed at him. “I’ll be there when they drive the nails through your hands and feet.”
“Now there’s a woman who can’t take a joke,” Jim said, with dark gallows humor.
“Yeah. But she might be right about one thing. She said all the roads leading out of here are blocked.”
“She’s probably right. But we’ve got a hell of a lot of firepower, Cole. Besides that, I brought along some very illegal surprises.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve got four fully automatic M-16s. And several cases of ammo.”
“The ATF would frown on that, buddy.”
Jim then said some very uncomplimentary things about the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms.
Cole smiled and replied, “I share your feelings. Stick around out here for a time, will you? I want to check the back.”
“Sure. Those creatures are still out there. But staying near the timber line.”
“Mr. Cole?” Jenny said, when Cole stepped into the house. “I’ve been talking with a small group of people over near Gatlinburg. It’s bad over there. A lot of the town has been looted and burned.”
“I expected that, Jenny. And stop calling me Mr. Cole, will you? It’s just Cole from now on, okay?”
She smiled. “Okay, ah, Cole.”
“Good girl.” He looked at Ruth. “You said there was another way out of here, right?”
“Yes. It’s an old logging road. It’s passable, but Hardesty knows of it. And there are those . . . things out back to be considered.”
“Don’t worry about that. We can handle them, but you’ll have to be in the lead vehicle. I’ll ride with you. Are you up to taking the lead, Ruth?”
“Sure. And I’m familiar with that pickup, too. I’d rather drive it than my Mercedes.”
Cole patted her arm reassuringly and walked out to the huge four-car garage. Gary Markham was seeing that everything was well covered and lashed down tight.
“I’ll be riding with Ruth in the extended cab pickup, Gary,” Cole said.
Gary nodded. “It’s a good one. And both tanks are full.”
“We’ll put Katti and Sue in my Bronco. In the middle of the convoy. Hank and Bev will bring up the drag.”
“Okay. It’ll be at least another hour before we’re ready to roll.”
Back in the house, Katti and Sue were in the kitchen, making dozens of sandwiches and sealing them in plastic sandwich bags. Katti looked up and smiled at Cole. Jenny walked up, her arms filled with gear.
“Should I take the computer, Mr.... ah, Cole?”
“No. Where we’re going there won’t be any power . . .” He paused. “Did Ruth have a laptop?”
“Oh, yes. Top of the line.”
“Take that, just in case. And all your printouts.”
Cole left the kitchen and found Hank. “We’ll stop along the way and raid some Radio Shack and steal us a good shortwave system, and battery packs for it.”
Hank shook his head. “No need for that. I brought one with me. I’ve been preparing for this for a long time, Cole. I’ve been seeing the writing on the wall for several months.”
Both men listened to the sounds of a dozen carefully spaced shots coming from near the fence, by the road. There was no urgency to the gunfire.
Hank arched an eyebrow and looked a question at Cole.
“Jim, making sure the dead stay dead.”
* * *
The house had been stripped of everything the group thought they might need for a prolonged stay in the deep timber . . . providing they made it that far, and there were certainly no guarantees of that.
Everything was packed securely and lashed down tight.
Cole made one more inspection of the vehicles and their loads. Then everybody gathered in the den, except for Jim and Russ, who were front and back on guard, for one last look and listen at events taking place around North America.
“We have lost contact with a dozen field correspondents,” the commentator intoned. “Men and women from all major networks. We have reports—as yet unconfirmed—that Don Williams and Jane Daniels are dead. Laura Lordan, from our own staff, and Cindy Callander are missing. The last transmission we had from them was that Nashville was burning and the two women were heading east. We wish them Godspeed . . .”
“I liked those two,” Katti said.
“Yeah,” Cole said. “They were good people.”
“We might run into them,” Bev said.
“It’s a possibility,” Cole told her. “But don’t count on it.”
“While we are receiving many assurances from the President’s spokespersons, from Andrews Air Force Base, outside Washington, D.C.,” the commentator continued, “we have not heard from the President himself. It is the belief of most veteran Washington watchers that the government of the United States is near total collapse. As are the governments of Canada and Mexico—”
The news set suddenly exploded in flames and shrieks of pain as someone tossed a Molotov cocktail from the sidelines. The homemade bomb exploded right in front of the news desk, and the commentator’s face turned into a mask of blood as a mob of men and women and teenagers rushed the set, all waving clubs and guns and shouting obscenities. The cameras were tipped over, and the TV screen went dark.
Cole used the remote to click off the television. “That’s it,” he said. “At l
east for any further transmissions from that studio. Wherever it was. Let’s go, people. We’ve got to get out of here. It’s all coming unraveled.”
Music from a western swing band suddenly filled the air of the den. The old Pee Wee King classic: “Bonaparte’s Retreat.”
Only Cole and Hank and Ruth recognized the old fifties hit. “Very amusing,” Ruth said.
“I thought it was,” the voice leaped out of the air of the den. “Have fun in getting to where you’re going. Where is it again?”
Cole smiled. He had been very careful not to mention aloud where he planned to take the group. “The Land between the Lakes” he lied. “As if you didn’t know.”
“Ah, yes. Lovely place. Very close to Fort Campbell. Good move on your part. If you make it, that is.”
The group was careful not to exchange glances, so as not to create any suspicion.
“We’ll make it,” Cole said. “Why don’t you go see about your followers that we left in the road. Let’s see if you can make them walk.”
“You do have a great sense of humor, Cole,” the voice replied. “I will so enjoy your company when we win.”
“That will be centuries away. Perhaps millennia,” Cole said. “Let’s stop with the bad jokes.”
“Smart boy, for a cop. But you just might be very wrong.”
“I don’t think so. What would you do afterward?”
“Well, you have shared something with me, so I will reciprocate: Yours is the only group among the many who have so far managed to see that. What do you think about that? Does it make you feel very superior?”
“No.”
“No? Well, that is interesting. Yet another side of you I failed to observe. I must be getting old and, ah, burned out.” The voice chuckled at his own joke.
“Play on words intended?” Cole asked.
“Certainly.”
“Since you’re being so honest, will you answer a question from me?” Hank asked.
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