Devil's Kiss

Friday - The Second Day

Jane Ann awakened in Sam's arms, for a moment not remembering where she was or what had happened to bring her to this much confusion. She felt drugged.

And then she remembered the sight of her father. His rotting flesh. His stink. His dying with a stake through his heart. Sam's holding of his leg.

She trembled, and Sam tightened his arms around her. "We'll make it, honey. With God's help, we'll make it."

"My father—"

"He's gone, now. You have to believe he did not voluntarily become one of—Them. You have to believe he's with God."

"God's on our side, Sam? Are you sure of that?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Don't ever doubt it."

She kissed him, pushing the ugliness of the previous night from her mind. "What happens today, Sam?"

"You're going to have to be strong, Janey. We're few and they are many. I need you. Today? We're going to destroy the Sorenson ranch. I think it all began there, years ago. I think Sorenson founded the cult and somehow began communicating with Satan." He slipped from her, standing up, stretching. "Anything out there, Tony?"

"Nothing, Sam. It's almost eerie with nothing moving."

"Don't worry," the minister assured him."There will be plenty moving in a few hours. Straight to Hell!"

The caravan moved slowly through the prairie, Sam in the lead truck. Jane Ann sat beside him, by the open window, her shotgun at the ready.

Tough lady, Sam thought, stealing a glance at her profile. I hope we have a son.

Peter and Jimmy had the drag position this morning, and they were lagging a bit behind. The morning seemed so peaceful.

"Why couldn't any of us see what was happening?" Peter asked.

"Because we weren't looking, I guess," Jimmy replied. "The devil is a smart man—person—whatever the hell he is!"

They laughed, neither of them spotting the men watching them through binoculars, watching from the reeds of a lake they would soon pass.

"They're following the old cow trail," a man said. "'That means they'll soon take a right, just over the ridge. Toward us."

"And for about thirty seconds, the drag truck will be separated from the others."

"Not much time."

"Enough for what we have to do."

Five minutes later, Sam glanced in his rearview mirror, uttered a low curse, then pulled over, stopping.

Chester walked up to Sam's pickup. "What's wrong?"

"Only four trucks. Jimmy and Peter are gone."

They backtracked over the trail, slowly, nerves tense, looking. But they found nothing. No tire tracks, no sign of a struggle. Nothing.

"Where are they, Sam?" Miles asked.

"On their way to Hell. Come on, let's go."

"SAM, LOOK!" Doris screamed, pointing to a low hill just to their right.

Eyes swung, mouths opening in disgusted horror. A band of disfigured, almost non-human forms lurched down the hill toward them, waving clubs and sticks as they grunted along. They drew closer, Sam and his group recognizing the madness in them, the grotesque disfigurement making them appear almost subhuman.

Sam lifted his Thompson, clicking the SMG off safety.

"You're not going to kill them!?" Tony said.

"What choice do we have?"

"But they're not themselves, Sam! It isn't their fault. It would be wrong."

The slobbering pack of lunatics came closer, grunting, snorting, waving their clubs and sticks.

"That's just fine, Tony," Sam said. "You want to stand here and reason with them?" he pointed to the rapidly approaching band of inmates.

"They're homicidal, Tony," Wade said, "That's why the government sent them here. One of the reasons," he added.

"They're sick people, Wade," the doctor stubbornly held on to his convictions.

Sam leveled the Thompson and squeezed the trigger. The answer yammer of Chester's Greaser d the staccato. The hill was quiet except for a man moaning in pain and a woman speaking in a series of bizarre grunts of agony.

"I'll get my bag," Tony said.

"No, you won't," Sam contradicted. "Not unless you want to stay here with them—alone. We're pulling out."

The doctor met the minister's steady gaze, "You're a cold bastard!"

Sam's grin was tight. "Keep him here, Ches." He walked up the hill and put the escapees out of their multiple misery with single shots to the head.

Sam knelt down beside one of the mutants, studying him. The face was almost non-human, large bumpy nodules growing from the skin. Hands, arms, and upper torso was deformed, the skin a sickly gray color.

"You want to see this, Tony?" he called. "Hell, no, Reverend Balon!" the doctor slurred the "Reverend."

Wade met Sam on his way back from the scene of death. "He's still pretty young, Sam, and more than a bit idealistic about life."

"He'd damn well better get over it. Or he'll never make it through the next few days. I'm not carrying any dead weight."

Peter Canford screamed out his pain, refusing to deny his God. He lay naked on the floor of the parsonage, his hands and feet nailed to the floor.

Jimmy Perkins lay whimpering on the bed in what had once been Michelle's room. Strange music played, covering the now dull screaming of Peter. Heavy Eastern incense filled the room, blunting Jimmy's senses. Nydia lay naked on the bed beside the young man. The room was darkened with heavy drapes, only one small candle burned, illuminating the scene.

Nydia kissed his mouth, sliding her tongue between his lips, slipping her hand to his crotch, fondling him through his jeans.

"Look at me, Jimmy," she whispered, and he cut his eyes to her beauty. "I'm not a bad person. Oh, lots of people say bad things about me—about those like me, but they're not true Have we hurt you, Jimmy?"

"No," he slurred the word, touching her bare shoulder, silky under his hand. His resistance weakened as he thought: No, they haven't hurt me; they've been good to me. Maybe Sam was wrong? Yes, he was pretty sure Sam was wrong.

The strange incense and the hypnotic music worked on his mind.

Nydia lifted a heavy white breast with her hand,

touching the nipple to Jimmy's lips. His mouth closed around the nipple as she stripped him. He lay naked on the bed, aroused and thickening.

"We'll be good to you, Jimmy," she moaned, feigning great pleasure and passion. "I'll be good to you. I won't be like Judy."

"That bitch!" he mouthed, his tongue busy at the nipple. God! This woman was everything he ever dreamed of. To hell with Judy.

"She is a bitch," Nydia said. "She needs to be punished." She stroked him to full erection, slipping down on the bed, taking him in her mouth, asking, "Would Judy do this for you?"

"No. She said it was—dirty."

"This is not dirty. This is good. And if it feels good, what can be wrong with it? It feels good, doesn't it?"

He nodded, unable to speak. The music seemed to grow heavier in his head. The thick incense filled his nostrils, flooding his brain. Jimmy stroked her silky hair, loving the clean feel of it.

"How would you punish her?" Jimmy groaned, as Nydia's mouth worked at him, licking him.

She withdrew, kissing his belly. "Oh, I'd leave that up to you, my love. Anyway you would like, that would be fine."

She straddled him, working his hardness into her wetness, groaning with great passion. "Your God is not real, Jimmy. You can see that now, can't you?"

The words came easy to his tongue. "Yes, yes!"

"He's a fake—denying you real pleasure."

"Yes! He is a fake—He's not real."

The music mingled with the incense, drifting around him, clouding his reason. The woman straddled him, lunging on his maleness, pumping up and down, telling him how perfect he was, how there had never been a man quite like him—ever.

She spoke the ultimate blasphemy, Jimmy repeating the hideous words, as he began believing them. He had never known this much pleasure.

Nydia, impaled on his manhood, leaned forward, touching her breasts to his chest, her mouth working on his. "We'll punish Judy," she whispered. "You and I." And she told him how.

Her mouth moved to his neck, her lips pulling back, teeth bared and needle-pointed as a snake's. Mortal beings knew nothing of this pleasure: the deliciousness of drinking warm, sweet/salty blood while in the throes of a shivering climax. She began to moan in climax as her teeth sank in Jimmy's neck, sucking a small amount of blood from him. She knew he would not notice the slight pain—until it was too late—far too late; until he was her personal servant, to do with as she pleased. Just as Sam Balon would be hers—someday.

In the living room, standing over the sobbing body of Canford, Wilder listened with extraordinary sensories to the witch. His smile was sardonic, evil, hateful. Nydia would go too far someday, he knew. Then he might have to destroy her—if the Master would permit it. But the Master was mildly amused by her antics, and Wilder knew the day would come when he himself would be replaced. And Nydia wanted his position very badly.

He pulled his attentions back to Canford. The fool still resisted, and Black was growing weary of the game. He looked at George Best. 'Take him to the Undead. Tie him securely and leave him for darkness." Best licked his lips. "The young girl you had last evening?"

"Yes?"

"Are you done with her?"

Wilder smiled. Best was obsessed with anal lovemaking, male or female, it made no difference. It was written in the Book, as were the darkest thoughts of every human on earth. "You may have her for a time. After you take care of this matter." he glanced down at Canford.

Best followed his eyes. "May I—?"

"If you wish."

Best smiled.

Thirty minutes later, Peter Canford, bent over and tied, was screaming out his pain and humiliation at this insult to his masculinity.

As the caravan drew nearer to the Sorenson ranch, signs of the devil's influence became more obvious. They saw strange carvings on trees, upside-down crosses, blasphemous writings on stones, and hideous stone statues of demons.

"No wonder Karl kept this place under fence and heavy guard," Jane Ann said. The caravan had passed through a half dozen chain-link fences and guard posts just getting onto the huge ranch property.

The guards lay dead under the summer sun. They had been careless, and Sam was a master of the ambush, showing the others he could be a cold killing machine.

The guards on the close perimeter of the ranch house fell to Sam's knife, one by one, as his friends lay on a low ridge, watching him work.

"Why don't we just blow up the place?" Miles asked. "Like you all did the first ranch?" he looked at Chester.

"Sam wants to inspect the Sorenson house. He thinks this is the Cult headquarters; where it began."

Gunfire stopped the conversation, followed by a series of explosions. They watched the bunkhouse disintegrate under the fury of a dozen sticks of dynamite. Nothing inside could have lived through that destructive blast of TNT.

"Let's go!" Chester yelled, running for the trucks.

But it was almost over by the time Sam's group reached the yard. The minister had been a one man death squad. He had gunned down the people in the house as they ran into the yard after the first explosion.

"You!" Sorenson spat the word at Sam. He glared up at the preacher through eyes that mirrored hate. His hands clutched at his stomach, perforated with .45 caliber holes.

''Me," Sam said calmly.

'They'll get you," Sorenson spat up blood, "You can't kill us all."

'I can try," Sam lifted the muzzle of the Thompson and squeezed the trigger. He looked at Chester. "You people stay loose. Anything that moves, shoot it. I'm going in the house. I've got a bad feeling about that barn, so wait for me before you try going in."

He walked into the house, knowing what he would find. He was not disappointed. The home was a repository for everything evil. Chains and whips and torture instruments lay everywhere. Contrivances of sexual perversion could be seen in every room. Huge artificial penises, torture racks, and much more. The sight disgusted Sam. He went from room to room, setting the house on fire.

As smoke billowed around him, Sam stepped out on the porch, watching Chester. The man moved from body to body sprawled in the yard, a .45 in his hand, putting one round in the head of each devil worshipper. Sam glanced at Wade, watching the man work. The editor's lips were pressed together, his face pale.

Sam knew Wade had never killed before this day. He stepped off the porch. "Don't leave any alive. Kill them, then burn them." He walked toward the barn.

"Wait!" Wade called. "I'm coming with you."

The minister's eyes were cool, a half-smile on his lips. "Then be well cautioned, Wade. What you'll probably see in there, if they are in there, is something you'll have to live with for the rest of your life."

"aking everything into consideration," the man retorted, "that might not be all that long a time."

"Then come on."

Wade looked behind him one more time. He looked a little ill; he could not take his eyes off Chester, or the manner in which the head exploded as the .45 caliber slug smashed through brain. The bodies seemed to dance on the ground under the impact. He had known Chester all his life, considering him to be one of the finest men in Fork County. An elder in the Church.

"You get used to it after a while," Sam said "At least, I did. And I think Chester did, too. In World War II. It's something every combat vet has to live with. Once a person has learned how to survive, and what must be done, that instinct lies just below the surface, very thinly covered with civilized veneer."

Sam swung open the doors to the barn. A stale musty odor struck them. The odor of evil. The barn was dark.

"God!" Wade said.

"Godless," Sam corrected. "Like those people lying dead in the yard."

"Why don't we just burn this barn down?' Wade asked, as the men stepped into the darkness.

"Because I want to meet those inside. And beat them."

Outside, Chester had moved his people around the barn, covering all exits. Only one of the :men stood at ready: Jane Ann, with the slug-loaded shotgun in her hands. Faye, Anita, and Doris had received a couple of hours of instruction in the use of firearms, but they were not yet mentally ready to use them. Killing is entirely a state of mind, with very little physical effort required, and with most people, it takes time to prepare the mind for what society deems wrong. The women were still in a mild state of shock at the sight of so many dead bodies, and the seemingly ruthless manner in which Chester had disposed of the wounded.

Sam handed Wade his stake, picking up a pitchfork. His smile was hard. "This won't leave much room for doubt."

Wade moved to his left, away from Sam. A bit of hay and dust suddenly drifted down the loft. An almost inaudible creak of timber.

The barn doors slammed shut behind the men, plunging the barn into darkness. Only a few shards of dusty sunlight leaked through cracks in the barn walls.

"Sam?"

"I heard. Coming." The minister walked through the gloom. At Wade's side, he looked up at the disturbed dust filtering from the loft. "Back up," he whispered, lifting the Thompson.

When Wade was out of the way, Sam pulled the trigger and held it back.

Splinters flew in all directions. Dust poured down from the loft as the slugs ripped through thin wood flooring. A howling, once-human form hurtled downward, crashing on the barn's lower level. The thing lurched to its feet, screaming, its yellow eyes glowing in the semidarkness. Still-smoking bullet holes leaked putrid odors from the body.

There was no blood left in Glen Haskell.

"Father Haskell!" Wade shouted.

The thing offered no sign of recognition. Haskell's hands resembled claws as he moved toward the men, his mouth open, exposing fanged teeth, a thick red tongue. Unable to push words out of its mouth, the creature uttered animal sounds. Haskell howled, then charged.

Sam lifted the pitchfork chest high and the ex-priest ran into the tines, the needle-sharp points driving through lungs and heart and out his back. Filth flew from his mouth as clawlike fingers wound around the wooden handle.

Sam forced the Undead to the floor and savagely drove the pitchfork in and out of its body. Haskell died on the manure covered floor, wallowing in animal excrement. His mouth opened and closed, teeth snapping, snarling sounds from his dying throat fading away into silence.

"SAM!" Wade yelled.

The minister spun around. "Open the doors," he shouted. "Chester! Open the doors—let the light in!"

In the murkiness of the barn, before Chester could throw open the doors, Sam saw Wade backed up against a wall, a small Beastlike creature stalking him, heavy, hair-covered arms held up, claws working as the editor fumbled for the gun at his side.

Sam tore off the cap from a canteen of Holy Water and hurled it at the Beast. The creature screamed in anguish as the blessed water hit its body, searing the hairy flesh. It spun, and Sam recognized it.

Max Steiner's youngest boy, Ralph. "Dear Lord!" Sam said, disbelief in his eyes. The Steiner boy was half a Beast, from the waist up, as if the transformation had somehow failed to work.

The results were hideous to look upon.

The doors to the barn were thrown open, light pouring into the cavernous building. The half-Beast screamed at the raw light from God, throwing up its arms to protect its eyes.

Wade shot the half-Beast with his .38. But the .38 did not have the knock-down power of Sam's .45. The small creature fell backward against a stall wall, shuddered, and charged at Sam. The minister jerked his .45 from the holster, leveled the muzzle chest high, and pulled the trigger three times. The creature flipped backward as if hit with a mighty foot and bounced off a wall, dead.

Sam ran to Wade's side, jerking him toward the door. He shoved him outside. "Get out of here!"

Sam backed out of the barn as snarling rolled to him, coming from closed stalls. Roaming Beasts had chosen the Sorenson ranch to hide during the day. Sam slammed a fresh clip in the Thompson and emptied it into the barn, into dusty forms. Screaming filled the barn as Sam yelled over his shoulder, "Chester! Cocktails—now!''

Before leaving camp, the men had prepared a dozen Molotov cocktails, whiskey bottles filled with gasoline and a small bit of flour, with a cloth fuse sticking from the top. The flour, wet, would stick to whatever it struck, burning like napalm.

Chester threw three of the bottles into the barn, the flammable liquid exploding as they smashed against the inside wall, turning the barn into an inferno. As the Beasts attempted to escape the flames, they were shot down.

The cocktails, igniting with the dust particles in the barn, acted as a super bomb, blowing the building apart, the walls and roof caving in. Some . . . thing, some non-human form, not a Beast, but yet not a human, crawled from the broken beams and burning walls into the sunlight, its entire body ablaze. It screeched and howled in the light, drumming its bare feet on the ground, then died.

Anita, crouched behind a pickup truck, vomited. The nausea was infectious—as it almost always is—and many of the others followed suit. After a moment, there was heavy coughing and mumbled apologies.

Sam jarred them all when he roared, "Burn the bodies. Drag them in a pile, pour gas on them and burn them!"

When the bodies had been dragged into a makeshift funeral pyre, saturated with gas, and blazing, Sam said, "Wade! Take the point, head straight for Little River Ranch, and don't slow up. We've got the High of combat going now, so we're going in shooting. Move it!"

Jimmy Perkins screamed out his pleasure as he beat the naked Judy with a piece of rope, marking her white body with red welts, punishing her as Nydia had promised him he could. He fell on her, working out his rage, abusing her with his fists.

"It's always the same," Wilder said to Nydia. They watched their newest convert from a window of the parsonage. "The play never changes, only the characters. Humans never change. They always want what is forbidden them by their God. Centuries of it is beginning to bore me. Of course, he'll sodomize her next. How droll."

And Jimmy did just that, pulling his ex-girlfriend to her knees, mounting her. She screamed her pain at his sudden intrusion.

"That's why they are humans, is it not?" Nydia asked moodily. "And is that not the reason we are here?"

Wilder looked at her, irritation in his expression. "Must I endure another of your deathless lectures on human behavior?" The witch laughed, a dark brooding bark of little humor. "I seem to recall you enjoy the rear passage, Black."

"But of course," he smiled. "Our Master does not condemn it."

"Now who is lecturing whom?"

His smile broadened as Judy began enjoying the sensation of pain/pleasure.

"Animals," Wilder said. "All humans are but a cut above the animals."

"You bore me, Black. Perhaps you've been here on earth too long?"

"I was thinking the same thing, my dear." And then he was gone, vanishing without a trace.

Wilder was much older than Nydia, and much more proficient at his craft, but Nydia was no longer afraid of him. She had a plan. And she had talked with her Master about that plan, and he had agreed, chuckling.

She walked into her bedroom, leaving behind her the muffled sounds of pain and pleasure in the front yard, being witnessed by a crowd of Satan-worshippers that had gathered to watch. They urged Jimmy on.

Sitting on her bed, the witch projected her thoughts to the Master, and he, laughing, gave her permission, adding some thoughts of his own.

"Balon!" she licked her lips. "But how is it possible?"

All things are possible, the deep rumbling filled her head.

"But, Black-?"

He wishes to return to me, so let him be destroyed and have his wish. Balon will do it. Oh, what a coup this will be! What a child will spring from it!

And the rumblings changed into dark laughter.

"But how?" Nydia questioned. "When? And afterward?"

I will tell you, he spoke to her.

And she smiled at his words filling her head.

The caravan had come upon yet another band of roaming lunatics from the asylum, blocking the trail to Little River Ranch, waving clubs and drooling nonsense at the trucks and their occupants.

Then they attacked, leaving the men and women no choice. They opened fire. Doctor King reluctantly raised his carbine and squeezed the trigger. Afterward, he openly and unashamedly wept.

"We'll pay for this," he said to no one in particular. "In some way, someday, we'll pay." And the caravan moved on, leaving the prairie to deal with the lumpy bodies sprawled in the knee-high grass.

The trucks seemed to snarl out of nowhere, hitting the Little River ranch house at three o'clock in the afternoon. Herman heard them coming, roaring in. He rose from the bed where he had been loving the young girl, Jean.

"What's that?" the teenager questioned, still jerking on the bed. "Come back! Don't leave me yet—I got to come!"

Herman ran naked to the front door, kicking sleeping people out of his way. Those in the throes of fornication did not look up. He threw open the door in time to see a sputtering stick of dynamite taped to a quart bottle of gasoline come at him. It was the last thing he witnessed on this earth as the gas and dynamite exploded, ripping the cowboy to shredded meat, demolishing the living room, setting the house on fire.

Pip and Mack ran out the back door and were met by Chester's yammering Greaser. More dynamite was thrown through the windows, and the house turned into crumpled ruins.

Using Molotov cocktails, Sam set every building on the grounds blazing. Anything or anyone attempting to escape was shot.

Pat Zagone ran screeching from the burning bunkhouse, where she had been entertaining a half dozen men. Her long hair was on fire. A thought wormed its way into Sam's brain: If the devil rules a fiery pit, why then, are these servants of his screaming from the flames?

He had no answer.

He shot her.

A Beast lunged from the burning barn. Jane Ann lifted the shotgun, booming off three rounds, stopping the creature flat in its clawed tracks, flinging it backward, to lie flopping and dying on the ground.

The teenager, Jean, slipped from the back bedroom of the destroyed home, running naked through the creek, screaming curses at her attackers.

She ran through the grass, fleet as a ng colt, running out of rifle range.

No one noticed just who it was, her cursing not audible above the crackling flames and the rattle of gunfire.

The heat from the burning buildings drove Sam and his followers back. They stood on a low hill, watching the buildings burn to the ground.

Jean lay panting in the grass, a half mile from the scene of destruction, cursing at her attackers, snarling low. She had a feeling in her guts that she had better find a place to hide until this was over, one way or the other. She could always come back, pretending she had been taken away against her will.

She smiled, her face pressed against the earth. Yes, that was the way to handle this.

Yes, a voice filled her head, and she knew who was speaking to her. That is the way. Hide, until I call you. There will be another day, another time

Sam looked around him as the sun began its sinking for this day. It was over. His group looked at one another, each one aware of the evil that would soon be searching for them—in the night.

"Let's camp in the falls," Chester suggested. "It's the one place I can think of that's easy to defend. And it's not far away."

"Let's roll it," Sam said.

Sam made love to Jane Ann as if this were their last time together. They were far from the others, behind the tiny falls, letting the spray of mist engulf them as they lay naked, locked together.

After a time, they were still in each other's arms, listening to the pounding of their hearts gradually slow. They bathed and soaped each other in the cool water of the falls, gentle in their touchings.

"Sam?"

"Uh-huh?"

"You made me pregnant this time."

"You can't know for sure." But there was pride in his heart at the thought.

She smiled. "Yes, I can."

Just as full dark enveloped the land, they walked back to the half circle of trucks, slowly, holding hands as they walked.

"The lovers return," Doris said with a smile. She was frying meat over a campfire, and both Sam and Jane Ann realized how hungry they were.

Squatting down beside the small fire, Sam asked, "How are you holding up?"

"I'll make it," she said. "But Anita—" she shook her head. "I don't know. You can only live with so much terror, Sam. After that—" She shrugged.

Jane Ann fixed a sandwich. "I'll go sit with her." She walked off toward the woman sitting alone by a pickup.

"Point is, Sam," Doris said, spearing a piece of meat with a fork, putting it on a piece of bread, handing it to Sam, "How are you holding up?'"

"Better than most, I imagine," Sam replied. "Now that I have the rhythm of what we're doing."

"Explain that, please."

Others had gathered around the cook fire, to eat and to listen to the minister.

"It doesn't take one long to slip back into a combat role. Survival is the most basic of all human emotions. Throwback to the caves, I suppose."

"Do you enjoy combat, Sam?" Tony asked.

Sam chewed in silence for a moment. He rose to his feet, picking up his Thompson. "I understand it," he said, then walked into the darkening night.

The Godless were becoming much more cautious in their approach. Only a dry whisper of movement warned Sam they were coming. That, and his own senses, working overtime. Sam smiled his grim smile, anticipating combat; another showdown.

The pickups had been pulled into a half circle, toward the prairie. The falls and the high ground behind them. The Godless had to come at them from the front. Each pickup had, in addition to regular headlights, spotlights. The women carried long, six-cell flashlights. They all crouched by the trucks, waiting.

"They're out there, aren't they?" Jane Ann whispered.

"Yes," Sam caressed her arm. "Get ready for a rush."

The dry movement rustled closer, the night breeze bringing the sounds and scent of Them to the half circle. Nerves became tighter, breathing shallowed. As is always the case—and a combat-experienced person can pick it up—there was a slight pause before the charge.

"LIGHTS!" Sam yelled, and the prairie was suddenly bright with harsh light.

The Godless were caught by surprise. Less than fifty yards from the tight circle of trucks, the worshippers of Satan were momentarily blinded.

"FIRE!" Sam shouted.

The night was torn with gunfire: the stutter of Chester's Greasegun and the powerful roaring of Sam's Thompson. The sharp crack of high-powered rifles, and the booming of shotguns.

The attackers were armed, but they had been too anxious, caught by surprise. They were cut to bloody shards by bullets and buckshot. Medallions sparkled in the artificial light. Evil eyes flashed hate at the Godly. Blood leaped from gaping chest wounds and torn stomachs, smearing the night with thick stickiness.

Sam had told his people: "Don't try to be a hero. Fire at the thickest part of the body, between the neck and the waist."

Hoarse bellowing filled the night; painful cries penetrated the gunfire, adding a period to a life sentence.

"Finish them!" Sam yelled. "Shut them up!" He put aside his Thompson for an M-l. Chester did the same.

The others stood quietly, watching the minister and the church elder finish the grisly night's work.

Then the prairie was silent.

"Lights out," Sam ordered. "Check weapons. Stand easy but ready. They'll be back as soon as they regroup."

"Colonel Travis speaks," Doris quipped, breaking the tension.

Sam grinned at her courage and pluckiness. "Miles?" Sam said. "You take the left perimeter. I'll take the right. The rest of you people, take a break, try to relax."

"Sam?" Miles said, exasperation in his voice, "What in the hell is a perimeter? I was in supply, not in the Commandos."

The preacher chuckled. "I'll go into combat with you anytime, Miles. A perimeter is your designated watch area. Anything to the left of that tree is yours; to the right is mine."

"Why didn't you say so in the first place?"

"Audie Murphy, he ain't," Doris said.

"Silence, woman!" her husband warned.

"Yes, dear," she laughed. "My, isn't he becoming assertive?"

The good-natured bantering ceased as Anita began shaking uncontrollably, sobbing into her hands.

"Shock," Tony said. "I've been waiting for her to break down. It was just a matter of time. Wade, put her in the back of your pickup. Wrap her up in blankets, elevate her feet, and stay with her."

"I can't take anymore of this!" Anita screamed out. "Dear God—let's run. Just get away from here!"

Anita fought the hands that tried to help her, striking out at anyone until her husband and Tony managed to pin her to the ground, wrap her in blankets, and place her in the bed of the pickup. Wade stayed with her, holding her.

Sam looked at his wife, her profile beautiful in the moonlight. "How are you doing?"

"I'll make it," she touched his face. "But I know how Anita feels. I just haven't allowed myself the luxury of breaking down."

He bent down, kissing her mouth. "Get some rest."

She looked up at him, all the love in the world shining through her eyes. "Will they be back?"'

"Yes. This time it will be the Undead. Their tactics don't change."

She shuddered in the warm prairie breeze.

Miles' shotgun blasted the night. Four quick booms.

"Lights!" Sam yelled, grabbing a stake, running toward the firing.

Walter Addison staggered to his feet, thrown on his back by the slugs from the shotgun. Smoking holes covered his chest. He grinned grotesquely, making grunting noises past a tongue that seemed too large for his mouth. His face was pale, eyes shining yellow with evil.

Sam held out his silver cross. Addison hissed at him, his foul breath corrupting the air. Undead stepped toward Sam, unafraid of the cross..

Chester was locked in a deadly struggle with another of the Undead. Wade ran to help him, shouting for Jane Ann to watch over Anita. Miles ran to Sam's side and tossed a canteen of Holy Water on Addison. The creature howled in pain. Miles looked at the canteen of blessed water.

"Stuff works," he said. Addison turned to one side in his pain and Sam lunged at him, driving a stake into his chest.

A wretched screeching cut the night, an un-Godly sound from the mouth of a man who had forsaken his God, his Maker. Sam worked the stake deeper into his chest, forcing the man to the ground, pinning him there until he was dead.

Addison trembled as the evil in him died.

Forms scurried away, ratlike in the darkness, hissing as they ran.

Miles capped the canteen, then looked at the container.

"Powerful stuff," he said dryly. "I wonder what would happen if you drank it?"