ass.'
'It disappeared?'
'It disappeared into the arroyo,' Buford said. 'It went into the arroyo.'
'The arroyo,' Rich said. 'It comes back to the arroyo.'
Robert shook his head. 'We searched it. We didn't find anything but dead bugs and animals. No tracks. NothingP 'How far did you follow it?'
'Five miles. The damn thing stretches all the way to Rocky Gulch.'
'Maybe he uses the washes and gullies and arroyos like trails or tunnels, uses them to get in and out of places. God knows there's a network of them across the desert.'
'That's reassuring,' Robert said. He sighed. 'We'll check it out again. I don't have anything else to go on.'
'You could stake this place out, wait and see if he comes back.'
'Steak it out,' Rich said with a wry grin. 'I get it.' Robert turned to his brother. 'Maybe I'll talk to Rossiter about it. It's about time those guys pulled their weight around here.'
'Yeah. I'm sure they're going to assign FBI agents to wait night after night at a hamburger stand for a vampire to show up.'
'We have to do something. Do you have any ideas?' Rich shook his head. 'Neither do I.'
A blue Chevy Impala pulled into the burger stand's parking lot.
Sunlight glinted off the silver crucifix hanging from the car's rearview mirror.
Buford slid aside the screen on the pickup window and pushed through a tray. 'Lunch is served.'
Wheeler awoke feeling tired. He had not seen Jesus for over two weeks, and the strain was making him tense, nervous, jumpy. He knew he was doing the Lord's bidding, but he did not feel confident enough in the worthiness of his own thoughts and actions to make decisions without higher approval. What if he were doing something wrong? What if Jesus wanted shakes instead of shingles on the roof of His house? What if Jesus didn't approve of drywall and foam insulation?
There were so many things to consider.
He got out of bed, took a quick shower, and got dressed. The cat Covey had killed yesterday was still lying curled in the basting pan on top of the kitchen counter, its broken dripping eyes staring at nothing, and Wheeler touched a tentative finger to the congealed blood surrounding the animal's body. The blood was sticky, neither cold nor hot, and had the consistency of melted taffy.
The butterflies began flying in his stomach, but Wheeler ignored them and placed two pieces of bread in the toaster. He poured himself some orange juice, took a spoon and knife from the utensil drawer. When the toast was done, he spooned a generous helping of blood onto the bread, spreading it with the knife. It smeared almost as well as jelly.
As always, he gagged when he bit into the blood, but he forced himself to keep chewing, his brain ordering his rebellious tastebuds to ignore the information they were receiving firsthand and concentrate on the importance of getting used to the thick, unnatural flavor.
He was able to eat both slices of toast without spitting out a single bite.
After breakfast, he drove straight to the church. The five men of the morning shift were on top of the newest addition, working on the frame for the second floor, and before he even rounded the corner onto Arrow, he saw the parallel series of black beams they'd put up since yesterday protruding proudly upward from behind the other buildings on the block.
He parked on the south side of the original chapel and got out of the car, waving back to the workers when they waved at him.
The Church of the Living God was taking shape. The contours of the awesome structure placed into his mind by Christ and given material form in Covey's sketches could now be seen in the building itself. The nucleus of the completed church was clearly visible in the existing structure. If work went on at this pace, if construction continued unabated day and night, if they continued to recruit more volunteers, it was quite likely that the church would be completed within the next two weeks.
In time for the Second Coming.
He looked up at the building. The black looked good.
It lent the original chapel and its additions a pleasing uniformity.
He waved again to the workers, walked up the front steps, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.
The interior of the church had been transformed.
Wheeler stood for a moment in the vestibule, the door swinging slowly and silently shut behind him.
The pews were gone. The long benches had been disassembled, the wood used to cover all windows in the room and to make crude walkways over the three large holes which now took up most of the chapel's floor space. The cross still hung behind the altar, untouched, but the altar itself was now peopled with the mummified remains of three men, positioned in reclining poses, and a woman who held in her hands a plate on which sat the dehydrated head of a child.
The woman was obviously supposed to be Salome, holding the head of John the Baptist. It was beautiful.
Wheeler took a tentative step forward, but from within the blackness of the nearest hole there came a sound of wind, a sound of water. A single strong my of light burst upward from the opening and rising within that light was the Lord Jesus Christ.
Wheeler involuntarily stepped back. Jesus arose from the depths, grinned. His eyes were wide, the brows arched, and His teeth were red, smeared with blood, the divisions between them dark and unusually well defined. His beard was dirty, matted with brown and red, and in His arms was the unmoving body of a goat.
'Truly, truly I say to you, unless you eat flesh and drink blood, you have no life in you.' Jesus laughed, almost giggled. ''He who eats flesh and drinks blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day. For flesh is food indeed, and blood is drink indeed.'
A slight chill caressed the back of Wheeler's neck. He recognized the verses from the Gospel according to John, but there were words missing, words that altered the meaning of the phrases. Somewhere, a small part of him was saying that Jesus was not supposed to act this way, but Christ looked upon him, held his eyes, and that tiny voice died.
Standing upon the walkway above the hole, Jesus raised the goat to His face. He bit into the animal's neck and placed His mouth over the bite before the blood began to gush. Wheeler watched as the goat's body deflated instantly shrinking, caving in on itself, the long hair twisting, withering, the skin conforming to the structure of the skeleton beneath.
Jesus dropped the used carcass into the hole.
And then it was over. He was the Savior again, the bloody beard and teeth gone, the. wild giggling visage replaced by a solemn expression of perfect contentment, and Wheeler fell to his knees, sobbing with joy, unbearably happy to be in the presence of this Lord, the Lord he knew and loved.
'This is my home,' Jesus said, his melodious voice echoing in the pastor's head. 'I live here now. And from this day forward, worship services will be conducted outside. They will no longer be held within the church.' 'Yes,' Wheeler agreed, nodding.
'Sacrifices acceptable and pleasing to God will be left in each of the three openings in the earth.'
'Yes,' Wheeler agreed.
Jesus smiled. 'We shall begin the punishment of the sinners.
Wheeler's pulse quickened, and the excited anticipation which coursed through every fiber of his being was unlike anything he had ever experienced. 'Yes,' he said. Christ's smile was beatific. 'They will all die painfully.' 'Yes.' Wheeler felt a strange stirring in his groin. Jesus reached out a hand, and the pastor walked across the small section of floor onto the pew walkway over the hole. Looking down, he could see that the hole was not really a hole at all, but a steeply sloping tunnel running under the south wall of the church. He took Jesus' hand, and the Savior's eyes twinkled. 'I will show you my home. I will show you my wonders. I will show you fear in a handful of dust.'
That sounded familiar, Wheeler thought. He had heard that before. Not in the Bible, but somewhere else. He tried to think, tried to focus, tried to remember, but the connection would not be made.
And then they had jumped from the walkway and were floating down.
