The Devil's Beat (The Devil's Mark) by R. Scott VanKirk Read Free Book Online Page A

be hurt by silver bullets or stakes but wasn’t sure. Instead, he grabbed his super-soaker full of holy water (procured from St. Anthony's) instead and stuffed it in his belt on his right side. He had to loosen the belt to make room for it, but he finally got it to stay.
    Next, he donned three necklaces: the silver cross, the Star of David, and the twenty-five bulbs of garlic. After that, he grabbed the hunting knife and said a little thank you to the designer when he found its belt loop had a snap. Two of the dozen shuriken he’d purchased (because he thought they were cool) got stuffed into his right front jean’s pocket.
    After another moment’s consideration, he leaned in and grabbed the bat. A sharp pain in his leg caused him to jerk back. The shuriken had punched a hole in his leg and several more into his jeans. It took him a few minutes and a lot of contortions to get the throwing stars out of his pocket. Once he had them, he threw them away, pulled his now bloodstained jeans back on and re-equipped himself. This time, he stuffed the bat into his belt and carried the flash.
    The cleaver, he stuffed into the back of his pants. A couple of power bars from the case he’d purchased, and a dozen shotgun shells went into his pockets.
    He eyed the remaining items. There was no way he could carry the gallon of gasoline, the holy bible, the book of church hymns he’d requisitioned, or any of the other stuff, so he would have to leave them here.
    Eventually, he found himself back at the open front door looking into the house. He was sweating and hot except for the cool trail down his right leg where he was being blessed by the super-soaker.
    The house’s black interior was in no way inviting or beckoning. No beckoning was good. He could live with that. The Chainsaw, shotgun, and light were carried precariously in his hands. His left hand still had stitches and was tender and sore. He put down the chainsaw and the shotgun so he could shine the light into the front entrance way. The darkness beyond seemed to consume the light. Max wondered if the darkness was some sort of ghost, or curse, or something. At this point, he was ready to believe anything. He briefly considered waiting a few hours for the sun to pass overhead and shine into the front door but gave that up after considering that it only left him about six hours of daylight to do his deed. There was no way he'd be here past sunset.
    After many minutes of girding his loins, he made his move. He grabbed his necklace of garlic and took a big bite. As soon as his teeth penetrated through the tough dry skin, his mouth exploded. The hot, sharp garlic taste burned his tongue and mouth. He forced himself to chew two or three times before admitting that it wasn't going to happen.
    He spit out the garlic, the smell of it driving through his nose like an ice pick coated in icy-hot. The dry outer part of the garlic seemed to attach itself to his tongue and lips, so he dropped the bag of garlic and fished around in his mouth until it was clear that he wasn't going get them with his fingers. Instead, he swished a mouthful of holy water around his teeth and spit it out. Even after that, his mouth still burned, his eyes were watering freely, and snot kept trying to run down his face. Now he knew why Vampires didn't like garlic.
    When he was ready to go again, he re-considered his carrying choices. Both his under-muscled hands and forearms were over-matched by the weight of the tools he’d chosen. On top of that, it would take two hands to use either the shotgun or the chainsaw. That would mean putting down the light and that wasn’t going to happen. He ended up with the flashlight in one hand and the super-soaker in the other.
     Trying to ignore the garlic smell and taste, he stepped into the door and the foul flow of air coming from the house mixed delightfully with the garlic. He stood just inside trembling, waiting for vaporous black pseudopods to come out and try to rip off