Free New Title 1 by Eric S Brown Page B

torn and bloodied dress with shoulder length brown hair and a bold look of determination on her face. Around her lay three piles of ash. One of his children sat a few feet from her, grasping a leg which appeared to have been shattered by a well placed bullet. The young woman held a cross in one hand and a still smoking Colt revolver in the other. “You killed my pa,” she hissed.
    Lee touched her mind with his own, copying all the knowledge of who she was and her memories, so he would be able to manipulate her more easily if the need arose. “Ah, what have we here, a virgin with a crucifix? Is it Christmas already?” He licked his lips and smiled. “Come now, Beth, what do you really hope to accomplish here? Your Colt is empty and that little gun in your pocket is as useless as your misplaced faith. Besides,” Lee laughed, “your father isn’t dead. He’s right over there.”
    Beth turned and peered into the ranks of the foul things as they poured from the saloon and encircled her.
    “ Pa?” Beth said weakly as the demon that was once her father moved closer. The muscles of his thick arms rippled under his flesh, more powerful than ever. Gone were the eyes that had looked into her own so many times over the years with love and kindness, their gentleness replaced by shining yellow orbs of hatred and hunger. There was nothing human left about them and their unholy glow made Beth feel sick to her stomach.
    Her pa took another step forward, and then sprang at her like a cat pouncing on its prey. Beth swung the cross in her hand up to meet him. He landed on top of her, shoving her into the dirt, as the cross touched his leathery flesh. A cry of fear and hurt exploded from his lungs as he burst into flames.
    Beth screamed, too, as the flames spread over. She was trapped beneath his burning bulk with no means of escape. She lay in the street on fire, long after his body had flashed to ash. Beth howled and begged for help as she rolled about, trying to extinguish her flaming dress and hair. The man in white laughed long and hard, as did his children. They watched her die a slow and agonizing death in front of them, their fevered howls chorusing through the air.
    When she finally lay still, Lee tipped his small, white hat to her corpse, and then turned his attention back to the matter at hand. One man still lived in Reaper’s Valley and his soul cried out to Lee. The pastor’s faith needed to be stomped out and his soul devoured. Lee motioned for his children to follow him and set out at a brisk pace for the church which rested just beyond the edge of the town.
     
    Twenty-Five
     
    O’Rouke yanked his oil lamp away from the open case he’d found in the corner of the barn as soon as he saw what was contained within it.
    This was why they’d come.
    He lifted a stick of dynamite in his free hand and felt its weight. O’Rouke counted eight more sticks inside the case. Seeing those damned monsters chew on one of these firecrackers would be fun. Carefully, he placed the stick back where it belonged. They didn’t appear to be sweating, but his knowledge of explosives consisted of what he had heard in stories told by drunken miners and railroad workers during his travels.
    He figured Nathan would know how to handle the stuff properly. The man sure seemed to know everything else. Even the way he fought was fancy. O’Rouke had seen the martial arts style Nathan used among the Orientals, but he’d never seen a white man use it, much less with such skill, until Nathan put him on his arse during their first encounter. His tongue probed the empty gums of the two teeth he’d lost in that fight.
    A shuffling sound came from the hay loft above him. O’Rouke drew his pistol and held his lamp high to get a look at the area where the noise had originated. A rat ran across one of the barn’s support beams and he breathed a sigh of relief. Though he would never admit it to another living soul, he was scared. Horse thieves, drunks,