The Devil's Touch

It just wasn't like Christians. Not at all. All during her short life Xaviere had been taught to believe that Christians—for the most part—were all wimps.

The Princess was confused, but not personally afraid. She was a demon-child, so no mere mortal could harm her. But she didn't know what to do.

'I want you people to maintain steady gunfire into the Giddon House,' Sam told the group. 'We'll alternate those firing to minimize the strain. We've got dozens of boxes of ammunition. We'll work on their nerves. Let them get accustomed to one round every thirty seconds, then pick it up to one round every fifteen seconds. Let them grow used to a certain rhythm, then change it. Work on the most vulnerable spots of the house, and keep the pressure on. Let's do it, gang.'

Sheriff Pat Jenkins was the first to fall under the hail of bullets, buckshot, and slugs from the Christians. Richard Hasseling literally blew the man's head apart when Jenkins carelessly exposed himself.

'Chalk one up for God,' Richard muttered, then threw up on the floor.

Inside the Giddon House, nerves were beginning to fray under the constant whining and cracking of bullets. Everyone had retreated to the far side of the mansion, seeking safety, but secure refuge was elusive when Sam started using Teflon-coated bullets. The super-slug would drive through half a dozen walls and still have the power to kill.

One of the super-slugs snuffed out Norman Giddon's life as the wounded man tried to crawl to safety.

'Joe?' Sam called. 'You and Monty get up on the roof with rifles. You'll have a clear field of fire across the burned area. Knock down anyone who tries to approach. I'll join you in a minute.'

This time, Monty showed no reluctance in firing. Using scope-mounted rifles, the men began sniping at anything that moved within range. Both men were expert shots, and soon the area was cleared of all living things. Now dead littered the smoking area.

When Sam joined them, with a 7mm magnum, the sniping took on a new ferocity. Soon, none of the Devil worshippers dared venture anywhere near the burn area.

It became a standoff.

THURSDAY EVENING

Satan admitted it. He was beaten unless somehow his followers could rally themselves and charge the mansion where the Christians had barricaded themselves.

But the Dark One knew the odds of that occurring were slim.

Damn Sam Baton!

And Satan knew something else the young man did not know. There were whispered comments among Satan's own forces that Sam Balon had been chosen to lead God's fight here on Earth. And it was all the fault of that meddling old warrior. Things had been going so well here on Earth, too. All that lovely pornography; the lessening of ethics in business; younger and younger kids experimenting with dope and fucking around; teenage suicides increasing; morals at an all-time low; swingers clubs popping up everywhere, everybody fucking and sucking and sodomizing; more and more people cheating on taxes; crime on a rampage; race relations deteriorating ... all that good stuff. Everything had been going so smoothly.

Now this.

Shit!

Satan turned his dark face toward the firmament and screamed, 'You son-of-a-bitch!'

'Turn on the floodlights,' Sam told Noah.

With a pop, the outside grounds around the estate were bright as day.

Without electricity producing the current.

Sam keyed his handy-talkie. 'Everybody in position on the roof?'

They were.

'Stay alert,' Sam cautioned them. 'Their last rush will be coming tonight. And don't ask me how I know. I just know.'

The firing on the house continued without letup, as it had since seven o'clock that morning. And judging from the occasional screams, the bullets were taking their toll, both mentally and physically.

'Here they come!' Monty called from the roof. 'What are we going to do when they shoot out the floodlights?'

'Either change the bulbs or fight in the dark,' Sam yelled his reply.

And then there was no time left for conversation. The Devil worshippers made no attempt at fancy maneuvering. Theirs was a straight on, frontal, human-wave type of assault. And they paid dearly for it.

Every weapon in the house had been fully loaded that afternoon; every spare clip had been loaded to capacity. But even with all that going for them, the Devil worshippers came very close, several times, to overwhelming the Christians by sheer numbers. Only the high fence around the mansion prevented that.

After an hour, hearing became impaired from the constant roaring of multiple weapons; shoulders were bruised and sore from the pounding of high-powered rifles and shotguns; eyes were red and smarting from gunsmoke.

And still the devotees to the Devil hurled their bodies at the Christians in a frenzied attempt to overpower them. All thoughts of taking Sam and Nydia and Little Sam alive were gone. Revenge and death were uppermost in the minds of those committed to serving the Dark One.

And if the coven members had given their plan some deeper thought, had carefully considered all aspects of the assault, they could have easily overwhelmed the small band of defenders. But determination and cool heads have many times in the past prevailed over brute force.

And so it was this time.