Gordon released Katy as he and his unnatural ancestor struggled. A metallic hail rained down on the night, and Katy recognized it as automatic gunfire. Slugs whined through the night air, thwacking into trees, pinging off rocks, and ripping into vehicles.
"Get down, Jett," Katy yelled.
The Circuit Rider forced the sickle to Gordon's face, dragging the tip down so that it cut into the scarecrow mask, dissecting the black stitched lips. Blood appeared around me tear, darkening the coarse sackcloth.
"Show your face," the Circuit Rider said.
Gordon used his superior height and weight to bend me Circuit Rider back, grunting with effort. Katy realized she was pulling for the dead preacher. Despite his reputation, he seemed the lesser of two evils at the moment.
She knelt over Ray Tester and yanked the arrow out of his back, and me tip emerged with a wet sloosh. She gripped the blood-slick arrow in both hands and spun, ramming it up into Gordon's gut. He jerked in a spasm of pain, and in that motion, the sickle swept into the Circuit Rider's neck. The pale, waxy flesh tore like paper, and a black powdery substance spilled out. Except it wasn't powder: the tiny specks were alive and crawling.
Katy jumped down as Gordon lurched across the stone, conducting a crazy scarecrow waltz that might have mimicked those sacrificial harvest celebrations of long ago. He tottered and fell, planting the arrow more deeply inside him.
The Circuit Rider stood, his hands spread wide, the black scrabbling creatures leaking from his wound.
He smiled at Katy, as grim and dark an expression, but also as peaceful, as shed ever seen. "You are the light of the world" he said.
Then he was gone.
"Get this jalopy in gear," Sarah said, as Sue started the Jeep.
Sue punched the accelerator and popped the clutch, parting the goats that were climbing up the bumper. The Jeep's knobby tires gave a satisfying bump as they rolled over one of the creatures. Most of the people, at least those who weren't being eaten by goats, had fled into the woods.
"I've always hated them damned critters," Sarah said. "Never could trust something with eyes that looked twenty ways at once."
Sue wasn't sure where the gunfire was coming from, but she figured moving fast and crazy was the best course of action. A man fell to his knees, clutching his belly, and goats converged on him. Sue figured it was too late to save the man, but not the others. She guided the Jeep toward the redheaded woman on the rock just as the Circuit Rider and Gordon tangled, and Gordon performed his St. Vitus dance of death.
"Did you see that?" Sarah asked.
"No, and neither did you. I don't want to spend the rest of my days in therapy."
"You ain't crazy. I guess you've just been officially welcomed to Solom."
Sue brought the Jeep to a halt beside the girl and Odus, who was woozy but appeared to be in no danger of sudden death. Unless one of those stray bullets caught him. Sarah opened the door and crawled into the back, leaving room for the girl to help Odus into the Jeep.
"Where's my horse?" Odus said, as groggy as if he were on a two-pint drunk.
"Went up in smoke along with Harmon Smith," Sarah said.
The driver's-side mirror took a bullet and shattered. The gun fell silent, and Sue figured the shooter was reloading.
"Hurry, Mom!" the girl yelled, and the redhead jumped off the stone and pushed the girl into the Jeep. Clinging to the roll bar, half of her body hanging out with the door flapping against her, Katy said, "Roll!"
Sue did.
Alex had a terrible dream. In the dream, he'd been brought to a secret bunker in Roswell, New Mexico. He was escorted by two men in blue uniforms, each wearing enough brass and doodads to win an "Unsung Heroes" contest. They led him down a long concrete tunnel, whose recessed lights threw off a smoky blue color. The air was stale, as if it had been recycled for weeks. A set of double metal doors slid open and Alex was escorted into an office.
An oval office.
The president sat behind a large cherry desk, the wood surface so polished that the president's shit-eating, frat-boy grin and pointy chin were reflected.
"Welcome, Agent Eakins," the president said in a Texas drawl as he stood. "The United States owes you a great debt of gratitude, or a date regret of attitude, dude, or something like that."
The president reached over the desk to shake Alex's hand. There was only one thing to say. So Alex said it.
"Vote Libertarian, you weasel-eyed fuck-face."
He jerked awake from the nightmare to find himself in the tree, his arms wrapped around a branch, the AKR cold at his side. The sun was just now dragging its lazy orange ass over the horizon. Blue jays squawked and wrens twittered in the trees. The forest was otherwise quiet, besides the soft rustle of wind in the last of the dying leaves.
Weird Dude was gone, and the scarecrow creep was lying in a puddle of blood in the center of the granite stone. A couple of vehicles were still parked at the edge of the clearing, their headlights faded to a weak pumpkin glow.
Below him were the white-and-brown lumps of dead goats. Somewhere during the spree, the goats' protective powers must have worn off, proving that even the almighty government was fallible.
Also scattered on the churned-up ground were a dozen or so people, lying still in the dawn, their clothes moist with dew. A few of them had visible wounds in their bodies, but Alex couldn't tell if they'd taken friendly fire or had been chomped by mutant goats. For all he knew, the feds had pulled a Ruby Ridge and taken down some innocents, then slipped back to Washington without apology, leaving someone else to clean up the mess.
Strangely, the sight was a calming one. This was reality. He could handle it. Just don't ever put him in a government bunker and he could deal.
He reached into his pocket and worked up a joint, then fired it with his Bic. As he bathed in the luxuriant blue smoke, he considered the old saying that revenge was a dish best served cold.
Alex decided he liked the taste either way.
"Told you we'd get through it together," Katy said.
"Yeah, but now what?" Jett applied a crumbly smear of purple lipstick. She decided she didn't need eye shadow today; the weary pouches were offensive and startling enough. Mom had let her skip school. They decided to regroup at the Smith house, where Sue had dropped them off.
"Well, first off, I guess we better tell your dad."
"Cool. Are you guys getting back together?"
"Honey, if I ever taught you anything, it was not to repeat your mistakes."
"Well, look at the ass-wipe you married the second time around."
"Watch your language. I'll be sure not to ever marry another psychotic, wife-killing maniac who likes to dress up like a scarecrow. How's that?"
"It will do, for starters."
They sat on the porch, though the morning was cool. Katy didn't feel like going in the house, though she was sure Rebecca would never be back. Rebecca had followed the rest of them into the netherland where the Circuit Rider's flock grazed for all eternity. Gordon might be there, too, for all she knew. The future wasn't fixed. It was, if anything, a great crippled wheel, dipping here and there, throwing off those who didn't cling tightly enough.
A merry-go-round broke down.
"Sure is peaceful without all those goats around," Katy said
"Yeah. Almost makes me want to check out the barn, just to be sure none of them are lurking around. You know how in the cheesy horror movies, the end is never really the end."
"We're staying out of the barn, little lady." Katy swept Jett's bangs from her forehead and planted a kiss. 'Tell you what. You put on some music, and I'll make us a bite to eat."
"No Smith family recipes?"
"Promise."
As Katy prowled the fridge between the butter and the olives, the biting riff of a Replacements tune blasted from the shell of Jett's room: "Merry-Go-Round."