Free Johnny Halloween by Norman Partridge Page A

me go?”
    “That would be telling.”
    “Well, do I have some time to think it over, at least?”
    With the stump of his wrist, the cultist pointed to the edge of the circle. The dust was dry now, powdery, and the swirling wind was beginning to thin the boundary. “Even now the dust of my life scatters. See? My brothers have stirred Satan’s breath. That is the only thing that keeps us alive, the only thing that can penetrate the circle until the dust is charged with the blood of the living. And that must happen soon, for when the circle is no more, I will be no more. And then my brothers will be most unhappy, for you will have sentenced them to death. You two won’t last an instant against them.”
    Bill inhaled deeply. “Satan’s breath, huh? My ass. I’m a Christian man, and I can breathe this air just fine.”
    Nardo shook his head. “Well, Bill, maybe God doesn’t approve of you transporting devil cults in your Dodge Dakota. I don’t recall anything about that in the Ten Commandments, but maybe it didn’t make the short list.”
    “Levity in the face of doom is admirable, Deputy. But if you’re going to make a decision, you’d best make it soon.”
    Nardo whistled. “Kind of one of those moral dilemma things, huh?” He ran his finger over the blade. “I just have one other question, then. If I do this for you, will I be flapping around for all eternity?”
    “There are worse things.”
    Nardo returned the knife to Bill. “Don’t get any ideas about turning the tables on me, Billy. You sprout bat wings, you’ll have one hell of a time scratching your ass.”
    The cultist whispered something, but his words were eclipsed by the angry shrieks of his winged brethren.
    Nardo pulled the one-armed man to his feet. The bats hovered at the edge of the circle, furiously beating their wings, kicking up the powdery remnants of the cultist’s arm, uncovering the scorched grass below.
    Nardo lashed out. A left jab. A hard one. The one-armed man’s nose collapsed; his cheeks cracked and caved in, and Nardo pulled his second punch as the man hit the edge of the circle and crumbled within the folds of his leathery robe.
    “If you would’ve hit Carl Williams like that, we wouldn’t be in this fix,” Bill said. “’Course, Williams had two hands and could hit back.”
    “Don’t start.” Nardo grabbed the cultist’s robe and shook it at Bill’s feet. Bits and pieces hit the ground. Some bounced. Some didn’t.
    “Look, I don’t want any part of this,” Bill whispered.
    Nardo grabbed the cultist’s withered cock, powdered it in his fist, and sprinkled it at the edge of the circle. He glanced at Bill. “I did that little bit because I didn’t want to hear you complain. Now get busy, and I mean directly.”
    “Even if we grind this sucker up, he ain’t gonna last forever. Those furry bastards will just keep on flapping, and pretty soon we’ll be right back where we are right now.”
    “I don’t plan to be here all night. Sylvia Martin knows where I am. I can’t reach her with my handpack, but pretty soon she’ll send Ron Allen along to check on me, and—”
    The sound of a siren rose in the distance. Nardo fumbled with his extender mic. Ron was in range, and he hailed him easily, the signal strong and clear.
    “No, this isn’t a gag, Ron…. Yes, we’ve got a dangerous situation here…. I guess the most I can say right now is that hostages have been taken, and I want to hear a hell of a lot more sirens before I see any lights.”
    If the bats understood, they didn’t panic, and they didn’t break away to pursue Ron Allen. Instead they flapped, screeched, and circled, intent only on their fallen brother and the men who had killed him. Nardo couldn’t help watching the things. He knew that they were consumed by the need for revenge, and he figured that the hunger for his blood was probably the only thing that kept them from powdering away to nothing.
    But they couldn’t last forever, not