"The vigilantes were your problem long before I arrived."
"And I'm telling you these are not the same people."
"A very self-serving theory."
"Their methods are different. I've been gathering information since it happened. One of my cowboys—serfs—walked in on them in the church earlier today. They didn't kill him, just pushed him around and sent him on his way. If it had been the vigilantes they would have slit his throat and hung him from a pole just like all the others."
"Maybe they've changed tactics."
Gregor shook his head. "The church problem was started by a priest and a rabbi."
"Working together? Maybe this is more of a problem than I thought."
"It is. But these two are not the vigilantes. They're worse. They're visible, and they've provided a base of operations, a rallying point for the cattle. They're doing everything the vigilantes did not do."
"This will not get you off the hook, Gregor."
"Will you listen to me? I'm trying to tell you there are two groups to deal with now, separate and distinct. And if they should band together we will be in even bigger danger."
"As I said, Gregor: theory. A theory needs proof. If you're so convinced the vigilantes are not in that church, then prove it by finding them and bringing them in. I hope you succeed."
"I find that hard to believe."
"I'm quite serious. Your serfs are becoming afraid to move about in the day. They sense a foundering ship and, like the rats they are, they're ready to jump. We can't have that. We need them to hold the day. If these people take back the day, then we might lose the night as well."
That will never happen, Gregor thought. I will not allow it.
"I will bring in these vigilantes as promised. And when I do, I'll bleed them—just enough to weaken them. Then I'll give them to the cowboys to finish. I'll let them take as long as they like to exact their revenge. And then they'll see that we take care of our helpers. And the rest of the cattle will see that resistance is futile."
He had to succeed, had to prove that the vigilantes were not connected with the church rebels, otherwise the blame for the fall of the church would rest on his shoulders. His whole future depended on finding those damn vigilantes.
"Let's hope so," Olivia said. "Meanwhile, I won't be idle while waiting to hear from Franco. I'm going to have that church watched closely in case this priest or rabbi or anyone else from inside steps out." Her eyes blazed. "I want one of them."
"For what?" Gregor asked.
"For answers. For leverage. For.. . fun." Olivia smiled. "I can be very inventive."
- 5 -
JOE . . .
Father Joe gave the dirt on Zev's grave a final pat with his shovel, then turned away. He didn't know any of the Jewish prayers for the dead, so he'd made up a prayer of his own to send his old friend on his way.
Lacey walked beside him, a shovel across her shoulder. "You were really close to him, weren't you."
"Like a brother. Closer than a brother. Brothers drag all sorts of baggage into their relationship as adults. We had none of that. We didn't even share the same culture."
"He seemed like a good man."
"He was. He had a kind, generous, gentle soul. I will miss him terribly."
Joe's throat clenched. He still couldn't believe Zev was gone. He'd feared him dead after the vampires invaded, but hadn't really believed it. Now he had no choice.
He looked around. Rifle- and shotgun-toting men stood at the corners of the little church graveyard. Joe had found spots in the crowded soil for Zev and the four parishioners who'd died during last night's fight, and this morning a crew of volunteers—Lacey among them—had started digging.
He glanced at his niece, noting the sheen of perspiration on her bare arms, the nasty-looking bruise below her shoulder. It didn't seem to be bothering her much this morning. She was in good shape and surprisingly strong. She'd held her own with that shovel.
The midday sun hung high and hot as they followed the walk around to the front of the church where half a dozen women were busy scrubbing the steps. Two more armed men patrolled the sidewalk behind them.
"Good job, ladies," Joe said.
The women smiled and waved.
"Sure looks better than it did this morning," Lacey said.
Joe nodded. They'd hurled the bodies of the vampires and the dead Vichy out the front door last night. In hindsight, that had been an error, because the morning sunlight created a terrible mess, reducing some of the undead cadavers to a foul, brown goo that stained the steps and coated the Vichy bodies.
Carl had found a front-end loader and the men used that to haul the stinking mess to a vacant lot where it was buried in a mass grave.
Lacey stared at the stains. "Lots of death last night." She turned to Joe, her eyes troubled. "Why don't I feel bad?"
"Maybe because this is war. A war like never before. In past wars the enemy gets propagandized into monsters, subhuman creatures. In this war we don't have to do that. They are subhuman monsters."
"And the Vichy?"
"They're just subhuman."
She continued to stare at him. "This is not the Uncle Joe I knew."
How right she was. He sensed that memories of last night's carnage and bloodshed would keep him awake for months, maybe years. But he couldn't allow himself to dwell on it. He had to move on.
"Thank God I'm not. The old Father Joe would have tried to reason with them. But I worry that many more scenes like last night will change us, make us more like them."
"So? Maybe we need to become more like them if we're to survive. In a war you have to submerge a lot of the decent impulses and empathy that made you a good partner or spouse or parent or neighbor. Especially in this war, because we're dealing with an enemy that has lost all decent impulses. You offer an olive branch and they'll shove it down your throat. Will we be changed by this? Look around you, Unk: we already are."
He nodded. "We'll all be either dead or permanently scarred when this is over. And so, in the unlikely event that we win, we'll still lose." He managed a smile for her. "How's that for optimism?"
She shrugged. "One thing's for sure. The Uncle Joe who used to say, 'Just have faith and everything will turn out fine' is gone."
Yes, he is, Joe thought with a deep pang of regret. Gone forever.
"Do you miss him, Lacey?"
"Yes and no. He was a great, easygoing guy, but he's not what we need now. And speaking of now, here comes the big question: what next?"
Good question. Joe had been thinking about that. He closed his eyes, lifted his face to the sun, and watched the glowing red inner surface of his lids.