The Influence(123)

Cameron Holt, for some reason, was wearing a dress. That’s what Hec had been grinning about, but even through the small lens of the gun site, Ross could see from the rancher’s face that the man was mad.

He swiveled the rifle toward the crowd in front of the monster’s body, seeing several people who looked familiar.

Was Jill here, too, somewhere?

He hoped not, but he had to admit that it was possible, and he would have continued looking, trying to find her, but time was passing quickly, and if all went according to plan, the barn would be going up in flames at any moment. He handed the rifle back.

And the barn exploded.

It didn’t literally explode. Roof and walls didn’t fly outward in a hail of shattered wood. But the conflagration that engulfed the structure did so in a blaze of glory, flames bursting out with an audible roar, the heat so intense that he could feel it here by the tractor. The fire had the desired effect, most of the gathered throng instinctively dashing over to investigate.

But not all of them did.

A significant number remained guarding the encased body, and Ross realized that it was up to the three of them to do something about that so Kevin could get access to the monster.

He just hoped his nephew had survived starting the fire.

“Come on!” Ross shouted.

They ran into the open. McDaniels kept his rifle trained on the front porch of the house, while Hec scrambled sideways, facing the remaining guards.

Kevin was nowhere in sight.

Father Ramos was bending over the front porch railing, vomiting, but Holt was starting to raise his shotgun. “Stop right there, asshole!” McDaniels ordered. “Or I’ll blow your fucking head off!”

Some of the men who’d gone over to the barn to see what had happened looked like they were about to turn around.

Ross ran for the hose, turning the faucet on and pulling the hose out to the center of the yard as far as it would go. He’d dropped his box of Coke bottles, but it didn’t matter. The caps were all sealed, and he quickly unscrewed one, pressed the flowing hose against the opening, screwed the cap back in and ran several yards toward the men and women shielding the body. “Get away from there!” he ordered, and threw the bottle.

It flipped end over end, exploding in the air just before the first line of guards, the bottle bursting spectacularly, spraying acid in all directions, hitting several people and causing them to scatter, screaming.

He didn’t have time to view the results, but immediately hurried back to where water from the hose was already making a puddle in the dirt. A bullet hit the ground next to him, splashing up mud. Another whizzed by, more felt than seen, and, next to him, Hec took a shot. Nothing else was fired at him, and when he turned around to unscrew the cap of another bottle, Ross saw the body of a middle-aged man lying on the ground. There was no time to think about it, to agonize about it, to worry if something else was coming his way. He simply filled the bottle with water, sealed it, shook it, ran and threw.

This time, people scurried away before the explosion, and behind them, in the corral, he saw Kevin scrambling through the spaces between boards to get to the monster.

The monster.

It had captured his attention, lying on the open floor of what had once been Cameron Holt’s smokehouse as though displayed on a stage. He had not seen it in this state, and, this close, he saw how thin the outer covering was, how completely transparent, almost as if the body had been encased in plastic wrap. The body itself was not the same one he had seen before. Rather than that melting, devolving mess, this creature was much bigger, much darker, much more clearly defined.

It was also very much alive.

A single red eye stared out at him.

He heard whistling.

Today’s the day, he thought.

As he watched, the chrysalis cracked open, in the middle, and through the breach, a long black appendage emerged that could have been a tail, could have been a tentacle, could have been a feeler, could have been a very thin leg. The slimy extremity slid along the top of the encasement, searching for another opening or trying to make another opening. There was nothing frantic in its movement, no hurrying, and Ross watched, enthralled, as the black appendage calmly felt for a way to get the angel out of its cocoon.

It was an angel, he saw now. And it was beautiful. It had not been resurrected for any malevolent purpose. Resurrection couldn’t be evil. They were the evil ones for trying to attack it. The angel should not be assaulted, it should be celebrated. Father Ramos had returned because he knew the truth, and now Ross himself knew the truth, and he would do everything in his power to—

No.

This wasn’t right.

He closed his eyes, fought against the thoughts that were imposing themselves on his mind.