Billie Dean had driven through the night and well past when the sun brightened the fog that hazed the freeway. She wanted to keep driving straight through to Mexico, but she wasn't as young as she used to be. Too many long hours behind the wheel of the station wagon got to be too much for her tricky right hip and she had to pull over. Jett offered to drive but he was still in no condition to try. So they camped by the side of the road.

Billie Dean had to stretch out in the back of the car. Jett reclined the passenger seat. It was easier and less painful than moving. His upper back was giving him trouble, sore from being hit by Billie Dean's car, but even more so after being on the road for so long on uneven pavement. They had been resting only a couple of hours, just long enough to doze off, when there was a solid thump on the roof of the car. The sound startled Jett awake. Billie Dean, exhausted, merely stirred in her sleep and smacked her lips.

There was a pregnant pause where silence and the rapid beating of Jett's heart were the only sounds the young man heard. Then there came a slow tip-tip-tip sound from above. Thick claws tapping on metal. There was another loud thump followed by another. The sound was like softballs hitting the car.

Billie Dean startled awake. "W-what's going on?" she mumbled, dazed. She looked around but the bright fog surrounding the car offered no answers.

"Something's out there," Jett said quietly.

There were several more thumps and more tip-tipping. Then there was a loud whump and a large black bird landed on the hood of the car. Its blood red eyes were rheumy and peered in at Jett with keen intelligence. It had greasy black feathers and long, black claws like hooks. It tipped its head, studying him. Then it slammed its pointed black beak into the windshield.

The move startled Jett, who put up his arms reflexively even though the bird was outside. It pecked the windshield again. The sound was like a hammer.

"I think we should get out of here," he said, staring at the gruesome thing, afraid to look away.

Billie Dean got to her hands and knees so she could crawl toward the front of the car, which took some doing at her age. "How many—" she started but a hammering sound right above her head made her squeal in surprise.

There were more and more thumps overhead and more on the hood of the car as large black birds continued to land on it. Their combined weight rocked the station wagon, and they were all starting to peck at it, resulting in a horrendous cacophony.

"Billie Dean," Jett urged.

"I can't—I'm stuck," she said. She had gotten herself halfway over the back of the seat into the 2nd row but wasn't flexible enough to draw her leg up over the headrest.

"Billie Dean!" Jett repeated insistently when he noticed the bird in front of him was beginning to crack the glass. "You really need to get up here with those keys!"

"I'm trying!" defended Billie Dean, and she really was. She was even more unnerved by the presence of the demonic birds than he was. She could feel the evil emanating from them and knew who they represented.

A spiderweb crack appeared in the windshield as another bird started pecking at it. Above, the roof was denting in from the repeated drilling.

"Christ! How strong are these God-damned birds?!" Jett exclaimed.

"Don't—blaspheme," the medium grunted, finally squirming over the seat. "It gives the darkness strength."

She slithered her way up into the driver's seat, accidentally elbowing Jett in the shoulder as she did. They had another tense moment while she fumbled with the keys, almost dropping them. She managed to cram the key into the ignition and cranked the engine, expecting the birds to take flight. They didn't. They ignored the engine noise and continued their assault. The glass fractured on Jett's side as the raven continued to peck. He saw the tip of the creature's beak poke through.

"Get us out of here!" he hollered, losing his composure. He didn't want to be pecked to death.

Billie Dean threw it into gear and revved engine. They lurched forward only to have the whole engine suddenly burst into flame. It went up so hot and fierce, the hood blew right off the car, straight upward. It came clattering back down seconds later. The flock of birds scattered.

"Sweet Jesus," Billie Dean prayed, gripping the steering wheel in terror. "Oh, sweet Jesus. Save us."

The fire surged then died abruptly, leaving the dead engine trailing a tongue of black smoke into the fog. Even though the car was obviously shot, Billie Dean still cranked the key. Nothing happened.

"Forget it," said Jett. "We have to get out."

"We can't," the medium objected. "Not with those things out there!"

"They're gone for now. This is our best chance to—"

He stopped because Billie Dean's attention had shifted to something beyond the busted windshield and the fear on her face was alarming. Jett looked in that direction as well and saw a man emerging from the mist. He was dressed all in black: Black turtleneck, black pants, black leather jacket, black motorcycle boots. His clothes looked new, something Jett wasn't used to seeing. The guy's hair was dark too, as was his body language as he came closer to the car. He had his arms out to his sides, the sleeves of his jacket shoved up to bare his lower arms. His hands were positioned like he was ready to grapple and there was a glowing red mark on his hand that matched the glowing red of his eyes. As they watched, his hands caught fire, though it didn't seem to hurt him.

"It's one of Michael's minions," Billie Dean whispered in horror. "He's found me." She turned to Jett, resolve galvanizing. "I'm going to distract him. You need to get as far from here as you can. It's me he's after."

"No!" Jett said emphatically. "I told you before: I'm not leaving you!"

"There's a gun in the glove box," she said, ignoring his protests. "When he's busy with me, take it and go. Go as fast as you can. Find someplace to—"

The man outside raised a hand and fire lanced from his outstretched palm to the car, hitting the passenger's side front tire. The car shuddered and sank on that side as the rubber tire melted. The inner tube didn't even have a chance to pop; it just liquefied.

"No time to argue," Billie Dean said, ending the debate. She got out of the car, waving her arms over her head. "Hey! You! You lookin' for me?"

The young man had been readying to take a shot at the other front tire, but he held off. "You have something that doesn't belong to you."

Her hand went to her breastbone, where the pendant of Samael was hidden beneath her blouse. It was an unintentional motion, but it was too late to correct it. "It doesn't belong to you, either."

"Michael wants it back," the fiery young man said.

"Then why doesn't Michael come take it himself?" Billie Dean challenged.

"He's busy."

"What's your name?"

The young man favored her a strange look. He closed the distance between them, fire licking up his arms without hurting him. "Why do you want to know?"

Billie Dean smiled, though it was patently fake. "If you're going to kill me, can't I at least know who it is who's going to do me in?"

"Troy," he responded gamely. "Why don't you just give me the pendant? Huh? If you do, I'll let you and your boyfriend there go."

"Boyfriend?" Billie Dean couldn't help but gape. Jett was young enough to be her grandson. "You really are confused. Especially if you think you're getting Samael's medallion. Do you know what will happen if Michael acquires all seven of the relics?"

Troy didn't know the specifics, but he didn't want Billie Dean to know that. "Yeah. He wins. Now hand it over."

"You really want the world to end?"

"Have you looked around lately?" Troy waved an arm to encompass everything. "The world is ending. There's nothing anybody can do to stop that now."

"You're wrong." Billie Dean's voice cracked with emotion.

"I'm right and you know it," said Troy, advancing on her. The fire on his hands burned brighter with the strength of his conviction. "That's why you're running scared. Your god failed you. Mine is just beginning to rise to power."

There was a loud pop and Troy twitched as hot pain lanced his right side. It felt like he'd been hit with a dart or a knife.

"No!" Billie Dean shouted as any chance of talking her way out of the situation dissolved in that fateful instant.

Jett fired the gun twice more, but Troy launched a white-hot jet of fire at him. The bullets melted mid-flight and evaporated. The fireball vaporized the paint off the side of the station wagon and carbonized Jett where he crouched behind the car door. Billie Dean screamed incoherently then turned and ran as fast as her old bones would carry her.

Troy swore and chased after her. "Stop running, you stupid old bitch! Give me the god-damned pendant!"

"Jesus, help me!" she squealed as she stumbled ahead down the cracked blacktop. "Oh, God, please help me!"

Troy caught up with her and kicked at her legs, knocking her down. "Where is it?" he demanded, ripping at her coat. "I'm sick of this shit!"

She screamed and tried to fight him, but he was younger and stronger than she. He got the coat off and tossed it aside. Straddling her, a quick rip opened her shirt, uncovering the seal of Samael. Troy grabbed the pendant and yanked hard, snapping the thin chain that kept it around her neck. He shoved it in his hip pocket.

"There, now," he smiled triumphantly. He patted her cheek roughly. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

He got off of her then and kicked her coat over to her. She hesitated, then pulled it over herself. It was very cold out and she was quickly starting to feel the effects.

"You don't know what you've done," she said numbly.

Troy rolled his eyes. "What-the-fuck-ever. Michael wants you dead. I'm giving you a chance. You should be kissing my ass, you crazy old bitch."

He walked away then, leaving her hunkered there in her shabby coat, in the middle of the broken road. He got back on his motorcycle and kicked the engine into life, wincing as pain ached through his middle where he'd been shot. Soon he was on the road again, heading back to New 'Salem.

—

"I don't feel right about this," Misty Day said.

The old witch pulled several of her shawls tighter around herself, insulation against her misgivings. When the clergymen first showed up in New 'Salem, they were an innocuous presence. Like many pilgrims, the New World United Church brought their own version of the truth to compare with others. Theirs was that a better day was coming, and it would be spearheaded by a savior they had been seeking for centuries. The church was comprised of the remnants of the Judeo-Christian sect: The Catholics and Protestants, Mormons, and Methodists. All of the God-fearing, Christ-worshipping religions in cooperation.

Their leader, a charismatic man in his early 50s named Simon, had told her the signs said the Redeemer had been born two decades ago but their attempts to track the individual down had been crippled by the decimation of their hometown. 12 years prior, they had found several likely candidates but the person who could have told them for sure had been killed. So they had been forced to wait and hope that the Redeemer would make himself known among the child candidates they rounded up.

Quite the opposite happened: Instead of revealing himself, the one prophesied to save the world had slipped right through their fingers. Troy had gone missing during their initial mission to New 'Salem, following a hazy vision Simon had to take the youth group to the settlement. After the young man vanished, the church group had returned home where Simon was plagued with chaotic dreams of hasty mass exodus and epic destruction. In every dream, Troy factored in whether things ended in peace or disaster. So, Simon and a handful of his most-trusted companions returned to New 'Salem to search for him. That search eventually led them to Misty and the small cult she was nurturing.

Initially she had been nominally in charge of the church downtown since Buck's passing, but as Michael's dark influence warped the congregation, the nature witch had quietly distanced herself from the solidifying power structure within it. There were plenty of people aching to stake their claim on the church, so her absence went unnoticed. Instead, she spent her time mentoring a handful of apprentices who either showed aptitude with life magic or just a great deal of respect and interest. Some were from Buck's original group; the rest were lone individuals who found their way to the group. Misty Day wasn't choosy about who she taught. She believed anyone who wanted to could tap into some level of life magic, if they just kept with it. Life was, after all, a part of all living things.

While she had distanced herself from Michael's church, when Troy returned from his trip with a gunshot wound, she tended to him. Such was her nature to nurture. He was resting in one of the four beds in her healing hut: The right half of a duplex she had claimed for herself and her cause. The young man still had at least a day before her magic would finish its work. Without her near, there was no guarantee it would work at all, so she was reluctant to release the young man to the church group, even if he was their kin.

"We're his family," Simon pointed out. "He should be at home where we can take care of him."

"He's a man," Misty deflected. "You should ask him what he wants."

Simon's lips formed a dour line. "I would, if you would let me see him."

The old witch fussed with her shawls some more. She didn't like the idea of letting one stranger into her hut, let alone three. Simon had brought a man and woman with him, both as serious as him. She had no desire to serve Michael, but she didn't particularly trust these outsiders either.

"I'm sorry, but he needs to rest," the old witch deferred. "Come back tomorrow."

This response incensed the man, but he forced a tight smile. "Fine. Tomorrow morning, then."

Misty watched him and his companions leave. Then she made sure every door and window was locked.

—

The fire that night was devastating. It completely gutted the healing hut, killing the collection of disabled animals Misty Day had adopted. It also killed her, but only because she had been incapacitated by the members of the New World United church. Bound to her bed, the nature witch was helpless against the flames of the zealots. Troy was uninjured, rescued from the blaze by Simon himself. The church leader sedated him before the he could wake, making it easy to fireman-carry him out.

The small church group had their prodigal son back.

…

Author's Note:

More The Birds influence here, with a hint of Cujo and Firestarter. In my story notes, Billie Dean was supposed to die. Not sure why that didn't go as planned. I have a feeling that choice is gonna come back to haunt Troy later...if he survives.

Next chapter, Michael's stealing the show again. It's difficult to summarize a teaser so I'll just say that he's growing into his powers. He's just not singing about it like Elsa does.

This posting comes right before Xmas. It'll be the last one before the holiday so I hope you have a good end of the year and a safe new one. Let's keep the horror stories fictional for 2020.

~ Merry Christmas! ~