Matt looked. They were human eyes.

And they were very hypnotic in their unblinking stare.

So hypnotic, neither man could see the woman slipping up behind them.

Some primal sensing came to the fore in Matt's head. He turned just as Bonnie Rogers was stepping up behind Father Javotte, a knife in her hand, preparing to plunge the blade deep into the priest's back.

Matt shot the woman three times in the stomach with his .38. The slugs knocked her back and down to one knee. She came up snarling just as the black panther jumped at Javotte.

Javotte held up a cross and stood his ground without flinching.

The sunlight glinted off the gold cross, the reflected light hitting the leaping panther in the face. The panther screamed in rage and fright and disgust at the sight of the gold cross. His front paws clawed at the hot air and the panther twisted to one side to avoid the hated cross. He landed lightly and jumped for the bushes behind the house. Matt fired just as the panther disappeared, but not before the men heard a squall of pain from the great cat.

They turned to look at Bonnie Rogers.

She was gone.

Sam and Trooper Norris were having no luck in seeking out and destroying the Satan worshipers. They had broken into several houses and half a dozen sheds, all empty, or merely filled with frightened and very confused people.

"Who are they, Sam?" Norris asked, back on the road.

"In limbo. They'll probably try to stay in hiding until this is all over."

"Unless Lester and his kooks find them first," the trooper said.

"Yeah. And speaking of Lester's bunch ... look over there."

Brother Cliff Lester and some of his flock had broken into a small shop that specialized in used books, hardcover and paperback. They were piling the books onto the street.

"Gonna be a bonfire soon," the trooper remarked, "you want to try to stop it?"

Sam shook his head. "We've got more important things to do than deal with those bigoted fools. The Beasts and the cats and the coven members will deal with them, I should imagine, in time."

James looked at Sam, a strange look in his eyes. "We think we're on the side of G.o.d, they think they're on the side of G.o.d. It's a weird world, Sam."

Sam smiled. "Stick around, James. It's going to get a lot stranger."

18.

Brother Luther reported back to Brother Lester. He told Brother Lester about the upside-down crosses he'd seen around the town. The devil's paraphernalia, and such like that there.

"We've all seen it on the TeeVee," Brother Luther said. "Maybe there is something to what that there Sam Baton's been sayin'."

"What do you mean, Luther?" Lester asked.

"Witches and werewolves and the like. Like that thing you and the others seen last night in the alley."

Brother Lester was interested. Might be something worth listening to here. "Go on."

"Folks is hidin' in their houses, Brother Lester. Shunnin' G.o.d's light of day. What does that mean to you?"

Lester put a hand on the man's shoulder. "Brother Luther, you are right. If it was good enough for the folks up in Salem years ago, then it's good enough for us today."

"Uh ... what folks up where?"

Brother lister waved that aside. "Gather the Sisters, Brother Luther. Tell them to drop whatever they are doing and return to the church. Get some fresh-washed sheets and begin making robes for us, in various sizes. We must be pure, Brother Luther, both inside and out." He glanced at his watch. Early. "We'll meet at the church at noon. Tell the men to start gathering firewood and pile it down by that field next to the church."

"Yes, sir, Brother Lester. Uh ... Brother Lester, what are we goin' to do with firewood?"

Brother Lester's smile was that of a zealot, certain of his convictions, sure his feet were planted firmly on the pathway to Heaven.

'How does one destroy a witch or a warlock, Brother Luther?"

Luther thought about that for a moment. He was a good hunter, he was a right good farmer and a fair welder ... but durned if he knew how to ...

He grinned, the answer coming to him. He suddenly frowned. "But how do we know we're gettin' the right folks, Brother?"

"Filthy, trashy, nasty books and magazines, Brother Luther. The wearin' of obscene clothin', and the thinkin' of impure thoughts and the actin' out of impure deeds." The others had gathered around their spiritual leader. "Backsliders, Brothers and Sisters, them folks who has ceased the attendin' of church, who allow their children to run wild, who hang out in bars and the like." He slowly turned, eyeballing each Brother and Sister. He winked and smiled at them. "You all know the types."

'Amen!" Sister Bertha shouted, and began to get into the spirit, waving her arms and shouting.

Brother Luther began stamping his feet. "Burn!" he proclaimed. "Burn, burn, burn!"

The other forty-odd members of Brother Lester's flock began gettin' down, waving their arms and shouting.

"Burn, burn, burn!" they shouted.

And the devil began laughing.

What was left of Dr. Oscar Martin was rubber-bagged and stored. The charred remains of Guy Dorgenois were tossed into the garbage bin outside the clinic. The story of what had happened went through the crowded clinic like wildfire, eventually reaching the children. Only one child had to feign shock at the story; she knew now it was solely up to her. She would destroy Little Sam Balon ... that night.

Salespeople and route men reached the cutoff road leading to Becancour. Minutes apart, they pulled over and stopped, mulling things over in their mind. It was a long, boring drive to Becancour, and one more day wouldn't make all that much difference. One by one, they turned around and traveled on down the main highway. h.e.l.l with Becancour.

Everyone that is except the breadman and the milkman. Everyone has to have fresh bread and fresh milk. They thought about skipping Becancour; thought hard about it. The bread man even turned around twice in his confusion. Turning around, he missed seeing the mail truck as it barreled on right past the turn-off, not even looking at the southbound road to Becancour. But in the end, the breadman and the milkman rolled toward Becancour.

The milkman and his helper had the windows down and the radio on, turned up loud, the rock and roll music blaring. The bread man had a box of X-rated movies in the truck; he'd picked them up from a friend in Ferriday and was going to have some guys over this weekend for a stag party. Drink some beer and watch some skin flicks.

That was the plan, anyway.

The bread and milk rolled on toward Becancour.

Preacher Earl Morris just didn't feel quite right; hadn't felt right since that night he'd come to under the carport wondering how he'd gotten there. And his neck had hurt, too. Two little tiny marks on his neck. And he'd been having some wild, wicked thoughts ... and he enjoyed those thoughts.

His wife had locked herself in her bedroom ... Jesus! when had she done that? He couldn't remember. Last night? The day before? He couldn't even remember why she'd done it.

"Hey, Ann!" he hollered. "Get on out here, baby!"

A sobbing sound drifted to him from up the hallway.

"Stupid b.i.t.c.h!" he muttered.

Preacher Earl Morris knew he had a sermon to write for Sunday, but right now he didn't give a d.a.m.n if he ever again even entered a church. Just the thought of doing so was strangely repugnant to him.

Dark, savage, primitive thoughts roared through the man's head. "Hey!" he shouted. "You gonna come out here and take care of me or not, baby?"

Get out!" his wife screamed at him. "I don't know you anymore, Earl. Get out and leave me alone."

Rage filled the man. He jumped from the chair where he'd been sitting for? ... He didn't know how long. Hours, surely. Couple of days, maybe. He walked swiftly up the hall and kicked in the door to his wife's bedroom. He was screaming and cursing and using language he had never before used in his life.

She flew at him, striking him with a hand mirror. He wrested the mirror from her and threw her to the floor. Then he did something he thought he'd always wanted to do. He wasn't real sure he'd always wanted to, but what the h.e.l.l?

Laughing at her screaming, the man brutally took his wife.

He looked around at a noise behind him. Mayor Will Jolevare and his wife, Betty, were standing in the doorway.

"Wanna swap wimmen?" Will asked, his voice odd-sounding to Earl.

"h.e.l.l," Earl said. "Why not?"

They were running about two hours late, due to their indecision at the crossroads, but the breadman and the milkman finally pulled into Becancour. The bank time and temperature read 11:00 & 96. The milk truck's radio was blaring rock and roll music as both trucks pulled into the small convenience store where Lester had confronted the a.s.sistant manager and Elmer had backslid-so to speak.

But the store was closed.

Milkman looked at breadman. "I didn't think this place ever closed."

"I've never known it to close. Must be an illness in the family, maybe?"

"Yeah."

Then the men were conscious of a ma.s.s of whiteness moving around them. It momentarily startled them.

"What the h.e.l.l! ..." the milkman's helper said.

"Listen to that music," Sister Sally said. "The devil's music."

"Are you people in a play or something?" the bread man asked Lester.

Lester looked like a small snowstorm in his white robes. "Why are you here?" he demanded of the route men.

'We're here to deliver the Liberty Bell, you patty-cake," the breadman said. "What the h.e.l.l do you think we're here for?"

"Yeah," the milkman's helper said. "So buzz off, Snow White."

Lester listened to the music coming from the milk truck. He frowned at the lyrics ... those that he could understand, that is. "Satan's music. Obscene. Destroy the radio," he ordered. "Now, you wait just a minute!" the man who owned the truck said.

He was too late. The music stopped abruptly under the head of a hammer.

"Hey!" the helper called, running to the cab of the truck. He tried to pull the white-robed flock member from the cab. The man kicked the young helper in the face. Blood popped out of busted lips.

Sister Estelle let out a whoop.

"Get out of my truck!" the breadman hollered at her.

"Filth!" Sister Estelle squalled. "Nasty movies here, Brother Lester!"

Lester walked to the truck and looked at the box of skin flicks. "Purveyor of filth!" he said, looking at the bread man. "That's why you were so concerned about the store being closed, wasn't it?"

"Huh?" the breadman said.

"How many other stores do you service with this fleshy filth?" Brother Luther questioned.

Breadman looked at milkman. "I'm leavin', man. You with me?"

"Let's go."

"Grab them!" Brother Lester yelled. "Take them to the field."

The three men were seized, their hands tied behind their backs.

"Destroy the store," Brother Lester ordered. He remembered Sam's warning. "Not with fire. With axes-and the trucks, too."

While the store and the trucks were being beaten, broken, hacked, and axed, the three men were led off.

"I think," the milkman's helper said, "that we are a in deep trouble."

"Shut up!" Sister Helen told him. "We're doin' the Lord's work this day."

"Not no Lord that I ever heard of," the milkman said accurately.

With the sounds of axes and hammers and tire irons ringing off of metal and wood and shattered gla.s.s, the breadman asked, "What are you people going to do with us?"

'You will confess your sins before a court of True Christians," Brother Lester told him. "And then your flesh will sear with the fires you love."

"These people are nuts!" the milkman's helper summed up.

19.