The Devil's Laughter

by William W. Johnstone

  A young black girl, no more than ten or eleven, lay on the ground in a thickening puddle of blood. It was obvious that she had been raped and sodomized. Link did not know how to stop the bleeding. Then he saw the gunshot wound in her chest.

  “Killed everybody,” the girl murmured. “Just kicked in the door and started shooting. My auntie tried to protect me. They beat her head in with guns. Cut my father like a horse and left him screaming on the floor. I don’t understand what I done wrong. I – ”

  She closed her eyes and her head lolled to one side. Link checked for a pulse at her neck. None. “Shit!” he said. Link got to his boots and spotted a large cardboard box by the store. He tore it open and covered the girl with that. He didn’t know what else to do.

  “The leaders have lost control,” Link muttered, squatting under the eaves of the little grocery store. “Isn’t that right, Wanda, you little bitch from hell?”

  There was no reply. “Maggie, you devil’s whore, where are you?” Link questioned. “Victor and Roger, you pimps of Satan, talk to me, you invisible slimeballs.”

  Nothing. Only the soft falling of rain plopping on the cardboard tomb of the little girl in the parking lot.

  Chapter 8

  “What in the name of God is going on down in LaGrange?” the troop commander called in.

  “I don’t know, sir,” dispatch told him. “We can’t reach them. I’ve been trying for over an hour. I guess their system is down.”

  “I’ve been trying to call Sheriff Ingalls. I can’t get through. Have you tried the teletype?”

  “Yes, sir. Oh, here we go, sir. A message from Chief of Police Spencer just coming in. There was a small fire at the courthouse. Crippled their communications. The reason dispatch at the parish jail is not responding is because a federal judge ordered the jail closed.”

  “Closed?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What happened to the prisoners?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “What do you hear from Miller and Holt?”

  “Ah, sir. They’re in New Orleans.”

  “What the goddamn hell are they doing in New Orleans?” the captain of the troop roared over the phone.

  “Sir, you sent them down there.”

  There was a long pause. The captain finally said, “I did what?”

  “You sent them down there.”

  “I most certainly did not!” the captain replied indignantly.

  Dispatch passed the buck and handed the phone to a sergeant. “Yes, you did, sir. I was right here when you got the orders from Baton Rouge.”

  “I don’t recall any such orders. Have you been drinking, Sergeant?” the captain asked.

  “No, sir! I got the orders on a clipboard on my desk. Sir, we’re getting communications from Alex. Two state troopers, traveling at a very high rate of speed, just blew through Alex. Heading straight north. It’s Miller and Holt.”

  “Will somebody please tell me what in the name of Sweet Jesus is going on around here?” the captain shouted. “I thought you told me they were in New fucking Orleans?”

  “They are. Or they were. They obviously left, Captain.”

  “Really? Well, thank you. Sergeant, I want those two gypsy troopers in my office first thing tomorrow morning. Oh, one more thing: Have you tried contacting those two vagrant troopers using our very expensive, brand-new, super-duper repeater system that is supposed to allow us to communicate with any of our people from any point in the state?”

  “The . . . ah ... system is down, sir. They’re still trying to get the bugs out of it.”

  “Wonderful. I’m going to bed, Sergeant. I would really frown on being awakened for anything less than a civil insurrection.”

  “Yes, sir. Good night, Captain.”

  “I wonder what the hell is going on?” the sergeant muttered.

  “Complete victory or total defeat this night,” Lynette Jackson told those still loyal to her, which was seventy-five percent of the coven, still gathered at the old plant.

  “We have hours of night remaining,” Judge Britton told the men and women and young people. “Always remember what you were taught: The night is our friend. The night belongs to the Dark One. Now go do what our master bids. Link Donovan must die, and he must die tonight!”

  “He’d surrender if we grabbed young kids and threatened to kill them,” Waldo called from the ground floor.

  “I don’t think so,” Judge Jackson said. “That would only make him meaner and more vicious. You’ve all got to understand something: This is a holy war now. God has chosen Link Donovan as His mercenary. Harming little children and other innocents would only further enrage that . . . thing up there.” He pointed to the heavens.

  A man stepped out and whispered into Jackson’s ear. The judge sighed and nodded his head. The coven member stepped back into the shadows. Jackson said, “I have just been informed that Dave Bradley has been taken prisoner by those opposed to our way. Link Donovan single-handedly killed more than twenty men and women who had trapped those pukey Christians inside the courthouse. Now he’s gathered a band of teenage punks and bitches to fight in his cause. Or His cause. No matter. We’ll win. We always do. In some form or another. Go. Fight. Kill Link Donovan.”

  The men and women surged out of the old plant. Jackson turned, leaned against the railing, and faced his wife and Judge Britton. “It’s down to hours now. We’re over four hundred strong and that’s not including the young group. Surely that many people can stop one man.”

  “They’d better,” his wife said. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep controls in place. I’m very tired.”

  “He’ll come after us,” Britton said. “When, I don’t know, but it will be Donovan. It has to be him.”

  “Unless our people stop him,” Jackson added. “And there is a good chance of that happening. I don’t believe God has intervened yet.”

  “Neither do I,” his wife said. “Not directly. And that’s what is so strange about this. One human man, with all the human failings, is preventing us from succeeding. One man! I don’t understand it. I have not experienced God’s presence during this entire fight. Not any more than usual. And I certainly would have.”

  She certainly would. Lynette Jackson had been dead for over a hundred years.

  * * *

  “Open the gates,” Link radioed when he was about a mile from his property. “Hurry. I can see headlights of a lot of cars coming from the north.” He put the pedal to the metal and reached the gates not more than thirty seconds before the long line of cars and trucks pulled over near the north end of his land.

  “Give me the firing device,” Link told Tom. “Take the truck back up to the compound. I’m going to stay out here for a few minutes.”

  “Link . . .” the deputy started to question that decision.

  “Move, Tom. Go.”

  Link slung his clip bag and headed for the edge of the woods. He heard the first perimeter banger go off with a sharp cracking sound. He dropped to the earth behind one of the huge old oak trees in his lawn, activated the detonation device, and punched the first button.

  The C-4 exploded with a roar, and hundreds of ball bearings, rusty nails and screws, and chopped-up bits of tin cans were sent hurling out. The screaming and yowling of those mangled by the homemade shrapnel followed immediately.

  Another banger cracked the wet night and Link waited for someone to hit the black wire that was stretched tight about three inches off the ground. Someone did.

  The second blast split the rainy night and more screaming was added to the painful shrieking.

  “Go back!” the call reached Link’s ears. “Back the way we came. He’s planted mines out here.”

  Keep on believing that, Link thought.

  “Them’s Claymores!” another yelled. “I was in ’Nam. I know.”

  You’re close, Link thought.

  “Let’s hit Gerard’s,” another suggested, the words just reaching Link.

 
; Link ran down to the road, slinging his MAC-10 and pulling out two grenades from the rucksack. He climbed the gates and crouched in the grass of the ditch. There was a tight smile on his lips.

  The cars and trucks roared past. All but the last two, a passenger car and a pickup truck. Link chucked both grenades. One blew under the car and the second blew up in the bed of the pickup. The incendiary grenades turned the vehicles into flaming tombs as the gas tanks blew. Link changed positions, running across his drive and into the ditch on the other side.

  The car directly in front of the flaming vehicles slid to a halt. Link waited, the MAC-10 ready to rock and roll.

  “He’s a-firin’ a rocket launcher!” someone shouted over the crackle of flames and the bubbling cooking of flesh.

  Link raised up to his knees and hosed down the area with lead, burning a full clip. The two men who had been standing outside the car jerked and danced a deadly little jig and fell to the slick blacktop. The driver of the car, now missing part of his head, slumped over onto the seat, then rolled off onto the floorboards. The car lurched forward, angled off the road, and came to rest in a ditch.

  Link got up and brushed himself off, a futile gesture since he was wet from boots to hat. All in all, he mused, it hadn’t been a bad evening’s work. The score was them one and us about forty-five.

  “You all right, Link?” Tom shouted from the house.

  “Just fine, Tom,” Link said. He climbed the fence and walked up the drive.

  Link told Tom, “Radio Gerard and tell him he’s got trouble heading his way, and to throw away his badge and start busting caps as soon as they show themselves.”

  Tom’s smile held no humor. “I don’t think he has to be told that at this stage of the game, Link.”

  “Maybe not,” Link said. He took a hot shower and changed clothes. In the den, he faced the group. “We won another battle tonight. But the war is a long way from being over, and they’ll be back this night. Bet on it. Matt,” he turned to the teenager, “you and a couple more go up to Paul’s quarters and let him get a few hours’ sleep while you stand watch.” He looked the young man square in the eyes. “You got any speed, Matt?”

  The teenager grinned. “They’re ass-kickers, Mr. Link.”

  “Drop the mister. Call me Link. Saves time. Let me see what you have. We might need it to stay alert.”

  “You ever take speed, Link?” Linda asked.

  He smiled at the teenager. “When I was about your age and again in ’Nam. And several times after that when I was in the field in ... various places.”

  Matt dug in his pocket and handed Link a small plastic bottle.

  “What is this stuff?” Link asked. “Back in my day, it was Black Mollies and West Coast Turn-arounds and Railroad Tracks and Cross-ties and Hearts.”

  The kids all smiled at the old dude. But they were not sarcastic smiles. Link was just a little out of date, that’s all.

  “Dexedrine tabs and caps,” Matt said. “Those are five milligrams, tens, and fifteens.” He pointed them out.

  Link shuddered. “Those big ones would kick your ass to Georgia.”

  “At least to Alabama,” Matt said.

  Link put the bottle in his pocket. “I’ll just keep these,” he said dryly.

  Matt grinned. “No lectures?”

  “Not from me. We used to use them to keep the high of combat going.”

  “There is a high in combat, isn’t there, Mr. Link?” Val asked.

  “Most definitely. Let’s post watches and the rest get some sleep. The night is still very young and very dangerous.”

  * * *

  The house had settled down and those not on watch were asleep, except for Link. He was too keyed up to rest. He was on the front porch when the walkie-talkie crackled.

  “We came under heavy attack, Link,” Gerard said. “But we beat the bastards back. And Jimmy Hughes, Jeff Miller, and Dennis Holt showed up, and that changed the minds of the coven members. Jimmy armed himself with weapons he found scattered around the courthouse. How’s things your way?”

  “Stable, for right now. They’ll be back.”

  “They’ve got to do it this night, don’t they, Link?”

  “I believe so. Father Lattier thinks their power is waning. I guess we just have to wait and see.”

  “Miller and Holt think there’ll be help in here no later than noon tomorrow . . . or rather, today. It’s after midnight. Time sure flies when you’re having fun, doesn’t it?”

  Link smiled. Gerard was made of solid stuff. “They didn’t call in?”

  “That’s right. Their thinking is that it would be better for other troopers – hopefully, the captain – to see what is happening rather than try to explain it.”

  “I’ll go along with that. Talk to you later.”

  “Ten-four.”

  Link checked the guards, then sat down on the front porch, his MAC-10 across his knees. He wondered what day it was. Was it Thanksgiving? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of a lot of things. How could this be happening? How could someone – or something, control the minds of people miles away? How could all this shooting and bombing and destruction not attract the attention of at least somebody? Twenty-five miles away, in any direction, people were sleeping peacefully in their own beds, blissfully unaware of the events here. How was that possible?

  Then Link realized he was doing what he had warned Ray and Gerard not to do: He was trying to put logic behind all of this. That was impossible. The supernatural was illogical.

  Link wondered why so many people would willingly give their souls to the devil. Did they realize what they were doing at the time? Did they think it was just some sick sort of game that they could stop at any time?

  Several perimeter bangers sounded at once, from deep in the woods. Link waited. A foot hooked a trip wire and the explosion rattled the rainy night. He heard screaming, then shouting, but the words were unclear. The night grew quiet.

  Link could just about guess what the attackers were thinking: The woods were not safe. They would be forced to try a frontal assault. One of his dogs came out of the basement and to his side. She was trembling in fear. Link petted her and spoke softly to her, calming her.

  Anne appeared in the doorway. “The tranquilizers are wearing off. I’ll give them a second dose and that should do it.”

  “Do it quickly,” Link said. “They’ll be coming right at us from the road in a few minutes, I think. It’s the only route left open to them. Wake the others, please. No lights. Just get them ready.”

  Link laid aside his MAC-10 and took a Colt AR-15 and a bag of clips. The AR-15 had much more range, and once the attackers came at them, he would hit the floodlights and be able to pick some of them off as they charged up the road.

  “The power just went out,” Paul called from the garage apartment.

  “I’ve been expecting it,” Link returned the call. “Tom, start the generators but don’t light the house. Just get ready to charge the fence.”

  “Right.”

  Link picked up the walkie-talkie. “Link to Gerard.”

  “Go ahead, Link.”

  “We’re about to come under attack here.”

  “Same here, buddy. We can hear them getting into place.”

  “Let’s end this part of it now, Gerard,” Link said. “And then get ready for the second part.”

  “What second part?”

  “Explaining why we did it.”

  Chapter 9

  “Get into position,” Link called from the porch. “Shoot anything that moves outside the compound. And I mean anything. Shoot to kill; don’t try to wound. Shoot for the thickest part of the body. Tom, when I shout, you charge the fence.”

  “Gotcha, Link. I’m ready.”

  “Senseless,” Link muttered as Father Lattier moved out onto the porch, a rifle in his hands. “It’s just all so senseless and stupid.”

  “Either way, the devil wins,” the old priest said. “Think about it. His only reason for ex
isting is to claim souls for the pits. It doesn’t make any difference to him how he gets them there. Ol’ Nick knew God would never permit him to claim an entire town. This is a war those two have been fighting since time began. But Satan never tells his converts that in the end they won’t win. God won’t permit it. They win battles but never the war. God always spares a few to do the good fight.”

  “But why us?”

  The priest shrugged his shoulders, then realized that Link could not see the gesture. “An unanswerable question, my friend. I don’t question any of God’s decisions.”

  “What happens when our society becomes so evil, so decadent, so jaded, so uncaring and unfeeling – as it is rapidly becoming – what happens then, Father?”

  “God will put a stop to it, Link. He’ll end the world.”

  “Gerard has a theory about the end of this millennium.”

  “We’ve talked about it. Gerard might have something there. Certainly the last decade of this millennium will be very interesting.”

  “Tell me what I have to do to end this, Father?” Link asked. He looked squarely and closely at the priest and saw the man’s lips move in a smile. “You find something amusing about that question, Father?”

  “Let’s put it this way, Link: Over the years – and they go back several decades – whenever Lynette Jackson and I met, she shrank from me like light chases dark, and I experienced waves of pure evil coming from her. You’ll not kill that woman with your guns, Link.”

  Link stared at the man. “Well . . . how do I kill her? And why me?” John knew more than he was telling, Link was sure of that.

  The priest was silent.

  “Oh, come on, John!” Link said. “What are you trying to tell me?” Much more, Link concluded.

  The priest remained silent.

  “He knew this was going to happen,” Anne spoke from behind the men. “He knew. The church probably sent him in here to keep a finger on the pulse of this community. What is your area of expertise, Father Lattier?”