Salem's Lot - Stephen King [174]
St Andrew’s loomed above him.
He hesitated, then walked up the path. He would pray. Pray all night, if necessary. Not to the new God, the God of ghettos and social conscience and free lunches, but the old God, who had proclaimed through Moses not to suffer a witch to live and who had given it unto his own son to raise from the dead. A second chance, God. All my life for penance. Only… a second chance.
He stumbled up the wide steps, his gown muddy and bedraggled, his mouth smeared with Barlow’s blood.
At the top he paused a moment, and then reached for the handle of the middle door.
As he touched it, there was a blue flash of light and he was thrown backward. Pain lanced his back, then his head, then his chest and stomach and shins as he fell head over heels down the granite steps to the walk.
He lay trembling in the rain, his hand afire.
He lifted it before his eyes. It was burned.
‘Unclean,’ he muttered. ‘Unclean, unclean, O God, so unclean.’
He began to shiver. He slid his arms around his shoulders and shivered in the rain and the church loomed behind him, its doors shut against him.
25
Mark Petrie sat on Matt’s bed, in exactly the spot Ben had occupied when Ben and Jimmy had come in. Mark had dried his tears with his shirt sleeve, and although his eyes were puffy and bloodshot, he seemed to have himself in control.
‘You know, don’t you,’ Matt asked him, ‘that ‘salem’s Lot is in a desperate situation?’
Mark nodded.
‘Even now, his Undead are crawling over it,’ Matt said somberly. ‘Taking others to themselves. They won’t get them all-not tonight-but there is dreadful work ahead of you tomorrow.’
‘Matt, I want you to get some sleep,’ Jimmy said. ‘We’ll be here don’t worry. You don’t look good. This has been a horrible strain on you-’
‘My town is disintegrating almost before my eyes and you want me to sleep?’ His eyes, seemingly tireless, flashed out of his haggard face.
Jimmy said stubbornly, ‘If you want to be around for the finish, you better save something back. I’m telling you that as your physician, goddammit.’
‘All right. In a minute.’ He looked at all of them. ‘Tomorrow the three of you must go back to Mark’s house. You’re going to make stakes. A great many of them.’ The meaning sank home to them.
‘How many?’ Ben asked softly.
‘I would say you’ll need three hundred at least. I advise you to make five hundred.’
‘That’s impossible,’ Jimmy said flatly. ‘There can’t be that many of them.’
‘The Undead are thirsty,’ Matt said simply. ‘It’s best to be prepared. You will go together. You dare not split up, even in the daytime. It will be like a scavenger hunt. You must start at one end of town and work toward the other.’
‘We’ll never be able to find them all,’ Ben objected. ‘Not even if we could start at first light and work through until dark.’
‘You’ve got to do your best, Ben. People may begin to believe you. Some will help, if you show them the truth of what you say. And when dark comes again, much of his work will be undone.’ He sighed. ‘We have to assume that Father Callahan is lost to us. That’s bad. But you must press on, regardless. You’ll have to be careful, all of you. Be ready to lie. If you’re locked up, that will serve his purpose well. And if you haven’t considered it, you might do well to consider it now: There is every possibility that some of us or all of us may live and triumph only to stand trial for murder.’
He looked each of them in the face. What he saw there must have satisfied him, because he turned his attention wholly to Mark again.
‘You know what the most important job is, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Mark said. ‘Barlow has to be killed.
Matt smiled a trifle thinly. ‘That’s putting the cart before the horse, I’m afraid. First we have to find him.’ He looked closely at Mark. ‘Did you see anything tonight, hear anything, smell anything, touch anything, that might help us locate him? Think carefully before you answer! You know better than any of us how important it is!’
Mark thought. Ben had never seen anyone take a