Kale cleared his throat, scratched his ankle, scratched his calf. He said, “Yeah. Yeah, I understand. I really do.”

The column of slime in the center of the room began to form a whiplike tail. Wings emerged, spread, flapped once. Arms grew, large and sinewy. The hands were enormous, with powerful fingers that tapered into talons. At the top of the column, a face took shape in the oozing mass: chin and jaws like chiseled granite; a gash of a mouth with thin lips, crooked yellow teeth, viperous fangs; a nose like the snout of a pig; mad, crimson eyes, not remotely human, like the presumed eyes of a fly. Horns sprouted on the forehead, a concession to Christian myth-conceptions. The hair appeared to be worms; they glistened, fat and green-black, wreathing continuously in tangled knots.

The cruel mouth opened. The Devil said, “Do you believe?”

“Yes,” Tell said in adoration, “You are my lord.”

“Yes,” Kale said shakily, “I believe.” He scratched at his right calf, “I do believe.”

“Are you mine?” the apparition asked.

“Yes, always,” Teer said, and Kale agreed.

“Will you ever forsake me?” it asked.

“No.”

“Never.”

“Do you wish to please me?”

“Yes” Tell said, and Kale said, “Whatever you want.”

“I will be leaving soon,” the manifestation said, “It is not yet my time to rule. That day is coming. Soon. But there are conditions that must be met, prophesies to be fulfilled. Then I will come again, not merely to deliver a sign to all mankind, but to stay for a thousand years. Until then, I will leave you with the protection of my power, which is vast; no one will be able to harm or thwart you. I grant you life everlasting. I promise that, for you, Hell will be a place of great pleasure and immense rewards. In return, you must complete five tasks.”

He told them what He would have them do to prove themselves and please Him. As He spoke, He broke out in pustules, hives, and lesions that wept a thin yellow fluid.

Kale wondered what significance these sores might have, then realized Lucifer was the father of all disease. Perhaps this was a not-so-subtle reminder of the terrible plagues He could visit upon them if they were unwilling to undertake the five tasks.

The flesh foamed, dissolved. Gobs of it dropped to the floor; a few were flung against the walls as the figure heaved and writhed. The Devil's tail dropped from the main body and wriggled on the floor; in seconds, it was reduced to inanimate muck that stank of death.

When he finished telling them what He wanted of them, He said, “Do we have a bargain?”

“Yes,” Tell said, and Kale said, “Yes, a bargain.”

The face of Lucifer, covered with running sores, melted away. The horns and wings melted, too. Churning, seeping a puslike paste, the thing sank down into the floor, disappeared into the river below.

Strangely, the odorous dead tissue did not vanish. Ectoplasm was supposed to disappear when the supernatural presence had departed, but this stuff remained: foul, nauseating, glistening in the gaslight.

Gradually, Kale's rapture faded. He began to feel the cold radiating from the limestone, through the seat of his pants.

Gene Teer coughed. “Well… well now… wasn't that somethin'?” Kale scratched his itchy calf. Beneath the itchiness, there was now a dull little spot of pain, throbbing.

It had reached the end of its feeding period. In fact, it had overfed. It had intended to move toward the sea later today, through a series of caverns, subterranean channels, and underground watercourses. It had wanted to travel out beyond the edge of the continent, into the ocean trenches. Countless times before, it had passed its lethargic periods-sometimes lasting many years-in the cool, dark depths of the sea. Down there where the pressure was so enormous that few forms of life could survive, down there where absolute lightlessness and silence provided little stimulation, the ancient enemy was able to slow down its metabolic processes; down there, it could enter a much-desired dreamlike state, in which it could ruminate in perfect solitude.

But it would never reach the sea. Never again. It was dying.

The concept of its own death was so new that it had not yet adjusted to the grim reality. In the geological substructure of Snowtop Mountain, the shape-changer continued to slough off diseased portions of itself. It crept deeper, deeper, across the underworld river that flowed in Stygian darkness, deeper still, farther down into the infernal regions of the earth, into the chambers of Orcus, Hades, Osiris, Erebus, Minos, Loki, Satan. Each time that it believed itself free of the devouring microorganism, a peculiar tingling sensation arose at some point in the amorphous tissue, a wrongness, and then there came a pain quite unlike human pain, and it was forced to rid itself of even more infected flesh. It went deeper, down into jahanna, into Gehenna, into Sheol, Abbadon, into the Pit. Over the centuries it had eagerly assumed the role of Satan and other evil figures, which men had attributed to it, had amused itself by catering to their superstitions. Now, it was condemned to a fate consistent with the mythology it had helped create. It was bitterly aware of the irony. It had been cast down. It had been damned. It would dwell in darkness and despair for the rest of its life-which could be measured in hours.

At least it had left behind two apostles. Kale and Tell. They would do its work even after it had ceased to exist. They would spread terror and take revenge. They were perfectly suited to the job.

Now, reduced to only a brain and minimal supporting tissue, the shape-changer cowered in a chthonian niche of densely packed rock and waited for the end. It spent its last minutes seething with hatred, raging at all mankind.

Kale rolled up his trousers and looked at the calf of his right leg. In the lantern light, he saw two small red spots; they were swollen, itchy, and very tender.

“Insect bites,” he said.

Gene Teer looked. “Ticks. They burrow under the skin. The itchin' won't stop until you get 'em out. Burn 'em out with a cigarette.”

“Got any?”

Teer grinned. “Couple joints of grass. They'll work just as well, man. And the ticks'll die happy.”

They smoked the joints, and Kale used the glowing tip of his to burn out the ticks. It didn't hurt much.

“In the woods,” Teer said, “keep your pants tucked in your boots.”

“They were tucked into my boots.”

“Yeah? Then how'd them ticks get underneath?”

“I don't know.”

After they had smoked more grass, Kale frowned and said, “He promised us no one could hurt or stop us. He said we'd be under His protection.”

“That's right, man. Invincible.”

“So how come I've got to put up with tick bites?” Kale asked.

“Hey, man, it's no big thing.”

“But if we're really protected-”

“Listen, maybe the tick bites are sort of like His way of sealing the bargain you made with Him. With a little blood. Get it?”

“Then why don't you have tick bites?”

Jeeter shrugged. “Ain't important, man. Besides, the fuckin' ticks bit you before you struck your bargain-didn't they?”

“Oh.” Kale nodded, fuzzy-headed from dope. “Yeah. That's right.”

They were silent for a while.

Then Kale said, “When do you think we can leave here?”

“They're probably still lookin' for you pretty hard.”

“But if they can't hurt me”

“No sense makin' the job harder for ourselves,” Teer said.

“I guess so.”

“We'll lay low for like a few days. Worst of the heat will be off by then.”

“Then we do the five like he wants. And after that?”

“Head on out, man. Move on. Make tracks.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere. He'll show us the way.” Teer was silent for a while. Then he said, “Tell me about it. About killin' your wife and kid.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everythin' there is to know, man. Tell me what it felt like. What was it like to off your old lady. Mostly, tell me about the kid. What'd it feel like, wastin' a kid? Huh? I never did one that young, man. You kill him fast or drag it out? Did it feel different than killin' her? What exactly did you do to the kid?”

“Only what I had to do. They were in my way.”

“Draggin' you down, huh?”

“Both of them.”

“Sure. I see how it was. But what did you do?”

“Shot her.”

“Shoot the kid, too?”

“No. I chopped him. With a meat cleaver.”

“No shit?”

They smoked more joints, and the lantern hissed, and the whisper-chuckle of the underground river came up through the hole in the floor, and Kale talked about killing Joanna, Danny, and the county deputies.

Every once in a while, punctuating his words with a little marijuana giggle, Jeeter said, “Hey, man, are we gonna have some fun? Are we gonna have some fun together, you and me? Tell me more. Tell me. Man, are we gonna have some fun?”

Chapter 44 – Victory?

Bryce stood on the sidewalk, studying the town. Listening. Waiting. There was no sign of the shape-changer, but he was reluctant to believe it was dead. He was afraid it would spring at him the moment he relaxed his guard.

Tal Whitman was stretched out on the pavement. Jenny and Lisa cleaned the acid burns, dusted them with antibiotic powder, and applied temporary bandages.

And Snowfield remained as silent as if it were at the bottom of the sea.

Finished ministering to Tal Jenny said, “We should get him to the hospital right away. The wounds aren't deep, but there might be a delayed allergic reaction to one of the shape changer's toxins. He might suddenly start having respiratory difficulties or blood pressure problems. The hospital is equipped for the worst possibilities; I'm not.”

Sweeping the length of the street with his eyes, Bryce said, “What if we get in the car, trap ourselves in a moving car, and then it comes back?”

“We'll take a couple of sprayers with us.”

“There might not be time to use them. It could come up out of a manhole, overturn the car, and kill us that way, without ever touching us, without giving us a chance to use the sprayers.”

They listened to the town. Nothing. Just the breeze.

Lisa finally said, “It's dead.”

“We can't be sure,” Bryce said.

“Don't you feel it?” Lisa insisted, “Feel the difference. It's gone! It's dead. You can feel the change in the air.”

Bryce realized the girl was right. The shape-changer had not been merely a physical presence, but a spiritual one as well; he had been able to sense the evil of it, an almost tangible malevolence. Apparently, the ancient enemy had emitted subtle emanations-Vibrations? Psychic waves?-that couldn't be seen or heard but which were registered on an instinctual level. They left a stain on the soul. And now those vibrations were gone. There was no menace in the air.

Bryce took a deep breath. The air was clean, fresh, sweet.

Tal said, “If you don't want to get in a car just yet, don't worry about it. We can wait awhile. I'm okay. I'll be fine.”

“I've changed my mind,” Bryce said, “We can go. Nothing's going to stop us. Lisa's right. It's dead.”

In the patrol car, as Bryce started the engine, Jenny said, “You remember what Flyte said about the creature's intelligence? When he was speaking to it, through the computer, he told it that it had probably acquired its intelligence and self-awareness only after it had begun consuming intelligent creatures.”

“I remember,” Tal said from the back seat, where, he sat with Lisa, “It didn't like hearing that.”

“And so?” Bryce asked, “What's your point, Doc?”

“Well, if it acquired its intelligence by absorbing our knowledge and cognitive mechanisms… then did it also acquire its cruelty and viciousness from us, from mankind?” She saw that the question made Bryce uneasy, but she plunged on. “When you come right down to it, maybe the only real devils are human beings; not all of us; not the species as a whole; just the ones whore twisted, the ones who somehow never acquire empathy or compassion. If the shape-changer was the Satan of mythology, perhaps the evil in human beings isn't a reflection of the Devil; perhaps the Devil is only a reflection of the savagery and brutality of our own kind. Maybe what we've done is… create the Devil in our own image.”

Bryce was silent. Then: “You may be right. I suspect you are. There's no use wasting energy being afraid-of devils, demons, and things that go bump in the night… because, ultimately, we'll never encounter anything more terrifying than the monsters among us. Hell is where we make it.”

They drove down Skyline Road.

Snowfield looked serene and beautiful.

Nothing tried to stop them.

Chapter 45 – Good and Evil

On Sunday evening, one week after Jenny and Lisa found Snowfield in its graveyard silence, five days after the death of the shape-changer, they were at the hospital in Santa Mira, visiting Tal Whitman. He had, after all, suffered a toxin reaction to some fluid secreted by the shape-changer and had also developed a mild infection, but he had never been in serious danger. Now he was almost as good as new-and eager to go home.

When Lisa and Jenny stepped into Tal's room, he was seated in a chair by the window, reading a magazine. He was dressed in his uniform. His gun and holster were lying on a small table beside the chair.

Lisa hugged him before he could get up, and Tal hugged her back.

“Looking' good,” she told him.

“Looking' fine,” he told her.

“Like a million bucks.”

“Like two million.”

“You'll turn the ladies' heads.”

“And you'll make the boys do back-flips.”

It was a ritual they went through every day, a small ceremony of affection that always elicited a smile from Lisa. Jenny loved to see it; Lisa didn't smile often these days. In the past week, she hadn't laughed not once.

Tal stood up, and Jenny hugged him, too. She said, “Bryce is with Timmy. He'll be up in a little while.”

“You know,” Tal said “he seems to be handling that situation a whole lot better. All this past year, you could see how Timmy's condition was killing him. Now he seems able to cope with it.”

Jenny nodded. “He'd gotten it in his head that Timmy would be better off dead. But up in Snowfield, he had a change of heart. I think he decided that, after all, there wasn't a fate worse than death. Where there life, there's hope.”