"That makes two of us," Sister Carole said.
She didn't want to go out again tonight but knew she had to.
Her only solace was the certainty that sooner or later it going to end—for her.
She set a few more wires, ran a few more strings, then headed up to the bedroom to change into her padded bra, her red blouse, her black leather skirt.
<Not again! When is it going to END, Carole? When is this going to STOP?>
"When they're all dead and gone," Sister Carole said aloud to the stranger in the bedroom mirror. "Or when I am. Whichever comes first."
GREGOR...
Gregor frowned as he smeared makeup on his face to hide his pallor. He hoped it looked all right. Since he couldn't use a mirror he had to go by feel. It would have made more sense to have one of his get apply it, but he wanted to keep his plan to himself.
He sprayed himself with Obsession cologne. The living said the undead carried an unmistakable odor. He couldn't detect it himself, but this should mask it. He rose and looked down at himself. A long-sleeved work shirt, scruffy jeans, a crescent-on-a-chain earring, and now, a passably—he hoped—ruddy complexion.
"Hey there," he said in the drawl he'd been practicing since sundown, hoping to disguise his own accent with another. "Ahm new in these here parts."
He slipped a cowboy hat onto his head to complete the picture.
A good enough picture, he hoped, to decoy these vigilantes into picking on him as their next cowboy victim.
Gregor smiled, baring his teeth. Then they'd be in for a surprise.
He could have sent someone else, could have sent out a number of decoys, but he wanted this hunt for himself. After all, Franco had his eye on the situation, and that mandated bold and extraordinary measures. Gregor needed to prove without a doubt that the vigilantes were separate from the insurgents in the church.
He stepped over the drained, beheaded corpse of the old man who'd been brought to him earlier—what had happened to all the young catde?—and checked the map one last time. He'd marked all six places where the dead cowboys had been found. The X's formed a rough circle. Gregor's plan was to wander the streets within that circle. Alone.
An hour ago he'd sent his get-guards upstairs to the main floor of the synagogue, telling them he wanted to sup alone and be left undisturbed here in the basement while he planned the night's sortie. Now he crept up the steps and let himself out a side door and into the dark.
Gregor took a deep, shuddering breath of the night air. Too long since he'd done this. Not since he'd migrated out of Eastern Europe with the others. It felt wonderful to be on the hunt again.
JOE . . .
Joe realized with a start that he hadn't seen Lacey since this morning.
"Has anybody seen my niece?" he said to a group of men standing guard on the front steps.
"Niece?" one of them said, a big black man with gray stubble on his cheeks. "I didn't know you had one. What's she look like, Father?"
"Dark hair, tattoo on her arm about here, and she's—"
"Sure," said another fellow. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "She was with us back there across the street in the office building most of the day. Some kinda worker, that girl."
"That she is," Joe said, trying not to sound too obviously proud. "But when did you last see her? "
"Late afternoon," said a big, red-faced man. "Said she was coming back here to see you about something."
A jolt of alarm lanced though Joe. "I haven't seen her. She never got to me!"
He tore back into the church, scanning expectant faces as he hurried through the nave—expectant because he was supposed to start saying evening Mass just about now. He ducked through the sanctuary and into the sacristy where he found Carl, getting ready for his altar boy duties.
"Carl! Have you seen Lacey?"
He shook his head. "No, Fadda. Something wrong?"
"She's missing. Gone." Joe's gut crawled. "Get your gun and a couple of the men. We've got to find her."
"But what about Mass?"
"Forget about that. Lacey comes first."
"Y'gotta say Mass, Fadda. Everyone's out there waiting for you." He stepped to the door and looked out into the nave. "Let's do this: I'll tell some of the non-Catholic guys to look for her during Mass. They can look just as good as us. They'll find her. Chances are she's probably conked out in the convent or rectory catching up on her sleep."
Joe prayed that was true. It seemed logical. Lacey could take care of herself, probably better than most of the men. She'd made it all the way down here from New York on her own, hadn't she?
Still. . . not knowing where she was gnawed at him.
GREGOR . . .
Where are you? Gregor wanted to shout. I'm right here in your kill zone. Come and get me!
He had been walking these empty streets for what seemed like hours. It hadn't been nearly that long, but his gnawing impatience made it feel that way. He'd seen no one, living or undead. He fought the discouragement he sensed creeping up on him, preparing to pounce on his back. He would not give up. He refused to return empty handed again.
He was wondering if perhaps he should set himself up as bait in another area when he heard a woman's voice call from the shadows.
"Hey, mister. Got any food?"
He jumped, not having to fake his surprise. How had she sneaked up on him like that? She was downwind, he realized, and had been hiding behind a thick tree trunk. Still, he should have sensed her presence.
His senses were on full alert now. Were the prey taking the bait? Was this woman bait herself, placed here to lure an unsuspecting cowboy into a trap?
He saw her clearly—a young woman in provocative clothes. Not that it provoked him. Only one thing could do that, and it wasn't made of cloth. It was red and warm and flowed and spurted.
Gregor made a show of squinting into the darkness. No sense in giving his night vision away and scaring off her backup—if indeed she had backup. He sensed no other living human nearby.
"Come on out where ah can see you, honey," he said, remembering to add the drawl.
The cow stepped out of the shadows into the moonlight.
"My, my, you sure are a purty one. What you doin out here alone?"
"L-looking for some food. You got any you can spare?"
"I might. What's in it for me?" Didn't want to sound too anxious.