Free Erik Handy by Hell of the Dead Page A

either remained calm or experienced a remarkable moment of sanity fled into the dark jungle. They ran on, not followed by anyone, living or resurrected.
    The rest of the villagers, however, were not as lucky. Even those women who didn't speak out against their men were torn and broken. Those who attempted to make for the jungle were easily caught and killed by the white figures.
    Another hut caught fire. Smoke hung heavy. The air would eventually clear and the jungle would reclaim this refuge for its own. A reset for the next generation. A tableau of the impossible for the present.
    No humans -- villager, brother, or wife -- were left alive.
    Ten pale zombies stood amid the human wreckage.
     

Chapter 37
    The sun was rising. Light finally began to settle upon the jungle road, seemingly a stranger to these parts.
    Jacoby's jeep careened down the narrow road. He was sweating and he was scared.
    That was no cult, he swore. Maybe a tribe. Maybe . . . no.
    He focused on the road ahead, paying no heed to whatever lay behind him. If he looked at his side mirror, he would have found Nolan closing in on him at breakneck speed.
     

Chapter 38
    Nolan checked Jean Paul, who was as happy as a baby could be in the passenger's seat. The baby gurgled as if the outside world didn't matter. And maybe it didn't. Maybe this one didn't matter either. Maybe nothing outside of mere life and death mattered. The time between those two moments were superfluous, forgotten points of history.
    The priest gained on Jacoby.
    Nolan considered what he would do when he caught up with the constable. Berate him? Kick his ass? The rage flushing his face hinted at a much darker action.
    Nolan checked his side mirror and immediately spotted a hand from inside the jeep snaking its way forward along the side.
    Nolan turned just as Rosalo struck like a rattler, jabbing the priest in the head.
    The jeep swerved, but Nolan corrected.
    Rosalo grabbed for the baby. Nolan slammed on the brakes.
    Rosalo flew through the measly windshield, taking it out in one piece, and landed somewhere in front of the vehicle.
    Nolan peered over the hood. Rosalo was still down.
    Rosalo.
    Evil. The darkest part of this piece of the world. Unchecked. Unrelenting.
    Nolan checked over Jean Paul once more. He was okay.
    Rosalo had to be stopped. Now.
    Nolan got out of the jeep and was instantly assaulted by the crazed man. Rosalo pounded him with a series of lefts. The priest went down and stayed there for a second too long.
    Nolan's strength faded, that last ounce of fervor and vigor zapped. But his faith . . . the lone light in the darkness . . . . that was dead, that reliance on what was or was not God's will. Nolan knew there was only Man's will. What pained Nolan more than that truth was that Rosalo, and Jacoby, had to teach it to him. Damn them.
    Rosalo picked up a rather large rock from the side of the road. The look of the man and the stone exuded nothing but menace and murder.
    "You have deprived me of my dream, priest," Rosalo said. "For that you will die."
    All Nolan saw was the rock in the madman's hand.
    "Tell me, priest," Rosalo continued. "How does it feel to know that your god has failed here?"
    Nolan got to one knee.
    Rosalo advanced. " You have failed here."
    Nolan tossed a handful of pebbles and dirt up, briefly confusing Rosalo. As soon as the particles flew, Nolan launched from one knee and tackled the man.
    Rosalo swung the rock, hitting Nolan's left shoulder.
    Nolan winced and just laid into Rosalo with weak lefts and stronger rights. God may have failed here, but I haven't, the power of each blow said.
    Rosalo let go of his rock. He tried to put up a hand in defense.
    No good.
    Rosalo's defense didn't match his earlier psychotic offense or Nolan's current flurry.
    Nolan grabbed the rock and smashed Rosalo's face in with one crunching blow.
    The priest's recoil of terror was instantaneous. Nolan scurried off Rosalo as if the man was a fire ant hill. He had to distance