He sprinkled Holy Water on her forehead, wincing at her screaming.
Still she cursed him.
At the end of an hour, Sam was near exhaustion and no closer, he felt, to expelling the demons from the girl. She showed no signs of giving in; still as strong as when they began.
Sam rose to his feet, his knees aching. Ruby lay on the ground, cursing Sam, her father, God, and everything connected with Christianity. She spat at Sam and her father.
'I can't do anything more, Ches. I just can't.'
Ruby laughed at them. An evil, mocking laugh.
Her father knelt down. 'Ruby, you're part of me. Won't you please try to help yourself?'
She spat in his face and laughed at him.
Chester pulled his pistol from leather, his face, dripping with saliva, was dark with rage.
Sam stopped his gun-held hand. 'That won't do any good, Ches. They'll still have her soul.'
The father's eyes were both sad and grim. 'You mean—?'
'Go on. Take the people out of here. I'll do it. Jack, too.'
'Leave Faye alone, Sam.'
'All right, if you say so. Go on.'
The prairie was quiet after Chester and the others left. Sam stood over the teenager, a stake in his hand. She looked up at him, but her eyes were not afraid.
'Last chance, Ruby.'
'Hey, preacher—wouldn't you like some young pussy? I give good half and half, too. Half fuck, half suck.'
Sam lifted the stake, praying for guidance, hoping God would guide his hand. The sky darkened, clouds dipping close to the earth.
The minister drove the stake into the chest of the girl. Lightning flicked across the sky as Sam pushed the stake deeper into her, piercing the young heart held captive by Satan.
Ruby lay dead on the ground, her hands clutching the shaft of the long stake.
Sam looked at the grave of Faye Stokes. 'I'll see you again, Faye—but you won'treally know me.
He walked into the prairie, looking for Jack's body. When he left the sea of rippling, knee-high grass, a stake had been driven into the chest of Jack Stokes. The body still writhed on the ground.
Four ranches, a farm, and a dozen more inmates from the asylum went down that day, as Sam and his group worked full circle around Whitfield. Only the town remained. If they could but live through this night that was falling around them.
Sam and the others dug deep trenches around their positions, placing dynamite and gas-filled cans in the closer trenches.
All were near exhaustion.
Wilder sent his subjects out in force that night, covering the prairie, seeking out Balon and his few Believers. The night ran red with blood.
The Satan-lovers died screaming and chanting their love of Mephistopheles and their hatred of God Almighty.
At dawn, the small band of Believers slumped to the ground. Their shoulders ached from the pound of high- powered rifles and shotguns. They stank of nervous sweat. Their eyes were red-rimmed from sleeplessness.
As they dragged the dead to a pile, to burn them, Sam wondered how much more any of them could take?
Just past dawn, already hot on the plains, Sam lay looking over the town of Whitfield, Chester by his side.
'They love Satan and his fiery pits so much,'' Sam said, with a hard grin, 'we'll give them a taste of what's in store for them.'
'Six gas stations in town,' Chester said. 'And one bulk plant. The wind is blowing north to south. Perfect!'
Chester had yet to say one word about his dead wife. But there was a recklessness in him that worried Sam.
'We'll fire everything on the north, east, and west. Let the flames work inward. We'll be in position on the south side of town, waiting.'
'Let's do it.'
They synchronized their watches to the second. Working with this much dynamite and gasoline, ten seconds off any watch could mean trouble, for a gallon of gasoline is equal to a half dozen sticks of dynamite as far as explosiveness and the damage it can do.
Sam's gaze touched them all. 'Everybody understand what to do?'
They nodded.
'Then let's roll.'
They hit the town in a rush, starting the gas pumps running at full volume, then planting the fire bombs directly in the path of the rushing gasoline, each person praying their pickup would not choose this time to stall on them.
The wind, as if under the direct command of God, picked up, blowing hard from the north.
'We've lost it,' Wilder said to Nydia. They stood in the living room of the parsonage. 'Whitfield will soon be a raging fire storm, and there is not one thing I can do about it. Damn Balon!'
'What do we do?' there was a touch of fear in her voice.
'Get out, of course, silly woman! Oh, Nydia, you still have much to learn.' He shook his head. 'Tonight, we loose what we have left upon them. But they've beaten us. My time is almost over. Soon it will be up to you.'
'The tablet?'
He told her where he had hidden it, and she smiled. Wilder shook his head in sorrow. 'As our Master's senior agent, I warned him about this place. I begged him to send Michelle after another man of God. I warned him of Balon's strength and courage. But,' he sighed, 'perhaps it will work out in the end.' He took her hand. 'Come, my dear, while there is still time.'
They walked through the house, Wilder stopping at a picture of Jesus Christ on the wall. He spat at the artist's conception of Christ, the spittle sliding down Christ's serene face.
They walked out the back door and vanished into the air, leaving no trace of their ever being there. Jimmy Perkins, confused and addled, found himself standing on the prairie, alone one second in the bedroom, the next second with Wilder and Nydia on the plains.
Wilder gave the witch a disgusted look. 'I thought we left this simpleton behind?'
'He amuses me. Besides, I need a servant.'
'Lazy bitch!'
The booming, jarring explosions rocked the town of Whitfield, as thousands of gallons of gasoline detonated, sending flaming balls of fire hurtling over the town, to drop in massive globes of conflagration.
As the Godless ran screaming from the inferno, they were met by preset backfires. Those who escaped the flames were confronted by dynamite, Molotov cocktails, bullets and buckshot. A few escaped, but most died.
Beaten back by the intense heat that engulfed the town, the eight regrouped, Wade saying. 'You're sure, Sam, that no one will see this smoke or fire?'
'I'm sure,' the minister said. 'By now, you should all know the power of Satan.'
Miles looked heavenward, a slight smile on his lips.
'We have one more night, one more day, and about five hours of another night. Until midnight of the seventh day,' Sam said.
'It took God seven days to create all things,' Anita said.
