The Devil's Heart Part 12

At his urgings, blasphemous words rolled from her mouth, leaking like filth from a broken sewage line.

And G.o.d must have frowned as the Devil laughed when Black shoved his manhood into the laughing, screaming, corruption-spouting young woman. His newest convert. By the circle of stones. Not too far from a reaking hole in the ground.

"Susan screaming," Nydia said, her lips tight as the wails of pleasure drifted through the timber.

"But not in pain," Sam observed.

"No, I guess not. My brother is ... amply endowed. Like you," she said, glancing at him.

"My father must have been hung like a bull."

She laughed. "What a marvelously elegant expression.

"Shall we hike through the timber and see what's happening?" Sam suggested with a grin.

"What is this, another side to you? The voyeur?"

"I just want to see if Dad gave him the same equipment."

"You're awful. You and Black are ... about the same, in that department."

"How would you know?"

"I'm his sister, remember? I've seen my brother naked on numerous occasions. None recently, thank G.o.d." She was gently leading him in the opposite direction of the wailing pleasure sounds.

"Must be gettin' good," Sam drawled.

"You're incorrigible! Remember, Sam: He has His eye on you."

"Before you get too pious, honey, remember the same applies to you."

She looked horrified. "I forgot about that."

They walked a full mile from the circle of stones before they spread the ground sheet Sam carried. He said, "We'll give them time to get it done, then wander down that way. I want to see this circle of stones and the hole in the ground."

She lay back on the ground sheet, her hands behind her head. Sam's eyes began wandering. "Don't get any ideas," she cautioned him, pointing upward. "He's watching."

A half continent away, many of the residents of Whitfield began answering the call of their Chosen Master, gathering in a huge clearing on the Zagone Ranch, whose eastern range bordered on the fenced-in area known as The Digging. While G.o.d did not interfere-directly-into the affairs on earth, at least not too often, and certainly never in any obvious manner, Satan was bound by no rules on earth, and could do anything the Dark One chose to do. And did-often.

There would be no interference from anyone in this part of Fork County. The Devil had seen to that. Should anyone travel through, all would appear normal, and no one would have any desire whatsoever to stop-for anything.

But the Dark One did not know that G.o.d also had plans for this part of Whitfield, and was already working.

This time, if all went according to Satan's plans-and the Prince of Darkness saw no reason why they should not-there would be no great billowing plumes of smoke from burning, exploding buildings; no racing about the county blowing up ranch houses and shooting people- none of that business this time. No, all would be handled a bit more sedately this time around. His followers could, of course, have a bit of fun: dance, sing, engage in their heretofore forbidden open orgies, all that type of mortal frivolity. Perhaps some human offerings would be fun. Certainly the Jew and Jewess and that idiot aging reporter and his simpering wife would die . . . and then ... the Master of Grotesqueness would have his fun with Balon's b.i.t.c.h. That would be worth the waiting.

He pondered his options: whether to pa.s.s her around among the men until she died from exhaustion, or let the women have her. Perhaps have a pony mount her. That would certainly be an interesting sight. There were so many things to do with Balon's b.i.t.c.h.

Well, he had time to think things through. But ... behind all his smugness, all his confidence that, at last, he would finally beat that Ageless Cosmic Meddler in the firmament ... was the thought of that maverick resident of that miserable place: Balon.

Why did He allow Balon such liberties? That puzzled Beelzebub. Balon was not like many of the others; Balon was a relative newcomer. Of course, there had been many others before Balon, hundreds down through the years, but with few exceptions they had been such wimps, such a praying bunch of hand-wringing, psalm-singing sisters.

But not Balon. Balon, Mephistopheles concluded-had concluded, years ago-was a mother-f.u.c.ker. And one fine warrior. It just wouldn't do to have many like him wandering about.

Perhaps, Satan thought ... yes! Yes, there was a way. Maybe Balon would take it.

"Not a chance," the words ripped into Satan's thoughts.

"You have already extended yourself too much here on earth, Star-Wart," Satan replied. "Don't press your luck."

"You cannot tempt Balon."

"How do you know?"

"I know Balon."

"Bah! I think perhaps you have grown a bit too c.o.c.ky of late. You forget, I I know your limitations here on earth. know your limitations here on earth. I I know exactly what you can and cannot do. know exactly what you can and cannot do. I I ..." ..."

"If you mention I I one more time, Scratch ... I will certainly interfere with your plans. Directly." one more time, Scratch ... I will certainly interfere with your plans. Directly."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me."

Satan was silent for a moment, smarting under the lash of words from the only thing in the universe he feared. "You will leave us alone here in Whitfield?"

"I didn't say that."

"I must have some agreement from you."

"I don't bargain with you "

"Not good enough."

"I will never bargain with you, Belial. You should know that by now."

"Afraid I might beat you, eh?"

The Heavens were silent.

"Oh, all right!" the Tempter pouted. "But you have to give me something to seal the bargain."

"I told you, Hooved-One: I do not bargain with you. Your slyness with words will not work with me."

"What is so special about Balon; You can tell me that, at least."

The Heavens were again silent.

"Ah! Of course!" the Mephistophelian voice cracked. "I see. Balon. Yes. You rather like him, don't you? You don't have to reply-I know. Yes, while your pet, Michael, is out flitting about the heavens, you'd like Balon sitting with you, eh? You do like your pet dogs, don't you? Is Michael there now?"

The Heavens rumbled as the archangel voiced his objection to being called a dog.

Satan laughed, and lightning licked across the sky. "Turn your militant maverick loose, Thunderer; let him face me. Let us see if his powers are as great as mine."

That was the wrong thing for the Dark One to suggest.

The Heavens were calm, even while Satan howled and cursed and called down malisons on all the residents of the firmament. He received no reply.

That enraged the ruler of filth. Satan fired his thoughts into the head of Jean Zagone. "You have sampled nearly all the men around you, b.i.t.c.h!" he said, still smarting from his conversation with the Holy One. "Pick five of the most virile and have them ready to receive Balon's pious wh.o.r.e."

And on the Zagone ranch, on the plains, the dancing began, preparatory to the Friday night sacrifice. The Coven members danced lewdly, hunching obscenely as they shouted filth to the Heavens. They were not afraid in their vocal and physical defilements, for the Prince of Evil had a.s.sured them his protection; guaranteed them a long and l.u.s.tful life on earth.

These Coven members, these wors.h.i.+pers of Darkness, these students of Bell, Book, and Candle ... they had made any number of mistakes in their evil lives. But paramount among them was believing anything the Devil said, while forgetting that the one True G.o.d is a vengeful G.o.d.

EIGHT.

"Let's see how far our thoughts will carry," Sam suggested. "We'd better know, 'cause I think things are going to get down to the nut-cuttin' pretty quick."

"I do love your expressions, Sam," Nydia said, smiling. "I wonder if your father used the same colloquialisms? Bearing in mind he was a minister."

"Probably so. Mother often said he was a real character. Would speak his mind whenever and wherever."

"And yet, he has G.o.d's favor. I don't understand that. From what little I know of G.o.d's Word, I always thought of Christians as rather meek and mild types."

"Oh, I think that's a dangerous misconception, Nydia. G.o.d loves His warriors. I think Michael sits at G.o.d's side. Some even think he is G.o.d's bodyguard. Others think of him as the hand of retribution."

She glanced at him, thinking: Yes, I believe G.o.d does love His warriors.

They separated in the timber, walking first a few hundred yards apart, testing their ability to project and receive thoughts. They found that distance did make a difference in the receiving and sending.

"Let's go see this circle of stones," Sam said.

"What if we run into Black and Susan?"

He grinned at her, thinking how beautiful she was in the light filtering through the timber. "We'll just ask them how it was."

She playfully pushed him away. "Sam, you're impossible."

But the circle of stones was deserted when they got there. They looked for Black and Susan, finding only the still-pressed-down blanket of pine needles where they had lain.

Sam kneeled down, studying closely the stones of the huge circle; he studied with great interest the largest stone, which depicted scenes of great depravity: of men with huge jutting phalluses; of women with their legs spread wide, exposing the genitalia; scenes of ma.s.s orgies: men with men, women with women, men with small children; scenes of hideous torture; of grotesque creatures, monsters, leaping and snarling. And finally, on the east side of the boulder, a scene depicting a saintly looking man who was locked in some sort of combat with a beastly appearing creature.

Sam looked up from his studying. "You didn't tell me about this."

Her face was pale. "That was ... never there before, Sam. I mean, the rocks, yes, but not all those carvings."

"Nydia ..." he let his statement drift away. "No ... I imagine the carvings were always here; you just couldn't see them. They are probably exposed only when Satan wants them to be." And how do you know all that? he silently questioned his mind.

"Or when he is near," she said tightly.

"Yes." Sam rose from his squat position and put his arms around her. She was trembling.

"I'm scared, Sam. For the first time, I'm really frightened. Now I know what you meant when you said you didn't know what to do-where to start."

Sam comforted her as best he could, for he, too, was frightened. "Come on. Let's see this hole in the ground."

They smelled the stench long before they came to the hole, both their noses wrinkling at the foul odor. "Can you imagine what it's like deep in that hole?" Sam tried a grin, unaware that his father had said almost the same thing to a couple of friends back in '58, standing near The Digging.

"Gross!" Nydia said. She watched as Sam reached into his jacket pocket. His face paled. He jerked his hand from the pocket as if he had touched a snake.

"What's wrong, Sam?"

His face regained a bit of color after his initial shock. "That . . . that's not my pistol in there."

"What!"

"I ... thought just a moment ago, when I was kneeling down by that boulder there was too much weight in my pocket. But I shrugged it off. That's not a .38 revolver. That's an ... automatic."

"Let's see, Sam."

He looked at her for a long moment and then put his hand into his jacket pocket. With his hand still in his pocket, he said, "Oh, my G.o.d!"

"Sam!"

He pulled out his hand, the hand containing three fully loaded clips for a .45 automatic pistol.

"What kind of gun did your father carry ... back in Whitfield?"

"I don't know."

"Take out the pistol, Sam."

The young man hesitantly put his hand back into his pocket, gingerly pulling out the big automatic. He checked it. A full clip in the b.u.t.t. He turned the weapon and saw a bra.s.s nameplate embedded and riveted into the handle. SGT SAM BALON KOREA 1953 "It's ... it belonged to my father," he choked out the words, holding the weapon out for Nydia to see the bra.s.s plate in the grip.

She put a hand to her mouth, her face pale with shock.

"Something else just popped into my head," Sam said. "Wade Thomas told me one time my father sure could use a Thompson submachine gun. My mother gave him a look that would have fried eggs."

"What's a Thompson submachine gun?"

"An old-type tommy gun. Like the gangsters used to use.

"Are they any good?"