"You're too slow," Brother Elias said.
It was a criticism, but Gordon did not care. He could not bring himself to stab anything in cold blood, no matter what it was. He looked up. The sun had risen by this time, and the morning sky was clear and cloudless. The trees on the side of the Rim stood out in green relief against the brown rock cliffs, and overhead a lone hawk circled lazily. Gordon started to walk toward the far side of the dump. He stumbled and looked down .. . and saw, protruding from beneath a leaking shopping bag filled with garbage, a hand. An adult hand.
He pushed the bag aside with his foot, cleared away some rancid food and old newspapers, kicking them off, and found himself staring down at the lifeless form of Brad Nicholson.
Brad.
He was too shocked to even call out. There was a huge ugly gash in Brad's neck, and from the gash protruded a twisted bloody windpipe.
The garbage beneath his neck was soaked red with blood. Brad's eyes were open, staring, and his mouth was contorted in a silent scream.
There was something else in his face as well, some other expression, and though Gordon did not know quite what it was, he did not like it.
He thought suddenly of Brad's son Bobby. Somebody would have to tell him that his dad had died. Had been killed. Had had his throat ripped out, bloody tubes yanked out of his body through a hole torn in his neck. The boy would grow up without a father. He might not even remember his father by the time he turned twenty. Not very well at least. And Connie. Someone would have to tell Connie. She and Brad may not have had the closest marriage in the world, but .. .
By the time Father Andrews and the sheriff had run up next to him, Gordon realized he was screaming.
"Jesus fuck," the sheriff breathed, staring down at Brad's body. Next to Brad's head, he saw a large brown rat, curled into a sleeping position. The animal awoke suddenly and stared into Jim's eyes. The sheriff watched in horror as the rat crawled into Brad's open mouth.
Gordon gasped and turned away. Father Andrews prayed silently.
Brother Elias came up behind them and glanced down at the body. Without speaking, he pulled a lighter from his pocket and touched it to the tattered remnants of Brad's shirt. The blood soaked clothing started to burn, and the air was filled with a sickeningly acrid stench.
"What the hell are you doing?" Gordon said, shocked. He grabbed the preacher's arm. Brother Elias pulled away from his grip. "Let us hope we are not too late," he said.
Gordon stared down at the body of his boss, his friend, and watched the flames lick at the ragged edges of the gash in Brad's neck. The drying blood smoked and turned black, and the skin began to char and peel off.
A tongue of fire leaped from Brad's blazing shirt to his beard, and his beard began to burn. Flames entered his mouth, blackening his teeth.
"We are too late," Brother Elias announced.
Gordon looked up and saw, coming toward them across the gravel, two adult figures.
One of them was Brad.
"Get the Bibles!" Brother Elias ordered. He rushed over to where the coils of rope were lying on the ground. The sheriff ran immediately toward the parked pickup. Suddenly remembering the camera around his neck, Gordon began snapping pictures. He could see the approaching figures even more clearly through the slightly magnifying lens of the camera. He did not know where they had come from or why they had not been noticed sooner. The figure next to Brad was jet black, its features unidentifiable. Brad appeared to be limping and was carrying his.... But Brad's body was burning on the ground next to him.
The sheriff hurried back, carrying the four white Bibles Father Andrews had brought along. "Give them to me!" Brother Elias demanded. Jim handed him the books. "Now pick up the end of that rope!" The preacher looked at Gordon and Father Andrews. "You two walk forward, holding your pitchforks in front of you! You're going to have to use them!"
Brad and the other figure had stopped.
"It's Father Selway ," Jim said softly, picking up his end of the rope.
"The other one's Father Selway ."
He was right, Gordon saw immediately. The black figure was Father Selway. He saw the burnt face smile, teeth a lighter black against the jet skin, and he felt a wave of cold terror wash over him. He looked at Father Andrews, standing next to him, and wondered what the priest was thinking.
Father Andrews was trying not to think at all. Unwanted feelings, outside thoughts, alien impressions were pushing themselves into his mind. He saw the scene before him with unnatural clarity, his brain absorbing every detail, but it was inter cut with other scenes, other events. A group of settlers shoveling deformed infants onto a bonfire.
Naked men and women dancing ritualistically before the unmoving form of Brother Elias in another guise. The blackened figure of anAnasazi woman standing amidst a sea of fetuses. The priest's head was pounding with the pain. He looked at Gordon, grasped his pitchfork tightly and forced himself to move forward, his face a mask of grim determination.
Brother Elias walked forward next to Father Andrews, three Bibles clutched under his arm, one held in his outstretched left hand. In his other hand, he grasped the end of the rope he and the sheriff carried between them.
Jim walked abreast of the preacher, keeping his eyes on the figures in front of him. He felt woefully unprepared, and he wished Brother Elias had told him what they planned to do. He felt extremely vulnerable walking toward these two .. . things .. . carrying nothing but a rope, and he cursed himself for leaving his gun in the pickup. He thought of the four high-powered rifles in the bed of Gordon's vehicle and wished that he had one of them with him. His jaw hurt from gritting his teeth, and his legs ached with nervous tension. This close, he could see the two figures quite clearly. And he did not like what he saw.
Brad Nicholson's face was an inhuman blank, devoid of all thought and feeling. Only the eyes seemed alive. They burned with a piercing intensity not unlike that of Brother Elias'. The body appeared solid, real, though the stench of Brad's burning body singed his nostrils and the air was beginning to fill with the smoke of burning flesh. He could see the figure's skin darkening as Brad's real body burned, and he knew that when the body had been consumed completely by fire the form would be as black as the figure of Father Selway next to it.
Father Selway stood smiling, unmoving. His skin was charred by fire, and his features bore an expression of triumphant evil. The sheriff was unable to look into the hellish face for more than a few seconds.
Brother Elias stopped. They were only ten feet away from the unmoving figures. The other three men came to an abrupt halt. Around them, the wiggling and flopping infants were coalescing into a coherent group, coming from all parts of the dump toward them. Many of the tiny creatures were gurgling or mewing, making tiny sounds of pleasure.
Brother Elias placed the four white Bibles on the ground in front of him, along a straight line.
The figure of Father Selway raised a blackened hand into the air. "Do you really think your pagan rituals can accomplish anything?" The voice was grating, inhuman, filled with a disgusted contempt.
Brother Elias said nothing but passed his hands over each of the Bibles, muttering something in his strange unearthly tongue.
"Gordon," the figure said, turning toward him. "And how is your pretty little wife?" The black smile became wider, crueler. "And your daughter? Your daughter wants to be one of us, you know. She wants to claw her way out of your wife's thin little body and escape. Right now, your wife is coughing blood as her insides are being ripped apart.