“Wha…what?” Cornelius tried to turn his head to see which of hell’s creatures had materialized behind him, but the knife and hand kept his head facing forward.
“I won. Yell out.”
“I don’t—”
The knife bit deeper into his neck and a thin trickle of blood snaked down his throat.
“Help!” he yelled, hoping this time to reach the ears of God.
The bright light found him, and the truck was pulled over to his side of the road. The driver who stepped out was a modern-day Goliath. He heard another door open and shut, but didn’t see anyone else exit the truck. The Goliath stomped up the incline, stopping less than ten feet away.
“Well I’ll be damned.” Incredulity etched over the Goliath’s face as he cautiously drew closer.
“Like I said, a saint.” The man behind Cornelius spoke. “Wonder if he can save your soul.”
“Not even a saint has the power to save a thing that don’t exist.” Another voice spoke from the darkness.
Chills raced through Cornelius as he searched for the thing that sounded like some dead and buried apparition that had clawed its way from unconsecrated soil to walk among men.
Follow the trail of Fallen feathers and you will eventually find the nest of evil, the Shepherd had said. Cornelius began to pray fervently.
“Hey, hey, cut that shit out, son, you’re giving me a fucking migraine with that foolishness,” the Goliath ordered.
Cornelius ceased praying out loud, but continued the prayers that were already having an effect on the Goliath.
The hand on Cornelius’s forehead pressed his head back further and the knife bit deeper. “He saidhush,” the man behind him said.
Demon, Cornelius thought, only demons had the power of knowing a man’s mind. The trembling that overtook his body had nothing to do with cold and everything to do with mortal fear. Dear God, he didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to—
“Help!” he yelled out to God again.
The Goliath’s shadow shifted, detaching from the Goliath and coalescing into the very visage of death. The left side of the creature’s face was scarred and covered with a black tattoo that resembled some kind of bird. The entity’s right pupil was black as tar, but the left was opaque white, as if blind…or seeing into the realm of damned.
The creature was equal parts beautiful and grotesque.
Crouching before him, it bared its teeth in a grim smile as its black hair cascaded over its face like a heavy black shroud obscuring its features. It extended its right arm and beckoned toward Cornelius, a tattoo of a skeletal hand overlaid the flesh.
“Come with me if you want to live,” it said, peering at Cornelius through the shroud, its grin widening like a serpent.
Cornelius seized the instant the being touched his shoulder. In his fear, he voided his bladder a split second before he fainted.
“You are one sadistic bastard,” Big Country said, shaking his head.
“That shit was priceless,” Cizan smirked.
What was priceless was the look of disgust on Zeus’s face as he held his hands up in seeming surrender, angling his blade toward the saint’s temple.
“He’s touching me,” Zeus muttered, looking at Big Country as if it was his fault.
“Well you’ve got a good two seconds before that piss spreading over his robe touches you, too, cousin,” Big Country said.
In one swift motion, Zeus leaped up into a crouch and the saint’s unsupported body fell to the ground, head colliding so hard against the earth it recoiled and hit a second time. Scrawny son of a bitch wasn’t getting an ounce of Big Country’s sympathy; he was the motherfucker who’d ruined any notion of being able to go home and watch today’s video feed of Stormy, maybe rubbing one off as he and Bubba fantasized over just how sweet her pussy would be.
Standing, Zeus sheathed his blade and jogged down the hill, silently crossing in front of the truck’s headlights and disappearing into the woods on the other side, leaving Big Country and Cizan to do the quick work of searching the saint’s brown robe and funky-assed pale body. They found nothing but a large cheap-looking gold cross with what looked to be a rod overlaying a staff in a circular enclosure at its center.
Rolling the unconscious man in the green tarp from the back of his truck, they carried him down the hill and tossed him in the truck’s bed. Climbing into the cab, Big Country took five minutes to rub hand sanitizer over their hands and arms and then started the engine, looking to the area where they had found the saint.
“So, tell me this, cousin, why camp out rightacrossthe road that leads up to Mama’s House? Why not just mosey over to our side of the mountain and learn all he could up close and personal?” Big Country asked.
