Sam ran across the street, always edging his way back toward the mansion. He kept to the shadows as much as possible, making a seldom seen, very elusive target for the Devil worshippers.
Logandale had a fire department, but it was obvious to Sam that nobody was manning the equipment, for the fires were now out of control, and spreading very quickly, threatening to expand their blistering path of devastation into other areas in that part of town.
Sam lay in the shadows across the street from the raging fires and turned sniper, picking his targets, the AK on semiauto. The roaring of the flames, the cracking and collapsing of structures, the howling of the suddenly rising winds—always out of the northwest, never varying—and the screaming of men and women and teenagers in the grips of pure panic and pain covered his gunfire.
And somebody, or
Sam felt he knew who that person was.
Faintly penetrating the roar of destruction from the flames, Sam could hear the sounds of sirens and the shouting of men and women. The fire-fighting equipment was on the way, but for many blocks, it was too late. All the firefighters could do now was set back-fires and hope that would contain the rampaging conflagration.
Sam lay in his well-concealed position and sniped and watched the action unfold before him. His smile was a grim tiger's snarl. He lifted his AK and shot a fireman off a truck, then knocked another down, forcing the men and equipment back. Sam doubted that after this night anyone would mass to march against the small band of Christians at dawn. At worst, Sam had bought them all a day, maybe two days. He hoped for the latter.
Sam slipped from his concealment and ran down the sidewalk, expecting any moment to feel the impact of a bullet in his flesh, for he was starkly outlined against the glow from the flames.
No lead came his way.
We are all that is left, Sam thought. We are the last Christians left alive in Logandale.
He wondered how he knew that.
Then he realized he had not thought it. It had been spoken to him.
'All right, Dad,' he panted the words. 'I hear you.'
He ran past the Giddon House, then did a turnaround and ran back to the locked gates of the great mansion. Behind him, the woods were on fire across the road, the exploding sap from the tall trees sounding very much like a battleground.
Sam leveled his AK at the big picture windows in the front of the mansion and squeezed the trigger, holding it back, working the weapon from left to right, spraying the windows. Someone in the house screamed, whether in pain or fright, Sam could not tell.
He slipped in a fresh clip and let those on the second floor of the mansion know he was present. The falling of broken glass, the shouting and screaming from the second level gave loud and painful testimony that Sam's presence was not at all welcomed by those inside.
Grinning with satisfaction, Sam ran back to the safety of Fox Estate.
DAWN. THURSDAY.
Sam had slept deeply and soundly, awakening refreshed. He awakened with a feeling that the battle was, somehow, almost over. When he looked out the window, that feeling was heightened.
Sam dressed and joined the others in the upstairs study. The scene before their eyes resembled a miniature replay of the aftermath of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings of 1945.
'Good Lord,' Noah muttered, gazing at the sight from the upstairs study. 'Sam, you were a one-man wrecking crew last night.'
Sam smiled. 'I did play hell with the town, didn't I?'
A full three thousand yards, running from the road well into Logandale proper was now reduced to charred, blackened ruins. Small fires still burned, sending black greasy smoke into the air. Bodies littered the soot-covered streets and sidewalks. The carcasses lay in grotesque, stiffening postures of painful death.
There was no wind. The morning had dawned cool and utterly still.
'There is nothing on radio or TV about this, Sam,' Monty said, entering the room. 'I don't understand that. But what really bugs me is this: How come we still have power after last night?'
'You'll have to ask my dad about that,' Sam replied. He once more felt his father's presence.
'I think I'll pass on that,' Monty said. 'No offense to your dad intended,' he quickly added, casting nervous eyes about the room.
'I'll go along with him,' Joe said, jerking a thumb toward Monty. 'How can we have electricity? All the damn lines are down! You can see them layin' in the street. It's—hell, impossible.'
'Don't question,' Father Le Moyne said. 'It is best to just accept.'
Barbara Morton looked out at the scenes of death and destruction. 'I wonder how many died last night?'
'Not enough,' Richard Hasseling replied, with considerable heat in his voice. Richard's views toward many things were undergoing a rapid metamorphosis.
'Princess?' Edie Cash approached the young woman sitting in the dark room. 'Our people are demoralized. The death count from last night is close to two hundred. All because of one man. One man! And he seemed impervious to injury.'
'Sam Balon is mortal,' Xaviere replied. 'He is just very, very lucky, that is all.' But the young woman was not that certain—not anymore. Sam's burst of gunfire had killed Frank Gilbert and seriously wounded Norman Giddon. No one among them had expected such a vicious counterattack from the Christians; nothing like that sudden barbarism from the Christians.
