was jarred out of a restless sleep, shaken into awareness by a scream.
'What was that?' Jane Ann sat up in the bed, eyes wide with fear.
'I don't know,' Sam said, pulling on his jeans boots. 'But I don' t think we'd better count on much more sleep this night.'
Before Sam could slip into his shirt, Jane Ann's screaming spun him around. She pointed to a side window of the living room. The face of Max Steiner stared at them through the glass, his eyes dead-like, red-rimmed. Drool dripped from his lips.
Sam grabbed his .45, jerked open the front door, and recoiled in horror as he ran into Paul Barlow. Recovering, Sam pushed the man off his porch, sending him sprawling on the ground.
'What the hell are you doing on my porch at one o'clock in the morning?' Sam shouted at him. Sam backed away from the steps as Barlow slithered up the walkway, up the steps, crawling as a snake, hissing sounds coming from his lips, his mouth pulled back in a snarl, exposing his teeth.
Sam kicked him in the face, his boot catching his once friendly neighbor on the nose, sending blood spurting. Barlow fell to the sidewalk, crouching there, hissing and snarling at Sam.
Sam raised the .45, jacking back the hammer, his finger tightening on the trigger. 'I'll kill you!' he warned, then watched as Barlow slithered off the steps, on all fours, working his way into the night, making terrible hissing noises as he crawled.
'God!' Sam's flesh felt creepy.
'SAM!' Jane Ann screamed. 'They're coming in the back door.'
The minister spun, running through the house, through the living room, dining room, into the kitchen. The back door was splintering under the crush of men gathering on the porch.
Sam lifted the .45 and pulled the trigger half a dozen times, the slugs tearing huge holes in the wood. He shouted to Jane Ann, 'Get your shotgun—watch the front.' He knew Jane An would not hesitate to use the 12 gauge.
There was screaming in the darkness around the back door, as the men—or whatever they were—ran away, dragging several of the dead or wounded with them. The snarling and howling of the possessed filled the night.
Jane Ann's shotgun boomed three times, shattering the momentary quiet. A screaming followed the discharges, then the thud of a body lifted off its feet and slamming to the ground. Moaning.
Sam switched on the outside lights, front and back. A body lay crumpled in the back yard, a bullet hole in the man's head, the head swelled from the impact of the heavy .45 slug. Sam ran through the house, to the front door. A man lay writhing on the sidewalk, both hands holding his stomach, his blood pouring out through his fingers. The shotgun, slug-loaded, had hit him three times in the chest and belly. The man shivered, drummed his heels on the sidewalk, and died.
Jane Ann's face was pale, but she grimly shoved shells into the shotgun, ready for another onslaught if need be. They both heard the sounds of sirens in the distance.
Sam shoved the .45 behind his belt, and strode to the hall closet, jerking open the door, reaching inside for the Thompson SMG. He slapped a clip in the belly and worked the bolt, chambering a round.
'Sam? That's a machine gun!' Jane Ann said.
'It sure is. And I'll bet you that's Addison coming here. He'll try to arrest me—or us. But I've got news for him: he's not going to do it.'
Addison ran up the steps of the parsonage, stepped into the living room, then stopped cold in his tracks when he saw the Thompson in Sam's hands. The muzzle lifted to the sheriff's belly and Addison's gut sucked inward.
'Stand in the hall and watch my back,' Sam told Jane Ann. 'If anything—I mean
'Now, you wait just a minute,' Addison said, authority overcoming fright.
'Shut your damned mouth!' Sam barked at him. 'I figured it all out, Addison. Me, and several others in this town. We know how it was done, and why. But it didn't work with us.'
'I don't know what you're talking . . .'
'Shut up, you son-of-a-bitch!' Sam raged. He was in no mood to act the preacher part. 'I know all about the roads being closed. I know all about your Black Masses, and I know about Doctor Black Wilder—where he came from, what he is, and what he's doing here. I don't know why your . . . possessed jumped the gun and started this night; you weren't supposed to start this soon, and I imagine Wilder is furious with some of you. You spoiled his little game.'
'You're under arrest for murder, Balon!'
Sam laughed at him, enjoying immensely the flush that spread over the man's face. 'You want to try to take me in, Walter. Come on.'
'My dear man,' a voice spoke from the front porch. An educated voice. 'My, my, we did make a mistake with you, didn't we?'
Black Wilder stepped into the room. He was immaculately dressed in dark suit, very white shirt, dark tie with a small knot, polished shoes. A medallion hung about his neck. He smiled at Sam, then cut his eyes to Walter. 'You may leave now,' he said. 'And drag those bodies away from this house. They offend me. You know where to take them.' His voice sharpened. 'Get out!'
Addison hung his head in obedience, his eyes fearful. 'Yes, Master.' He left the room.
'According to the book,' Sam spoke over his shoulder to Jane Ann, 'there will be a woman with him. A dark- haired woman—a witch, Nydia. If you see her, shoot her.'
Wilder laughed. 'Oh, no, no, my good man. My, you certainly are a violent one, aren't you? Old Testament type. I can see why your God chose you.' He chuckled. 'I can assure you, sir, more violence this night will not be necessary. Let me call Nydia in—please?'
Sam hesitated, then nodded, his finger on the 7ger of the SMG. 'Nydia?' Wilder called. 'Do come in. And do very carefully. The young lady here,' his dark eyes swept Jane Ann's body, and his eyes filled with lust, 'has a most awesome-looking shotgun. And she knows how to use it. In your present form, at least on this night, you are susceptible to scarring, and I know how you pride your beauty. You do remember that musket ball in France?'
'Why are you telling us this?' Sam asked. 'Aren't you afraid we'll hurt her—or kill her?'
Wilder laughed. 'No,' he shook his head. 'You could hurt her, slightly, but you could not kill her. Or me.' His eyes took in the shotgun and Sam's SMG. 'At least not with those weapons, sir.'
The woman dressed in black walked stately into the room. She was perhaps the most beautiful woman Sam had ever seen. High, very full breasts, the pale cleavage exposed in her V-neck gown, the V just touching the darker area of nipple. Her hair was the blackest, matching her eyes. Her lips were full and red and moist.
'The V stands for virgin, I'm sure,'Jane Ann said sarcastically.
Nydia's lips pulled back in a faint smile. 'Only slightly amusing, dear.' Her eyes touched Sam, taking in his heavy musculature, shirtless. Her eyes drifted to his crotch, and she licked her lips. 'I don't suppose you'd allow me the pleasure of kissing you hello?' she smiled.
'You've got to be kidding!'
She laughed, exposing dazzling white teeth. 'I guessed as much.' She glanced at Jane Ann. 'You spoiled my plans, dear. I wanted so very much to be the one to seduce your new husband.'
Startled, Jane Ann asked, 'How did you know we were married?'
'I watched him make love to you yesterday afternoon, in the cottonwoods by that quaint little creek. Your technique is lacking, dear. There is more to making love than just having the man stick it in and grunt.'
'Crude bitch!' Wilder muttered. 'Absolutely no class or breeding.'
'The bird that sang above us,' Sam remembered. 'I didn't recognize the call.'
'My, aren't you the observant one?' Nydia smiled.
'Mr. Balon,' Wilder said, 'why don't you give up this fight? You can't win; surely you see that?'
'I don't see any such thing.'
'Mr. Balon—you don't like being called Reverend, do you? Mr. Balon,' Wilder pressed him. 'let's be civilized men about this upcoming confrontation. In this area of Fork County, we have over two thousand—two thousand, sir—men, women, and children who have pledged their hearts and souls to my Master. What do you have? Nine-ten people. Eleven, counting yourself. Those are impossible odds, sir.
'You forgot one, Wilder.'
