"But he said this church was going to be set on fire?"
The man chuckled, a low sound that came from deep within his massive chest. "He didn't say this church was going to be set on fire, he said all the churches were going to be burned. Satan was going to burn them, he said."
"Why?"
The man shrugged. "How the fuck should I know?" He stared at the smoking building, but it was clear that the firemen already had the blaze under control. He started to move off.
"Wait," Jim said. "Do you know where I can find this Brother Elias?"
The man shook his head. "Search me. I saw him at the Circle K yesterday, but I heard someone today say he was at the sawmill. You might try there."
"Thanks." Jim watched the man lumber away. Next to him, the young woman was still sobbing. From the front door of the church a yellow-suited fireman, Ernst presumably, gave him the high sign. Jim waved back and turned to the girl. "It's out," he said. "It looks like they saved most of it."
She did not hear him, or, if she did, she did not care. She continued to cry into her hands. Jim stared at the church. A small plume of smoke was still swirling upward from a hole in the roof, like the benign smoke from a chimney. The brownish bricks of the building were covered with soot and water.
Brother Elias, Jim thought.
The preacher stood on the small wooden bench, holding his Bible high in the air and glaring out at the assembled crowd before him. There were at least fifteen or twenty people standing on the rough asphalt sidewalk in front of the rodeo grounds, staring up at him in rapt attention. They had all been walking by on their way to other places, they had all been thinking of other things, but they had all stopped to listen when they'd heard the sound of his voice.
"The evil one is amongst you NOW!" the preacher screamed, gesturing into the crowd with his Bible. He smiled slyly, crouching low on the bench. "No, don't pretend that you are surprised. Because you are not surprised. He is here now, and you know he is here! In fact, YOU have had dealings with him!" The preacher jumped up, pointing to a long-haired young man drinking a Coke.
"Fuck you," the young man said tiredly. He held up a middle finger as he walked away. Several people in the crowd giggled.
"Yes, you can laugh now," the preacher said. "But there will be no laughter when Satan claims the earth for his own and walks freely amongst his subjects! For, yes, that is what he intends to do.
He will conquer this earth and all on it and turn it into his own private playground, his own annex of hell!"
Someone in the crowd stifled a laugh.
The preacher looked heavenward, straining his neck as he faced the skies. "Oh Lord, why dost thou give them brains when they do not use them to think? Why dost thou give them eyes when they do not use them to see?" Suddenly, he jumped down from the bench, waving the Bible in his hand at the crowd. The people backed up a step, shocked. The preacher's black eyes burned with a crazed, fiery intensity. "He has come once before, the evil one. He came to this town and was defeated!" He looked around at the faces before him. "Do you have enough faith to defeat him this time? Are you willing to fight on the side of the Lord, or will you lay down and die and surrender your souls to the clutches of Satan?"
A frightened woman in the front of the crowd took a dollar bill from her purse.
"I don't want your money!" the preacher yelled, slapping her hand and sending the bill fluttering to the ground. "I want your word! God has given you his word, will you give him yours? Will you stand by your faith? Will you fight against the forces of evil?" He stared at the woman who had offered him the money. "You," he said. "Your son is fighting on the side of Satan. He is lost."
The woman paled. "I ... I have no son," she stammered.
But the preacher was already moving through the crowd, touching certain individuals. "Your wife died in childbirth," he said to one old man.
"She has ascended to the bosom of the Lord. Your daughter is burning in the pits of hell." He looked at another man. "You could go either way," he stated.
"How do you know all this?" one skeptical voice piped up. "What makes you think we should listen to you?"
"It has been foretold in the Bible," the preacher said loudly. "It has all been foreseen by Almighty God." He glanced around him. "This has happened before," he repeated, "and if we are successful in our attempts to combat the adversary it will happen still again. And again. And again. Satan has been banished for all eternity from the presence and grace of the Lord, and he will never give up in his attempt to usurp the power of God. Satan is gathering to him an army, and he will use that army to fight against the forces of good." He moved back through the crowd and once again jumped on top of the wooden bench. "We have no time to argue or debate. Either you are with God or you are against him. The time for indecision is past. The evil one is here and ready to strike!"
The crowd was silent.
The preacher closed his eyes and began swaying. "And the lightning will turn red, signifying the coming of the adversary," he chanted.
"There will be flies, there will be earthquakes." He stopped speaking, opening his eyes, and he stared silently down at the crowd. He jumped down from the bench and, without a word, picked up his suitcase from the ground behind him and strode purposefully through the throng of people. He continued down the street, not looking back.
On the bench, he had left a pile of pamphlets, religious tracts. One man moved hesitantly forward, picking one up. "Blessed are the brave,"
the title announced, "For They Are the Armies of God."
EIGHT
Pete King sat in the metal swivel chair in front of the switchboard, his feet propped up on the counter. He stared at the randomly flickering lights of the board, wondering why they lit up when no one was calling. He never would understand how these damn things worked.
Judson came in from the back, from the bathroom, buckling his belt. He nodded toward Pete. "Any of them donuts left?"
Pete tossed him a crumpled white sack. "Some."
Judson pulled out half a crumb donut and a small piece of maple bar. He dropped them back in the sack and threw the sack at Pete in disgust.
"That's it? You ate all the rest?"
"I saved two for you."
"Two pieces you bit out of."
Pete laughed. "I didn't bite out of them. I tore pieces off with my fingers. What a pansy."
"Pansy hell. I just don't want to get your AIDS germs." Judson pulled the chair out from Rita's desk and sat down, pushing his feet against the wood and tipping the chair back on two legs. He nodded toward the switchboard. "Anything?"
Pete shook his head. "Slow night."
"So what'd that dickhead from Phoenix have to say?"
"McFarland? Nothing new. I think thestaters are concentrating more on the Valley than here."
"That's bullshit.More's happened here than there."
Pete laughed. "What is this? A contest? Sure,more's happened here than there, but they figure Phoenix is bigger, he'd have more place to hide. Up here, we'd notice someone new immediately, the town's too small."
"He, huh? They've narrowed it down to a single person?"
"Don't play goddamn word games with me. You know what I'm talking about. They think the perpetrator or perpetrators is or are in the Phoenix area, all right? Is that clear enough for you? They're concentrating their efforts in the Valley. McFarland's staying here, butRalphs will be operating both here and in Phoenix."
"That's bullshit. Did you tell him about the preacher? What's his name?"
"Elias something. Yeah, I told him. He said he'd talk to Wilson about it, but he himself couldn't make any decisions. He said he'd tell him about the fire this afternoon, too, but he thought that last fire was totally unconnected. He has a real bug up his ass about everything being centered in Phoenix."