The Devil's Touch (34 page)

Jeanne and Ginny sat in a darkened bedroom, looking after Little Sam. Both the young women had fallen in love with the little boy. He was such a good child; never fussy or whiny. He was a happy child. Even if he did sometimes get a funny look in his eyes.

"I think Byron Price kind of likes you," Jeanne said.

Ginny laughed softly. "Yeah. I never flirted with a preacher before."

"I think he's cute, in a kind of fumbling way. You know what I mean?"

"Yes. Me, too. And it must have been awful for him, his wife taking off that way."

"I'll stay with Little Sam. Why don't you go sit with Mr. Price. I know you want to."

"You don't mind?"

"Not at all."

"Thanks, Jeanne. 1 owe you one."

Little Sam sat looking at the draped window, as if he could see through the drapes to the other side. There was a very strange look in his eyes.

Richard Hasseling was very conscious of Desiree's presence. Uncomfortably so. He had never seen any woman quite so beautiful as Desiree. And his feelings for her were becoming—well, unnerving. He had to keep constantly reminding himself he was a Baptist minister.

And a virgin.

When Desiree sat down next to him and put a soft hand on his thigh, Richard thought he was going to die. For sure, he couldn't risk getting up. He would stick out in front.

Father Le Moyne found Noah at his post at the rear of the house. "Noah? Maintain your sentry duties and I'll talk. I want to tell you something."

"Very well, Daniel."

"I will not come out of this alive, Noah. No! Don't say anything. It is—well, I am prepared for it. I want you to know I have valued your friendship. And I am sorry that people thought that—well, you and I had some sort of sexual relationship. I know that hurt you as much as it hurt me. It is a strange and unfeeling society we live in where two men cannot have a close friendship without—well, certain people of low intelligence making something different out of that friendship.

"Noah, don't waste your life pining and moping away what time you have left you over a woman you haven't seen in thirty years."

Noah smiled and looked back at the priest. "Marta? My heavens, Daniel. I haven't thought of her in years. No, Daniel, Marta isn't the reason I never married. The years just seemed to march on past me, without my noticing their passage. I grew older, more set in my ways. Then one day I looked up and I was middle-aged. I—am eccentric, to say the least. It would take a woman of exceptional understanding to put up with me, Daniel. And to tell you the truth, 1 really haven't been looking that hard. No. I really haven't been looking at all."

"You haven't had to look," the priest said dryly. "You've been filling your bed with those young would-be writers and artists of the female gender out at your workshops."

Noah laughed softly. "Indeed I have, old friend. I have some marvelously delicious memories, Daniel. And I have absolutely no intention of apologizing for any of them."

The priest smiled. "I should tell you to be ashamed of your behavior and to do penance, but you would probably tell me to stick it in my ear."

"Not quite that crudely put, Daniel," Noah said with a chuckle. "But—close."

Both men were silent for a moment. Noah said, "Daniel, just for the sake of conversation, since we all might be looking at eternity any moment, how many people know you were adopted into the Le Moyne family as a young man?"

"I didn't know you knew, Noah."

"I guessed. Tricked you, old friend."

"Exactly, Daniel, how much do you know, or have guessed over the long years?"

"Let us just say, Daniel—or should I call you Yves?—that you are not of this world."

The priest did not elect to answer verbally. Instead, he rose from his chair and walked to the man. He put his hand on Noah's shoulder. Noah would remember nothing of the encounter. He would not remember anything about his suspicions of Father Le Moyne being anything other than a small parish priest in Logandale, New York.

But Noah's life, from that moment on, would be drastically altered.

The priest removed his hand and offered it to Noah. The writer took it. He could not remember the priest leaving his chair.

"You've been a good friend, Noah. I have enjoyed it."

"I, too, old friend." '

Le Moyne lifted his eyes to the darkness of outside. "Something moved out there, Noah."

Noah jerked his head around and searched the ink of night. "I see it, Daniel. Call Sam and Joe."

Sam came on the run. "Human, Noah?" he asked.

"Yes. I believe so." He pointed. "Right over there, Sam—see it?"

Sam could see the white form lying on the cold wet earth. "I can't tell from this distance if it's male or female. But whatever, it's naked. I'm going after it."

Before anyone could argue, Sam was running through the night. Joe was right behind him. The form on the cold ground was a woman. Sam rolled her over. He had seen her around the small town but did not know her name.

She opened her eyes. They were filled with horror and fright.

"Easy," Sam told her. "You're safe."

"Susie Parish," Joe said. "Vernon's wife. Jesus, Susie. What happened?"

She laughed bitterly. "You name it, Joe. If it's perverted and twisted, it was done to me." She put her head on the grass and began weeping.

"Come on, Joe. Help me get her inside."

Inside, the women took over. Nydia was ready with a blanket to place over the naked woman's shoulders. In the light of the kitchen, all could see the woman had been savagely abused. But despite the whip marks on her body and the bruises on her face, Susie was still a very attractive woman.

Susie was shaking from the cold, exhausted from her ordeal. But when Nydia tried to lead her out of the kitchen and into a bedroom, she pulled away.

"No," she gasped. "Got to tell you what I know. Why I came. It's—it's my oldest daughter, Judy. She's—one of them. I—never saw anything so awful in my life. She's one of the night people."

"Night people?" Viv questioned anyone who might give her an answer.

"The undead," Noah told her. Mrs. Parish, he concluded, was a gorgeous woman. Something about her fascinated the writer. She was so—strong. Brave. She had risked her life to come here, to warn them. What a completely unselfish gesture on her part.

Noah did not notice Father Le Moyne smiling at him.

"My youngest daughter, Anne, and my son, Fred, have gone over to the other side. Both of them rejected God and swore allegiance to Satan." Her eyes found Noah. "The coven members are going to storm this place at dawn. Hoping to catch you all by surprise. They thought I was knocked out. But I was only pretending. I slipped out the back window of the house and came here."

Noah squared his shoulders. "Then, my dear, we shall all certainly be ready to repulse the attack." Although, he silently mused, he hadn't the foggiest idea
how.

Sam had slept for a few hours and felt refreshed. As he dressed, an idea began forming in his mind. He dressed in dark clothing, stuffed a dark blue skull cap in his pocket and a dark scarf around his neck. When he went out to do some headhunting, he would pull the scarf over his face, leaving only his eyes exposed.

He could tell the wind had picked up. It was still blowing out of the northwest, but with heavy gusts, maybe as much as thirty-five to forty miles per hour at times.

Look to yourself to even the odds. You are trained to do that. His father's words returned to him.

Sam's smile was a warrior's smile. Right, Dad, he thought. Guerrilla warfare, hit and run, demoralize the enemy. Hit hard and fast and deadly.

"All right, Dad," Sam said aloud. "I get the message."

Sam went downstairs and began gathering up long-necked bottles. He filled those three-quarters full with gasoline and mixed flour with the gas. The flour would stick the burning gasoline to a surface, thus ensuring a longer burning time. He jammed a rag down each bottle neck and carefully wrapped each bottle in a thick towel to prevent breakage. He found a knapsack taken from the sporting goods store and packed his Molotov cocktails.

Sam gathered most of the group in the darkened study of the mansion. Mille was standing guard toward the front of the mansion, second level. Nydia faced the rear of the house, also on the second level. Viv Draper, who it turned out was a crack shot, due to Monty's urgings just after they married, was on sentry duty at one end of the house. And Ginny, who really did not know which end of a rifle the bullet came out of, was at the opposite end of the mansion.

"No way we can hold off a couple thousand people, Sam," Monty said.

"I think we can," Sam told him.
"If
you people do what I tell you to do." He met each person's eyes in the dark room. "My wife, Mille, and Viv are expert shots. The others can keep the spare weapons loaded. We've got enough arms to outfit an entire company. That is exactly why I asked you men to show the non-combatants the nomenclature of all the weapons that first day here.

"It will be a frontal assault. It almost has to be. The woods behind the mansion are too thick and, from what Desiree tells me, the ground too unstable to permit much activity from that area. There will be some action from back there, but most of it will come from the front. I don't think we have to worry much about men coming at us from the direction of the Giddon House. Too much danger of Xaviere getting hurt. So that leaves the front and the west.

"Monty, you and Viv and Joe will man the west side of the mansion. I'll be at the front, with Nydia and Noah. Richard, Desiree, John, Barbara, and Jeanne will take the back. They'll have shotguns. None of them can hit the broad side of the barn with a rifle or pistol, but with scatterguns they can do some damage. Father Le Moyne, Ginny, Mille, and Byron will face the Giddon House. Susie will look after Little Sam.

"Get containers of water and place near your positions. Where there is hot lead, there is danger of fire. Pull down all the drapes. Get rid of everything you can that is flammable. I want you all to gather up your teams and start boarding up windows on the ground floor. Right now. Pile furniture against the doors and up against the windows once you have them boarded up. Fix what I am about to say in your minds and
don't
forget it: We open this dance. Whenever one of them comes into view, man, woman, or child—shoot! And shoot to kill. Never let a shot go by. The first rule of survival is this: Shoot first and ask questions later. Remember, the lives of all of us depend on each of us.

"This upcoming battle is going to be the worst thing that any of you have ever experienced. And some of us aren't going to make it out alive. But death is better than being taken prisoner by the forces of the Dark One. Bear that in mind at all times. And this: We are all that stands between Satan taking over this community. It's up to us to make a stand."

The ministers of the Baptist, Methodist, and Episcopal churches rose to their feet. Richard spoke for all of them. "I do not believe it is a sin to kill someone who has forsaken God to worship Satan. And firing a shotgun does not appear to be all that difficult or complicated. If the Good Lord will forgive my language at this time, and I feel certain, under the circumstances, He will, you people have my word that I will kill any son-of-a-bitch who tries to overrun my perimeter."

"I couldn't have said it better," Byron said, sticking out his chin.

"Count me in until the end," John said. "I believe—I
know
—God is on our side in this fight."

"I saw a carbine among the weapons," Father Le Moyne said. "I'll take that and a .45 pistol."

Mille looked at the priest, astonishment in her eyes. Her mouth formed an O.

"Oh, don't look so amazed, Mille," Le Moyne said with a smile. "I was born and reared in the—wilderness, so to speak. Grew up with a rifle in my hands. I have hunted more than my share of venison, believe me. And bear, too."

"Well, I'll be damned!" Richard blurted.

"I rather doubt your being damned, Richard," the priest said. "But if you don't do something about your thoughts concerning Desiree, you're going to have a heart attack."

Richard blushed.

The wind was roaring with a fury when Sam, despite the objections of almost everyone in the house, announced his plans to do a bit of headhunting.

Only Nydia and Father Le Moyne did not object. The priest nodded his head in approval and Nydia kissed her husband.

Sam took his AK and a dozen clips, his .41 mag with two speed loaders, his knife, the knapsack full of cocktails, and a length of rope coiled around his chest and waist.

He stepped out into the darkness and slipped over the fence at the rear of the mansion. He was immediately surrounded by thick brush and timber. The ground felt unstable under his booted feet.

Sam sensed the presence of the Beasts seconds before he smelled them. He dropped to his knees in the brush and began breathing through his mouth to minimize noise. Then the smell came drifting to him. He cut his eyes and saw the wild red eyes searching the night. Three Beasts, standing almost shoulder to shoulder, their long hairy arms almost reaching the ground.

Sam slowly lifted the AK and burned half a clip at the hideous earthbound servants of Satan.

They squalled and howled and flopped obscenely on the ground and died.

Sam was up and moving before the echo of the AK had died away. Staying close to the stone fence, Sam edged his way toward the street and the sounds of men and women shouting and cursing.

"What the hell's all that shooting?" a man called.

Sam reached the end of the fence and cautiously looked around the corner, into the street. A group of men and women stood in the center of the street. Sam lifted the AK and used the remainder of his clip, knocking the knot of people sprawling. In the confusion of the moment, Sam took that opportunity to shoot out the nearest street lights, plunging that section of the street into darkness. The howling winds covered any sounds he made running across the street.

He darted into a shed and smelled the strong odor of raw gasoline. He found a full five gallon can and smiled a warrior's smile. Taking the can, he slipped behind a house and knelt beside a huge tank of heating oil. He opened the can of gas and spilled some on the ground, splashing some more on the tank. He darted to the next house, the can trailing gasoline. There, he knelt beside the heating oil tank and spilled the rest of his gas. Using his big bowie knife, he slashed and hacked at the line leading from the tank to the house. Oil spilled on the ground. He dipped a handkerchief into the gas on the ground, wrapped that around a thick stick, and ran about fifty feet from the house. He lit the rag with his lighter and hurled the blazing stick, hitting the ground the instant the stick left his hand.