memory of life.”
Hey, you. Get out of here. The Brother's mine.
“Herbert, I'm going to show you… let you feel what shu-shaaa wants for us, for everything. This is its memory of how the universe was before. And how shu-shaaa wants it to be again.”
Uh… too black… don’t let me suffocate.
Bullshit, Brother. It's one of her tricks.
“See, Herbert? That's worse than anything. And that's the same thing your Chairman wants, only on a lesser scale. Nothingness.”
Tamara, how can we “I don't know. But we can't surrender. To this Earth Mouth or our fear.”
But that TNT was our only hope.
“No. Hope is our only hope.”
Brother, don't listen to her. Better safe than sorry. Mr. Chairman? Brother?
“Herbert, what are you-”
Mr. Chairman, I would like to turn in my resignation to the Royal Order of the Bleeding Hearts, effective immediately.
“ No, Herbert, not that.”
Yes, Tamara. It's the only way. And 'tis a far, far better thing, blah blah blah.
Brother! Hands back to balls at once.
Sorry. Meeting adjourned.
“Herbert, don't!”
Brother -
Shut the hell up, Mr. Chairman.
The alien shivered in the heat of its pulsing heart-brain. The confusing symbols raced through its pulpy flesh, sparking contractions among its tendrils.
Bleee-deeeng.
Haaart.
Tah-mah-raaa-kish.
Dee-waaalt.
Maz-zah-sun-uv-aaa.
Che-sher-sun-uv-aaa.
Sun-uv-aaa.
Ohp.
Aaar-on-lee-ohp.
Ohp-is-aaar-on-lee-ohp.
Tah-mah-raa.
“Our only hope,” Tamara thought. “Hope is our only hope.”
DeWalt is going to do it, and maybe I shouldn’t try to stop him.
Because su-shaaa kish and the shu-shaaa was afraid and shu-shaaa was beautiful and loved her loved her loved her She put her hands over her ears but still the alien loved her.
Chester wasn't sure what was happening. First DeWalt had frozen over the dynamite, staring at the detonator switch in his hand. Tamara was looking at DeWalt strangely, as if seeing the back of his eyelids. Emerland was gaping over the ledge at the rancid pulsing throat of the alien sonovawhore.
Another tremor shook the stones loose, and after the dead trees stopped swaying, DeWalt stood up. He ripped the shotgun from Chester’s hands.
'Don't do it, DeWalt,' Tamara said.
Chester didn't know what she was talking about. DeWalt had fucked up the dynamite in typical California Yankee fashion, or else Emerland had screwed it up by being a goddamned cheapskate who bought lousy equipment for his demo crews. It wasn’t Chester’s fault, no matter what. Hell, maybe it was nobody’s fault but God’s to make such a thing and then drop it right here on land that had been in the Mull property since the Revolutionary War.
He was tired and grouchy and way too sober. 'Damned shotgun won't do diddly against that thing,' he said to DeWalt.
'Maybe not by itself. But close enough, it might-'
'Trigger the blasting cap,' Tamara said. 'With enough heat and pressure. But that would be too close-'
'To survive? I thought of that.'
“I know,” Tamara said.
Chester thought they were both crazy, as addled as that monstrous creature that had embedded itself in the mountainside. Tamara stepped forward, raising her hand to stop DeWalt, the sickly alien light pulsing off her face. DeWalt leveled the shotgun at them.
'I suggest you folks head for the hills,' DeWalt said. 'Because like Bobby Zimmerman said, way back in better days, a hard rain’s gonna fall.'
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Bill was out of ammunition. One of the things stepped toward him and he gripped the hot barrel of the shotgun and was about to swing the heavy wooden butt into its face. The face belonged to Fred Painter, fellow member of the Windshake Baptist Board of Deacons.
No, Bill told himself. It’s not Fred anymore. Now it's one of THEM.
Old Fred had switched sides. Fred was among the armies of the Antichrist. The enemy. Evil.
'Onward, Christian soldiers,' Bill yelled, swinging the gunstock into the bloated face. It exploded like a bag of soup.
Arnie shook the empty shell casings from his revolver and reloaded behind the open door of the cruiser. Now that day was breaking, Bill could see how badly Arnie trembled. Wet corpses littered the edge of the parking lot, limbs still writhing.
'Come on, Bill,' Arnie yelled. 'Let's get the hell out of here. There's too many of them.'
Bill stepped toward a gap in the hedges.
'Bill!'
He turned and waved. God had given him a mission. He struggled through the bushes into the graveyard. He would take back the church.
Bill asked God to give him strength. Not the strength to resist the devil, but the strength to send the devil back to hell. Leaves and moist things shimmered at the corners of his vision, but he fixed his eyes on the bronze cross that caught the sunlight above the roof of the church. Golden rays poured around the cross, a sign from heaven if there ever was one.
Hope is our only hope. The thought came from nowhere. Bill smiled. That was exactly the type of message God would send in a dark moment.
“Hope is our only hope,” he said aloud. He’d have to remember that one.
Bill headed for the open vestry door. Hallelujahs spilled from his lips.
James shook Mayzie, trying to wake her. She wouldn't open her eyes. She was stiff and cold.
Dead.
He was supposed to protect her. He had failed. One little job, one little purpose on earth, and he'd messed it up. How could he ever face his mother? How could he ever look in the mirror again?
He sat on the edge of the bed and the mattress springs groaned. His aunt's body shifted slightly. As he looked out the window, as he listened to the faint screams and distant sirens, he watched a honeybee lighting on a
