Showdown (42 page)

“And what do we really know?” David demanded. “Only what we can see from the overlook. Anything could happen in any one of those buildings without our knowledge.”

Samuel had received his father's reluctant yet firm commitment during the meeting not to send anyone else to the town. It was too dangerous not only for them, but for the town itself. They couldn't risk setting Billy off. “Trust the books, Father. And trust me,” Samuel had said. “Trust the books,” Raul said. “Isn't that—”

“This from you, who insisted we shut the project down?”

“I was wrong! Anyway, we're beyond that now. We're committed to this course. At this point no matter what happens we can't interfere. There's too much at stake.”

David sighed. “I'm afraid, Raul. For the first time I'm really afraid. What if this fails?”

“Then we're in serious trouble.”

“We can't lock them in the dungeon; we can't force the books away from them. God only knows what they've written to protect themselves. We can't just kill them all.”

“We still have Samuel.”

“And what can Samuel do? If this fails . . .”

David turned back to the window and lowered his head. Raul waited a full minute before breaking the silence.

“Sir?”

But David had slipped into his own world and refused to be interrupted.
He stood there, his head hung, leaning on the window overlooking Paradise far below.

Raul finally took the old food tray, replaced it with the fresh one, and slipped into the hall.

God help them all.

MARSUVEES BLACK barged through the lower library doors, his black robe flowing behind him like trailing bat wings.

“Are they all here?” he demanded.

Billy stood by Darcy and Paul, just inside, his hands folded behind his back. “Yes,” he replied.

The overseer stormed past them and disappeared through the side door leading to the balcony. Billy nodded at the others and followed. He had never seen the man so agitated.

Samuel was up to something, that much he'd discovered when Black had barged into his small study, cursing the worms on the floor.

“Get these slugs out of here! Remove them immediately, you fools!”

At first Billy had thought it was Black, yelling in his ear from Paradise. But then he turned and saw the gaunt overseer.

“Marsuvees?”

“What are you doing down here? Sleeping? For heaven's sake, boy! Don't you know what's going on?”

Darcy came awake beside him and lifted her head. “Marsuvees Black? You look just like what I imagined.”

“Wonderful. Are you as dense as Billy?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean? If you would quit eating so much of that sludge, maybe your minds would be able to see beyond your own stinking noses!”

“It was
your
idea that we eat so much sludge,” Billy said.

“I didn't say to drug yourselves into a stupor! Your whole story's falling apart around your ears and you don't even see it!”

“Of course I see—”

“Wake up, boy!” Black yelled. “Samuel's undoing your story!”

“No, he's not. I have things under control.”

“You do not! I want every single child in the main library in twenty minutes. You have them there, you understand? Everyone!”

That was twenty minutes ago.

Billy edged up to the balcony railing beside Black. The children were all in the library, slouched over the tables below, some asleep with their faces buried in their books, a few still writing. Black scanned the room and evaluated the scene like a general might measure his troops before a battle. Billy counted them quickly. Thirty-two . . . thirty-three? Oh, right. He, Darcy, and Paul. That made thirty-six.

“Wake up!” Black screamed.

Billy jumped, but the writers below hardly noticed. They turned slowly toward the voice. Billy could almost see their minds crawling from the slumber of deep fantasy where words became flesh.

“Wake up!” This time a few jerked up. The rest lifted their faces toward the balcony.

“Look at you, all slobbering over your own puny stories.” Now thirty-three sets of eyes focused in on him like bats.

“What are you writing? I'll tell you what you're writing. You're writing meaningless, disjointed pap!”

He stabbed a finger toward the far wall. “They should have been dead by now! Dead! But does even one of you know what is really happening in our lovely town of Paradise?”

No one provided an answer.

“No! You don't. And do you know
how
I know you don't know? Because if you did know, you would stop it. But you aren't stopping it. You're too busy pacifying your own pathetic fantasies with your individual characters.”

What could the man possibly be ranting about? They had been writing nonstop. How could he come in here and accuse them of this nonsense? The monk had lost his lid.

“Does anybody know where Samuel is?”

“He's writing,” Billy said. “We know that. He's written a character based on himself to debate—”

“He's in Paradise!” Black said, without looking Billy's way.

“The real Samuel?”

“The real Samuel is in Paradise.”

Billy blinked. Samuel in Paradise?

“He's in
your
town, waltzing around as if he owns the place!”

“Physically?” Billy asked.

“Physically, your leader wants to know.” Black turned and leaned toward Billy. “Yes, physically!” Spittle flew from his mouth.

Marsuvees turned back to the children, who sat up now, paralyzed by his outrage.

“Now, I want you to write into the minds of Paradise like you've never written before, you hear me? I won't permit a single child to leave this library until we have our way with him.”

The statement hung in the air like the reverberation of a gong. “No one will move. For any reason. You don't eat, you don't sleep, you don't talk, you don't even breathe more than absolutely necessary. I want every last cell in your measly, mindless brains to narrow on Paradise. You hear me?”

No one moved. “Well, don't just sit there. Give me a nod or something!”

Like a room full of little pistons, their heads bobbed.

Billy felt Black's eyes on him. “What, me? You don't expect
me
to write here, do you?” Impossible! He could never write with these slobs!

“Have I been speaking to the wall? What does
no one
mean to you? No one but the first fool who fell?”

Black looked back at the statues below. “And I want six of you”—he motioned to a table of six to his left—“you there will do. I want you to write, two each into Paula, Sally, and that cursed preacher.”

“But, sir,” a small boy said, “what would you have us write into them?”

“Have you learned nothing?” Black asked with a quiet, quivering voice. He began to yell. “Write deception! Write wickedness! Write hate! Write murder! Write death! Just write, you blithering idiot!”

Black spun from the railing and stormed from the balcony. The door to the library slammed and the outer tunnel filled with a horrendous scream that bent the children over their books.

“What do we do?” Darcy asked.

“We write,” Billy said.

CHAPTER THIRTY - SEVEN

PARADISE

Monday night

THE TOWN of Paradise waited in eerie silence. A red sunset, the first in a week, glowed on the horizon. A string of citizens shuffled soundlessly into the church.

“If there's trouble,” Johnny said, “if things don't go like you want, if we get separated or anything—not that I'm saying we will—but if anything happens, we could meet in the forest behind the theater where we met earlier.”

Samuel looked at him without answering.

“I'm just saying if, you know? Just in case,” Johnny said.

“And if that doesn't work, we can meet at the monastery.”

“That's even better. They'll never find us there.” Johnny looked up as the last of them straggled into the church. “We should try to get a jump on Black, don't you think?”

Samuel stepped from under the tree north of Main Street. “Follow me.”
He walked toward the church.

Johnny followed Samuel down the street and up the front steps. He paused in the entryway, expecting Samuel to give him a word of encouragement before walking into the crowded sanctuary—it seemed like a good thing.

But the boy didn't even look back. He walked straight inside and pushed the inner doors wide, like he was shoving saloon doors open for a six-gun showdown.

Johnny hurried to catch Samuel, fixing his eyes on the boy's heels as they touched the carpet. No one moved as they walked by, at least not that he could see from the corner of his eyes.

He imagined Steve sitting on the far side, bloodied as he had been the last time Johnny had tried to talk sense into them. Of course, Johnny didn't have Samuel's power. Claude and his gang would be sitting like zombies, clutching bottles, eyelids drooping.

Samuel stepped up onto the stage and approached the pulpit. Johnny followed him, walked halfway to the podium, and stopped. He raised his head and scanned the room, careful not to look into anyone's eyes.

Claude and gang sat in the first row, gripping bottles as he'd imagined. Crud and dried blood matted most of those present. Some wore it on their hands, as if the blood had come from another body; others below their nostrils, where they'd ignored a bleeding nose; some bore long, scabbed gashes. The blowing dust had stuck to the mess and hardened, so their skin looked like it was peeling. They sat in the pews, arms limp or crossed.

Steve Smither sat on the far left, grinning wickedly. Father Yordon avoided Johnny's eyes. Paula wore a loose halter top. Her hair was twisted like a nest of snakes, and her eyes were glazed over. He couldn't see his mother.

Then he did, near the back, dress torn and dirtied, face puffy. He could hardly recognize her! Johnny felt a tremor shake his bones.

Samuel cleared his throat.“Hello. My name is Samuel, and I've come here tonight to debate Marsuvees Black. You'll decide who wins. Okay?”

No response from the zombies.

“Black isn't here yet, but I'm sure he'll show himself soon enough. It will be a debate of few words, because most of you aren't hearing too well anymore. But you'll be presented with a clear choice and you'll have to decide. Do you understand?”

Still no reaction.

“Without love, everything falls apart,” Samuel said. Something had changed in his voice. “Love is what I offer you today.”

The words seemed to flow from Samuel's mouth like red-hot lava, smothering the auditorium, including Johnny, who could barely breathe from the sudden tightness in his chest. This was more like it. Samuel would have them wrapped up before Black even arrived.

“Have you forgotten what true love is?” Samuel choked up. He swallowed, and Johnny wanted to cry.

“No.” Steve Smither stood, grinning.

“No, no, we do remember.”

Four hundred crazies shifted their gazes to the man.

Steve walked toward the stage, hands clasped behind his back. “He's right, you know. We've been deceived. We're a brood of vipers. We're sick with the stench of death. Just like the boy says.”

Samuel hadn't said that.

Steve spread his arms and faced the crowd as if he were the preacher now. “This little stranger here who came out of nowhere is right. We are deceived. All of us, blithering fools wrapped in a web of deceit that's strangling us to death.”

Steve stepped onto the platform. Johnny took a step backward. The man's eyes were glassy and bloodshot. Samuel stood by the pulpit quietly, eyes fixed on Steve.

“We're all sick, disgusting perverts. Spineless, puny pukes.”

Steve crossed toward Samuel, who stood still, expressionless. No relief, no joy, no anger, nothing but sadness. And that small chin tilting up to Steve—those soft lips, those long lashes unblinking.

Do it, Samuel! Tell him! Tell them all. Tell them you come from a monastery
and you have enough power to flatten them with a single word! Tell them,
Samuel. Tell them now!

Samuel didn't move.

“And what do vipers do, Samuel? Hmm? You're quite an intelligent little runt; you surely know what vipers do, don't you?”He still grinned and then added in a low raspy voice, “You little puke.”

Johnny's knees began to tremble. This wasn't the way Steve normally talked, not even close. Someone was talking through him. Billy or Black. Johnny glanced at the crowd. Some of them sat up a little straighter, he thought, but their faces remained blank.

The grin vanished from Steve's face as if someone had cut the strings that lifted it. “Vipers bite, Samuel. You come down into our town and try to mess with our story and see what you get? You get bit, 'cause our worms are snakes too. Did you know that?”

“This is your idea of a debate, Billy?” Samuel said.

“That's right, I am Billy. And if this isn't a debate, what is? We're all down here in the dungeons and you're up there. What does that tell you? It tells you that you're dead meat.”

Samuel had expected to confront Black. Why had Billy chosen Steve? “You know the consequences of evil?” Samuel said.

“Love!” Steve cried, spreading his arms. “I think it all leads to—”

Steve gasped and went white. He stared at Samuel in shock. Slowly his face twisted, first with anguish and then with horror. He threw his arms to his face, doubled over, and screamed bloody murder.

The crowd didn't react. Neither did Samuel at first, he let Steve scream and scream. And then he spoke softly, so that only he and Steve could hear.

“Steve, meet Billy. Billy, meet yourself.”

Think of me as the human mirror,
Samuel had said. He'd just shown Steve and Billy their own souls.