Part 46

The attack caught Lowell Vern by surprise. He executed a clumsy half-twist, half-leap in an attempt to avoid the deadly prongs, and managed to save his own life but not avoid the attack entirely. The pitchfork stabbed into the meat of Vern's upper thigh. The impact wasn't enough to knock him down, but pain and surprise sent him falling backward. The pitchfork's prongs slipped free of his thigh as he fell. David raised the weapon-

The world slowed to a crawl as David watched this child he'd never seen before get ready to murder his father. Something in David's stomach twisted. Lowell Vern was going to kill them. Lowell Vern was going to kill HIM, if the Pilgrim was telling the truth.

But he was still David's father. He was still...

"Dad?" The word slipped quietly from David's lips. Lowell Vern didn't hear it. But the boy did. Eyes that burned with rage and panic flicked to David's face for only an instant.

"...fool!" The ghost spat.

The pitchfork came down-

"AYE!"

The shout came from somewhere behind David. A small, dark shape sailed past David's ear, and the pitchfork-wielding boy recoiled as if struck. He HAD been struck. The old horseshoe landed near Lowell Vern's foot, and an instant later the boy joined it. Blood streamed down the side of the boy's head as he rolled onto his side... the fire now missing from his eyes.

Fenton Barney's throw had been prefect.

Now another shape darted past David.

Fenton had had to release the girl to make his throw and save Lowell Vern's life.

"Grab the girl!" Fenton called from the rear of the bar. He knelt behind the pile of hay where he'd found the girl. "I got the little one."

Growling, Lowell Vern got to his feet, putting all his weight on his uninjured leg.

"She ain't goin' anywhere," he grunted. He said so with certainty... but not because he was standing between her and the barn's only exit. "Damn lucky throw, that."

Angela knelt at the nameless boy's side, holding his head in her hands and crying.

"NOOO!"

Her single shriek dissolved into muttered sobs.

"He'd better still be alive," Lowell growled. "He's no good dead."

The boy's eyes didn't close. They swam in their sockets, circling the general direction of the girl's face-

-then fixing on David for the merest instant before losing focus again.

David was a few feet away, but that glance drew him closer. The girl's crying drew him closer still... close enough to feel the chill from their ghostly forms.

Close enough... to hear...

"C'MERE, YOU!"

Lowell grabbed Angela by the hair and pulled her away. She shrieked, and the sound ended when Lowell clamped his hand over her mouth.

"We need Oscar. Grab that baby and take it to-"

"No need," said Fenton. He stood up, holding the blanket-wrapped bundle that Angela had abandoned. Fenton stared down at the child.

"What?" said Lowell.

"They was hidin'" said Fenton. "Baby must've... you know how babies are. Heh. She musta tried to keep him quiet." Fenton tugged at the blanket, pulling it back just enough to expose the baby's bluish face. "Smothered him. He's already dead."