Devil's Kiss

'Brace yourselves,' Sam said. 'We're moving in.'

'I'm—not at all certain I want to do that,' Wade rose from his inspection of the tracks.

'Come on, skeptic. I thought you wanted to feel the nail holes in the sides, hands, and feet?'

'That's not funny, preacher!'

'I didn't mean it to be. Thomas didn't find it all that amusing, either.'

'All right, Sam—I'm sorry! Too much has happened too quickly, that's all.'

Sam put his hand on the man's shoulder. 'I'm not chiding you, Wade. I just want you to be prepared for what you're about to see in there,' he nodded toward the timber, dark in the midday sun, as if no light could penetrate the evil within.

Sam felt the man stiffen under his hand. 'What's wrong?'

'I saw something move in there!'

'I saw it, too,' Chester said.

Sam smiled. The man's skepticism was leaving like a jet fighter. 'I know. They're watching us.'

Chester took his .45 from the holster, jacked a round in the chamber, put it on safety, and stuck it back in the leather. Sam looked closely at the older man. He could detect no signs of fear.

'Ready to go?' Sam asked.

Wade nodded, his fingers touching the butt of his pistol.

'All right. We'll only skirt the timber this time around.'

Wade's eyes widened. 'This time? You mean there is going to be a next time?'

'If it's not too late for us, we'll have to come back and destroy them. All of them, if possible. I think I know how—we'll use explosives.'

Wade's expression was a mixture of horror, fear, and utter disbelief. 'If it's not too late for us? Destroy them? Explosives? Dear God!'

'You must know it by now, Wade—whether you'll admit it or not—they killed your father; caused him to shoot himself. Your dad took his own life rather than become one of . . . Them.'

'Yeah,' the newsman reluctantly agreed. 'It fits. All the disappearances over the years fit, too.'

'What disappearances over the years?' Sam asked. 'What do you know that I need to know?'

'I was going to tell you part of it, Sam,' Chester said, not taking his eyes off the dark timber. 'Wade can tell you the rest. It's something Whitfield doesn't like to talk about. Bums, hobos, wander through town, into this area, and are never seen again. I mean, they're seen going in, but never coming out. A few husbands have run away, leaving their families—they never came back. Other people have just left, not telling folks where they were going. The town never speaks of it. We never wanted any national publicity here.'

'Why?' Sam asked, realizing he was standing close to unraveling yet another mystery of this isolated part of Fork County.

'At first it was because of the ... tragedy that night. You know, when Wade's father was killed. Then, well, we made a deal with some people in government. Federal government.'

'What kind of deal?'

'About the asylum,' Chester said softly.

'What asylum?'

'You see,' Wade smiled. 'You've been here almost five years and you don't even know about it.'

'Then why don't you tell me about it?' Sam planted his booted feet firmly, standing in front of the men. 'I repeat: what asylum?'

'It's at the base of Crazy Pony Ridge,' Chester said. 'Some of the most rugged country in the state.'

'I've heard of it, but I've never seen it. Never been there.'

'You'd be stopped long before you got there,' Wade told him. 'The government leases the land; the government runs the place. Hell, Sam, probably a full ninety percent of the people in Fork don't know what it is.'

'I haven't found out yet,' Sam said, becoming a bit exasperated. 'Perhaps one of you would be so kind as to inform me?'

'It's not something we're proud of, Sam. Do you want the story we were originally told, or the truth?'

'Both.'

'The government told us it was a home for the criminally insane; the really bad ones. The ones there is no hope for. We all believed, for a while—those of us who knew about the place—they were sent here from all over the country—to spend the rest of their lives. Well, this much is true, the place is filled with homicidal raving lunatics. Now then, the government, after washing the money through several agencies, pays Fork County—this part of Fork—to allow the institution to remain—hidden away. We have good schools, Sam; the very best teachers. Haven't you ever wondered how Whitfield could afford that?'

'No. Not really. Now tell me the true story.'

'They're mutants, Sam.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Mutants. I'm serious. It's a government project that, well—something got fouled up.'

'I'm waiting, friend.'

Wade sighed. 'Okay, I'll tell you all I know, Sam. I made friends with a government agent some years ago; about ten years ago, to be exact. During the course of the evening, and a quart of booze, he got a loose tongue and let slip some things about the asylum.

'It was just after the Manhatten Project, but this one was a real beaut. Something went wrong; really wrong. Explosion, and then a lot of people were exposed to—I don't know, Sam! Heavy water, radiation, whatever— massive doses of whatever it was. Those it didn't kill, changed into horribly disfigured lunatics. Madmen and women. It changed their whole body chemistry. Their families were told they were all killed, burned to char. Well, they weren't all killed, and Fork County has them.

'The agent clammed up; wouldn't say anything more about it. I gather that when they all die off, the institution will close its doors, all papers concerning the—whatever you want to call it—will be destroyed, and no one will be the wiser about our government's mistake.'

'If they escaped—?' Sam asked, allowing the question to fade.

'It would be a disaster,' Wade said. 'But there is no chance of that happening. It's—like a small, well-stocked, hotel for the guards— including women for them. The guards are changed—so I was told—every six months, they never leave the grounds. The place is small, Sam, and it's partly underground. A person could walk right up to it and not see it. I mean it. The pay is really good, insuring silence from the guards.'

'Does the government ever come in to inspect?'

'Rarely, Sam. The place is fully staffed with a couple of military doctors; the whole bit.'

'How do they get the men in here?'

'The guards and the girls? By car and light truck. At night. The sheriff knows about it.'

'Addison, too?'

'Sure.'

'Leases the land, you said. From whom?'

Wade was silent for a moment, then his face paled. 'Karl Sorenson.'

'Do you know when the last crew came in?'

'Last month.'

'How convenient,' Sam said dryly. 'I wonder if they were wearing medallions? Well, the Prince planned this one to the letter, didn't he?'

'Im beginning to think so,' Wade admitted. This time, there was no doubt in his voice.

Sam looked at the dark timber. 'Let's go. Wear your crosses outside your shirts.'

As they approached the timber, Sam said, 'We'll stay just to this side of the timber.' He glanced at Wade. 'You'll be a believer once this day is over.'

'I'm a believer now,' the editor replied tightly. 'Believe me, I am.'

'Chester?'

'I never doubted you, Sam.'

Carefully, slowly, the men drew nearer. As they came closer, Sam took his .45 from leather, jacked a round in