stared vacantly.
Stonewall calmly suggested, 'A further demonstration of our mettle may be in order.'
Trevor coughed and threw the dead tentacles away, then unleashed his ire.
'Shoot them! Shoot all of them!'
A volley of shots let fly from Trevor and his compatriots. The mesmerized flock shimmied and shook awkwardly like newbies in a mosh pit as round after round found their mark, dropping four of the missionary's flock to the ground.
Trevor surveyed those who remained. Some appeared dazed and confused; as if not quite ready to follow the holy man’s orders…or maybe they would…or maybe not.
Among the remaining flock, he saw the one who had yelled for help: a starved black man in tattered clothes lying in the street. Trevor immediately recognized his old friend, Dante Jones.
'How dare you defile the converted! You shall bend to the hand of Voggoth!'
The clergyman held aloft two fleshy orbs each slightly larger than a softball. He tossed the objects along the road as if bowling. As the balls rolled, they expanded in mass much like a cartoon snowball growing larger as it cascades down a slope.
The objects grew to the size of very large beach balls and stopped rolling. Thin appendages pushed through the surface into the air, bent at some sort of joint, and reached to the ground. They resembled huge Daddy Long- Legs spiders.
'Punish the heretics! Destroy all the non-believers!'
Two horizontal glowing red slits cracked open on the balls like bloody wounds and two rows of smaller circles-almost barrels-popped to the surface as well. Between those two rows of circles emerged a bone-like object that could have been the head of a large drill.
Overall, standing on their creepy thin legs, the beach ball heads hovered some eight feet above the ground.
Trevor fired. Woody fired. Stonewall fired. Jon and Dustin fired. The jolt of impacting bullets pushed against the spider-things, forcing the combination body/head to bob and bounce. Yet the creatures absorbed the bullets as they advanced.
The humans fell back.
Trevor bumped his butt into a burned out Firebird. He turned to run around the coupe. At that moment, the drill-like cone on front of one of the spider-things shot forward. That weapon flew in a straight, hard line and slammed into and through the remains of the Firebird. After a moment, the hose-like tendon holding the drill head retracted into the creature’s face.
Trevor saw the band of converts and their leader drag off Dante.
'No! Dante! No!'
Trevor stopped retreating and prepared to charge. He would NOT let Dante be taken.
Jon Brewer’s strong hands clamped on Trevor’s shoulders. At that moment, the round circles on The Order’s combatants made their purpose known.
They sounded similar to rapid-fire air pistols, absently reminding Trevor of the machine-gun BB rifles at the boardwalk in New Jersey; the ones for which you paid $2 for 50 shots in the hope of winning a stuffed animal. The projectiles were small but hard and sharp. The first flurry of shots rippled across a car carcass in pursuit of human targets.
Jon yanked on Trevor's shoulders to pull him toward the escape vehicles. Their legs intertwined and they stumbled to the ground next to the wreckage of a Jeep Wagoneer.
The lead attacker stopped firing at dead cars, wobbled forward on its spindly legs, then bore down on Trevor and Jon. Its shadow cast a circle of darkness over them.
Two K9s leapt first on the Wagoneer’s hood then on to the face of the monster, rending and tearing with claws and teeth until gravity pulled them off. While the K9s distracted the enemy, Jon tried to get Trevor to safety.
'C’mon,' but Trevor fought against Jon’s grip.
'Dante!'
'We can’t save him!' Jon shouted as 'Bear' Ross added his hands to help restrain Trevor.
'Yes! Yes, we can! Damn it! Let go!'
Trevor’s fury nearly provided enough strength to rip free of their gasp, but they managed to haul him off.
The second of the spider-things moved around the flank bypassing many of the burned out cars. Its miniature organic guns fired dozens of pellets into the sides and tires of the Humvee and then the Suburban, immobilizing the getaway cars.
'Sound the retreat, my friends,' Stonewall raised his sword to rally them to his position near the store. 'I suggest we commandeer this hard point.'
'Trevor,' Jon re-emphasized as they found temporary cover behind the disabled Suburban. 'We have to retreat.'
'You want to run?' Trevor yelled his question.
'Yes, we have to.'
'Like you did at Indiantown! You ran!' Trevor attacked with the truth sensed by him in Jon’s voice weeks before. 'You ran long before your unit was wiped out! You left them! Now you want me to do the same! Well I’m done running! I AM GOING…' Trevor pulled out of Bear’s arms and prepared charge. '…TO FIGHT!'
'You’re right,' Jon conceded as they heard a K9’s dying yap. 'I ran. They were coming at us and we were being slaughtered and I ran. I was a coward.'
Trevor breathed in heavy, angry heaves
'I ran because I was afraid,' Jon went on in a surprisingly calm voice. 'But I’m not going to let you kill yourself because you’re afraid now.'
More K9s charged at the spider-things.
Jon scolded, 'You are afraid to keep leading! Because what? You made a mistake yesterday? Every leader makes mistakes!'
Trevor growled, 'To Hell with you!'
'Gentlemen,' Stonewall McAllister stuck his head around the corner of the Chevy. 'I was wondering if you’d care to join us in a defensive position, or are you planning on dying today?'
'I am not retreating!'
The K9s barked and bit and dodged the weapons of the spider things. Tyr darted between the legs of one creature, causing it to twist and nearly topple. Yet the dogs only bought time…the drill-on-a-hose weapon skewered a Husky. Meanwhile, the group of Voggoth converts and their unwilling guest re-assembled by the bridge.
Above the sounds of hissing and popping organic air guns came an engine’s roar then squealing tires. A big, boxy ambulance painted red with a white Christian Cross stenciled on its side ripped around the corner and skidded to a halt in the midst of the battle.
A man surged from the ambulance cab; a stocky black man wearing a leather jacket over a black shirt. His face grim and angry, he looked next of kin to The Order’s clergyman, albeit larger and better armed.
Instead of a box of squirming slugs, the new arrival brandished a cumbersome M240-B heavy machine gun.
His voice boomed as deeply, if not more so, than woody ross’. 'and the lord sayeth, look now; i myself am he! there is no god other than me!'
The machine gun sent a concentrated swarm of bullets into a spider-creature. A gooey, sickly, yellow fluid oozed from the wounds and the creature collapsed.
'I am the one who kills and gives life; I am the one who wounds and heals; no one DELIVERS FROM MY POWER!'
The newcomer’s entire body shook as he let fly more metal slugs at the remaining creature. More gooey mess. Another dead demon.
The Order’s cleric directed his followers to attack. The remaining six one-time-humans lumbered forward,
