The Devil's Heart (23 page)

The two overanxious members of Zagone's Coven nodded their heads in eager agreement. They ran across the yard. They made it to the back porch steps before two shotguns blasted, the slugs from one catching Boo in the face, blowing his head apart. The other blast hitting Clint in the center of his chest, flinging him backward. He died as he hit the ground.

"I didn't figure they was that dumb," Jake said, fingering the medallion that hung around his neck. "Come on. I got me an idea."

Jean wasn't surprised to hear their attempt to rush the house had failed. Things were not going as planned. Not at all. "What's your idea, Jake?"

"Simple," the foreman said. "Burn 'um out."

Gasoline was found, Molotov cocktails made. The first firebomb exploded in the hands of its preparer; the second and third ones bounced off the house and went out. The fourth and fifth bombs were picked up by the Clay Man and hurled back at the crowd, badly burning one man and blinding another.

"Enough!" the Prince of Darkness hurled his command into the brain of Jean Zagone. "It is as I thought: useless. Let them be."

And the Dark One knew then his attempts to wrest, the town of Whitfield from the hands of God and build a Coven there were doomed to failure. The Almighty Meddler had allowed him to waste his time here for more than twenty years, knowing all along He would not allow the final act.

The Dark One brooded, his thoughts more savage than usual. He searched the Heavens for some sign of his lifelong foe, but He was not to be found.

Could it be, Satan mused, could it be true, that He really did retire into His firmament? But why would He do such a thing?

The Dark One could find no logical reason for such silly behavior on His part. There were reasonably innocent people in this miserable village . . . well, not really innocent, he amended that … but He had not—so far—interfered with their taking; their torture; their rape; their degradation.

Why?

Why would He save only the Jew and Jewess, and those silly Gentiles? Satan could not believe He would allow the torture and rape of Jane Ann simply to test Sam Balon … or would He? No, that might be it in part, but there was more to this. The Prince of Rats knew that God sometimes acted in mysterious ways, but this was erratic even for Him. It made no sense.

And Satan knew something else: he was having to work too hard here to accomplish so little. If he accomplished anything at all, he added.

No … something was amiss. There had to be more to it for Him to behave so strangely.

The Lord of Pus looked upward and roared: "Star-Wart? Answer me, you bastard!"

But there was no reply from the firmament.

The King of Shit howled and screamed his displeasure, vending his anger, fouling the Heavens with profanity, daring the Mighty of the Mighty to give him a reply. And the Beasts around The Digging huddled in their caves, shaking with fear, for they sensed doom. They had been the first to sense it, for they were much more animal than human, and could feel with a perception that humans did not possess that it would rain, snow, the ground tremble, the sky produce hail, and when things were going badly for their kind.

And they were afraid.

Jane Ann looked at the mist of Balon and asked, "Will they come for me this night, Sam?"

"No. It will be near the end."

"And they will have me … ?"

"About thirty hours."

"And then?"

"It will be over for you on earth."

"And we will leave together?"

"Yes."

"Miles and Doris, Wade and Anita with us?"

"Yes."

She rose to get his Bible and opened it to one of the psalms she had been reading. "I wish it was over," she said.

"We can't get out!" a Coven member told Jean, near hysteria in her voice. "Everywhere we turn, we're blocked."

" 'At's right," another member said drunkenly. "We done been ever' where in this part of Fork, down ever' road. We blocked in and shut out."

"Blocked by what?" Jean almost screamed the question.

"Nothing."

"Nothing!
Damnit, that doesn't make any sense. What the shit do you mean: nothing?"

"There's something there, but you can't see it. It's invisible, but it's solid. Like a big bubble. You can feel it, but you can't see it. And it slopes upward, real gentle like, just enough where you can't get no purchase on it. And we seen two or three out-of-staters drive right through it, but when we run over there, it was closed to us. And them people in the cars didn't pay us no mind at all. It's like we was invisible, or something."

"That's right," the mayor of Whitfield said. He, like the others, was filthy, his clothing reeking from sex and sin and death. He was unshaven, and his breath and body stank. "We're trapped in here, Zagone, trapped like rats in a barrel. What's going on?" he screamed, his fear becoming contagious, touching others of the Coven.

"Now, just calm down," Jean said soothing them. "The Master will take care of us. He promised he would; hasn't he always?"

So far, they all agreed.

"All right, I'll speak with him. For now, you people relax. Go get one of those not of us and crucify them—have some fun. Everything will be all right. You'll see."

Her smile and words seemed to placate them, and they went into town, to find another luckless, hapless so-called Christian; they had all had such fun listening to them scream while they tortured them, raped them, nailed them to roughmade crosses. Selected areas of the town were dotted with crosses, with naked tortured bodies dangling from the towers of pain.

The men and women who still screamed out their lives were dying wondering why … just because they had cheated a little bit in business, here and there; just because they had professed to be Christians and had secretly or openly held hate in their hearts for niggers, Jews, spics, greasers, Indians … that shouldn't mean they should have to die this horribly … should it? Just because they had lied in their hearts while they prayed to Him, knowing they were lying all the time … that wasn't enough to warrant this … was it?

Just because they had enjoyed browbeating employees and cheating on income tax and palming a few bucks a day from their employers and every now and then getting in a quick fuck from their neighbor's wife or husband or secretly getting together with the boys to watch a fuck movie. … That wasn't enough of a sin to warrant this awfulness … was it?

After all, hadn't they gone to church every Sunday, just like the Bible instructed them to do? Hadn't they tithed like He asked them to do? Well … maybe not ten percent, but shit, in this day and time, that's just not reasonable. I mean, a fellow has Country Club dues and the whole family has to have a new wardrobe every year for every season and everybody's got to have their own car and bass boat and RV and all that, right? I mean, it's tough about all them starving kids in the world, but … that ain't my problem. Is it?

And didn't we pray for forgiveness every time we fell from grace and fucked the secretary or screwed the boss? Sorry it was an every week arrangement … but a guy or a gal's got a right to get a little strange cock or cunt every now and then … right?

But I guess, looking back over our lives, we really didn't try very hard to maintain His standards, His way. His rules, His teachings.

Maybe we did deserve all this.

The invisible barrier around Whitfield and parts of Fork County didn't upset Mephistopheles; there was no barrier he could not penetrate—except Heaven, and he certainly had no wish to go there. And the fact that he knew he was going to lose in this locale did not bother him very much … not really: he had lost before and would again. These ignorant, stupid, greedy, vain, petty, grasping mortals were all his anyway … no matter what took place during their short squirt of breathing life … most of them were too ignorant to understand that. No, what really bothered the Prince of Foulness was that he just could not understand why He was doing this. It was almost as if He had made up His mind to give up on the human race … end the game.

But Satan knew that wasn't true, knew they had a few more years in contest ahead of them. No, He wasn't yet ready to end the game and sear the world with nuclear fusion. This world. The game, the Foul One knew, had many millennia left; other worlds yet to experience his and His warfare; thousands of creatures left to yet develop into thinking beings, for now, though, as yet undeveloped enough to make the choice between darkness and light. Truth and lies. Beauty and ugliness.

No, Apollyon sighed, the sigh producing a great wind that raked the barren rolling hills around Fork County … no, that was not it. And then the Dark One decided, as he had done so many times in the past, that he really didn't know what motivated Him; what caused Him to accept one human being and reject another. His philosophy was so complicated … so simple, Satan corrected his thinking, to make it appear confusing.

Well, the Foul One concluded: so much for Whitfield. His enemy had won again. But, his smile was all things evil, there was still Falcon House, and even should I lose there, I will not lose entirely, for the witch was ready to make her move, to give him a demon child; the warlock ready to make his move, to give him another demon child, and he had more souls for the pits. So, all in all, it had not been an entirely fruitless pursuit. No, not at all. I'll leave these fools and twits to their own cunning here in this wretched village. Go to Falcon House, see how I may be of assistance there.

There was always tomorrow.

Neither Sam nor Nydia encountered many Coven members on this, the Lord's Day. Those they did see walked with quick, furtive steps, shifty, hurriedly averted eyes, and slumped shoulders, as if expecting a sudden blow from behind.

"Sam?" Nydia asked, as they had breakfast alone in the large dining room. "Wouldn't this be the day to defeat them?"

"It would seem so," the young man replied. "But the feeling isn't right. I'm not supposed to start yet. I don't believe the period of testing is over … for me."

She accepted that without question. "Why … are they so … I don't know … afraid, I guess is the right word?"

"You mean today?"

She nodded.

"God's day, honey. We're safe, comparatively speaking, that is. But some warning voice … no, that's not true, not a voice, a sense, I guess, deep inside me, tells me to be on guard, for this is their territory, not ours."

"Or His," Nydia said.

"Yes."

She looked up, sudden fear in her eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"Falcon and Roma coming toward us."

"Hell with them."

"Apt choice of words," she said, smiling.

The witch and warlock stopped at the buffet line to fill their plates, then walked to the table, Falcon smiling, saying, "I know you young people won't object if we join you."

"Not at all." Sam returned the smile. "We were just about to say a morning prayer for thanks." He pointed upward. "To Him."

"How disgusting!" Roma said.

"Go right ahead," Falcon said. "But you will understand if we don't join in?"

Sam bowed his head and Nydia followed suit, not knowing what her young man was going to do. She didn't even know if Sam knew a morning prayer of thanks.

Sam, with his head bowed, hiding his smile, said, "Dee Dee, Ta Ta."

Falcon and Roma looked at each other. "Is that some kind of a joke?" she asked.

"No," Sam said. "When I was just learning to talk, really before I could pronounce words, after Mother or Dad would say the prayer, I'd always say that. Our God is listening, and He knows what I said, and meant."

Roma sat down. "And you people call us weird." She buttered a piece of toast, nibbled at it, then said, "Have either of you given any more thought to what we discussed last evening?"

"The answer is no, Roma," Nydia said, and she was conscious of Sam looking at her through eyes of love and respect.

"Nydia," Falcon said, "have you considered this: how do you know you will be accepted into His flock; His hand of protection? Think about it. You have not been properly baptized; you do not know the Bible and nothing of His teachings. Aren't you taking a chance, my dear?"

"Yes," she surprised him with her reply, "and I've given that a great deal of thought. But our answer is still no. I've been reading Sam's Bible, and it says: 'God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' Now ... I don't know, really, how that should be interpreted, but I read it to mean that if a person believes in Jesus and the Father, and tries real hard to do what is right, to be a good person, well … everything's going to be all right. I may be wrong. I hope not."

Sam gently squeezed her fingers in support.

"How touching," Roma said dryly, observing the gesture of love.

"Shut up, darling," Falcon told her, and this time she heard a distinct note of warning in his voice. She closed her mouth. Falcon said, "Is there no way we can reach a compromise?"

"No," Sam said, flatly rejecting the offer.

"He's just like his father," Roma blurted. "Hard-headed as a goat."

"And very proud to be," Sam said, smiling.

Roma nodded her head; the extent to which she agreed with Sam was impossible to tell from the curt gesture.

Falcon's eyes were hard as he looked at Nydia. "My dear, you can make this enjoyable, or very unpleasant … when the time comes. I suggest you think about it."

"I don't know what you mean," she replied.

Falcon's smile was evil. He pointed to his crotch. "You and I, dear."

She shook her head slowly.

"The same applies to you, Sam," Roma said.

"Sorry," the young man told her. "I think I'll pass." He had no way of knowing his mother had spoken those same words to Roma more than twenty years before, referring to Black Wilder's offer.

"A lot of your mother in you, too, darling," Roma said with a nasty grin. "And your mother is going to have a lot in her before all this is over. Do pardon the slight pun, won't you?"

Sam shot visual daggers of hate at the witch.