"What is the Mark of the Beast, Sam?"

"I don't know, Wade," he said, then hesitated for a moment. Then Sam bared his thoughts and all his suspicions to his friend, taking it from the beginning. He told him everything.

When he came to the part about Mich.e.l.le bending down to kiss him, and the stink of her breath and her reaction to the Holy Cross, Sam almost lost control. He paused for a short time, getting his emotions under control.

Wade didn't know what to believe or how to react. Coming from another man, the editor would have openly laughed. But this was Sam, one of the most level-headed men he'd ever known. He ran a shaky hand across his face. "Good G.o.d, Sam!"

"Yes," the minister said, his voice firming. "I think G.o.d is about all we have to count on in Whitfield."

"We'll call the authorities," Wade reached for the phone."No, we won't!" Sam said. "It's too late for that."Puzzled eyes lifted to touch the minister's hard gaze. Wade pulled his hand from the phone. "What do you mean, Sam-too late?"

"I-I believe there is just a handful of Christians left in Whitfield, in this part of Fork, and we're growing smaller in number with each pa.s.sing hour. I think right now, Wade, we'd better go see Father Dubois. Perhaps he can shed some light on what's happening around here."

Wade's usual demeanor had returned; the reporter's att.i.tude on nearly everthing: cynical, doubting. "Sam? You really believe all you've told me, don't you? All this body s.n.a.t.c.hing that's been going on-where are they? Do they prowl the streets at night? Come on, Sam, you're a grown man who is under a terrible strain at home. Now all things can be explained. Surely you don't believe-?"

"I don't know what I believe, Wade. And that's the truth. I need some answers; you need some answers. So let's go find them."

Wade stood up, his ears doubting what he'd heard but willing to go along with his minister-for a time. "Next thing you'll be telling me is that Frankenstein is lurking outside Whitfield."

"Frankenstein is not mentioned in the Bible, Wade. The devil is."

TEN

Father Dubois opened the rear door of the rectory. He did not seem surprised to see either Sam or Wade. The old priest smiled. "Come in, gentlemen." He looked at Sam. "I've been expecting you."The preacher and the editor followed the priest into his small living quarters. Lucas Monroe of the Methodist Church and Father Glen Haskell of the Episcopal Church sat on the couch. They smiled their greetings.

Sam said, "Is this it? The sum total of Whitfield's faith? Us?"

Father Haskell smiled knowingly. "You're here, Sam, so you must have put it all together. You know the answer to your question."

Sam remembered seeing several ministers in that parade of cars the night before. "I know about Jack Anglin and Bert Justis. But the others?"Lucas slowly nodded his head. "Yes, so do we. Roger Owens and Leon Carson have also joined-Them.""Them?" Wade sat down without being asked. "You people seem as calm and as certain about this as-death!" He lost his temper. "What is going on!? You people act as though you've known about this . . . this . . . whatever the h.e.l.l it is all along.""Calm yourself," Dubois urged him gently. "Now is the time for unity, not panic. As to your question, yes-I believe we all sensed something at about the same time. Except for me, of course-I've known it was here for a long while. What I didn't know was when it would surface."

Wade fumbled in his shirt pocket for a cigarette, lighting it with fingers that trembled despite himself. "This is all a bad dream. Pretty soon I'm going to wake up and return to reality."Dubois smiled. "Not likely, son. This is reality. I a.s.sure you of that."

"May I use your phone?" Sam asked.

"Certainly."

He decided not to call Chester-not yet. He didn't want to let the women in on all of this, not for a while. And if they were being watched-as Sam suspected they were-he didn't want to alarm the watchers. He dialed Miles' number at the store.

"Miles? I think you better come on over to the rectory. I want you to sit in on this. Five minutes. See you then."

"I'll make more coffee," Dubois said.

"A Jew in a Catholic rectory," Miles said, taking the cup of coffee offered him by Dubois. Miles smiled. "My father always said I had a strange sense of humor."

"Sit down, Miles," Dubois said, returning the smile. "I really don't wear a tail and horns. '

"Who does?" the Jew countered.

"Ah," Dubois said. "But for a time, just before the Christian era, do you doubt Jews took Satan seriously?"

"Never too deeply rooted," Miles sat down, sipping his coffee, smiling.

"What are you two talking about?" Wade asked, irritation in his tone.

He was ignored.

"Do you really believe the Book of Job is fiction?" Dubois asked.

Miles shrugged. "I've drifted away from my faith, Michael," he said, calling the priest by his first name. "So I suppose I'm open to real proof."

"But you're here."

"Yes. I can't deny that, can I?"

"But you won't admit Satan is real?"

Miles smiled. "Whatever is happening here in Whitfield may or may not be real. Why doesn't each of us deal with . . . it in our own way and leave religious dogma for some other time?"

Only Wade did not join in the laughter. Sam said, "That's a nice, safe answer, Miles."

"That's all you're going to get out of me. So be happy with that much."

"Jokes!" Wade muttered. "They're making jokes."

Miles glanced around the small room. "I take it save for Chester, Faye and Jane Ann, this is it?"

"And Peter Canford, yes," Sam said. "This is it."

"And the old people, Haskell reminded them all.

"They are gone and don't know it," Dubois said, and all eyes swung toward him. "The strong must survive. That's a very un-Christian thing to say, and I'll pay for it, but it's the truth."

Miles shifted his feet restlessly. He glanced at Wade. "I take it Sam convinced you where I could not?"

"I didn't say I was convinced," the newspaperman stubbornly held on, "but I'm here."

"But the old people?" Sam said. "They-"

"Drop the subject, son," Lucas spoke gently. "Flagellation won't solve a thing. You'll see what we mean, I promise you."

"Poppyc.o.c.k and balderdash and twaddle," Wade said, folding his arms across his chest.

"Doubting Thomas," Sam said.

"I can't relate to that," Miles smiled, his always good humor breaking through."I think," Wade said, "you're all overreacting. And I include myself in that.""You're very wrong, old friend," Miles said, his grin fading. "And you'll never know what that statement does to me.""I was shocked at what Sam told me a few minutes ago," the editor admitted. "In my office. But I've had time to think on it. I'm sorry, Sam, but-are you sure Mich.e.l.le did those things? Or did you put too much into an innocent gesture?"Father Dubois held up a hand, stilling Wade. "We don't have much time. And we certainly don't have time for bickering among ourselves. Let's tell our stories-compare notes, if you will. Then I'll tell you all the real story." He glanced at Sam. "If you'll begin, Sam."For the second time that day, Sam told his story, leaving nothing out. When he finished, he felt drained. All the men-including Wade-sat quietly.Sam glanced at Dubois. The old priest sat quietly, his hands clasped in his lap, a smile on his lips. A sad, knowing smile. His eyes were dark with secrets.He knows, Sam realized. He knows more than all of us.Sam shifted his gaze to the Methodist. Lucas wore a worried look, and Sam knew it had nothing to do with his losing battle with cancer. The Episcopal priest sat very still, holding an empty coffee cup in his hands. Miles slowly shook his head, his lips forming a silent aahhh. Wade shifted his feet on the carpet, not convinced.Lucas said, "I know perfectly well what is happening in this town. I know the evil that surrounds us all. I know it personally, and it frightens me.""I told you twenty years ago, Lucas," Dubois said. "I warned you then you couldn't outrun your past. Neither can I.""Yes," the Methodist whispered. "I know. But it's too late for me-I'm dying. But not for you.""I've got to meet him again," Dubois said."What are you two talking about?" Wade asked, exasperation in his voice, his actions, as he waved his hands in the air. "Who is it you've got to meet?" He smiled. "Or is it whom? I never can get that straight."But no one laughed."The antisemitism has begun," Miles spoke. "In earnest.""In what way?" Sam asked."The phone calls began about two months ago, becoming more vicious as time pa.s.sed. Now they're really bad. Doris is frightened half out of her wits. The calls-callers-have become extremely abusive.""Is that why you abruptly sent your kids to Colorado?" Sam asked."One of the reasons," Miles said gently."Will somebody please get back to my question?" Wade said. "Who is it you people have to meet? And why?"The expression on Father Dubois's face was a mixture of amus.e.m.e.nt, fear, and sadness. "The devil," he said."THE DEVIL!" Wade jumped to his feet. "Oh, come on, gentlemen, now look here. I'll admit there is something going on in this town; I conceded that much to Miles and Sam. But the devil? No! I absolutely refuse to believe any-""SIT DOWN!" Dubois shouted. It was the first time Sam had ever heard the priest raise his voice. "Listen to me, Wade. Listen to me very carefully."I'm seventy years old, son. I've been a priest for a long, long time. This has been my parish for more than thirty-five years. I remember you as a little boy. Son, I've written volumes on the happenings in Fork County. I have your father's journals as well.""My father's writings! I want them! I've searched everywhere-""Hush," Dubois commanded gently. "Listen to me. Your father knew-sensed-something evil about this area. But he spoke not a word of it-to anyone. Except, finally, to me. We talked at length until he was certain I knew what I was talking about, and he could trust me, and I him. I warned him not to go too far, to be careful in his prying. But," the old priest shrugged, "he was a good newspaper man. I wish I could have known him longer." He smiled. "Your father did not take kindly to my warnings. Oh, he believed me-your father was a good Christian man. Also a very brave man. His bravery got him killed that day.""You know who killed my father?""Of course, I know who killed him.""Well, who?""The devil," Dubois replied calmly, with no more emotion than if he were discussing the price of eggs.Miles suddenly looked very uncomfortable.Lucas and Father Haskell nodded in agreement.Sam sat stunned.Wade was unhappy, unconvinced, irritable, and becoming even more skeptical of Dubois. "I want my dad's journals," he said.Dubois rose, left the room, and returned with several thick ledgers. Wade took them, holding them almost reverently. He stared at the priest. "You know-you're convinced the devil-is out there?" he waved his arm."Yes, son.""You've known this for-umpteen years?""Yes, I have. So did your father, as you will see when you read those journals.""Well, why didn't you do something about it? Why didn't you do something about it-before now, I mean! If you're so convinced the devil is lurking about Whitfield-do something!"Dubois smiled. "What would you have me do, son?""Well-I-you-oh, c.r.a.p!" Wade said, sitting down. "This is all just too fantastic for words.""A grown man is pouting," Miles smiled."Miles," Wade looked at his friend, "if this . .. whatever it is is as serious as you obviously believe it is, why are you making jokes about it?""Because I don't know what else to do," he admitted, unhappily. "I told you the last time we spoke-I'm frightened. I don't know what to believe, except that something awful is happening here, and something even worse is about to happen. If you think you're in a bind, think about the situation I'm in! To a Jew, Satan is considered not much more than a figure of speech. No play on words, friend, but this puts me in a h.e.l.l of a spot." He grinned."Well, I'm a reporter," Wade clung stubbornly to his profession. "I deal in facts, not superst.i.tion.""Then I'll give you some more grist for your mill," Dubois said. "Loup-garou," he spoke the words softly.

"What?" Haskell's head jerked up. "What was that?"

"French for werewolf," Sam said. "Fellow in my outfit was from South Louisiana-bayou country. He told me many of the old people still believe quite strongly in them.""With good reason," Dubois said. "There are several places in the deep bayou country where Beasts have been sighted over the past couple of centuries. As civilization closes in on them, they will be seen more and more in the years to come.""WEREWOLVES!" Wade blurted. "Oh, come on, people. Now, really!"Sam ignored him, speaking to Dubois. "Yeti? Sasquash?""Quite possibly, as well as the Skunk Ape. I'm sure they are descendants of the Beasts, possibly more advanced mentally.""WEREWOLVES?" Wade appeared stuck on the word."I've heard them," Dubois said. "Not often, but I've heard them. Howling, snapping, snarling-the stink of them. And I'm not alone. Your father heard them, too, Wade. They killed him, or caused him to kill himself, as the case may be. You're too young to remember the events of that night and following day, but I do, very well. The blood of the Beasts is very infectious. Those people were transformed in a matter of minutes, from human to animal, and worse. No, Wade, they re not werewolves in the cla.s.sic book or movie sense, but I'm sure that's where the original idea sprang. They are the devil's servants. Believe it.""Werewolves," Wade nodded his head. "Sure! Well, that's just wonderful! Great! First we have the devil, now we have werewolves lurking about. Where are the witches and the warlocks. Surely this scenario can't be complete without them.""They are all present, Wade," Lucas said. "Believe it.""But you're all men of G.o.d!" Wade cried out as if in pure anguish. "How can any of you believe this-c.r.a.p?""Because I've seen him," Dubois said. "I've seen him, and I have beaten him-once."Doubt in the editor's eyes. "Then beat him again," he said sarcastically.Dubois ignored the cynicism. "I can't.""Why?" Wade challenged him.The priest sighed. "Because I'm too old. I'm tired. I beat him almost forty-five years ago, in Montreal. I was a young man. But I was sick for weeks afterward. Drained-very close to death." He shuddered in mental recall. "I shall never forget the smell of him. Afterward, I was too weak to even feed myself. The Sisters took care of me. I was months recovering. The Devil knows I'm too old, now. It's a game to him. He knows I'm here, though. He's known all along. Ask Lucas, he'll tell you the same thing.""How did you beat him?" Wade asked."I drove him out.""Exorcism?""Yes.""I don't believe in that!"Dubois smiled his sad, patient smile. "Do you believe in the supernatural, Wade? In any form of it?""I believe there are things man cannot satisfactorily explain.""Join the club," Miles muttered under his breath. Only Sam heard him, and he smiled."Nice, safe answer," Dubois said. "I can but a.s.sume you believe in G.o.d?""Of course, I believe in G.o.d!""Well, then, if you believe in G.o.d, then you must believe in the devil."Miles sighed, a pained look on his face."I never said I didn't believe in the devil, Father Dubois. I just don't believe the devil is responsible for all that is happening in Whitfield.""Then who, or what, is?""I don't know. But none of you has convinced me the devil is behind it, or that he's here. If he's here, gentlemen-and no offense to any of you-I want to see him.""Son, I pray G.o.d you never get your wish," Dubois said."Wade," Sam said, "where, then, were all those people going last night? Hundreds of them?"The editor shook his head, refusing to answer.Sam turned to Lucas Monroe. "A moment ago, Lucas, Father Dubois said to ask you about something. What did he mean?"The Methodist sighed, a faint smile on his lips. He glanced at Dubois. "There is never any escaping it, is there, Michael?""I told you, Lucas. Years ago.""Yes. Well, so you did. Sam, many years ago I had a church in-well, never mind where. That would serve no useful purpose, not now. A young girl became, well-possessed. I was not convinced of her possession. It didn't take me long to become convinced, though. There is no need to go into great detail. You will all, I'm afraid, soon learn the power of that . . . creature! I sat with the girl, working with her, praying, for a long time-days. I exorcised the . . . thing from her.""A MethodistP" MethodistP" Wade blurted. Wade blurted."Shut up, Wade! Sam warned him.The editor shut his mouth."I emerged from the ordeal," Lucas spoke softly, "looking like a man three times my age. My hair was snow-white; the color it is now. At the time, I was twenty-eight years old."Things began happening to me-and my family. Both my children were killed in separate, horrible accidents. My wife became suddenly, and to the medical profession, mysteriously ill. She lingered in great agony for months, and then died-horribly. Many unexplained things happened. Finally, I suffered a mental breakdown, knowing that everything that had happened to my family was my fault. After I was released from the sanitarium, I asked for a church far away from that city. I've been here ever since, living quietly."Lucas smiled gently. "It's really quite a joke, isn't it, Michael? To get away from . . . him, I came to one of his strongholds. I felt his presence as soon as I arrived, but it was a feeble signal. A few months ago, it became quite intense. Then it began building, getting stronger and stronger. I knew-sensed-he would soon surface. Of course, Father Dubois and I knew of each other; there is a small circle of men who have done what we performed. Word gets around. I spoke with Michael about my feelings of alarm. He said he, too, felt it. He knew the devil was closing in, gathering his forces of evil, building another Coven. We discussed talking with you people, but we didn't know who to trust. We did agree that if you-I'm talking about you, Sam-did not come to us today, we were going to take a chance and call you. To form a battle plan, so to speak. For those of us who are left.""If it isn't too late," Dubois added."What do you mean?" Wade asked, unbelieving but still fascinated by the talk from the men of G.o.d. "Too late?""He's called out the Beasts," Father Haskell spoke. He sat holding a cross in his hands, fingering the silver crucifix, thinking of his wife, dead five years, and wondering if he would soon join her-and in what way?"The Beasts? Don't tell me you believe in all this mumbo jumbo, too, Glen?" Wade looked at the Episcopalian. "Next you'll be telling me you performed one of these exorcisms.""It isn't mumbo jumbo, Wade. It's very real, and it's happening to our town. And, yes, I a.s.sisted in an exorcism shortly after I got out of school. It was not very pleasant."Father Dubois said, "He's found the tablet that was hidden here by the trapper Duhon, and his agent is drawing power from it.""I know the name," Wade said. "I discussed Duhon with Sam not an hour ago. But what tablet?""He walks among you," Sam said. The mark of the Beast is plain. Believe in him. Once touched, forever his. The kiss of life and death. The mark of the Beast is plain. Believe in him. Once touched, forever his. The kiss of life and death.Dubois and Haskell crossed themselves as sudden remembrance came lurching into Sam's mind. "Now I know what happened to Tim.""Tim?" Dubois asked."Tim Bennett. A young archaeologist who came to see me back in early spring. He disappeared soon after that.""What happened to him?" Miles asked."I remember thinking how strange it was that Mich.e.l.le walked him to his car that day. I believe she kissed him. I'm sure of it.""She marked him," Haskell said. "Unless he joined them-or became a Beast, he's dead."Wade stood up. "I think you people are all crazy/"He was ignored. Feeling like a fool standing in the center of the room with no one paying any attention to him, he sat down.Dubois said, "Duhon came here from a small village in France that had just thrown out the devil's agent, a man who had come there as a Forgeron.""A what?" Miles looked up."A blacksmith.""Black Wilder," Sam said."Yes, I believe that is true," Dubois agreed. "Duhon had the tablet with him. He'd been commissioned by his government to get the tablet far away from France-off the continent. He, along with Father Dubois, a distant relative of mine, brought the tablet to America. To what would eventually become Whitfield; to an area the Beasts occupied."Father Haskell held up a hand for silence, putting a finger to his lips."What's wrong, Glen?" Miles whispered."We are not alone," the Episcopal priest said.Sam walked to a window, glancing outside. A young man stood by the side of the rectory, just a few feet away. Sam felt Dubois by his side."Sonny Moore," he said. "He left the church several months ago-quite profanely.""There's someone in the back," Wade said. He stood in the small kitchen, looking out the window. "John Petterson. He was listening to us talk, listening through this open window." He jerked open the door. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing out here?""Just takin' a shortcut, Thomas," the young man said, open challenge in his eyes, his speech. "No law against that-it's a free country, ain't it?"But the challenge vanished when the bulk of Sam stepped into the door. The ex-warrior, ex-boxer turned preacher with the tattoo on his arm kept the conversation short. "Haul your ashes, boy!" he told him.Petterson hauled his ashes.Sam pulled Wade back into the kitchen. "Paul Smiley was standing by the west side of the house," he told him. "We had men all around the rectory, watching and listening.""Sam?" Wade asked. "What would you have done if Petterson had stood up to you?""Knocked him on his b.u.t.t," the preacher said."The ranks are narrowing," Haskell said, pointing to a tree in the front yard. "Look."Someone had written 666 on the trunk of the tree, using white paint. Just below the numbers they had traced an upside-down cross."We don't have much time," Dubois said. "We've got to rally those we know we can trust.""I know something I I can do," Lucas muttered. can do," Lucas muttered."Good Lord!" Wade blurted, staring at the men. Miles sat on the couch, eyes numb with shock and disbelief and confusion. "You're all behaving as though we can't do anything. I mean-" he let the words trail off into silence. "Miles?"The Jew shook his head. "Don't ask me what we can do, Wade. I don't know."Dubois put his hand on the editor's shoulder. "What can we do, son? Go to the authorities? And tell them what? That the devil is working Black Magic in Whitfield? That almost the entire town is possessed? Think about that. I can just see us now, being quietly but firmly escorted to the state mental hospital. And if we prove the notice did not run in your paper-so what? That will just delay things for a time. Besides, son, I have my doubts that any of us would be allowed to leave Whitfield." He looked at Sam. "Have you attempted to call outside the town today?""No, I haven't.""We're back to 'number, please,' again. They say the dial is not working. Won't be for some time."Our calls are being monitored, then?" Miles asked."I would think so, son," Dubois replied. He turned back to Wade. "Son, the devil is no stranger to patience; all he has to do is pull back for a time. A year, ten years, a hundred years. Time means nothing to him. A hundred years is the blinking of an eye.""Then-what do we do?""Nothing, for a time. Keep quiet. We don't know who we can trust. Whitfield is a giant Coven.""There are some we can trust?" Sam asked, a hopeful note in his voice."Yes," Dubois said. "A few. A pitifully few. I believe Satan has tried to touch them, and they refused him. They know him, they've met him, and they have rejected him. They don't know they have-but they have.""And they are-?" Wade asked."You and your wife. Jane Ann Burke. Peter Canford. Chester and Faye. Miles and Doris. Glen," he indicated the Episcopal priest, "Lucas, Sam, Tony, Jimmy Perkins, I'm sure, and me.""Fourteen people," Sam said, shaking his head. "Of the more than twenty-five hundred people of Whitfield, more than two thousand were active in their church. Our survey proved that.""Most people are weak, Sam-you know that. They're followers, not leaders. Those who do not take an active part in the worshipping of Satan will remain pa.s.sive, doing nothing. They will not really know what is going on around them-they will simply follow. The devil's hand has touched them, touched their hearts, their minds, blocking out all he does not wish them to see. They will go about their business, seeing nothing, until it is too late.""And-then?" Sam questioned.Dubois shrugged. "The Undead, probably.""THE UNDEAD!" Wade almost shouted the words."They are his already," Dubois said. "They just don't realize it. They will do what the devil bids them to do."Miles sighed audibly, shaking his head."I wouldn't ask you to go against your religion, Miles," Dubois said. "I wouldn't-believe me. Call whatever is happening in this town by any name you choose. But keep your strong faith in G.o.d; that is what's protecting you and your wife."Miles slowly nodded. "Thank you.""Satan has us in a nice little box," Sam said. "Doesn't he?""Yes," Dubois smiled. "Yes, he does. But he can't nail the lid on the box as long as we're alive. He planned this very carefully, around us.""The Undead?" Wade was stuck on the word. "You mean like in the movies?""Only this is reality," Lucas said.Wade sat down beside Miles. He touched the smaller man on the knee. "Are you convinced, Miles?""I feel like a yoyo," he forced a smile. "Up and down. Back and forth. I'm confused, Wade. And I'm scared. I'm really scared."Sam looked first at Dubois, then at Lucas. "I sensed a fatalistic tone in your voices a few moments ago. You two acted as though you know what's in store for you both.""Very observant young man, Sam," the old priest smiled. A sad smile as he shook his gray head. "Sam, we're not afraid to die. Both of us are old men; we've both fought him, and in a sense, we've won. Oh, he knows we don't have the strength to fight him again. But he'll get no real pleasure out of killing us. We've given our lives to G.o.d. We're ready to go home."Sam looked at Lucas. The Methodist nodded. "There is very little either of us can do, Sam. It's up to you young ones. You've got the strength to fight-and to beat him! Oh, you won't kill him. Don't ever delude yourselves on that. G.o.d is the only one who can kill him. But you can beat him here in Whitfield." He removed a cross from around his neck, handing it to Wade. "Put it on, son. Don't ever take it off."Wade slipped the chain over his head, the cross gleaming dully on his chest. "Committed to the cause, I guess," he quipped."A most reluctant warrior," Miles grinned, his good humor never far from the surface.Father Dubois removed his cross. With hands that trembled, from age and emotion, not from fear, he placed it around Sam's neck. "My cardinal gave this to me forty years ago. It alone won't protect you, but if you watch the reaction of those around you, it can tell you something. You're the one, Sam. You're the one who has to rally your forces and beat him.""Why me, Michael?""Because you've been chosen, Sam. Don't ask me how I know, I just know."Sam removed his own cross, handing it to Miles, startling the Jew. Miles looked at it, a strange glint in his eyes. He shrugged philosophically, then slipped it around his neck. "Well, we Jews believe in luck, so Mazol tov.""What's that mean?" Wade asked."Literally, it means Lucky Star, and I think we need all the luck we can get.""What do we do now?" Sam looked at Dubois."Watch your backs," the priest replied, holding out his hands. "Let's join hands, gentlemen, and pray."

ELEVEN.

Outside the rectory, Miles stood with Sam and Wade. "I'm not fully convinced, Sam," the newspaper man said, "but I'm leaning in your direction. However, I have a suggestion for you-for all of us.""I am open.""We can gather up our families and run like h.e.l.l! Get out of this town.""I don't believe that would do any good," Miles said, surprising both Wade and Sam. "I agree with Father Dubois, I don't believe they would let us leave. There is this, too: even if we did get away, we'd just be running away from the problem, not solving it." He cut his eyes from man to man. "Without being obvious about it, look across the street."The men stole quick, furtive glances about them. They were being watched from all sides. Sonny Moore, Paul Smiley, and a man none of them knew stood about them, watching them.Petterson was still hauling his ashes.Wade swallowed heavily. "It could be pure coincidence." But there was little conviction in his voice."Want to take a ride just to see if we can leave?" Miles suggested."No!" Sam said. "That's not for me. No one-man, Beast, or Satan is going to run me out of this county."Wade looked hard at his minister. "Sam, that sounds like pure bravado to me.""No," the minister replied. "No, it's a fight, that's all. I realized that while talking with Lucas and Michael."Wade shook his head. "I don't understand, Sam." He shrugged. "But there are lots of things I don't understand.""You two go on about your business," Sam told his friends. "Both of you act as normally as possible. I've got some things to do.""We'll see you later on this afternoon?" Miles asked."Maybe." And he left them with that."You want to buy a WHAT?" Chester asked, astonished at the request from his minister."That Thompson submachine gun you told me about last year," Sam repeated his request."That's what I thought you said. It's illegal, Sam. You could go to prison for just having it. So could I.""Sure. You could also go to prison for having that Greasegun you keep at your house. Is that .45 caliber spitter a souvenir from World War Two?"Chester smiled. "What's going on, Sam? Come on-level with me.""Got any coffee?""Always. In the back. Let me lock the front door. I may as well have stayed home today; you're the first customer to walk in.""You're being watched, Ches. You know that?""Across the street? Oh, that's just Emery Robinson. He's loafing, that's all. You know him-he's been one of this town's ne'er-do-wells for years.""No, Ches," Sam corrected. "He's one of Them."Chester turned slowly from his closing and locking of the front door. "One of-Them, Sam?""Let's get that coffee, Ches. I've got a lot to tell you."It was early afternoon when Sam finished talking with his friend. He had laid it all out in the open for Chester, then given the man two crosses; one for himself, one for his wife. Before coming to the store, Sam had stopped off at the church, picking up the crosses, blessing them, praying to G.o.d for protection and sanction. He had several more in his pocket, for Jane Ann and the others."G.o.d in Heaven!" was all Chester could manage to say."Have you seen your children?""No. And I don't wish to see them!"Sam almost began a lecture on forgiveness, then held his tongue, remembering his own thoughts about Mich.e.l.le. It's too late for that, he concluded, not without some bitterness.Walking back into the showroom, with all the fishing tackle, guns, knives, and camping equipment, Sam said, "I think it's important for all of us to act as normally as possible. They know we're on to them, but what they don't know is how much."The ex-marine was recovering quickly from his initial shock, and his mind was working now on defense. "No use to run?" he looked at his minister. "Is that what you're saying?""That's it-for a number of reasons. Ches, try to speak to Peter sometime today; tell him what I've told you. I'll talk to Jimmy."The older man sighed, shuddered, and resigned himself to what Sam had said. He nodded his agreement."After I finish here, Ches, I want you to stock up on a few supplies. Do it quietly; a little today, a few more tomorrow, finish up Monday.""Preacher, I was a marine in the Pacific-I went the whole route. You sound as though you want to prepare for a field operation?""That's exactly what I want. You have a lot of surplus C-ration here?""Cases of it.""I'll take several cases. Divide the rest between the others. I want blankets, sleeping bags, a couple of pup tents. Wrap that Thompson in one of the blankets. We'll split the .45 caliber ammo. How many rounds do you have?""Enough to refight the battle of Saipan. Sam, you tell me to be careful, yet you're wide open in what you're doing.""I want them to see me, friend. I want them to know I know.""I don't understand.""I don't expect you to, Ches. But I believe he-through Wilder-has tossed the glove down to me. I don't know why: probably never will, but he has. Dubois believes it, too. It's a game to him. But it's life and death for us.""Then-They'll be after you?""Not yet. It isn't time.""And how do you know that?""I feel it. I think I knew all along-now I'm certain of it. How many clips do you have for that Thompson?""Five. And two sixty round drums.""Good. I want them all.""I can only a.s.sume you've handled a Thompson before?" Chester's tone was dry as he discovered yet another side to his suddenly warlike minister."I carried one in Korea.""As a guerrilla fighter?""Yes."The combat vet knew there was nothing else left to ask. The two men suddenly knew each other very well.While Chester began pulling articles from the shelves, Sam walked through the store, selecting other items, stacking them on the counter, aware he was being watched from the sidewalk. Rope, boots, a hunting knife, a small axe, ammo pouches, canteens, tarps, web belts."Be sure to pick out enough clothing for all of us," Sam reminded his friend. He named those he felt he could trust. "You know their sizes?""I know," Chester replied quietly. "Sonny Moore is watching you.""Let him crane his red neck. When I get tired of it, I'll chop it off."The man is pure warrior, Chester thought. "What about Mich.e.l.le? Is there no chance for her?""Let the devil have her!" Sam felt no remorse in saying it. "She's one of Them. I told you how she tried to mark me last night."Chester shuddered. "How do we determine who we can trust?""I believe I've named them all. There might be one or two more, but don't count on it.""Fourteen people, Sam? Fourteen!""Fifteen, Chester."The store owner silently added them. "Who is the fifteenth, Sam?"The minister looked at him over the growing mound of supplies. "G.o.d."Sam was aware of being watched as he loaded his supplies in the back of his truck. On his last trip, Sam smiled at Chester. "Put this on my account, Ches. We'll settle up when-it's all over.""It's on the house, Sam. Be careful. Sam? I pray you're wrong about this.""Do you think I'm wrong?""No," Chester said softly. "No, I don't. I'll get my gear together."Sam waved goodbye.Mich.e.l.le was up, sitting in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in front of her. She had bathed, washed her hair, perfumed herself. She smiled at him, but Sam knew the lip greeting was forced. If she was one of Them-and Sam had no doubts about it-living with a minister, a man of G.o.d, in a home filled with religious articles, that must be awful for a person who worships Satan.For the first time since Korea, Sam knew the blood-boiling, mind-eating sensation of wanting to kill.But not a human being, he thought. She is not a human being. Not any longer. None of Them. She is a non-person, more animal than human. Rabid in thought and act. She has no soul. She has given that to Satan.But he that shall blaspheme against the Holy Ghost hath never forgiveness, but is in danger of eternal d.a.m.nation.But G.o.d was even more specific than His Son: Thou shalt have no other G.o.ds before me. Thou shalt have no other G.o.ds before me.And that, Sam thought, is that!He returned his wife's smile. Both of them living out an act. But for how long? Mich.e.l.le's eyes were cool on him. Sam felt unclean-soiled under her gaze."I've been thinking, Sam. Perhaps we should try to work out our differences?"Here it comes, Sam thought, bracing himself inwardly. Don't let her touch you, don't let her tempt you, don't let her kiss you. You've been a long time without a woman, Sam, and she is beautiful, and don't forget: she will have Satan working with her. Be careful.Help me, Lord, he prayed."Yes, Mich.e.l.le, I've been thinking about that, too." That, and other things."What-uh-do you think we should do?""Since I don't know the problem, I don't believe I can answer your question."Her eyes narrowed in hate. She rose from the table. "Are vou hungry?""Not really.""Is something the matter, Sam?"He smiled at her, but it was more a grimace. He watched her eyes drift to the cross hanging about his neck, outside his shirt. Black rage filled her dark eyes, the power of the hate almost filling the kitchen."Is that a new cross, Sam? I don't believe I've seen it before. It's-much more ornate than your old one.""Father Dubois gave it to me."The muscles in her jaw bunched quickly, then relaxed. That was the only sign of alarm or tension.You're quite an actress, Mich.e.l.le, he thought.She lifted her dark, brooding eyes to his. Her eyes were evil. "When did you see him?""This morning."The words of Black Wilder came to her. He had told her she had to try to convert her husband- mark him as one of Them. Failing that, Sam would have to die, but it would be difficult to kill him.She had questioned the devil's agent about that. With great patience, reminding her she was a longtime worshipper of the Master, and she should know these things, he explained that Sam had been chosen-by Him, and He would take great umbrage at one of His people being killed-at least this early in the game. There are rules, you must remember.You must try to mark him, he told her.But Mich.e.l.le knew, speaking with Sam this afternoon, that he would never fall prey to her. He was too strong, too much a believer in his G.o.d.And, though she did not like to admit it, she was afraid of Sam."That's interesting, Sam. What did you two discuss?""Church business, mostly." Not really a lie. "It was a most interesting chat, I a.s.sure you.""How nice for you both. Well, if you're not hungry, I think perhaps I'll get ready to go."Carry your b.u.t.t, he thought bitterly. When, in the past six months, have you cared whether I was hungry or not. "Go?""Mrs. Carrison is in the hospital," she said, her eyes meeting his in the never-wavering gaze of the practiced liar. "In Rock Point. I'm riding over with Susan to visit her. Take her a plant for her room.""How very considerate of you. Please give her my best." He hoped the sarcasm he felt had not slipped into his words. Then he decided he didn't care whether it had or not. "I didn't know she was ill." He decided to needle her a bit. "Do you want me to ride over with you, dear?" he smiled after his words.Her eyes shot venom at him, but her Hps pulled back in a forced smile. "I don't believe so, Sam. But it's nice of you to ask. We're going to spend the night at Rock Point-with Susan's sister. I told you about it, you must have forgotten, Sam. I know you have a great deal on your mind," her smile broadened, "with church attendance falling so drastically." She could slip the needle just as well as her husband.She should, she'd had hundreds of years of practice.Touche, Sam's smile was grim. But you're a liar. You never told me a word about it. How quickly the lies come. "Well, perhaps I'd better stay here. I do have a lot of work to do on Sunday's message."She picked up her overnight bag. Sam could smell its contents. "What is the topic for Sunday?""Devil worship," he lied, for he had no intention of speaking on that subject.Mich.e.l.le dropped her bag. "Darn! How clumsy of me." She bent to retrieve the bag and Sam felt an almost overwhelming urge to kick her in the behind. It was only with a great deal of effort, working hard at self-control that he did not plant his boot on her derriere.When she turned to leave, Sam felt relief wash over him. He hoped she would not try to kiss him. She was disgusting to him. Loathsome. If she attempted to touch him, to kiss him, Sam knew he might kill her.And the thought startled him.He looked at the woman he had once loved so deeply.She disgusted him!Devil worship. Black ma.s.ses. Coven.Sam's thoughts suddenly wandered to Jane Ann. Until recently, he had always been able to cope with her feelings toward him. And, he reluctantly admitted, his feelings for her. But now . . .?She wasn't the first to fall for a minister. That happens often, this transference of affection, as some call it. There are courses one must take in seminary-courses that supposedly teach a minister how to cope with such a situation. Lately, though, when in the company of Jane Ann, Sam had been unable to think of a single lecture.He forced Jane Ann from his mind as he looked away from his wife. He did not see the look of black hatred she gave him, or the spittle that oozed from one corner of her mouth. He did not see the snarl that pulled back her lips, or her curving fingers suddenly raised, hooked talons, ready to strike.When he glanced back at her, her hands went to her hair, patting it, the fingers no longer talons. She smiled at him. "You're very distant this afternoon, Sam."He held her gaze until her eyes slid away from his. "Sorry. I guess I have too many things on my mind."He wished she would leave-just get out! get out! Go, before he did something . . . Kill entered his mind. Strike out at her. He fought back an impulse to smash her face. Slowly, he unclenched his big fists. He did not remember balling them. Go, before he did something . . . Kill entered his mind. Strike out at her. He fought back an impulse to smash her face. Slowly, he unclenched his big fists. He did not remember balling them.She continued her smiling at him; invitation in her eyes. He could smell the scent of musk rising from her, filling his head. He fought back her enticement until her eyes changed, a peculiar glint shining from the dark pools. Sam recognized the look: Hate. It's been there for weeks, he thought. I just didn't see it, didn't know it.She walked around him, getting a sweater from the hall closet. "I'd better be on my way.""You're going to spend the night?""Oh, I'm sure.""What's the number at Susan's sister's house?""I believe her phone is out of order, dear." Her voice was strained. "You want me to call from a service station when we get there?""No, that won't be necessary, Mich.e.l.le. I'm sure everything will be just fine."The look in her eyes changed from hate to confusion as her gaze bore deeply into his eyes. As if she were attempting to read his mind, and failing.As they stood in the foyer, their eyes locking, some ugly misty force moved solidly between them. And Sam knew what it was: Evil. Another force touched them both: Good. Sam knew both Good and Evil very well, never considering himself to be especially pure-he had too much wildness in him as a youth and was still a very eai thy man. But he had always felt that G.o.d was with him, scolding him at times, but still there. He could never explain just how he knew.As the unseen forces moved around them, Sam wondered if Mich.e.l.le had ever really known G.o.d? Known His love, His compa.s.sion, His touch? If so, what had caused her to reject Him?Or had she rejected Him? Something very uneasy touched Sam's mind as he stared at this woman who was now a stranger to him. As, Sam suddenly realized, she had always been.As quickly as they had come, the forces vanished. Mich.e.l.le's eyes glowed with power. They changed to fear as her gaze moved to briefly touch the Holy Cross hung about Sam's neck. The medallion between the jutting mounds of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s seemed to glow with life-with hate. The man and woman did not touch. Mich.e.l.le's eyes calmed, and she turned, opening the door, stepping out on the porch. Just once more, their eyes locked."Have a good trip," Sam said. Personally, he thought, I hope I never see you again.Her smile seemed inordinately evil. Her eyes once more flashing at him. She turned her back to him, closing the door without speaking.Sam listened to her drive off. Hate, he thought. Her G.o.d says hate Christians.Sam leaned against the foyer wall, thinking. Just about six months ago; that's when it really started building. Just about the time the digging began. Everything has always pointed to the Dig, and I didn't have enough sense to see it. But our marriage has never been right. There has always been ... something wrong. I wonder, he mused, if she has always been-one of Them?He shuddered at the thought."Five years of marriage going right down the tube," he said aloud.Everything fell into place in Sam's mind. Mich.e.l.le had appeared at the army hospital one day. Just bang bang, and there she was. They had become good friends quickly. No parents, she told him. She was alone, just like Sam, and thrilled when he told her he was a minister and would be going into the active ministry.They were married less than three months after meeting.She knew! he thought. Somehow, she knew I was going to be picked to lead this fight. And she was chosen by her Master to stop me; to keep me occupied while They did their work around me.It has to be.But it's odd, he thought, I don't feel terribly depressed about a marriage going bad. About Mich.e.l.le. Maybe I never really loved her? Maybe I've always known, somehow, something of far greater importance would rise; have to be dealt with.But, he silently questioned, if I am indeed chosen, as Father Dubois seems to believe-why me?And he felt uneasy, unworthy with the knowledge that he had been chosen.Why did you pick me, Lord. Why me?In the bathroom, washing his face and hands, he glanced in the mirror. His eyes had become hard; how unfeeling they seemed. He thought: if what you suspect is true-and you know it is-you're going to have to be hard. You're going to have to be ruthless in dealing with-It.He dried his hands and face, still gazing at his reflection. There is more. Sam-say it! You're going to have to gather around you all your trusted friends-Christians-and-and destroy what is possessing this town and this part of Fork County.What's the matter, Sam? Can't you say the word? You were a minister in Korea, and it didn't bother you to kill, did it? How many people did you kill over there? Kill, Sam. There, that's the word. Kill. Destroy.That wasn't so difficult, was it?But, as Chester asked, who do I trust?Try the Lord G.o.d.Lord, my G.o.d, he prayed, his big hands on the washbasin, fingers gripping the porcelain- he prayed, his big hands on the washbasin, fingers gripping the porcelain-stand by my side. Give me the courage to do whatever must be done. Don't forsake me, Lord-You above all know I am but a mortal man, and / am not without sin. Lord, my faith is strong, but I need Your help. Guide me, Lord. Make me as strong as needs be to seek out and destroy Your enemies.Lord, where is the Brown girl? Was that her on that dark altar? If so, why did You show that picture to me? Why don't You intervene, Lord? I am but a mortal-You have no limitations. And the teenagers, Lord-Larry and Joan-where are they? Have they-?The ringing of the phone broke into his silent prayer. A frightened Wade Thomas on the line."Sam? I'm being watched. I think they're about to do something.""Where are you, Wade?""At the office." His voice was shaky."Miles?""Here. With me.""Stay put. I'll be right down."Sam drove the few blocks to the downtown square, parking in front of Peterson's Drug Store, next to the Crusader Crusader office. A group of men stood in front of Wade's newspaper office. They were in an ugly mood. Sam tucked the .45 behind his belt, pulled his shirttail over the b.u.t.t of the weapon, and got out of the truck, standing for a moment looking over the situation. office. A group of men stood in front of Wade's newspaper office. They were in an ugly mood. Sam tucked the .45 behind his belt, pulled his shirttail over the b.u.t.t of the weapon, and got out of the truck, standing for a moment looking over the situation.For the first time in years, Sam felt the old recklessness of his youth build in him. And the feeling was good to him. His smile was tight as he walked slowly across the sidewalk, heading straight for the knot of men blocking the door.The minister had had far more than his share of fights as a teenager and a young man-in and out of the ring. He'd been a bouncer in strip joints and clip joints; he'd worked in the oil fields as a roughneck, and he'd had many, many b.l.o.o.d.y, no-quarter barroom and back alley fights. But for all of that, Sam had never been labeled a troublemaker; never goading anyone into a fight. He just would not back down-and he could not remember ever losing a fight.You're a preacher, Sam, he reminded himself during his short walk from the truck to the knot of men. No longer a barroom brawler. Just remember, this is Addison's town, now, and he is one of Them.He stopped, facing the men."Well, here's goody-goody," one of the men said. "I figured you'd be to home, Balon, writin' some Sunday bulls.h.i.t!"Sam looked at the speaker. David Vanderwerf. For a moment, it seemed David was going to block Sam's way, but something in the preacher's eyes drove the young man back, causing him to step aside."You consider G.o.d's word bulls.h.i.t?" Sam asked.The young man laughed nastily. "Just jokin', preacher.""I didn't laugh," Sam said. He bulled his way through the men, physically shoving them aside. Startled, they made no effort to stop the minister.Just as he placed his hand on the door, Sam heard one say, "You're gonna git yours, preacher."Sam turned. "Which one of you wants to be the first to give it to me?" His eyes touched each man in the group. They cut their eyes from him, refusing to meet his steady gaze. A wildness swelled in Sam. He laughed at them. "All mouth and no guts," he heard himself say."You talk mighty big, preacher," a man said, his face flushed red from the knowledge there were five of them and only one of Sam, yet he had arrogantly, physically pushed them aside."Yes, I do," Sam said, a nasty grin on his lips. "And I'm big enough to back it up." He stepped toward the man, stopping a close foot from him, crowding him. "Tell you what, Moore." Sam knew the man, a local shade-tree mechanic; knew him for what he really was: a loud-mouthed bully who beat his wife, intimidated anyone he could, sneered at whatever he could not mentally comprehend-he sneered a lot-and in general was a detriment to any decent society. "Why don't we both forget I'm a minister. We'll step around back of this building. If you're as good with your fists as you say you are-which I doubt-you shouldn't have any trouble with me. What do you say about that?"Moore looked at Sam; looked very carefully at the bulk of him, then swallowed. "I ain't never whupped no preacher before," he managed to say."Don't worry about it, Moore-you're not going to 'whup' this one, either. It won't take me twenty seconds to kick your a.s.s!""BREAK IT UP!" Addison's sharp words stopped the argument before it could erupt into a real donnybrook. Sam was mildly disappointed. "You men go on about your business," he spoke to the five of them. They moved on, casting surly glances at Sam. Moore looked relieved.Addison stood between Sam and the Crusader Crusader door. His face was not friendly. "You're pushing your luck, Sam." door. His face was not friendly. "You're pushing your luck, Sam."Sam smiled. "Well, tell the boys I've got The Luck with me now.""What?""You should read Bret Harte, Walter. Find out about that' unknown sea. Oh, something else, Walter.""What's that, preacher?""You ought to take a bath. You stink!"Sam pushed past him and walked into the newspaper office. He felt fine."Sam! Have you lost your mind?" Wade confronted him in the hall. "There were five of them!"Sam calmly fished a Pall Mall out of Wade's pocket and lit it. He said, "I would have killed Moore and one other before the rest even knew what was happening. By that time, one of them would have been blinded, out of action. That would have left me only two to deal with. They would have been easy." The months of brutal training had returned swiftly to Sam. The dehumanizing, turning man into animallike killer, lethal with hands and feet. And the months of combat in Korea, behind the lines, killing silently.Wade's face expressed his shock. "Are you serious? Kill? Blind? This is my minister speaking?""There is a time for everything, Wade. You should study Ecclesiastes, chapter three, verses one through eight."A smile spread Miles's lips."I'll be in church tomorrow, Sam. Preach to me then.""I'll do my best." Sam led them into Wade's office, then told him what he had done at Chester's, advising them to do the same. He looked first at Wade. "Your pickup in good working order?""Just had it serviced."Sam glanced at Miles. "Sure, Sam. But I haven't fired a gun in years. I'm a fisherman, not a hunter.""When you go to Chester's, tell him that. He'll fix you up with a shotgun. Get several cases of sh.e.l.ls, both shot and slugs. Nothing like a slug-loaded shotgun to stop a man; doesn't leave any doubt.""Okay, Sam, whatever you say. But listen to me for a minute. Doris is sitting right on the ragged edge. I haven't told her very much, but I think it's time we did. We lost people in Europe, Sam, on both sides of the family-in the . .. camps. Close relatives. Doris is just now getting over that, and that's fourteen-fifteen years ago. I don't know how she's going to take this news.""You want me to talk to her?""Yes, please. If you will.""Tell you what, you go pick up Faye and Jane Ann. Take them over to your house, let them prepare Doris for what I have to say. Wade, you get Anita. I'll meet you at Miles's in an hour. We'll talk, then."Sam rose, stretching, the front of his shirt sliding up, exposing the b.u.t.t of the .45. Miles and Wade looked at the gun, at each other, then at Sam."Have you ever used that thing, Sam?" Wade asked."Yes. Many times. I carried it in Korea. You men go on, now, I've got to see Father Dubois. Something about Lucas worries me."Sam drove by Lucas's home. No one there. He was being followed, but the tail did not worry him. Let them watch all they wanted to. He tried the church study. Locked. He drove to the rectory."Where is Lucas, Michael?"The old priest invited Sam in, shaking his head. "Against my advice, Sam, he's gone to do battle."A chill touched Sam. "Not-out there?" he jerked his head in the direction of Tyson's Lake.Dubois nodded. "He said he had nothing to lose. He's almost a dead man, Sam.""What chance does he have? Out there, I mean?""None," the priest said flatly. "That's why They let him go." He looked hard at Sam, sensing something in the man. "Don't be a fool, Sam! I don't think They would try to stop you, but don't go after him. You're needed here.""I'll be careful, Michael. But I want to see them. I must satisfy my curiosity. You understand, don't you?""Yes," Dubois said softly. "Yes, I'm afraid I do.""You've seen the Beasts?""You'll smell them a long time before you see them." There was an edge to his voice."Can they be killed?""Oh, yes. Nothing so dramatic as a stake through the heart. They're part animal-part human; overall, most disgusting. They are, I believe-although my philosophy goes directly against church doctrine-a mistake."The ringing of the phone prevented Sam from asking what Dubois meant by "a mistake.""I must go," the priest said, hanging up the phone. "There's been a death.""Who?""Mrs. Norman. Neighbors found her in her backyard a few minutes ago. Heart attack, they believe.""I didn't know she had heart trouble.""She didn't. It's begun, Sam. He's beginning to make his move. Only just begun.""Father Dubois? Are you expecting a crowd at ma.s.s tomorrow?""Only the old, son. You'll see at your services. We've lost the others."He was gone before Sam could ask anything else.Only just begun."Tell me it's not true!" Doris Lansky confronted Sam before he could get in the front door. "You're all playing a joke on me."Sam led her to a chair. "Sit down, Doris. No, it's not a joke." He took her hands in his. "Brace yourself, you're not going to like what I have to say.A few moments later, Mrs. Lansky began to weep."Balon's on to us," Walter Addison told Wilder over the phone. "He's been a busy man today.""Regrettable," Wilder said. "But not an insurmountable problem. We'll just have to be more careful; it's too soon for us to make any major move. We need a few more days. The roads have to be legitimately closed.""Suppose Balon and the others try to leave?""They won't. Balon is going to fight me." He laughed. "I know the type of man he is. I should, I've met him many times, and I'll beat him.""Let me kill him!""No. Fool! You don't understand. This is not between you and Balon. This is between G.o.d and our Master." Again, he laughed. "It's an old war, Walter, one I have fought many, many times. You simply do not understand the rules.""Rules?""G.o.d is using Balon as His warrior here on earth. He always picks one like Balon. I should know," his voice was bitter. "No, Walter, you couldn't kill Balon even if you tried. Neither can I-not yet." The nasty laugh rang through the phone. "But I'll test his courage tonight. I'll see if Balon is to be a worthy foe.""What do you mean?""He's coming to see me tonight.""How do you know that?"The laughter. "I know everything, Addison. I know what is in the hearts of all men and women. I know their weaknesses and their strong points. Don't, under any circ.u.mstances, try to stop Balon tonight. He'll kill you, or anyone who tries to stop him. I'll play his game this evening, then put him to the test at a later date.""I don't understand.""You're not supposed to." The line went silent.Addison slowly replaced the receiver, then stood by his desk for a few moments, mulling over what Wilder had said. There had been no fear in Wilder's voice as he spoke of Balon, but there had been respect. Addison decided he would leave Balon alone.The office was filthy, stinking of urine and defecation. The musky odor of s.e.x hung heavy in the room.In the rear of the building, in the cell area, a prisoner-a transient-lay dead and rotting on a cell floor. The prisoner had been tortured, beaten, starved, and s.e.xually a.s.saulted. The man had been dead for days. Rats, their eyes beady and evil, roamed close to the bite-pocked body.The sheriff's secretary entered the office. She glanced at Addison, hiked up her skirt, and bent over a desk. Walter sodomized her as a deputy looked on, his eyes dead. When Addison finished, the deputy took his turn.In another part of town, a mother caressed her teenage son while the father made violent incestuous love with his teenage daughter.A middle-aged man beat his bed-ridden mother to death with a club while his wife looked on, urging him to strike the woman harder, laughing as the blood splattered the walls of the bedroom.Brothers and sisters fornicated to the amus.e.m.e.nt of their parents, and then changed partners.A teenage boy pushed his younger brother off the roof of the garage where they had been playing, smiling as the boy screamed on his way down. A short scream. The screaming ceased abruptly as the boy hit the concrete parking area. The teenager climbed down, dragged the broken body into a tool shed, and stuffed the battered carca.s.s into a burlap bag."Willie!" his mother squalled from the house. "Come on in, now, you've ch.o.r.es to do. What was that noise a minute ago?"The boy picked up a claw hammer from his father's workbench and walked to the house. His smile was evil, eyes shining banefully. His smile turned to laughter when he saw his mother bending over the sink. She looked around just in time to see, very briefly, the hammer swinging. Her skull popped like an overripe melon and she slid in a sprawl to the kitchen floor, legs jerking as she died.Willie walked into the living room, where his father sat listening to a ball game on the radio. The teenager buried the hammer head in his father's skull."It's a home run!" the announcer shouted."Screw you!" Willie said, turning off the radio. "I hate baseball."Willie walked back into the kitchen, stepping nonchalantly over his mother's cooling body. He fixed a sandwich and sat down at the table, chewing slowly. The kitchen smelled of fried liver. His mother should not have fixed liver. Willie had told her time after time he did not like liver.His mother's dead eyes stared at her son as he ate his sandwich. The eyes seemed fixed on the medallion hanging about his neck.Willie wondered if the earth Master, Dr. Wilder, would be angry with him for doing this. He decided he would not.He stood up, gazing out the window at the little girl playing in the meadow behind the house. He felt an erection build, his breathing quickening. He slipped quietly out of the house, walking toward the young girl in the meadow, playing gently among the summer flowers.After a time, the prairie winds blew her dress across the meadow, a splash of color amid the flowers.Otto's wild laughter rang through the house as he swung the leather belt. His wife's screaming as the belt struck bare flesh drove him on. The medallion caught the late afternoon sun streaming through the window, casting golden flashes around the bedroom.Stockman dropped to his knees beside the woman. "Now you'll accept him?" he questioned."No!" the woman sobbed. "NO!""Oh, yes," Otto smiled, caressing her bruised flesh. "Yes, you will." He brutally mounted her, enjoying her screaming.At dusk, Herman Alario, horse trainer at Little River ranch, watched the foreman through curious and suspicious eyes. Where was Slim? he mused. Why hadn't the sheriff been notified of his disappearance? Something was sure as h.e.l.l funny around this place, and Herman knew d.a.m.n well Slim didn't just take off. Something bad had happened to him.The actions of the men puzzled Herman as well. And the boss, Ray Zagone-he was acting strange. Herman retreated further into the darkness of the north side of the barn, squatting down, thinking, his back to the barn.For all his supposed drinking and fighting- and that was exaggerated-Herman was, at heart, a believer in G.o.d, although he seldom went to church more than twice a year. He had been raised in the church by strict parents, in Arizona, and Herman didn't like all the talk he'd been hearing in the bunkhouse. Talk he was not supposed to hear. Talk of black ma.s.ses and devil worship and orgies of the most disgusting kind. Men with men, women with women, and something about kissing the red a.s.s of the devil.Sickening!"Where's Alario?" he heard the foreman, Lou Parker ask."Don't know," a cowboy said. "He was around here a half hour ago.""Is he still wearing that d.a.m.ned cross around his neck?""Yeah.""Then we can't waste any more time on him. If he doesn't come around to us tonight, we'll have to dispose of him. He should have come around by now."DISPOSE OF HIM! Herman almost panicked. Him is me! Jesus G.o.d-they're talking about me! me!He remained rock-still by the side of the barn, only his eyes moving in the darkness, shifting from side to side, searching the night for any person who might be coming to harm him. And he knew, now, that every man and woman on this ranch was against him. What he couldn't figure out was: Why?The high, shrill laughter of a woman reached him in the night. Pat Zagone. "More, more!" she screamed. "Right there!" she grunted.A guttural moaning drifted to Herman. The gruntings of men and women together.Dear G.o.d, the cowboy thought. What is happening around here?He remembered what Slim had told him. That something was out of kilter on the L-R, and they both had talked of pulling out. Slim had said, "There's a . . . force . . . or something that ain't right around here. You been seein' all them medallions on folks? And everybody cuts out on Friday nights. All the whisperin,' too. I don't like it, Herman. It's-I don't know-evil, I think. I don't know."And then Slim disappeared.Herman watched two cowboys, Pip and Mack, meet on the lighted front porch of the ranch house, talk for a moment, then split up.Here they come, Herman thought. He waited. There was no place to run.Five minutes pa.s.sed in silence. Hermen longed for a chew of tobacco, but was afraid to move, afraid to reach for the pouch in his back pocket. He heard movement to his right. "Pip?""Yeah?""He's gotta be around here-close to the barn. Maybe in it.""Right. Don't let him git to his truck.""Won't do him no good. I jerked all the wires."d.a.m.n!"You be careful. He's cat-quick in a fight."Herman heard the sound of a round being chambered into a rifle. A lever action. Probably a .30-30, he thought. His own rifle was on a rack in his pickup; his pistol in a trunk in the bunkhouse. But he had a sheath knife on his belt.Don't pull it yet, he cautioned. Light could reflect off the blade and give me away.Why are they hunting me? his mind worked feverishly. Why do I