Dead Town by Dean Koontz Page A

Armageddon. If this was in fact the final conflict, it would surely be swift because ultimate Good and ultimate Evil were clashing head-on, at last, and the latter could not endure more than a single pitched battle with the former.
    After Teague delivered them to the spacious and busy kitchen to meet Dolly Samples, he went away to rejoin the guards patrolling the perimeter of the property. Although Dolly was industriously rolling out one disc of dough after another, making pumpkin pies—“End Times or not End Times, a well-made pumpkin pie lifts the heart and gives us fortitude”—sheinsisted on getting mugs of coffee and homemade sugar cookies for them.
    Carson noticed that to one side of Dolly’s pie fixings lay a .38 Colt revolver. The other women working in the kitchen were talking with one another about the recent events at the roadhouse but also sharing such mundane things as fine details of recipes and their children’s latest escapades. They also had serious weapons near at hand: a SIG P245, a Smith & Wesson Model 1076, a Smith & Wesson 640 .38 Special pocket revolver, a Super Carry Pro .45 ACP from Kimber Custom Shop.…
    They exhibited determination but no desperation, concern and diligence but no obvious fear. There were preparations to be made, work to be done, and busy hands meant busy minds that had no time for dread or despair.
    The coffee tasted fabulous. The sugar cookies were divine.
    “There were two kinds of these hateful creatures,” Dolly explained as she returned to her pie dough. “The first looked like people we knew, and you would think they would be the worst because they’re
deceivers
among us, children of the Father of Lies. But when they revealed their true nature by their actions, we could deal with them. They tried to shoot some of us, but we were faster on the draw, and they could be killed. It takes some real good shooting. One well-placed bullet, even point-blank, won’t do it.”
    As she picked up a disc of dough and conformed itto a pie pan, Dolly glanced at a framed painting on the wall above the dinette table: Jesus in white robes and cowboy boots, riding a horse that was rearing dramatically on its hind legs. Instead of a cowboy hat, the Son of God wore a halo.
    “The Lord was surely with us at Pickin’ and Grinnin’, or we’d all be dead now. We can’t claim it was our shooting skills alone that saved us.”
    “But God helps those who help themselves,” Michael said. “And the right gun can provide a lot of self-help.”
    Carson noticed with some relief that in the painting Jesus wasn’t packing a pistol.
    Dolly said, “The second kind of monster looks like people, too, but not ordinary people. They’re as beautiful as angels. They look as good as Donny and Marie Osmond back when they were young and you just couldn’t take your eyes off them.”
    Loreen Rudolph, to whom Carson and Michael had been introduced, was making potato salad on the kitchen island. She said, “Not that Donny and Marie have lost their looks.”
    Another woman, stirring a pot of boiling pasta on the stove, said, “Even when Marie got fat there for a while, she looked on her worst day five times as good as I look on my best.”
    “Cindy Sue, don’t you go putting yourself down,” Loreen said. “There’s a world full of women who would give up all their teeth to look as good as you.”
    “All their teeth and a leg,” Dolly agreed.
    Michael said, “All their teeth, a leg, and an ear.”
    Cindy Sue blushed and said, “Oh, Mr. Maddison, you’re just a terrible flattermouth.”
    Frowning at Michael, Dolly said, “I hope it was flattermouth and not mockery.”
    “It was kind of mockery,” Carson said. “But that’s how Michael lets people know he likes them.”
    “Even you, dear?”
    “Especially me.”
    “You must love him very much, although I’d think it’s still a burden.”
    “He’s my cross to bear,” Carson said.
    “I’ve got my cross, too,” Michael