Jack County Demons (8 page)

LT stood in the entrance to the bar. Whisky and Red stood behind him, holding their heads low. They
couldn't believe this.

Then, they heard the revving of motorcycles. Many
of them.

At first, they thought it was more of the gang. More members here t
o help Danny, to come to their aide.

Headlights filled the street, lighting it up, casting shadows along with wi
de beams of light. The roar of the engines was deafening. Over a dozen motorcycles were racing into town. Their loud and open exhaust pipes rumbled as they passed buildings and residential neighborhoods.

The racers were all dressed in black. They wore helmets, not for protecti
on but to conceal their faces. They screamed into town, weaving in and out of alleys, rushing down side roads, and thundering up the main strip. They slowed as they neared the bar, the riders revving their throttles as they passed.

LT was the first out the door. Behind him came Whisky and Re
d. They were confused what was happening, but LT seemed to have figured it out.

He jogged out into the lot, drawing his .45 caliber pistol in the process. S
tanding in the parking lot, he watched the demon racers circle. They were like vultures. He was the prey.

LT heard them hoot and holler. Some screamed out in ungodly voices. A few dared swoop into t
he lot, pass within feet, and then dash back out onto the roadway. As each moment passed, the riders became more and more daring, as well as dangerous.

One particular rider atop a red Harley rushed in. He came clos
e, and just as the rider passed he thrust out his leg in an attempt to kick LT.

LT stepped back, just in the nick of time.

It worsened by the second. LT watched in awe as two riders stopped in the middle of the street, facing their motorcycles directly at him. They gunned their engines, revving them, holding their brakes. LT knew this wouldn't last long. Moments later, the two bikers rushed toward him.

LT didn't hesitate. Instead, he jumped up and to his left
landing atop a blue Ford. He stood on the back end, pulling himself up as the two motorcycles whipped past. As LT turned, the two riders were slamming to a stop, spinning their tires on the concrete, and turning their bikes around. Seconds later and they sped out of the lot.

"I've had enough," LT said loudly. He jumped down from the Ford,
and stepped into the center of the parking lot. "Come and get some!" he yelled. Then, he raised his .45, taking aim at a pair of passing riders. LT squeezed the trigger.

Crack.
Crack. Crack.

The night came to life even more as LT discharged his pistol. He fired
, carefully aiming rapid fire. Moments later, Whisky and Red were standing to his flanks. They, too, pulled out their pistols, and engaged the motorcycle riders.

The bikers tore down the street, headed out of
town.

"Let's go!" LT shouted to his men. He hopped on his bike, cranking the engine and shifting it into gear. Spinning
his tires, LT took off out of the parking lot. Red and Whisky were right behind.

They turned left, following the bikers who were
only a few hundred yards ahead. LT could just barely make out their taillights. He pulled the throttle, shifting through the gears, extending them, pushing the engine hard. LT and his men gradually worked their way closer. They rounded a bend, just at the outskirts of town.

The demon racers were right in front of them now. They took a corner at
a high rate of speed. Tucking low, they struggled to maintain control, and barely made it out of the corner. LT slowed down. He knew he couldn't make a turn like that. It didn't matter, though. He'd catch them on the straightaway.

Moments later, he and his men rounded the corner. Then, to LT's
dismay, he saw the road ahead of him. It was straight and empty.

"What the hell?" he said, letting off the throttle, allowing the bike to slow
and finally come to a stop. LT put his feet to the ground. He looked left, then right. There were no off roads, no place for the bikers to have turned. And no matter how fast they were going, the road went straight for miles. There was nothing ahead.

"LT, what's going on?" Red asked, bewildered.

"They're gone," LT responded. "I don't know how, but they've disappeared." He shook his head. This was becoming messy, and fast. Then, a strange feeling overcame LT. He couldn't shake it. His body tingled, his hair rose up on his neck. A strange mist filled the air. It came down from above, slow and creeping at first. Then, it settled around them. The mist was dense, nearly impossible to see through. LT put his hand to his waistband, his fingers touching his .45. Suddenly, bright lights filled the dark sky. Through the fog, beams emitted from everywhere, casting light on LT and his men who were frozen in place. Engines fired up. Loud rumbling was heard all around them.

"W
e're surrounded," LT said, realizing what was happening.

The bikers slowly worked their way in as the mist disappeared. They inche
d closer, the bikers cautious, moving in slow. "What do we do?" Red asked, looking around him. "We're surrounded."

LT didn't answer. Realizing they had nowhere to go, he flicked hi
s kickstand and turned off his motorcycle's engine. Then, LT dismounted, standing tall. "Follow me," he said. "Slowly."

Red and Whisky stood up, taking a few careful steps back. Ever so slowly, the three
men walked backward. All the while the speed racers were inching closer, engines rumbling, their patience waning.

Step by step, the Seals made their way closer to the nearby church
. It was the closest, the only building in the area. Finally, LT could feel the ground under his boots go soft. He was standing on grass now, on the edge of the church's lot.

"Run!" LT shouted. He pushed Whisky and Red, who nearly tumbled bef
ore catching their footing. He urged them toward the church, saying, "Get inside." LT then turned, pulling his .45 from his waistband in a fluid motion. He took aim at the nearest bikers. Two were within ten feet, now, seated on their motorcycles, grumbling engines.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

LT unloaded an entire magazine of .45 caliber rounds toward the two bikers, striking them each multiple times in the chest. The rounds tore into the bikers, taking them by surprise. The bullets hit them square, the impact casting them from their seats.

LT pushed the magazine release button on his pistol, expertly droppi
ng it to the grass and pulling another, his last, from his belt. He slammed in the last mag, clicking it into place and releasing the slide.

He was hot again.

Then, to his dismay, the two nearby bikers stood up. They were baffled, taken by surprise, but uninjured. They looked to their chests. The bullets had found their mark. LT's shots had been perfect. Their jackets, their shirts, each had five holes in it. But underneath, their skin was untouched.

The first of the bikers looked to LT. He still had his helmet on, but s
omehow LT could tell the biker was laughing underneath. The biker opened his shirt, showing his untouched skin, then tossed his hands up as if challenging LT.

LT fired once more, again striking the biker square. The rounds fo
und their mark again, but this time, the biker was ready. He stood his ground, allowing the bullets to strike.

After a few rounds, LT quickly realized his efforts were futile. He turned
to run. LT sprinted across the lawn, directly on the heels of his friends.

"Hurry up!" he shouted.

They near the church doors. Hoping they are open, the three slam into them. Whisky fumbled with the door handle, jingling it until the door creaked open. "Inside," LT said, turning around to check their six.

To his shock, four of the riders were bounding across the lawn. Th
ey ran in long strides, almost skipping across the lawn. They looked like clowns bounding on stilts, the sight was almost too much.

LT turned to fire, but it was too late. The bikers were now coming up the
church steps, taking three at a time.

"Go!" LT shouted. Whisky pushed inside the church, grabbing Red and dragging him in. During the commotion, Red had slowed, nearly falling at the door. Whisky wasn't sure what was wrong with
the man, and didn't have time to ask. He grabbed his friend's collar, and jerked him inside. "Get in LT," he said.

LT faced off with the ringleader. It was Manitas. The large biker squa
red away, reached down for LT. He grabbed the Seal's shirt, pulled him close and grunted like a wild animal.

But LT had a surprise. He held up his .45 at an angle, pushing the tip of
his barrel into Manitas' jaw. LT squeezed the trigger. The force of the blast knocked them apart. Manitas stumbled down two steps before catching himself. The bullet didn't penetrate, but the force was enough to cause him to release his grip.

This was LT's chance. He hoped this wild guess, this risk, was the correct
one. LT turned, taking a few hard steps, running for the door. Manitas was already behind him, reaching out with his long arms. LT dove into the open doorway, landing inside with a thud. Whisky was there to grab him, hoisting him up.

"The door!" Whisky shouted. "We need to
close it."

But it was too late. Manitas and his biker gang were already at t
he doorway. They began to move forward, to step inside.

"We're
screwed," Whisky stated.

"Not quite," LT said, standing up and dusting
himself off.

Manitas held out his arms outstretched. He stopped his gang fr
om moving forward. Instead, he stood there at the open doorway to the church. He eyed the door carefully, tracing its outline with his eyes, studying it. Then, extending a long finger, Manitas reaches out. Instantly he pulls his arm back, grabbing his hand. Something had shocked him hard enough to hurt. Manitas grunted, then tried again. Sure enough, some sort of invisible wall was stopping him from entering. Manitas looked down to his hand, his fingertips. To his horror, they were smoking, the flesh being eaten away.

"Wow, I was right," LT whispered.

"Say what, homie? What were you right about?" Whisky asked.

LT didn't respond right away. Instead, he stepped toward the open door,
despite Whisky's protests. He neared it, placing his hand on the doorknob, facing Manitas. He was only a foot away. He could smell the giant biker. He smelled of death. Something just wasn't right here.

Manitas screamed out, and LT slammed the door,
locking it.

"Brother, I think it's time you tell us what's going on, do
n't ya think?" Whisky pleaded.

"The church. They can't enter the church," LT replied. "I wasn't sure
about it, but it was our only chance. These things, these bikers—they aren't human."

"You can say that again," Whisky said.

"I mean it. The Commander was right. These aren't live beings. They look human, but did you see the way they disappeared? The way they took that corner on their bikes, then vanished the next? Then, they appear out of nowhere," LT explained.

"D
id you see how quickly they moved?" Whisky added. "And you shot two of them. I saw the bullet strikes. They must have been wearing vests."

"Negative," LT replied. "They wore no such thing. My bullets did hit, but
couldn't penetrate their skin. Whisky, Red, we're fighting a war that is beyond bullets. This war isn't of the flesh, it's of the spirit."

"Brother, now you're talking crazy," Whisky said with a laugh of disbelie
f. "You're the sort of guy who believes in logic and reason. Right now, you're making no sense."

"None of this does, don't you see?" LT asked. "Why aren't they barging in here right now?"

"You got me. I figured we were goners for sure. They can't come in, that much is obvious. As to why, I have no clue," Whisky said.

"The church. It's safe ground," said a voice from
behind them.

All three men turned, guns drawn. Far across the simple church, se
ated in the shadows, were four women. They clutched one another, terrified.

"It's okay," LT said softly. "Lower your guns," he told his men, doing so
himself. They reluctantly did so.

LT stepped forward. "What did you say?"

One of the women, the oldest of the group, spoke up. Her voice trembled. It was hardly audible. "The church is safe ground. It's not theirs to enter."

They all jumped at the sudden noise. Manitas was pounding the door as ha
rd as he could. If he couldn't enter, he would at least attempt to drive them out.

This nearly worked. The youngest of the four women, a
sixteen-year-old girl named Angelina, screamed out. Then, she bolted, headed for the door. She followed no reasoning in her actions. The door was the only way out and she felt trapped inside. She raced past Red and Whisky, then past LT.

Angelina twisted the lock
, and then the handle, and the door creaked open. There, stood Manitas, looming over. His hands were reaching out, ready to grip her.

"No!" LT
hollered. He leapt forward, gripping the young girl's shirt. Then, he firmly grasped her arm, and yanked her back just as she took a step.

He was just in time. Manitas fingertips
barely grazed her skin. They left a long, shallow cut, which seemed to steam as LT pulled her back into the room.

Whisky then ran up and slammed the door shut once more. He flung the latch to lock it,
and then looked around. Seeing an empty table nearby, he motioned to Red. The two of them ran over, and pushed the heavy oak table in front of the door. Finally, it was all over. The Seals gasped for breath. The women balked, taking in Angelina who was crying.

"Thank you," one of the women said. "She's scared.
She didn't know any better."

Manitas began pounding on the door once more. This time, it didn't w
ork. Nobody dared open the door this time. They knew what lurked on the other side.

"So, LT was right. Don't know how, but he was right. They can't come
in," Whisky stated not questioning, as he looked to the women.

"That's right," one of the women replied. "This church is hal
lowed ground. Protected by God himself."

"How'd you know?" Whisky turned to ask LT.

"I didn't. Just took a guess."

"A guess
? Lucky one," Whisky said.

"Call it an act of faith," LT replied.