the pitchfork. He felt like shoving it straight through Father Selway's head.
Brother Elias looked at him. 'Satan is a liar and the father of lies,' he said. 'Ignore him. He is trying to provoke a reaction.'
Father Selway turned toward the sheriff. 'You have strayed from the path, Jim. You have forsaken the path of righteousness. You must be punished.' The figure glanced around the dump. Its voice lowered.
'The boy is here, Jim. Don Wilson. His body is burning. He is going to burn in hell for all eternity.'
The sheriff smiled coldly. 'Fuck you.'
'And you, my successor.' The figure turned to look at Father Andrews.
'Is this what you were taught by the church? Is the bishop aware that you are taking part in these blasphemous rituals?' The creature laughed harshly. 'You are a poor excuse for a priest.'
Father Andrews looked away, saying nothing.
The figure of Father Selway lowered its head and, as if on cue, a look of joyous hatred passed suddenly over Brad's blank features. Behind the two, hundreds of infants appeared from nowhere. They were much larger and much more coordinated than the others. They moved forward in ranks, propelling themselves with precision.
Brother Elias stood up calmly. He looked at Gordon and Father Andrews, pointing toward the still-darkening figure of Brad. 'He is weak,' the preacher said. 'Stab him when he comes forward and hold him down, pin him to the ground. The sheriff and I will take care of the other one.'
He moved next to Jim, took a deep breath and lowered his head in a position of prayer. 'We ask thee for protection, O Lord. We seek only to do your bidding. Do not let us walk alone. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, amen.'
Jim glanced over at the figure of Father Selway , still smiling, still unmoving, as hundreds of tiny infants and fetuses massed together behind it.
'Hold tight to the rope,' Brother Elias said. 'We are going to tie him up.'
The figure of Father Selway said something harsh, guttural, and incoherent. A command. Brad rushed forward. The fetuses and infants swarmed suddenly over the dump in a liquid wave.
Gordon held tightly to his pitchfork as Brad ran toward him, and he pushed the weapon deep into the running figure's dark flesh. Brad let out a cry of rage and frustration, but there was no pain in the sound.
The metal spikes sank easily and deeply into the soft body, coming out the other side. Gordon's weapon went through the stomach and Father Andrews' hit higher in the chest. Both used their weight to force the struggling body to the ground. Brad's arms were flailing wildly, trying to grab the handles of the pitchforks and pull them out, but it was no use. They had the creature pinned.
Jim and Brother Elias moved forward slowly, gripping the rope tightly.
They waded through a sea of tiny bodies, all snapping and clawing at their legs and feet, but the creatures seemed to have no effect on them. The sheriff looked down. He could not see the gravel for the bodies. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of the tiny infants were swarming on top of each other. He could see little hands grasping at air, little mouths snapping at nothing. His feet stepped on the bodies as he moved forward. They felt soft, squishy. He could feel small bones snapping as his legs sank deep into the sea of flesh.
Before them, the figure of Father Selway was slowly backing up. It was no longer smiling. A look of hatred-- fear?--crossed its features.
'In the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, we command you to recognize the power of the Word,' Brother Elias chanted. 'In the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, we command you to bow down before the power of God.'
The figure was not moving but was now standing stock-still. It appeared trapped, though Jim was not sure why. They had done nothing.
Was it the prayers?
They walked on either side of the figure and circled twice, pulling the rope tight. The rope sank deep into the black flesh--so deeply that it was no longer visible--but held nonetheless. The figure said nothing, made no sound, and Jim had the feeling that whatever power had been animating the body, whatever had inhabited the burnt form, had left, leaving only a lifeless husk.
Instantly, the form became animate. A hand lashed out and struck Brother Elias full in the face. The preacher fell, letting go of the rope, blood streaming from his nose. The black face grinned, the features filled with an evil intelligence.
'Grab the rope!' Jim screamed, whipping his head around. But both Gordon and the priest were struggling with the now jet figure of Brad, and he knew neither of them could pick up the slack without letting Brad escape.
Brother Elias struggled to his feet, shaking his head as if to clear it. He reached down and grabbed the rope with both hands. Blood was pouring from his nose, which had been crushed. One eye was starting to swell.
'I am very impressed with the power of the Lord,' the figure said in its grating voice. A black arm swung out again, but Brother Elias ducked successfully.
'Pull!' the preacher yelled. He leaned backward, using all of his weight to drag the bound figure toward him. Jim pulled as well, putting his strength into it. The black form was heavy, much heavier than its size would indicate.
'Pull!' the preacher yelled again. His eye was now swollen shut.
'Pull hard!'
With one quick yank, they pulled the figure over the line of white Bibles. The body stiffened noticeably, and Jim felt all of the power drain out of it. A look of agonized rage cemented itself onto the burnt features. The Bibles on the ground blackened and burst into flame. A terrible scream of primal pain erupted simultaneously from the thousands of tiny mouths surrounding them. The sound was deafening.
'Drag it to the fire!' Brother Elias yelled. 'It can't hurt us now!'
He looked toward Gordon and the priest. 'Bring him to the fire, too!'
Behind Jim, Gordon was struggling alone to keep Brad pinned to the ground. Father Andrews' pitchfork was sunk deep in Brad's chest, but the priest himself was rolling on the ground in agony, holding tightly onto his arm. Blood was pouring out from between his fingers. Dozens of little fetuses were swarming around the priest, but they seemed not to notice him. They were squirming blindly, panicked, and the sheriff realized that they were now lost, leaderless. They did not know what to do. A few of them bit into the skin of Father Andrews' arm, causing him to scream in pain, but it was the random biting of dumb mindlessness and not the concentrated frenzy of a few moments before.
'Get him up!' the sheriff called to Gordon. He was running out of breath as he tugged the inert form of Father Selway toward the fire.
'You .. . have to bring .. . Brad to ... the fire!'
'He's hurt!' Gordon said.
'Then you bring him by yourself!'
Gordon looked at the crazed hellish figure struggling beneath him. 'I
can't! I'm not strong enough!'
'We'll get it,' Brother Elias said. His voice was slurred. He spat blood. He pulled hard on the rigid form of Father Selway . They were almost to the fire now. The flames were still burning bright.
Three more pulls on the rope and they were there. Brother Elias stopped. 'We'll have to push!' he said. He dropped his end of the rope and moved next to the sheriff. He grabbed Jim's arm, leading him behind the unmoving form. This close, Jim could smell a faint sulfurous odor underneath the powerful scent of burned flesh.
'Push!' the preacher said.
The body was soft, like raw dough. Jim felt his hands sink deep into the black form. The squishy flesh pressing against his skin was cold.
It felt as though his hands and arms were being absorbed by the body.
He pushed as hard as he could without meeting anything solid, anything substantial, but the push must have been enough. The black figure toppled forward into the fire.
'Stand back!' Brother Elias ordered.
The charred blackness melted off the figure, and inside Jim saw something white and shiny and vaguely translucent. The body disappeared in a long, sustained flash of red, and the entire fire suddenly turned the color of blood. A shock wave of foul-smelling heat rolled outward from the blaze.
