The Last Stand (Book 3) (The Repentant Demon Trilogy) (3 page)

“I know we're in serious trouble,” said Cal, “but I can't help
admiring
the beauty of that animal. 
Look at that massive chest, and his face has such noble bone structure.”

“He is amazing, I'll grant you that,” Abigail agreed, “Since staring him down or sounding the horn did not work, I think we should try ignoring him.  It couldn't hurt, and I can't think of anything else. 
Any ideas you want to share from the depths of your latent genetics?”

“Abby, I think you might be right,” Cal said, turning his back to the animal as it encircled them.  “Four-legged herd animals are likely to view us as a threat,
or our vehicle anyway.
  We need to look benign.  Maybe even play dead.”

Abigail lowered the back of her seat and curled to her side as if to take a nap, even closing her eyes.  The sound of hard hooves on the asphalt pavement was terrifying having only the
structure
of the van between them and a thousand pounds of beast.  After a few minutes or so of silence, Abigail slowly opened her eyes
only
to see that the buffalo was standing still and peering in at her through the driver's side window.  She quickly closed her eyes
again
tightly, hoping that it was not too late to convince him she was either sleeping or dead
.
  She hoped that he would not be able to break the safely glass with his large horns.

They again heard the footfalls of his hooves, and they seemed to be moving away.  She waited, gulping
with
fear and breathing heavily until she felt sure she heard those sounds were coming from
farther
away.   Carefully and slowly, she raised her head and saw him in the rear view mirror where he appeared to be sniffing the exhaust fumes from her tailpipe.

“Abby,
do you think maybe
he wants to mate with our van?” said Cal.  And he said this with all seriousness, which caused her to giggle, covering her mouth
to muffle the sound.

“It might not be a bad idea to encourage him,” he continued, not
understanding
why she was laughing.    “While he's occupied, we could gun the engine and make a run for it while he takes the exhaust in his face.”

“How exactly do we encourage him?” she teased, “Oh, bovine expert.”

“Typical mating behavior,” he said, still not seeing what she found so funny.  “Animals dance, wave their behinds, display their
colors…   That's
it. 
Turn
on your flashers. 
The lights will attract
his curiosity long enough for you to sit up fast and hit the pedal to the metal.”

“Where did you hear that expression?” she asked.

“Television,” he answered.

“Here goes,” she said,
easing her hand slowly to the control that started the red flashing signals.  They heard the snorting sounds instantly.  She raised herself quickly to a sitting position and could see in the rear view mirror that the animal was no longer looking inside at them but at their taillights.  She put the car in gear and floored the gas pedal as she spun forward, pealing rubber as they sped away.
 

The technique
worked.  They made it back to the cabin and began unloading their purchases. Cal complained that if he'd had a gun they would not have been in such as state of peril.

“You can't shoot a bison,” Abigail informed him, “they're an endangered species, I think.”

“But we were the ones whose
lives were threatened
, Abby,” he argued.  “And they're not endangered.  I checked.  Besides, there are other dangerous things out here.  Grizzlies, Black Bear, Mountain Lions, Wolves, and even Elk or Moose can be
dangerous
under the right conditions.  I'm getting a gun, Abby.  That's all there is to it,” he said firmly.  Abigail was no longer offering any rebuttal.  He had convinced her

It took a long time to unload all their purchases, and they
had neglected to check
Angel's crate upon their return.  When Abigail
eventually
remembered, she rushed to the crate, finding the door wide open.

“Cal, she’s gone,” Abigail shrieked.  “No, no, please let her be all right.”

“She must be in the cabin somewhere,” insisted Cal, as they began searching under furniture and even inside the closet.

“Why wouldn’t she have come running to us like she always does?” asked Abigail, beginning to cry, “If she got outside, we’ve lost her.”

Eventually Cal noticed that a note had been left on the table.

“Look here, Abby,” he said.  “
It’s
from the McFarlands. They came and took Angel because she was barking so loudly.  She's up at their house, and we are supposed to go get her.”

“They just came
into
our cabin?” asked Abigail.  “How rude.  I don't like this at all.  We're getting the locks changed.  Obviously they have keys, since it was
their
vacation rental.”

“Let's go get her after we get the frozen stuff into the freezer,” said Cal.  “I mean, it's not like she's kidnapped.  They told us to come and get her.”

“I'll go,” she argued.  “You can finish putting the food away.”

“No,” he insisted, “I don't want you going up that hill to some stranger's house.  Especially since it's almost dark out now.  Not after what almost happened to us on the highway.  We'll go together.”

As they argued, they were startled by a knock at the door.  Standing there was a typical mountain man with a long white beard and hair, wearing a hooded parka, green rubber snow boots up to his knees, and their little white dog in his arms.

“I'm Brady McFarland,” he said.  “I'm sorry if I alarmed you by taking your pup, here.  But I had a very good reason.  She has one of those yippy, high-pitched barks.”

Abigail ran to take the dog from him.

“I’m sorry if she disturbed you, Mr. McFarland,” Abigail apologized, but with a cool tone of voice.  “I forgot to give her the peanut butter toy that keeps her happy for hours.  It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

“No, no,” the man said, “I didn't mean to say that she
annoyed
us.  Maybe you people don't know this country that well, or you'd have
understood how
that kind of bark carries really far in these hills.  We could faintly hear her from our front porch, and we knew how the sound must have been echoing into the
woods
behind you.  And there's nothing that's going to draw a mountain lion out of the woods faster than the sound of defenseless little puppy.  If hungry enough, it's libel to tear through a window or door to get at it.”

“I'm sorry, I should be thanking you,” apologized Abigail,
sincerely this time.
 
“Come
in and have a seat.  We haven't met.”

Brady McFarland walked in but said he had to
get
back
home
soon.  The man stared at Abigail as if he knew her but couldn't place where from. 

“You look very familiar, young lady,” said McFarland, peering at her intently.  “I know I couldn't have met you before.  Maybe you just look like somebody I used to know, only I can't think who that might be either.”

Then he said that he saw they were busy and offered to help unload the van.  Cal accepted his offer, since they were almost finished.  Abigail said she would put on some coffee and wondered if he'd like
a quick cup before heading back home.
  So within a half an hour the three of them were sitting at the old oak kitchen table drinking coffee, eating Pepperidge Farm chocolate chunk cookies, and getting to know each other.

“You know, I think I should tell you that the little pooch's droppings outside are another signal to larger animals that there's a meal nearby,”
McFarland advised.

“No problem, I'll pick it up from now on,” said Abigail.  “We were used to doing that in the city anyway.  Do you think a baby crying would also alert the wildlife?”

“Probably not.  I doubt a baby would be so high-pitched,”
he assured them.
  “You sure have a lot of stuff
,” he added after another sip of coffee.
There's not a lot of storage in this cabin because most people
were
only staying for the length of their vacation.”

“We had to bring our whole houseful of belongings,” said Abigail, “Since we had to give up our rental apartment, there was no choice except to
pack
it all.  And I didn't even have enough time to sort through and get rid of things we won't need.  I'll try to do that as I unpack.”

“So this was a sudden decision, then?” inquired McFarland,
almost to himself
.  “If you want to put some things in my barn, you're welcome to use it.  I'll show you a good spot so that the animals don't get to it.  Goats will eat right through cardboard and the chickens will poop on it.  But there’s a good spot over
in
the cow section.  They'll ignore it.”

“I like cows,” said Cal, getting a curious facial response from both Abigail and McFarland.

“I like cows, too,” said McFarland after
a thoughtful hesitation.
  “But I didn't think city folk appreciated them much.  Have you ever been around farm animals, Cal?”

“Not really,” he
answered,
stammering to find an explanation that would be more believable than that the Order of demon to which he had belonged, the Mullen, resembled humanoid-bulls.  “I've only seen pictures in books, but I admire their eyes and facial structure.”

“Well you come down to the barn with me in the daylight,” said McFarland, proudly, “and I'll show you the prettiest
little Jersey
you'd ever want to meet.  Anastasia is my prize-winning dairy cow; she won three years in a row at the Wyoming State Fair.
We still get a gallon of milk a day from her
; more than we can use. 
Even with Uma making cheese and butter,
we still end up freezing some of it.  You're welcome to all you need.”

“We might take you up on that,” said Abigail, “I should be drinking more milk, but I'm afraid of all the hormones they put in it nowadays.”

“None of that in Anastasia's milk, I promise you,” he boasted.  “I noticed you bought a bunch of baby equipment,” he said inquisitively, “but I don't see a baby.”

“We're expecting in July,” said Cal.

“July?  Then why are you buying stuff now only to have to lug it back with you?” he asked with a suspicious tone.  “You people aren't military.  I can see that much.  So why
are
you here and how long
are
you staying? 
Or did they even tell you anything?  They didn’t us.”

“I think you have every right to know what's going on,” said Abigail, “and I'm going to tell you right now—whether Agent Foley likes it or not.”

Abigail and Cal explained the whole story—except
they left out any parts involving demons, angels, and the end of the world.
  They
did tell him
how Cal had been translating an ancient unknown language used by the terrorists who had been students at Washington University and how he uncovered their plot to sabotage thirty-three nuclear power plants on Christmas Day.

“And you say this is phase one of their master plan?” said McFarland, contemplating the state he and the rest of the country now faced.  “So that's why Willow Creek Ranch has become so important all of a sudden.  Eighty per cent of Wyoming is actually government land.  All the towns and businesses around here lease their interest from the feds, and they can call in those leases any time they want.  I wonder
how many others
were taken over like I have been.”