VIII. Dusk

The Model B rolled back into town as the sun hung on the horizon, painting the Kansas fields gold.

"Summer's gone." said Fallon. "Pretty soon, everything you see around here will be dead."

"So it goes." said Hathorne. Murray nodded.

The Model B pulled to a stop in front of the police station. Hathorne climbed out and tipped his hat to the musicians. "Thanks, boys. I think we did some good work today."

"Don't mention it, Rev. We pulled a few coins and a lot of smiles. In times like these, you take what you can get and give back the rest. Good luck on your travels, preacher."

"And to you." said Hathorne.

Fallon hesitated a moment. "Preacher, they say you healed a boy in that place, one that was as good as dead. Is that true?"

"I said a prayer and laid my hands on him. God did everything else."

Fallon left eyebrow rose.

"We'll be seein' you." he said, and drove off.

Hathorne paused a moment to look at the sunset. The traffic from Route 66 was dying down for the night, and Hathorne noticed a lone squad car coming towards town at surprising speed. He wondered at it for a moment, then jumped in surprise when it crashed full into a lamppost across the street. Hathorne's left hand went instinctually to his cross--his right went to his holster.

The cars on the road pulled away from the cop car, giving Hathorne a clear view when the car's occupant kicked the door off and into the street. The creature that came out was wearing the uniform of an officer of the law, but with black ichor oozing from his eyes, nose, and mouth. The same substance was all over his hands--Hathorne presumed it came from under the fingernails. A second ichor-smeared policeman crawled out of the car behind it.

The cross came off over Hathorne's head and the gun came free of the holster.

"Unholy creatures!" Hathorne called out. "I adjure you in the name of Christ! You shall go no further!"

The white glow radiating from the cross dimmed and became tinged with red.

I think not. The words came from the air around Hathorne's head; they had a slight echo as if from far away. The voice itself was scratchy and high pitched; a tenor ruined by too many years and too many cigarettes.

The two policemen charged across the street at Hathorne, each with a billy club raised.

"Fine, we'll do this the hard way." said Hathorne, cocking his gun.

Hathorne fired once into the head of the nearest officer, striking him in the eye. It lurched backward and nearly fell over. The creature moaned in what Hathorne assumed to be a sensation akin to pain. The second shot hit the other eye, and the creature dropped. Hathorne raised his cross again.

"I serve the most high, and no fell power can withstand my faith!" Hathorne cried. The red corona around the cross faded and the remaining officer froze. The Reverend strode into the street and up to the paralyzed creature. "The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make His face shine upon you. And be gracious unto you. The Lord lift up His countenance upon you. And give you always his peace."

The creature dropped to the street, as dead as it had every right to be.

The doors to the police station flew open. Officer Kacinski came out from behind them.

"Reverend!" he called. Hathorne turned to face him. "We got need of some of that in here!"