Read Online Pray To Stay Dead by Mason James Cole - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mason James Cole
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and thanked Misty for her hospitality.
“ It was nothing,” she said. “But I think I’m going to close up after you leave.”
“ Yep, you should,” Sam said.
“ I’ll be here if you need anything, though.” She spoke to all of them, flipping a thumb toward the back of the room. “Just go around back and knock.” She looked at Colleen, lowered her voice and leaned close. “Sorry about not having the napkins, honey.”
“ It’s okay. I’ll make it,” Colleen said, glancing at the television screen. A live shot showed the Tel Aviv skyline. Fire churned, spitting black smoke into the night. “I hope so.”
Outside, Crate had piled what was left of the Willits family into an ugly heap and was dousing them with gasoline. Colleen got the briefest glimpse of Junior before looking away, and her impression was of an armless flayed thing, its face frozen in an expression of wide-eyed surprise, and of a madly grinning blood-shiny mouth, the lips either pulled back in a startled death-throe-rictus or simply chewed away.
Bilbo Baggins sniffed at a small pile of what must have been brain-matter, and Crate threatened to shoot him on the spot if he did a stupid fuck thing like eating that dead thing’s diseased brains. His tail between his legs, Bilbo padded into the shade beneath the awning and threw himself onto the weather-worn boards.
“ Take it easy, Crate,” Sam said, crawling into the van behind Daniel.
“ You, too.” He squinted at them, fluffing his beard with one boney hand. He lifted his rifle and gave it a little shake. “First line of defense right here. They’ll come from that way, if they come. You all should be safe up the hill. I’ll hold them off.”
“ How many bullets you got,” Richard asked, walking past Crate, leading Kimberly along as if she were blind.
“ Enough for every man, woman, and child in town.” He smiled. “About three or four times over.”
“ Jesus,” Richard said.
“ Him too.”
Daniel was the last of them to climb into the van. He slid the door shut and sank into the seat next to Sam. Crate returned to his kills, tossing on a little more fuel.
Guy backed the van into the road and looked into his rearview mirror. There were no dead people. A gush of fire engulfed the Willits heap, and Harlow fell behind them. The trees pressed in, and the road twisted, angling upward.
“ How far up?” Guy asked.
“ About two miles, I think,” Sam said. “Not far. I’ll let you know.”
Colleen turned on the radio. A weary-sounding black man with the vocal affectations of an evangelical preacher was urging people to work together, to stop fighting, and to face the crisis at hand with faith and solidarity. She pressed a tape into the player, listened to about five seconds of Black Sabbath before turning off the radio.
“ Everything is going to be okay,” Sam said, sounding a little too happy. Colleen turned around to face him, and she wondered if she was able to conceal her dislike for their new friend. His smile faltered, and she knew she had not been successful.
She did not care.
“ Why do you say that?” She asked.
“ I just do,” he said, shrugging. “Because I feel it. We’re going to be okay. You’re going to relax, and we’re going to be okay. And that—” he wagged a hand in the direction of the radio “—is all going to pass us by, just like every other horrible thing in the world has come and gone.”
“ You really think so?” Kimberly asked.
“ I do,” he said, holding his gaze on Colleen a little longer than he needed to before turning to face Kimberly. “We have the advantage. We’re up here, away from the cities and the hatred and the desperation.”
There was a joyous calm to his voice, the kind she imagined she’d hear in the confident tones of the pussy-hunting campus guru, or in the hushed proclamations of a religious zealot. Is that where they were going? To some oddball religious commune? Was Samson Niebolt going to try
“ It was nothing,” she said. “But I think I’m going to close up after you leave.”
“ Yep, you should,” Sam said.
“ I’ll be here if you need anything, though.” She spoke to all of them, flipping a thumb toward the back of the room. “Just go around back and knock.” She looked at Colleen, lowered her voice and leaned close. “Sorry about not having the napkins, honey.”
“ It’s okay. I’ll make it,” Colleen said, glancing at the television screen. A live shot showed the Tel Aviv skyline. Fire churned, spitting black smoke into the night. “I hope so.”
Outside, Crate had piled what was left of the Willits family into an ugly heap and was dousing them with gasoline. Colleen got the briefest glimpse of Junior before looking away, and her impression was of an armless flayed thing, its face frozen in an expression of wide-eyed surprise, and of a madly grinning blood-shiny mouth, the lips either pulled back in a startled death-throe-rictus or simply chewed away.
Bilbo Baggins sniffed at a small pile of what must have been brain-matter, and Crate threatened to shoot him on the spot if he did a stupid fuck thing like eating that dead thing’s diseased brains. His tail between his legs, Bilbo padded into the shade beneath the awning and threw himself onto the weather-worn boards.
“ Take it easy, Crate,” Sam said, crawling into the van behind Daniel.
“ You, too.” He squinted at them, fluffing his beard with one boney hand. He lifted his rifle and gave it a little shake. “First line of defense right here. They’ll come from that way, if they come. You all should be safe up the hill. I’ll hold them off.”
“ How many bullets you got,” Richard asked, walking past Crate, leading Kimberly along as if she were blind.
“ Enough for every man, woman, and child in town.” He smiled. “About three or four times over.”
“ Jesus,” Richard said.
“ Him too.”
Daniel was the last of them to climb into the van. He slid the door shut and sank into the seat next to Sam. Crate returned to his kills, tossing on a little more fuel.
Guy backed the van into the road and looked into his rearview mirror. There were no dead people. A gush of fire engulfed the Willits heap, and Harlow fell behind them. The trees pressed in, and the road twisted, angling upward.
“ How far up?” Guy asked.
“ About two miles, I think,” Sam said. “Not far. I’ll let you know.”
Colleen turned on the radio. A weary-sounding black man with the vocal affectations of an evangelical preacher was urging people to work together, to stop fighting, and to face the crisis at hand with faith and solidarity. She pressed a tape into the player, listened to about five seconds of Black Sabbath before turning off the radio.
“ Everything is going to be okay,” Sam said, sounding a little too happy. Colleen turned around to face him, and she wondered if she was able to conceal her dislike for their new friend. His smile faltered, and she knew she had not been successful.
She did not care.
“ Why do you say that?” She asked.
“ I just do,” he said, shrugging. “Because I feel it. We’re going to be okay. You’re going to relax, and we’re going to be okay. And that—” he wagged a hand in the direction of the radio “—is all going to pass us by, just like every other horrible thing in the world has come and gone.”
“ You really think so?” Kimberly asked.
“ I do,” he said, holding his gaze on Colleen a little longer than he needed to before turning to face Kimberly. “We have the advantage. We’re up here, away from the cities and the hatred and the desperation.”
There was a joyous calm to his voice, the kind she imagined she’d hear in the confident tones of the pussy-hunting campus guru, or in the hushed proclamations of a religious zealot. Is that where they were going? To some oddball religious commune? Was Samson Niebolt going to try
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