As we tied him up I could feel the primitive nature take hold of Alex. It was like handling a live wire, knowing it was going to explode and throw sparks at any moment. With it came that spiritual sense I described earlier; that sense that something wicked, something unnatural but all knowing, was in the air.

"Fight it, Alex, fight it!" Wesley said as he worked the rope around his body, tying his arms to his sides.

Alex came out of it once as we were tying him up. That guttural, demonic voice broke up, became the sobbing falsetto of Alex, who looked at us and started crying again. "Oh G.o.d, what's happening, what's happening to me!" only to be cut off by the primitive life force that came back with a new found strength. I had just gotten his feet and ankles bound together and was fumbling for a way to tie the bonds off, when the primitive took over completely. It opened Alex's eyes, snarled, and tried to leap off the sofa at us. I yelled, dropped the rope, and fell on my a.s.s.

"Aaaarrrrgghhh!" Alex leaped at Wesley, trying to take a bite out of him.

Wesley punched Alex in the face. The blow had no effect. Alex lunged at him again.

"Get him down, get him down!" Wesley yelled.

Alex howled. The sound of that howl evoked our trek to his house yesterday afternoon and what it had brought with it.

And then Martin stepped in and shoved the stock of the M4 down on Alex's head in a hearty thump that knocked him completely out and cut the howl off in mid-stream.

"Oh Jesus," Lori said again, visibly shaken.

Alex slumped forward and fell off the sofa.

Wesley glanced up at Martin, panting heavily from the exertion of his struggle. "Thanks, Martin." He quickly took Alex's pulse. "He's alive. Help me tie these ropes off and gag him."

Feeling a little safer now that Alex was unconscious, I helped Wesley tie Alex's bonds, and Martin handed over a discarded towel from the kitchen, which we used as a gag. We laid him down on the sofa. Despite being unconscious, we could all notice the huge change in him. Aside from the heavy presence of the primitive, there was a smell that seemed to permeate him. It was a smell of corruption. Of rot.

Of evil.

If evil had a smell, this one was it. A mixture of dampness, of sweat, of bodily fluids and rotting corpses. Of body odor. Prior to this, I chalked that up to the primitive's lack of hygiene. To have it manifest itself on Alex so quickly told me it was a spiritual essence, part of its makeup. It's what marked them.

"Do you guys smell that?" I asked.

They nodded. Lori was still standing by the threshold. "That's an evil smell," she said.

"Yeah," I said, taking a step away from Alex. "And I gotta get away from this thing. I just-"

I was feeling my gorge rise. I turned and stumbled out of the living room and made it to the kitchen just in time to throw up in the kitchen sink.

Twenty.

Alex woke up thirty minutes later completely bound and gagged.

And completely primitive.

He growled through his gag. His eyes narrowed into slits as he gazed at us in animal fury. His arms bulged as he tried to force his way out of the heavy rope that bound his arms to his sides, his legs and ankles lashed together.

The five of us were standing around him in the living room waiting for him to regain consciousness. Tracy had come downstairs and she was pale, trembling with anxiety.

It was dark and quiet outside. Martin had checked the perimeter of the cabin shortly after knocking Alex out and p.r.o.nounced the area safe. But for how long? I think there was an unspoken acknowledgement between the five of us that our window of opportunity was slipping away, that soon this area would be visited by hordes of primitives, a greater ma.s.s than we'd ever seen. Wesley even said at one point that we should pack up and leave before the sun rose. Strike for farther points north, head into Canada. But n.o.body countered his suggestion with an alternative. I think we were all too stunned by the recent turn of events.

Alex tried to howl through his gag. A vein pulsed in his forehead from the exertion he was putting himself through in breaking out of his bonds. His head whipped back and forth in fury, his long blonde hair tangled and sweaty.

"How could this happen?" Lori whispered. She was standing near Tracy and me; Tracy's arms were around her. I was thinking the same thing. If it could happen to Alex and Naomi, it could happen to any of us. It could happen to my daughter. That was my worst nightmare.

"We can't just leave him like this," I said.

"Well, we can't study him either," Martin said. "Much as a part of me would like to put him in a cage and observe him, learn more about these things, that isn't feasible right now."

"We can't just kill him!" Lori said. The expression in her face was identical, to some degree, with what all five of us were feeling. We had to put an end to Alex to protect us, but we still needed to learn more about the primitives.

Wesley glanced at me. "Did you learn anything from those books?"

"Yes and no," I said, my thoughts a jumbled ma.s.s.

"What the h.e.l.l's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I'm more confused now than I was when this s.h.i.t started."

"Cut to the chase, David."

I sighed. Alex continued to howl through his gag. As m.u.f.fled as his howling was, the tone of his voice was starting to get to me again. "The closest I could find was a few cave paintings of the G.o.d of the New World...the figure itself wasn't even identified as a deity in the footnotes. I thought I was seeing things."

"But it was there, right?" Wesley looked anxious for me to provide them all with the CliffsNotes version of what I'd learned. "Maybe the anthropologists who studied this s.h.i.t just didn't pick up on it. Maybe they didn't recognize it."

"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking." I nodded toward Alex. "And it was there, definitely. Seeing those photos made me think of something Alex told us earlier. Remember what he related about his wife? What she told him before she turned primitive?"

"Her religious mania was growing," Martin said.

"Yeah. And she was convinced we were in the end times, that the primitives weren't really people...but demons."

"Yeah, and?" Wesley said.

I looked at Lori, made eye contact with her. She'd made a similar statement just a short time ago. When I turned to Wesley and Martin, I gestured toward Alex's writhing form on the sofa. "The G.o.d of the New World looks suspiciously like sculptures and drawings of an ancient a.s.syrian demon called Pazuzu." I gave them a brief anthropological lesson on Pazuzu and his appearances in folklore and literature. "It's said his father is Hanbi, Lord of all demons. Not much is known of Hanbi; there's no drawings of him, not much of anything, really, but in many religious sects Hanbi is another name for Satan."

Lori drew in a breath of shock. I felt Tracy stiffen by my side.

"In many cultures it's said that Satan can raise the dead, that demons can occupy the bodies of the living and the dead." I was looking at Alex as I spoke, my mind turning over the possibilities. "In the Bible and other religious texts, Satan is said to be The Wanderer. This G.o.d of the New World has been described to us as wandering the earth, gathering its followers, in some cases possessing those of the dead that were sacrificed to it." I glanced at my gathered clan, gaining strength from them. "We've felt its presence. We've heard about the influence it has on the primitives from Stuart, and we've just seen how it's taken over the body of a man who was one of us just a short while ago." All eyes fell on Alex again, who growled through the gag in his mouth and glared at us with eyes that were as fiery as the pits of h.e.l.l. "We can no longer deny it," I whispered. "Satan has come to represent all kinds of things, from evil incarnate, to chaos, to rebellion, to accuser. He's also been linked to represent our animal side, our pure unadulterated l.u.s.t and carnal desire, everything Abrahamic religions have taught us is sinful. And what better way to summon an ancient demon than through the collective belief systems of the most primitive of us?"

"I don't think I follow you," Martin said.

"You've all heard stories of demonic possession, right? The Exorcist was loosely based on a real case that happened back in the 1940's. The film The Exorcism of Emily Rose was also supposedly based on a true case that happened in Germany in the mid 70's. I remember hearing about other cases, mostly from my Aunt, who was very involved in the Catholic Church. I didn't know how much of that to believe, but now..." My voice trailed off.

"What you're insinuating, David," Martin said, his voice trembling. "It's impossible."

"Why is it impossible?" Lori asked.

"I'm an atheist. If I don't believe there's a G.o.d, I surely don't believe there's a devil."

Alex continued to growl through his gag. The fresh scent of excrement invaded my nostrils. Alex had just s.h.i.t himself.

"Then what the h.e.l.l you call that?" Lori stated. She pointed an accusing finger at Alex, who continued to writhe and growl on the sofa.

"This is all too much," Martin said. He was clearly at a loss to confront what was happening, what I was suggesting was happening.

"I understand what you're going through, Martin," I said quickly. "Believe me, I do. But all other attempts to explain what's happened in the last month when it comes to dealing with the G.o.d of the New World, and the primitives' collective belief in it...and especially everything we heard from Stuart...what Wesley and I saw today at Alex's home." I gestured at Alex. "And Alex himself."

"It can't be that simple," Martin said.

"I'm not saying it is. I can't even begin to claim that I've identified the G.o.d of the New World as Hanbi. There's so much we don't know about prehistoric man and his beliefs. But what if..." I was on a roll, my thoughts tumbling into my head and rushing out of my mouth in a torrent. "...what if something existed with prehistoric man. Something that was real and possessed some kind of psychic power. Something that primitive man worshipped. And what if it came back when that chemical compound did its thing."

"s.h.i.t," Martin whispered. I think he was getting the message.

"So what-" Lori began, then stopped in mid-sentence.

I felt the presence then at that point too. So did the others.

First, the sounds. They were moaning, gibberish sounds, from outside.

Then, the footsteps. Some slow and stealthy, others plodding and clumsy.

The scent of carrion wasn't too far behind.

Wesley glanced out the window. "Everybody take your positions!" His voice had a nervous, shaky edge to it and I don't blame him. This was all coming at us too fast.

Shortly after we arrived at the cabin a month ago, we'd come up with an emergency plan should our homestead face any kind of physical threat, whether from hostile humans or an invading horde of primitives. We'd long ago moved the large entertainment center that flanked the west wall of the living room out into the storage shed and replaced it with several very large gun cabinets we procured from our first trip into town. That's where we stored the weapons and ammunition. All the firearms were fully loaded, with the right size magazines and ammo within easy reach for fast procurement. At the sound of "take your positions," everybody was to grab a weapon and as many clips and ammo as possible and then disperse to their pre-a.s.signed positions around the property: I was to take the front perimeter which faced north, Wesley the east, Lori the south and Martin the west. Tracy would handle the interior of the house, the idea being that we had no idea of knowing when such a scenario would take place, and it was possible she would have to whisk Emily upstairs to safety. Being that Emily was already upstairs and knew not to come downstairs if she heard gunfire, eliminated that mad dash to whisk our daughter to safety. All Tracy had to do was grab a weapon and hold down the interior of the house.

We sprang into action quickly, just as the first war cry howl resounded from outside.

"f.u.c.k!" Martin grunted. He was throwing bundles of magazine pouches over his shoulder.

I grabbed a M4 and a pair of magazines pouches-the clips already loaded and ready-and a Glock .45 semi-automatic handgun, stuffed it in the right front pocket of my slacks, and dashed to the front of the house as the rest of my clan took their positions around the house.

The moment I exited the front door I heard two simultaneous screams and yells. One was from Wesley. "What the f.u.c.k!?"

The other was from the front line of primitives who were approaching the front of the house. For a moment I almost balked; it was pitch dark outside and I couldn't see s.h.i.t, but I could feel their presence. They were ten, maybe fifteen yards away from me, and they were making no attempt at being quiet now. I heard a gurgling howl and then Tracy flipped on the floodlights that lined the perimeter of the house.

And there, standing in front of me, nearly shoulder to shoulder and across the entire perimeter of the front yard, were primitives.

An old Biblical verse came to me. I am Legion.

I yelled and let them have it with the M4 as they cried out in unison and charged.

I could hear gunfire erupt from the east end of the property.

The magazines we had for the M4 held fifty rounds of 9 mm ammo. I mowed down close to that many in under a minute. Rocks were hurled in my direction like missiles, most striking the house and breaking windows, two of them hitting me in the shoulder and chest. Another band of primitives was quickly coming to join the fray and I ejected the spent magazine and slapped in a fresh one, focusing my attention on this new wave of primitives, who were greater in number. I yelled out a war whoop as I shot them, firing indiscriminately at anything that moved, but they kept coming, throwing rocks and what appeared to be crudely shaped spears. I ducked, blocked the invading missiles, received a glancing blow on my head and back for my trouble, but ignored the pain. For the first time, they kept coming.

I slapped in another fresh magazine and barely got the weapon back up to fire again when this next wave was almost on me. I shot ten primitives in quick succession, but then four got past me and another slammed into me from the right, knocking me on my a.s.s. I was dimly aware of a sudden outburst of gunfire that flew over me as I fought the primitive that tackled me. Once again I was bit, this time in the upper arm. I yelled as the primitive's jaws locked on the flesh of my biceps and tore a chunk of flesh away. I grabbed the Glock from my slacks pocket and in one quick motion gut shot the primitive.

I heard screams, and it wasn't until later that I realized those screams weren't coming from me.

I was totally oblivious to what else was going on around me. My sole focus was in keeping the primitives away from the front entrance of the house. Specifically, to keep them from entering through the front door and windows. But it was obvious that Tracy was holding her own and keeping the interior of the house free of those primitives that breached my perimeter.

I shoved the dying primitive off me and stayed low, swinging my M4 around to point it at the ever-invading horde that was still coming. I took down another dozen, maybe more, and then I was joined briefly by Tracy who took down a bunch. She looked like a woman possessed, firing her weapon with mad determination, a lock of hair hanging over a gash in her forehead.

This latest onslaught from the front of the house seemed to be under control now. I quickly a.s.sessed the situation as I changed magazines. "You okay?" I asked Tracy. Dozens of dead and dying primitives lay all over the porch and the front yard, extending well into the gra.s.sy field beyond. I heard a generous babble of primitives from the east end of the house; some of them showed themselves and, upon seeing us, began heading in our direction.

"I'm okay," Tracy said, reloading her own firearm. The bleeding on her forehead didn't appear too bad.

"I can handle these," I said. "Go back and secure the inside of the house, I can take these."

Tracy darted back in the house and I took this latest wave of primitives down, ignoring the enormous pain in my left arm from the bite wound that was bleeding profusely.

A third wave of primitives descended on us and I quickly took them down, blowing some apart as the sh.e.l.ls tore their bodies into b.l.o.o.d.y shards. I heard an excited yell from Wesley, heard running footsteps and then he was at my side, rifle in hand. The entire left side of his head was caked in blood that appeared to be soaking his shoulder and left arm. "Motherf.u.c.kers!" he yelled as he joined me, shooting indiscriminately at the primitives that came at us.

My M4 was growing hot in my hands. I ejected the spent magazine, slapped another one in and raised the weapon. There were only a few primitives left, and they seemed confused. They stood there, immobile, as if torn between running away or continuing the attack. I heard Martin call out from the west. "Everything okay back there?"

"Got it covered!" Wesley answered. He raised his rifle, took careful aim, and took the remaining four or five primitives down.

But I still heard more of them. The sound of their voices-that guttural, demonic sound-was clearly audible.

And it was coming from the south side of the house. Where Lori had taken up position.

With the north side of the house now secure (so far) from primitives, I cradled the now-hot M4 in my hands and flattened myself against the wall. "Tracy, are we clear in the house?"

"Clear!"

"Lori, are you okay?"

No answer.

"s.h.i.t," Wesley muttered. Crouching low, he moved ahead of me toward the east side of the house.

"Cover the front door!" I called out to Tracy. Then, I followed Wesley.

I could barely breathe as I followed Wesley around to the south side of the house. Those primitive, ugly sounds grew louder the closer we got to the corner.

Wesley stopped at the edge. We waited. The sounds continued, accompanied by what appeared to be some jostling, rummaging around. It was hard to tell how many primitives were there.

Wesley nodded at me and mouthed "On three." I nodded, and he counted off silently. When he mouthed "three" we jumped out to the south side of the house, weapons raised at the scene in front of us. I was so surprised by what I saw that I was momentarily frozen.

I caught everything in a brief snapshot. A group of a dozen primitives gathered around Lori, who looked badly beaten and injured. Her T-shirt was ripped off her body and there were several bad gashes that ripped across her torso. Her left breast appeared mutilated and was hanging by strips of flesh off her chest. Likewise, the right side of her face had a chunk of flesh torn off, showing the teeth and jawbone.

By all rights she should have either been dead or unconscious from shock.

But her eyes were wide open.