Godly dripped onto the Godless, the perspiration hissing as it touched anathematized flesh. Bloody hands gripped the stakes as they were driven into chests; stinking breath fouled the musty air of the closed trailers.
Outside, the devil's rage was vented in the sky as lightning flashed across the suddenly darkened sky. Thunder boomed in cascading waves. The stink of sulphur lay about the fenced-in Dig. The Believers had to shout to be heard.
'The tablet?' Wade yelled. 'Where is it?'
'Not here,' Sam returned the shout. 'I'm sure of that. Wilder would have it well hidden.'
'SAM!' Jane Ann screamed.
The preacher spun around. Beasts and lunatics were moving across the Dig. The Beasts could move on this day, for they knew nothing of God, their tiny brains incapable of comprehending something so vast.
The Beasts and the lunatics died on this day. In the pouring rain, under the cover of low, dark clouds, during the blinding pops of lightning and the rolling crash of thunder, Sam's people picked up their guns.
The smell of the Undead dying was soon overpowered by the stench of gunsmoke as they emptied weapons into the charging forces of Satan. The Beasts and the crazed possessed snarled and snapped and howled until they were driven away, leaving behind their dead.
Sam and Chester followed them, recklessly close, firing their automatic weapons. A few of the Beasts and the lunatics made their escape.
As abruptly as it began, the carnage was over. The sky was clear and clean, as if it had been swept by the hand of God. The blazing ball of sun beat down on the site, steaming the puddles of water.
The nine carefully checked the trailers for any Undead they might have missed. They were all dead, lying in grotesque, misshapen, nonrecognizable lumps.
They looked for the tablet for over an hour, finally giving up their search.
'Let's go,' Sam said. 'Let's get out of here.''
An hour of daylight left on God's day. Three ranches had been destroyed this afternoon. Sam and his people were bordering on exhaustion.
'Sam?' Chester called. 'There's some . . . thing in this shed. One of Them, I think.'
The minister picked his way through the bodies littering the back yard, the muzzle of his SMG still emitting a faint finger of smoke. Carefully, he eased open the door to the shed. He recognized the boots protruding from behind a stack of boxes. Peter Canford. 'Get me a stake,' he told Chester.
'Sam?'
'There is no other way, Ches. He's an Undead, now. Keep the others away from here.' The screaming from the shed filled the air. The hard pounding as Sam drove the stake into the chest of what had been his friend cracked under the late afternoon sun. The now familiar stench drifted out the open shed door.
Silence.
Sam stepped from the shed, his hands and shirt stinking from the corruption that had erupted from each hammer stroke. He looked up at the sky.
'God, give us the strength to finish this fight. For we are tired, God. We are so tired of killing.' They walked to their trucks, exhaustion evident with each step.
They did not see the eyes that followed them as they drove away. They did not hear the heavy breathing or the low snarling from the man hiding in the ravine behind the ranch house.
In their weariness, they had left someone alive.
Jane Ann turned in her sleep, pressing close to the flesh of Sam under the blankets, loving the feel of him next to her. Through sleepy eyes, she watched Tony outlined against the pink horizon, the butt of his carbine resting on one hip. She kissed Sam on the cheek, then eased from him, dressing in the coolness of dawn. She walked to the fire, where Faye was making breakfast. The smell of coffee drifted about the camp, rousing the others.
'I don't believe I would have liked the life of a pioneer woman,' Faye smiled a good morning. 'Give me a modern kitchen anytime.'
They were camped by a small lake, and ail longed to wash away the stink of yesterday.
After breakfast, they took turns in the lake, ladies first, with men standing guard, then the men took a quick bath. Back in camp, Jane Ann noticed gray in Sam's hair, gray that had not been there a week before.
'How many more ranches in this part of Fork?' Sam asked.
'Four. And one farm. After that we will have completed the circle.'
'Then we destroy the town,' Sam said.
One rifle shot rang out, the slug catching Faye in the center of the back, severing the spinal cord. The slug splintered off into several pieces, hitting lung and heart. She pitched forward, dead in the dirt.
Screaming out his rage, Chester grabbed his M-1, running to the edge of the camp. He triggered off a full clip, eight rounds. A faint moaning could be heard from out in the plains, a hundred yards from the camp.
Sam wrapped the woman in a blanket as he listened to Chester curse. The man was striking someone—or some Thing. He walked back into camp, half dragging and half carrying his daughter, Ruby. She screamed at her father, fighting him, until he backhanded her to the ground. She crawled to her knees, shouting curses at him. Chester hit her with his fist on the point of the chin, knocking her to the ground, stunned.
The man was openly weeping. 'It was Jack,' he sobbed. 'He killed his own mother.'
'Pray!' Ruby laughed at Sam as he stood over the shallow grave of Faye. 'Pray, you mother fucker!'
Sam tried to ignore her, continuing his prayer for the soul of Faye Stokes.
Ruby screeched her laughter, shouting profanities at the diminishing band of Believers. 'Hey, Preacher! When you get through with soul-savin' shit, come over here for a minute. I need a good fuck!'
They all tried to ignore her.
Sam uttered the last Amen, then picked up a shovel. 'I don't like this, Ches. She should be cremated. You know what might happen.'
'No! I won't have her burned.'
Shaking his head, knowing all too well what would probably happen with the body, Sam covered the grave with earth.
The earth patted in place, making but a small mound on the prairie, Chester turned to look at his daughter, bound at ankles and wrists. 'Help her, Sam,' he asked.
'I don't know if I can.' He wanted to add: I don't know if I really want to.
'Please try.' There were tears in the man's eyes.
'I don't know the rite of exorcism, Ches. All I have is prayer and Holy Water. If that doesn't work, then what?'
'I'll kill her!' the father said. 'I won't have that,' he pointed to his daughter, 'walking God's earth.'
'Hey, Doc King—Tony, baby,' she called. 'You're a good-lookin' guy. You don't have a woman out here, do you? Untie me and I'll show you what
Tony shook his head in disgust. 'I remember my father treating her for mumps. I can't stand this.' He picked up his rifle. 'I'll take the watch.'
Sam knelt down beside her, knowing in his guts it wasn't going to work. This was no cult full of amateurs; this was the real thing, with the devil overseeing every move.
He put his hand on her forehead and she jerked away from his touch, trying to bite him, white teeth flashing. Her screaming drowned out Sam's first attempt at prayer.
Chester knelt down. 'Ruby? Ruby, won't you try to help us help you?'
'Fuck you!' she snarled at her father.
Sam touched her forehead with a tiny bit of Holy Water. She screamed in pain as the blessed water hissed and bubbled on her flesh.
Sam prayed.
The girl threw herself about, straining at the ropes that bound her. Filth sprang from her mouth, matching Sam's intensity at prayer.
