William Johnstone - Devil's Kiss

They hit the town in a rush, starting the gas pumps running at full volume, then planting the fire bombs directly in the path of the rushing gasoline, each person praying their pickup would not choose this time to stall on them.

The wind, as if under the direct command of God, picked up, blowing hard from the north.

"We've lost it," Wilder said to Nydia. They stood in the living room of the parsonage. "Whitfield will soon be a raging fire storm, and there is not one thing I can do about it. Damn Balon!"

"What do we do?" there was a touch of fear in her voice.

"Get out, of course, silly woman! Oh, Nydia, you still have much to learn." He shook his head. "Tonight, we loose what we have left upon them. But they've beaten us. My time is almost over. Soon it will be up to you."

"The tablet?"

He told her where he had hidden it, and she smiled. Wilder shook his head in sorrow. "As our Master's senior agent, I warned him about this place. I begged him to send Michelle after another man of God. I warned him of Balon's strength and courage. But," he sighed, "perhaps it will work out in the end." He took her hand. "Come, my dear, while there is still time."

They walked through the house, Wilder stopping at a picture of Jesus Christ on the wall. He spat at the artist's conception of Christ, the spittle sliding down Christ's serene face.

They walked out the back door and vanished into the air, leaving no trace of their ever being there. Jimmy Perkins, confused and addled, found himself standing on the prairie, alone one second in the bedroom, the next second with Wilder and Nydia on the plains.

Wilder gave the witch a disgusted look. "I thought we left this simpleton behind?"

"He amuses me. Besides, I need a servant."

"Lazy bitch!"

The booming, jarring explosions rocked the town of Whitfield, as thousands of gallons of gasoline detonated, sending flaming balls of fire hurtling over the town, to drop in massive globes of conflagration.

As the Godless ran screaming from the inferno, they were met by preset backfires. Those who escaped the flames were confronted by dynamite, Molotov cocktails, bullets and buckshot. A few escaped, but most died.

Beaten back by the intense heat that engulfed the town, the eight regrouped, Wade saying. "You're sure, Sam, that no one will see this smoke or fire?"

"I'm sure," the minister said. "By now, you should all know the power of Satan."

Miles looked heavenward, a slight smile on his lips.

"We have one more night, one more day, and about five hours of another night. Until midnight of the seventh day," Sam said.

"It took God seven days to create all things," Anita said.

"Yes," the minister said. "Sevens again. It's just another example of Satan's humor—mocking God. He's been doing it for thousands of years. And we won't stop him. Hopefully, we can run him out of this area, but we won't beat him; he'll just move on to another place. Or, perhaps return here."

"You're the most pessimistic man of God I've ever seen," Wade complained. But Wade, like the others, knew there were some devil worshippers who got away.

The eight stood on a small rise overlooking Whitfield, watching the town burn itself out, hearing the faint screaming of the Godless as they became part of Satan's inferno, drifting into his domain, scorching and smoking.

It was noon of the Sixth day.

That night, not knowing what Wilder might hurl at them, the eight ran for their lives, their very souls, finally, at one o'clock in the morning, barricading themselves in a farm house for an onslaught that never materialized.

Wilder had very few people left to command, but he did have some tricks still up his sleeve.

"No!" Chester screamed out the one word of protest. "No! Damn you—NO!"

Eyes went to the moonlit yard. Eyes filling with horror at the sight before them. John Benton stood with Faye Stokes, the woman covered with dirt from her newly-exited grave. Together, they grinned a ghastly smirk at the house. Benton lifted her funeral dress and fondled her.

Chester went berserk with rage.

It was all the men could do to restrain him, pinning him to the floor.

"It's a trap, Ches!" Sam yelled. "Don't fall for it. They're trying to suck you outside."

But Chester, with the strength of the maddened and angry, threw the men from him. He jumped to his feet and ran weaponless outside.

"Chester," Faye called, opening her arms to him. "Come to me."

Sam tackled the man, dragging him to the ground, trying to pull him back into the house. Chester broke free and ran to his wife's side.

Benton and Faye were on him instantly, biting him, sucking the blood from him. Sam grabbed a canteen of Holy Water and ran to the macabre scene, hurling the blessed water on the trio.

The three of them screamed their pain. It was too late for Chester.

"Stakes!" Sam yelled. "Hurry!"

As the Godless writhed in pain, attempting to escape the burning water, Sam drove a stake into Benton's chest with one powerful thrust. Wade slammed a stake into Faye, filth from her mouth spraying him, sickening him, the slime dripping from his shirt.

Sam emptied his pistol into the changing body of Chester, hoping that would stop him, hoping he would not have to commit the ultimate act on his friend. But he knew it was too late as he watched the heavy slugs drive his friend back, but not stop him.

Chester came on, grinning, his tongue blood-red, teeth changing with each step, eyes shining with newfound evil.

Sam, a dozen feet from the man, hurled a stake at him, the point burying in the man's chest. Chester's hands clutched at the shaft, pus running over his thickening tongue and pale lips. He swayed for a moment. Sam stepped forward and pushed the stake into his chest, hitting the heart. Chester fell forward, the impact driving the point through him, jutting out his back.

The prairie was quiet under God's moon, the pale white orb illuminating the specter of death around the house. Inside the old home, the sounds of weeping drifted out to Sam. Men and women breaking under the pressure, their emotions lashing out.

Sam stood for a time looking down at what remained of his friend, wondering if the price they were all having to pay was too high?

A few more hours, he thought. Just a few more hours.

Then, finally admitting what he had known all along: It will be my turn to meet the Prince of Darkness.

Wednesday - The Seventh Day

Sam was down mentally this day, the others sensing his depression, but not understanding it.

"We've beaten them, Sam!" Wade tried to lift his minister's mood. "We can coast now."

Sam shook his head. "No, Wade, that's not true. You don't understand the rules of the game."

"Game?" Miles said. "Game? Dear God, this has been a game?"

Sam looked around. The others were asleep. "Come on, I want Tony to hear this."

They walked to where the doctor stood on guard. "Now all of you listen to me," Sam said. "Very carefully. If—today I make a decision that seems—rash to you, don't try to stop me. I know what I'm doing."

Tony looked puzzled. "I don't understand, Sam."

"It's all over at midnight tonight," Sam explained. "So all rules are off—gone. Satan's dream of a glorious reign in Whitfield has, for now—and remember the word: now—all been destroyed. By us. More specifically, by me. It's me he wants; or something from me, and I think I know what it is. Anyway, don't question what I do this afternoon." He glanced at Tony. "Take care of Jane Ann."

"What?"

"You heard me. She's pregnant. Don't ask me how I know that for a fact, I just do. It will be a son. Help Jane Ann raise him. He's going to have to be awfully strong."

Sam walked away, leaving three very puzzled men. He walked to the top of a small rise, to stand there alone, looking up at the Heavens, talking softly with his God.