Read Online Walk the Sky by Robert Swartwood, David B. Silva - Free Book Online Page B

 
    “I understand, Reverend, and I apologize. But”—Roy swallowed—“you really need to see this.”  
    “Very well,” Willard sighed. “Let me get my shoes.”  
    He returned to the bedroom.  
    Marilyn stirred again, her eyelids fluttering open. “Is everything all right?”  
    “Everything’s fine.” With a warm smile he leaned down and kissed her on the lips. He let the kiss linger more than he had ever done before, and, grace be to God, she let him. “I’ll return shortly.”  
    “I’ll be here.”  
    He slipped on his shoes and met Roy at the door. The man still looked nervous. Willard understood the reason why. Before, Joe had been Willard’s right-hand man, the one he counted on for everything. Now with Joe gone, Roy had taken over that position and Roy didn’t want to disappoint.  
    “Okay,” Willard said, stepping out into the crisp morning, “where is this trouble?”  
    Roy led him toward the center of town. Before they had even gone fifty yards, Willard said, “I don’t care to see the remains.”  
    Roy said nothing, just kept walking.  
    “I said I don’t care to see the remains.”  
    Roy paused, kept his eyes downcast. “I know, Reverend. That’s what the trouble is.”  
    They came to the center of town. Two men stood by the post, waiting for them. Willard noted, with a churning in his gut, the dirt stained dark with blood. Almost two month’s worth of blood, so much so it appeared the ground had stopped soaking it up.  
    Willard had always made it clear he didn’t want to deal with the remains—the scraps of clothing, the bones, the stray body parts—and Joe had understood that just fine. Maybe he would have to rethink keeping Roy as his right-hand man.  
    Nobody spoke, so Willard looked pointedly at each man and said, “Well?”  
    Duane, the shortest of the bunch with a ridiculous mustache, held up a length of rope. It was the same rope, presumably, that they used every night. Willard couldn’t really say for sure. Despite overseeing the town during this evil time, he had always kept a fair distance between himself and the sacrifices.  
    “Reverend?” Roy said questioningly, as if the evidence of the rope should be obvious enough.  
    “What?”  
    “Can’t you see?”  
    Willard sighed, his impatience waning. “Can’t I see what?”  
    “The rope,” Roy said. “It’s been cut.”  
    The sky above them was a light and hazy blue that stretched on for miles. A few clouds hung on the horizon. The town itself was quiet except for those men who were slowly waking and doing their assigned chores.  
    Willard stepped forward. He took the rope from Duane and inspected it. As Roy claimed, it appeared to be cut straight through.  
    “What are you saying?” Willard asked. When there was no answer, he raised an eyebrow at Roy. “Well?”  
    “He’s gone.”  
    Willard lowered the rope to his side. “Would you be so kind as to repeat what you just said?”  
    “He”—Roy swallowed again—“he’s gone.”  
    “That’s what I thought you said. But I’m still confused. After last night, he should be gone, correct?”  
      Roy nodded quickly. “Yes, Reverend. But the demons, they didn’t take him. There was ... nothing here this morning. No remains. That man, he managed ... he managed ... he managed ...”  
    “Just spit it out already, would you?”  
    This time taking a large gulp of air, Roy murmured, “He managed to escape.”  
    Willard didn’t know when it had happened, but he had begun gripping the rope so tightly his nails bit into his palm.  
    He took a slow, deep breath, held up the rope, and said, “How?”  
    “Well, Reverend, there’s something else you need to see.”  
    Roy and the two men led him toward the jailhouse. Here another man stood with his hands in his pockets, looking just as nervous as Roy. On the ground beside him was something Willard had never seen before.  
    “What ... what is that?”