Another time she parked outside an unfamiliar house in a nice middle-class neighborhood. She didn’t say anything to him as she got out of the car and went up to the porch to ring the doorbell. The door opened a moment later and an older lady he didn’t recognize came out onto the porch and hugged her. They then went inside the house. Sindie didn’t reemerge for a while. His dazed state of mind made it difficult to gauge how much time passed, but he later figured she stayed in there at least a half-hour.

  She didn’t say anything about what happened in the house when she finally came back out to the car, but she had flecks of blood on her clothes and at the corners of her mouth. He didn’t know for certain she’d killed anyone in there, but it seemed a safe bet. As with the pedestrian she’d run down, he had no clue why she would want to kill the older lady. He knew, however, that the woman’s probable murder had nothing to do with the devil’s decree. There’d been no hint of the virgin shimmer on her wrinkled old skin. The embrace Sindie shared with her on the porch suggested she’d been someone close to her. A relative. Maybe even her mother. Micah had no idea. Sindie didn’t talk about her family and had never introduced him to any of them. So much about her life beyond being a Satanist and what she did for a living remained a total mystery to him.

  Their next stop was a hardware store. Again, Micah remained in the car while his crazy girlfriend went in and took care of whatever business she was here to conduct. This time, though, the store’s windows allowed him to observe her moving through the aisles. He was relieved to see she wasn’t brutally murdering the store’s employees. She made her purchases and came back out to the car in less than five minutes.

  Now they were sitting in her Kia Sorento in the parking lot outside a Baptist church. It was about half past three in the afternoon.

  Micah looked at Sindie and raised an eyebrow. “What are we doing here? And why did you buy machetes at the hardware store?”

  Sindie cut the engine and removed her keys from the ignition. “The machetes are for killing virgins. Duh. Come on, Micah. You’re not stupid. I would think you could figure that out. As for why we’re here, there’s two reasons. One is that at this very minute a meeting of the Youth Abstinence League of Littleburg is taking place in the basement of this building. Virgins galore. We’re here to kill as many of them as possible, preferably all of them. As a bonus, my worthless, god-fearing little sister is one of them. Killing that bitch while she cowers and begs for mercy will be the highlight of my fucking day, I can tell you that right now.”

  Micah gaped at her in disbelief. “What? You really want to kill your sister?”

  Sindie huffed in a disdainful way. “Yes.”

  “But … why?”

  Her head snapped toward him, her pretty features twisted in a look of pure fury. “Because I fucking hate her. That’s all you need to know.”

  “Did you kill that woman when you went into her house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was she your mother?”

  “Yes.”

  Each time Sindie answered in the affirmative, it sounded like she was spitting out a tooth. It was clear she had a lot of pent-up negative feelings where her family was concerned. He wasn’t sure whether mercilessly slaughtering them all was the healthiest way of expressing her feelings, but they were sort of past the point where an alternative path could have been pursued.

  She let out a breath and her facial muscles began to relax, resuming their usual, softer appearance. “You’re coming with me this time, Micah. No sitting back and letting me do all the dirty work. Get out of the fucking car.”

  She got out before he could say anything to that.

  With great reluctance, Micah opened the door on his side and got out, too. She was standing at the back of the Sorento with the rear hatch open. By the time he joined her there, she had already removed the machetes. She handed one to Micah and closed the hatch.

  She looked at him and said, “Are you ready?”

  He shook his head. “Not really.”

  She scowled at him. “I don’t get what the actual fuck your problem is. Last night at the mass it felt like you were as committed to all this as I am. Now, not so much. What happened?”

  Micah shrugged. “Last night was just weird, okay? I wasn’t myself. Not really. It was like I was under the influence of mind control drugs or something, like some outside force was fucking around in my head and making me feel things I wouldn’t ordinarily feel.”

  “And today?”

  Another shrug. “The drugs wore off and I feel like the real me again. And the real me is a regular guy who isn’t much interested in randomly killing a bunch of people.”

  “Fuck what you want,” Sindie said, showing him a disgusted look. “You’re doing it anyway or you and me are over.” She raised her machete and put the tip of the blade to his throat. “Permanently. You get me?”

  Micah thought he did get her meaning. She was threatening his life without explicitly verbalizing it. Given how much she claimed to love him, it was the clearest and strongest evidence yet of the depth of her commitment to Satan.

  He swallowed and managed a single nervous nod. “Yeah. I get you.”

  She huffed. “Good. Now come on.”

  She turned away from him and started striding rapidly in the direction of the church. He stayed where he was a moment longer, watching the sexy sway of her hips. She was still wearing the sleeveless Cradle of Filth shirt, but she’d changed out the cotton shorts for a pair of black vinyl hot pants. Imprinted across the backside of the hot pants was the word SATAN in large silver letters. Whatever else you could say about her, she wasn’t exactly subtle about her Luciferic allegiances. And despite all the atrocities he’d watched her commit, he remained powerfully attracted to her.

  Sindie stopped in her tracks and looked over her shoulder at him. “Goddammit, Micah. Get your ass in gear. You’re not getting out of this.”

  Micah was on the horns of a dilemma here. He could make a run for it and try to get out of town, but that would come with the risk of being tracked down and killed by Sindie or one of the other Satanists. And one thing he knew from the two midnight masses he’d attended, there were a lot of Satanists in this little town. Like, a really shockingly high number of them. Escape seemed unlikely, for all the reasons that had kept him from trying it up to this point as well as some new ones.

  There was only one real option.

  Accept his fate as a servant of the devil and embrace doing the horrific things the dark lord commanded. If nothing else, it would make his girlfriend happy.

  Fuck it.

  He caught up with Sindie and together they went into the church.

  EIGHT

  The girls were already working on some of their routines when Felicity Harper parked her Toyota Highlander outside the practice field at the training facility adjacent to Littleburg High. She sat in the SUV and watched them for a few minutes while smoking a cigarette and listening to a breaking news bulletin on a local AM radio station. The announcer was talking in urgent tones about a “wave of violence” hitting Littleburg, with the station receiving numerous reports of seemingly unconnected murders and violent assaults happening all over town.

  Littleburg was a small town, a fact that was literally right there in the name. Not desolate plains of Nebraska small, but small enough. Whole years went by—sometimes several in a row—without a single murder being reported. With more than a dozen confirmed victims so far—and reports of more coming in every few minutes—it wasn’t hard to conclude that what was happening today wasn’t some weird, anomalous blip. So far the victims were not linked in any obvious way, but some level of coordination among the perpetrators seemed likely.

  The station played a clip of a brief statement from Sheriff Ron Carpenter: “If there’s a pattern to it, I’ll be damned if I know what it is, but we’re working hard to contain things and keep our citizens safe. For now, my best advice is for everyone to stay inside and don’t open your doors for anyone.”

  Felicity Harper turned off the radio and flicked her half-smoked cigarette out the window. She grabbed her backpack and got out of the Highlander, leaving the key in the ignition with the engine running. The practice field was surrounded by a chain-link fence. She opened a gate and stepped out onto the field. The gate remained open behind her.

  The cheerleaders were assembled in the middle of the field, some twenty-five yards from where she’d entered through the gate. At the moment, they were rehearsing one of the more complex routines, with some of the girls standing on the shoulders of other girls beneath them. They were performing the routine with admirable skill and precision, without the slightest hint of a hiccup. She wanted to clap when she saw how smoothly the girls up top executed their dismount. This year’s squad was as good or better than any she’d had during her eleven years as cheerleading coach at Littleburg High. It was a tribute to their athleticism and dedication to craft, but also a product of her leadership skills. She had a genuine gift for guiding the girls and getting the most from them.

  Felicity took great pride in seeing this evidence of her talent, another indication of which was on display here today. In all her years as a cheerleading coach, she’d never once been late for a practice. She was always here well ahead of time, ready to greet and get started with the first girls to show up. That had changed today. She was more than thirty minutes late. She wasn’t happy about it, but it had been unavoidable. Despite that, the girls were showing their commitment to greatness by starting practice without her. Another squad, a lazier one led by a less demanding coach, might have spent this time unproductively, perhaps staring at their phones or lounging around and gossiping with their squad mates. But not these girls.

  Adrienne O’Bannon was this year’s head cheerleader and a shoo-in to be named Homecoming Queen. Appropriately, she’d taken it upon herself to lead the squad through their routines in the absence of their coach. There were no ugly or even homely girls on the squad. Being pretty was an unwritten but understood requirement. Even so, Adrienne was on a level far above the rest of them. She was easily the most attractive young lady Felicity had ever coached.

  Had fate taken a different course, many of these girls would have done well in life after graduation. Some might have moved on to greener pastures far from the constricting confines of conservative Littleburg, finding success in the corporate world or as tech innovators. They were that smart. Others would have stayed to start families and take on other traditional roles in the community, becoming local business leaders and politicians. A few others, inevitably, would have spiraled downward in the years after school, perhaps ending up as strippers at the Sin Den just outside the town line. Felicity had long pegged the squad’s lesbian couple—Vicky Hooper and Layla Dozier—as prime candidates for that inglorious fate.

  Adrienne was something else altogether. She was special, a rare, brilliant flower. She could do anything she wanted. Become a top research scientist, for instance, developing treatments for deadly diseases. Or go to Paris or New York and become a high fashion model. She had the cheekbones and build to become iconic in the latter field, but she also possessed the keen intellect necessary for the former. Unfortunately for her, she was also a virgin.

  Felicity felt a touch of melancholy at seeing the girl’s skin imbued with that sparkling shimmer. Before today, her virginal status wouldn’t have mattered to anyone other than the many guys constantly trying to get into her pants, but now it was a death sentence. It was too bad. A waste, really. But this mild twinge of regret was easily shunted aside. It was a small thing compared to the love she felt for Satan.

  She was a few yards away from the spot where the squad members were gathered when Adrienne greeted her with a warm and friendly smile. “Hello, Miss Harper! Hope you don’t mind, but we took it on ourselves to get going today. We figured it was what you’d want.”

  Felicity smiled and knelt on the field in front of Adrienne, still carefully maintaining that distance of a few yards. She began to unzip the backpack. “You assume correctly, Adrienne. Very commendable.”

  She rooted around in the backpack a moment before taking out two Glock pistols, one in each hand. There were exclamations of surprise when the girls first saw the guns. These gave way to shouts of terror and confusion when she stood and aimed one of the guns at Adrienne and shot her through the center of the forehead. Screams rang out on the practice field as blood from the exit wound at the back of Adrienne’s head splashed the uniforms of the cheerleaders standing directly behind her.

  Most of the girls stood there in shock that first moment. The spell was broken by Layla Dozier, who was the first of them to make a run for it. She was standing at the rear of the squad with her girlfriend when that first shot shattered the afternoon calm. She was running in the opposite direction within seconds of Adrienne’s corpse hitting the ground.

  Felicity started firing rapidly with both pistols, swinging them about and picking off her targets with ruthless efficiency. She’d spent years practicing her marksmanship at shooting ranges. It was a hobby, a thing she did for fun. Nothing more than that. She never even thought of it in terms of practicing for home defense. She certainly never expected to utilize her shooting skill on live targets, but she was happy to use it now in service of Satan.

  Except for Layla, none of the girls got very far after finally attempting to flee. She gunned them all down, even the ones who weren’t virgins, which was most of them. Felicity had counted a total of five with the skin shimmer, all of whom were now dead. Five pure souls successfully collected for the glory of Satan. That made a total of seven for her on the day. She hoped to collect many more before midnight.

  Layla was still running hard toward the opposite end of the practice field. There was another gate down there. Given a few more seconds of hard running, she’d be able to make it to the gate and then out to safety. It came as no surprise to Felicity that the girl’s flesh didn’t have the purity shimmer. She wondered about that as she sized up a shot, aiming one of the pistols at Layla’s back.

  For the devil’s purposes, what exactly constituted a loss of virginity? Did it require the penetration of a vagina by a penis or did same-sex sexual activity also remove the shimmer? She already knew the shimmer only became visible on the skin of persons who’d reached the stage of sexual maturity, which eliminated the necessity of killing small children. Though she was a thoroughly committed Satanist, she was kind of grateful for that. This other matter struck her as a gray area, though. If nothing else, it would make for an interesting discussion topic at the next midnight mass.

  Accuracy could be a tricky thing with a handgun at this distance, but if there was anyone who could bring the little lezzie down from here, it was Felicity. She waited one more second and then, just as Layla was about to open the gate, she squeezed the trigger.

  The gun clicked empty.

  Felicity scowled at it.

  Shit.

  She tried to bring the other gun to bear on the fleeing teenager, but by then Layla had the gate open and was running through it.

  It was too late.

  She grabbed her backpack and stowed the pistols inside it again. After zipping it up, she walked at an unhurried pace back out to the parking lot. While she wished she’d been able to finish off the last member of her varsity squad, it wasn’t that big a deal. Killing the girls who weren’t virgins hadn’t strictly been necessary, but she figured Satan would appreciate her taking any innocent life. The virgin souls might earn her more infernal credit or whatever, but there had to be at least a little value in the rest of them. If not, so what? She still had lots of ammo and many hours to go before midnight.

  She also wasn’t worried about letting a witness to her crime escape. There were undoubtedly other witnesses cowering behind the bleachers or inside the weight-training building. It didn’t matter if anyone had seen her gun down the cheerleaders because the cult was well-entrenched at the highest levels of power in Littleburg. Any potential witnesses who tried to come forward after today would be silenced. The whole thing would be swept under the rug and life here would go back to something resembling normal.

  As if none of this had even happened.

  NINE

  This Wednesday’s YALL meeting was even lamer than usual. Seth wouldn’t have thought such a thing possible, but it was true. The Wednesday meetings were always so tedious and uncomfortable. On some Sundays, upwards of fifty kids crowded into this basement. On days like that, he could blend into the background and not have to work too hard at pretending he wanted to be here. He could retreat into his own mind and tune out the religious brainwashing bullshit. Time passed fast on those days, which was also nice.

  The Wednesday meetings were more sparsely attended. Usually only twenty or so kids showed up, which meant he wasn’t always able to fade into the background and was sometimes forced to participate in group discussion. He blushed a lot and stammered when he had to speak in front of other YALL members, some of whom actually were good little Christian kids. Some of his difficulty could be chalked up to a natural aversion to public speaking. Whatever his future held, he knew for an absolute fact it wouldn’t involve being a lecturer or politician. Any kind of spotlight was not something he craved. Another factor, perhaps an even bigger one, was how talking in group required him to blatantly lie about how hard he was working not to give in to sinful temptations. Seth was all in favor of giving in to temptation. He was in favor of sin in general. The fun ones, anyway. Given half a chance, he would surrender to temptation in the tiniest measurable fraction of a second possible.

 

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