A SOOTY, MOTLEY band of imps and troublemakers, led by Destroyer’s loathsome twelve, made their way toward Ashton, flying low to the ground, pouring on speed, their swords drawn, their eyes bulging with anxiety. This battle would be their last, thought the twelve. It may as well be their best.
AT THE ASHTON Clarion, it was time to get the morning mail; Bernice had her coat on and her car keys in her hand, but wouldn’t you know it? She no sooner put her hand on the front door knob than the phone rang, and it was Eddy from Eddy’s Bakery. The guy was a paragon of pickiness!
“Yeah, Eddy, we can give you those two inches. Well, yes, for free, but that’s just for a one-month trial basis.” More questions. “To decide if you like it that way and if we like it that way. We’ve never done it, and I thought we should try it.” He kept talking. She shifted her weight toward the front door. “No, I think we can just blow up that coffee mug a little larger and it’ll work out fine. Right, you won’t have to change your logo.” She made a face and rolled her eyes. “Listen, why don’t you talk to Cheryl about it? Yes, she knows all about it.”
He didn’t want to talk to Cheryl.
ATTACK! THE BLACK spirits threw fear and caution to the wind and descended on Ashton in a torrent of chaos and evil, wings roaring, sulfur streaming, blotting out the light, clashing with angelic warriors all over the town. Up and down the streets they soared, tumbling, clashing, hacking with swords of fire and heat at Heaven’s warriors, dashing through traffic, ambushing at corners, streaking through buildings and wreaking confusion, shrieking their war cries, fully abandoned to keeping the angels on edge, in battle, no matter what the cost, no matter what the loss. While the imps, harassers, and troublemakers stirred up the town like a whirlwind, Destroyer’s twelve went for that letter.
BERNICE GOT TO her little Volkswagen bug at last, but the door wouldn’t open. The key wouldn’t even turn in the lock.
WHOOOSH! A streak of light cut across the demon who had fouled the lock. He dissolved.
The key turned at last. Bernice climbed in.
Down the street, the traffic light jammed on red and the cars began to back up.
A small sedan eased to a stop right beside Bernice’s car, and immediately a pickup rear-ended it. Both drivers climbed out of their vehicles and began to engage in a long battle of apologies.
Six angels flew abreast down 6th Avenue while four more dove out of the sky and shot up Miller Street. They converged in an explosive clash just above the traffic signal, hurling dissolving demon saboteurs in high arcs that created a fern of red smoke trails.
The light turned green.
But the traffic still wasn’t moving, thanks to the fender bender. Bernice decided to walk.
SALLY TRIED TO sink deeper into the sofa, but there was no way to lessen the pain of the big thug’s bruising, crushing grip on her shoulders. He was hurting her and enjoying it.
Steele was speaking slowly and deliberately to make sure she heard him; at the moment she seemed rather preoccupied with her agony. “I’m sure you’re familiar with Satanic rituals, so I shouldn’t have to go into the details. Sally, we don’t want to see it happen; but if we have to, we’ll turn you over to Mr. Khull and his people and let them do their worst until you tell us what we want to know.”
Sally was about to answer, about to say they were going to kill her anyway, but she was stopped when something happened to her eyes, as if they’d opened for the first time, as if a dark curtain had been pulled aside. Maybe the pain was causing her to hallucinate.
She could see the spirits behind these men. They were towering, warted, ugly things, glaring at her with murderous hatred. Throughout her occult experiences, good and bad, she’d never seen them so clearly; she’d never discerned such evil or such hate.
But she could tell their hatred was not for her. It was for the Savior within her.
And then she knew. She just knew, and she spoke, whether aloud in the present world or in her spirit in another dimension, she couldn’t tell. “You were there! All of you were there! You gave him your worst . . . you killed Him!”
That troubled the spirits. They looked at each other, indignity and outrage wrinkling their faces.
“And He defeated you by dying! He won!” The big, hulking spirit hovering high above bared his teeth and roared indiscernible curses at her, his wings billowing. She looked into those burning, yellow eyes, and to her great surprise she saw fear. In her spirit she laughed. “And whatever you may do to me, I’ve won!”
She cried out. She could feel all the pain again. The thug was about to break her neck. The spirits faded away with the rest of the world. She no longer saw, she no longer heard. She was sinking into a dream, into bottomless darkness. Santinelli yelled something, and the thug let her go. She thought she would float up from the couch. The pain lessened.
In a moment she could see and hear again, and she realized she was almost falling over. Her shoulders were throbbing. Santinelli was saying something about killing her.
Then Goring said, “The conference day is going to start; people might walk by the windows. We’d better continue this downstairs.”
“Wait!” Sally said, and they all froze. She had their attention. She raised her head, gathered her strength and courage, and feebly muttered, “I do have an additional bargaining chip. You should know that I’ve corresponded on a regular basis with Tom Harris in Bacon’s Corner. I’ve told him everything I know and everything I’ve done. If anything happens to me, somebody will know.”
Goring smiled, and reached into a briefcase beside the sofa. “Oh, you must be referring to these.” By handfuls, three at a time, four at a time, one at a time, Goring pulled the letters from the briefcase and set them in a pile on the coffee table, giving Sally a slow, torturous revelation. When she had turned a satisfying shade of white, he continued, “We’ve put a great amount of preparation into our plan, and fortunately we were able to exert enough influence on the plaintiff in the lawsuit who is also the local postmaster. She’s been forwarding all your letters to us; so needless to say, Tom Harris and his friends never got them. They have no idea of your whereabouts, or what you might know.”
Santinelli added, “And yes, we have been watching them, and it’s obvious that they have little information about you and are shooting in the dark. I would say they’re getting rather desperate. But that doesn’t matter now, does it? We have you, and we will deal with you as we see fit, as we find necessary.”
Goring pointed to the coffee table. “So, we have you, we have all your letters, we have the telltale ring; it’s time we firmly dealt with those stolen rosters. Gentlemen?”
Suddenly she was hanging from her arms. She pushed with her feet to lessen the pain, and stood on her own.
“This way,” said Goring.
The men of Broken Birch forced her along, taking her toward a stairway that led down into the cold, concrete belly of the chalet. Goring led the way, turning on the lights and guiding them down the winding steps.
Steele followed behind, and after him Santinelli. Khull followed at the rear of the procession, reaching into his coat for his knife.
Then Khull hesitated. “I’ll make sure the front door’s locked,” he said.
He went upstairs again, but passed by the coffee table to take a good look at all those letters. Hmmm. Excellent!
THERE, I MADE IT! Bernice checked her watch and found it only took about ten minutes to walk to the Post Office. That wasn’t so bad.
Now to get that mail.
HIGH OVERHEAD, DESTROYER’S twelve henchmen saw her. They also saw the canopy of angels over that building. They let out a cry and dove to the battle, their wings screaming, their nostrils trailing sulfur.
WHOOSH! Three of them swept five angelic warriors from the Post Office roof and engaged them, tumbling, rushing, spinning, hacking. They would be busy for a while.
Two henchmen shot through the north wall. Nathan and Armoth ducked as they passed, swatted them soundly, and sen
t them through the south wall.
OOF! Four more dropped through the roof and struck the angels down with bared talons. The demons got a faceful of fiery wings and then saw the swinging blades too late.
Red smoke.
THE YOUNG MAIL clerk carefully emptied the mailbag, sorting out the packages, envelopes, junk mail, magazines.
“Hi, Al!” came a call from the lobby.
“Hi, Bernice! The mail’s a little late.”
“Oh, that’s okay, so am I.”
Ah, here was some mail for the Clarion. He slipped it into the Clarion’s box, then looked to see if there was more.
FOUR HENCHMEN EXPLODED through the wall, wings a blur, Krioni and Triskal hot on their heels.
A red sword swept downward.
THE LETTER FLUTTERED to the floor.
BERNICE GATHERED ALL the mail out of the Clarion’s box and dropped it into a shopping bag. She looked through the opening and called, “Is that it?”
Al looked through the new mail that had come in. “Yeah, I think I got it all.”
“Okay.”
Bernice closed the door of the box and turned to leave.
KRIONI TOOK ONE spirit by the heel, but the thing was so strong it dragged him through the Post Office wall and he had to let it go.
Triskal took a nasty blow from one monster, slashed away at another one, and kicked a third out over the counter.
BERNICE DIDN’T SEE the spirit sail right past her as she reached to push the door open.
NATHAN DUCKED FOR the letter.
A black, taloned foot caught him in the chest and propelled him as high as the ceiling. Two more spirits closed in on him. He spun, sword extended, dividing one, catching the parry of the other with a burst of sparks.
Krioni was back, saw the letter, and went for it. Armoth covered for him, pushing two spirits backward, right into Nathan’s blade.
Krioni slipped his sword under the letter and flipped it into the air.
AL DIDN’T SEE Krioni punching two demons out of the mail clerk’s way, but he did see the letter just coming to rest on the floor, address up. “Oh, hey, Bernice!”
The door was just about to close behind her. She heard him call and turned back, opening the door again and reentering the lobby.
GOOD! NOW THE warriors could concentrate on the demons. There shouldn’t be too many more—just the biggest and strongest.
AL HANDED BERNICE the letter over the counter. “Kinda thick. Might be a card in there or something.”
Bernice’s heart almost stopped when she saw the return address: S. B. Roe.
IN BACON’S CORNER, Kate handed Marshall the phone. “On your toes, Marshall,” she whispered.
Ben and Bev heard that and got close. “Who is it?”
Marshall spoke into the phone, “Yeah, this is Marshall Hogan.”
“Mr. Hogan,” said the voice on the other end, “this is Debbie Aronson. I work at the Post Office with Lucy Brandon. I need to talk to you.”
THE POST OFFICE lobby filled with red smoke as Triskal shot sword-first right through two spirits and through the wall to the outside, shaking the dissolving spirits from his shoulders and wings.
Bernice tore the letter open and found a Post Office box key inside. Box 203. Here? In this Post Office? She quickly scanned the letter from Sally Roe.
She may not have noticed, but she began to bounce up and down on her toes.
MARSHALL GRABBED A pen while Kate got him some paper, and he sat down at Ben and Bev’s dining room table. “I’m glad you called, Debbie. I’d be happy to talk to you.”
“Well, I don’t have that much to say. I’m on my break, over at Don’s Wayside.”
“Can we get together somewhere, sometime?”
“No, I don’t want to risk being seen with you. Listen, just let me tell you what I know, and then we’ll pretend I never talked to you, all right?”
“All right.”
BERNICE FOUND BOX 203. She could see a large stack of mail through the glass panel. She put the key in the lock, and it fit perfectly, turning the latch.
“LUCY’S BEEN INTERCEPTING some mail; she’s been forwarding letters that I’m sure aren’t supposed to be forwarded. I’ve seen her doing it for weeks now, and I think Sergeant Mulligan is scaring her into doing it.”
Oh man, oh man, oh man. Lord God, is this it? Marshall tried to keep his voice calm. “Okay. Do you know who the letters are for, or who they’re from?”
BERNICE OPENED THE mailbox door. What were these? Manila envelopes, smaller envelopes, a plain brown package, a little box wrapped in paper.
“THEY’VE ALL BEEN addressed to Tom Harris . . .”
Marshall could feel his eyes getting big.
“. . . and they’ve all been from that woman who’s supposed to be dead . . .”
Marshall kept from saying the name. Debbie had to say it herself. “What woman, Debbie? Do you know the name?”
“Um, that Roe lady. Sally Roe.”
BERNICE’S HANDS WERE trembling as she dug every last item out of the mailbox and stuffed it into her shopping bag. She couldn’t wait to get back to the office.
NATHAN DUCKED UNDER a violent sword thrust of one remaining beast, then came back hard and fast with his own blade. The thing backed through the wall, and Krioni met it outside.
Red smoke. That was the last of them.
The rest of Ashton was safe as well. The attack, centered on the Post Office, had been met and defeated.
MARSHALL HUNG UP the phone gently, then leaned back in his chair, threw his head back, and let out a roar that shook the windows. He didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to express how he felt, so he just hollered while Kate, Ben, and Bev tried to get him to talk.
“Marshall!” Kate insisted. “What is it?”
He just hollered again, raising his hands toward Heaven.
The phone rang again. Marshall picked it up in trembling hands. “Yeah?”
The voice on the other end could hardly speak, and the pitch was ceiling-high. “Marshall, this is Bernice! Sit down whatever you do!”
SALLY HAD LIT the brushfire at last.
Nathan was the first to have his hands free. He shot into the sky over Ashton, cutting a brilliant swath through the ebbing smoke of the battle now ending, and put a golden trumpet to his lips.
The signal carried over the farmlands, over the prairies, from one end of the sky to the other; every angelic warrior could hear it and knew what it meant.
Still they waited. Not yet. First Bacon’s Corner, and then the rest. They listened again. The signal from Bacon’s Corner should come soon enough.
AT THE SUMMIT Institute, the demons heard the faraway signal, and it was unnerving, like a deeply buried memory too horrible to face. Too many of them had heard that sound before and now bore the scars that came immediately after hearing it.
The Strongman cocked his head around for a moment. “Wait! Be still!”
Destroyer heard it, but didn’t want to admit it. He immediately thought of his twelve henchmen and the hordes they’d led into Ashton. Wasn’t that the direction the sound was coming from? Oh no.
Out in the herb garden, the psychics were gasping with fear.
“No . . . no!” said the demon atop the woman attorney.
“No . . . no!” echoed the woman.
“What is it?” said the blond singer.
The demon atop the fifth grade teacher concocted an answer he didn’t believe himself. The teacher echoed, “It is fear and ignorance, bigotry and hatred, still rife in the land! The winds of change must blow it aside; we must stand before it and prevail!”
“Yes, yes!” they all replied. The singer strummed his guitar, and they began to sway with the melody of still another song of global peace and perfection.
IN BACON’S CORNER, Mota and Signa burst from hiding with a shout, swords flashing, wings unfurling like the crashing of waves, white light burning like the sun.
“For the saints of God and for th
e Lamb!” they shouted as the cornfields, the silos, the store buildings, the barns, the forests, the roads all around Bacon’s Corner exploded with the white light of Heaven’s legions.
Mota shouted, somewhat with glee, “Stand ready! We will begin with Amethyst!”
CHAPTER 42
THE SOUND OF Nathan’s trumpet was still ringing in the Strongman’s ears. He knew something was going wrong somewhere. Get on with this! Cut her, burn her, do what you must, but delay no longer!
Khull spoke softly to the dignified, honorable, respectable men who were paying him for his services. “We can make her sing loud and long. Just say the word.”
Santinelli took only a furtive, sideways glance at Sally, now bound and held in a hard wooden chair in the middle of the basement, weak with exhaustion, pain, and fear. She was surrounded by Khull and his four cutthroats, who now brandished their implements of ritualistic torture and were all too eager to begin.
“Sally, to think it would ever come to this!” Santinelli muttered. “You should never have mentioned that Name; you should never have aligned yourself with our enemies!”
Goring reminded him, “We have much at stake here, Carl. I would say the situation forces our hand.”
Santinelli replied in a voice hushed by his own disgust, “So now we have become butchers!”