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Sluagh

The battle for Waynesburg – By Darrell Case

Not trying to draw attention to himself or the stolen vehicle, he drove a few miles under the speed limit. Reaching into his bag of tricks, he changed his disguise. Now he really looked the part of a telephone technician.

Five miles out of town, he turned off the highway on to a gravel road with grass growing in the middle. The road led down into a valley covered with trees. Topping the hill, he rounded a curve. A ramshackle barn set back a short distance from the road. Parked beside it was a rusted pickup. He laid the pistol in his lap.

Driving up the lane, he saw a gray haired man in bib overalls. The elderly man was cutting weeds under a wire fence with a hand sickle.

As Max stopped the van, the farmer straightened up. Laying down the sickle, he rubbed the small of his back. Grinning he ambled over to the open window.

“Having problems with the phones again are we sonny?” He asked smiling.

“I seem to be lost.” Max said, pretending to look at a map he had found on the seat. “Where is the nearest house?”

“Well the nearest place is mine. That’s a half mile down this road,” The old guy said. He pointed down the opposite direction from the way Max came. “Next is the Waters. Theys a mile further on.”

Coming back to consciousness, Josh moaned.

“What’s goin’ on? You got somebody hurt back there?” The farmer asked, craning his neck to look in the back of the van.

Max shot him in the chest. As the elderly man fell, a confused look came into his eyes. Max smiled at the dying man.

“You’re not going to be able to give them any description, even if it is wrong.” Max said. Getting out of the van, he kicked the man in the side. The farmer groaned. Max shot him again.

Looking around, he noticed the old barn had large double doors. Swinging them open Max drove the van in between two rows of stalls. The building smelled of old hay manure and years of dust.

Dragging the old man’s corpse into the barn, Max placed him in one of the unused stalls.

After hiding the body and the telephone truck, the predator transferred Josh to the pickup. Placing the child on the floor, he covered him with the blankets he had taken from the van. Removing the wig, Max put on the straw hat he found laying on the seat.

Quickly he changed into a pair of bib overalls from his small satchel. He smiled at his appearance in the rearview mirror. Now smooth shaven he was just another farmer out checking on his crops. Mixing dirt and water, he smeared mud on the license plate.

Josh stirred. Before he could open his eyes, Max held the cloth over his mouth and nose. The child quickly lapsed into a deep sleep.

Starting the old pickup, he drove down the lane. Good, no traffic. The country road seemed deserted.

At the highway he stopped. He heard them coming before he saw them. Two State Police cars whisked by lights flashing, sirens roaring. The troopers did not even glance his way. He knew from experience they would be looking for the vehicle he was driving at the time of the abduction.

While they were searching for a man with long hair, a beard, and baseball cap, he was right under their noses dressed as a country bumpkin. The Amber Alert was out. That was all right, he had dealt with many alerts before. Julie Moore was another matter. He wasn’t sure of the location of her wound. The small gun he carried for close work wasn’t very accurate.

After he had his fun with Josh, he would track her down. If she was alive, he would silence her forever. His right hand began itching; pulling back the blanket, he touched the child’s neck. The itching stopped; he breathed a sigh of relief.

Hundreds of miles away in the small Indiana town of Waynesburg, Hattie Cooper stopped in the middle of washing her supper dishes. A burden gripped the heart of the petite African American woman. Blind from birth, Hattie’s spiritual sight was better than most pastors. The elderly saint knelt at a worn kitchen chair.

“Oh Lord yous knows old Satan. He be at it again. He tryin’ to do some evil. Stop him Lord. Yous the only ones that can. Amen.”
Antoine and four other demons flew with the pickup, surrounding the vehicle. Their eyes darted in every direction alert to any heavenly beings.

As soon as he stopped spinning, Andrews’s wounds healed, no scars appeared on his body. Joined by fifteen other angels swords drawn, they shot through the universe. As they neared earth, they formed a V. With Andrew in the lead, they pierced the dark clouds as a single unit. Coming from behind they dispatched three demons before the imps could react. Antoine whirled to face his former friend. He took a position on the roof of the pickup his claws digging into the metal roof of the cab.

Antoine slashed at the swarm of angels attacking him, his sword clanging against a dozen swords at once. The remaining demon cowered behind the front of the pickup. Seeing his chance he fled, leaving Antoine to fight the battle alone. Fear gripped the demon’s heart. If he was wounded, it would take weeks to heal. In the meantime, his wounds would become infected. The pain would be excruciating and the injuries would affect his ability to fight.

Abandoning the cab, Antoine pasted his back to a large oak tree. The angels surrounded him. Fifteen swords pointed at his coal black body.

On God’s command, Andrew moved back. Seeing the opening, Antoine shot for the sky.

“We will fight again angel.” He shouted over his shoulder. “Yes, we will fight again.” Andrew said watching the fallen angel become a speck in the setting sun.

Max felt a sudden stab of fear. Something was wrong. His confidence was gone. He glanced behind him sure he was not being followed. Nothing, not a vehicle in sight. He tried to shake the feeling.

“It’s just your imagination; they couldn’t have found the old farmer yet.” He said out loud trying to convince himself of the truthfulness of his statement. A loud bang came from the engine, smoke poured from under the hood. Oil and water splattered the windshield.

Andrew wiped the grease from his sword. A disjointed piston tore a 3-inch hole in the engine block. The truck coasted to a stop at the side of the highway. Cursing, the predator banged his fist on the steering wheel.

“No. No. No. Not now, not when I’m so close.” Max screamed. He cursed the owner of the truck, Josh, and his mother.

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