She glanced at the clock again. There were only five hours or so until dusk, and she had a lot to do before then.

Aware that the clock was ticking, Vicki gathered up several heavy blankets, grabbed her handbag and the keys to the Lexus, and headed for town again. Her first stop was a Catholic church. Hurrying inside, she filled an empty Coke bottle with holy water, murmured a quick prayer for forgiveness, and ran out of the church.

Her second stop was at a discount store, where she bought several yards of heavy black plastic sheeting, which she put in the trunk along with the blankets.

Her third stop was Naughton's Gun Shop. To her dismay, she learned that she couldn't just buy a gun and walk away. There were forms and papers to fill out, a waiting period.

She begged and pleaded, but the man behind the counter was adamant.

Discouraged, Vicki murmured her thanks and walked toward the exit. She had to have a gun. There was no way she could overcome Falco's brutes with her bare hands.

"Hey, lady."

She glanced over her shoulder. "Are you talking to me?"

A young man standing beside a glass case displaying knives nodded. "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. Sounds like you're in trouble."

"You have no idea."

The man lowered his voice. "I've got a Glock out in my truck that I'd be willing to sell ya."

"A Glock?"

"A gun. You don't know much about guns, do you?"

"Not a thing. Is it a good one?"

"Oh, yeah. It's reliable, durable, lightweight, and easy to use. I think you'll like it."

"How much do you want for it?"

He glanced over his shoulder to where the proprietor stood watching them. "Let's go outside."

She hesitated only a moment, wondering if she dared trust him. He was tall and lanky, with long blond hair and a scraggly beard. He wore a cut-off T-shirt and baggy jeans.

His arms were covered with tattoos. But this was no time to be picky. He had a gun.

She needed a gun.

Taking a deep breath, she followed him outside and around the corner to where his truck was parked. Unlocking the passenger side door, he opened the glove box and pulled out a rather nasty-looking weapon.

"How much?" she asked.

"I'll let you have it for three-fifty." He cocked his head to one side. "You don't know how to use it, do you?"

"No."

"So, why do you want a gun?"

"I'm not selling my life story, I just want to buy a gun. Do you want to sell that or don't you?"

He chuckled. "All right, lady, have it your way."

"Will you take a check?"

"Ordinarily I wouldn't, but I think I can trust you."

She pulled her checkbook out of her handbag and quickly filled in the amount. "Who should I make it out to?"

"Randy."

"Just Randy?"

He nodded. "If you want, I can show you how to fire it." He handed her the weapon, then tucked her check into his pants pocket.

"That would be great."

"There's a vacant lot a couple of blocks from here. The old man from Naughton's lets his customers go there to try out his guns. Why don't you follow me over and I'll give you a couple of quick lessons?"

Again she hesitated. And then she nodded. She had never fired a gun in her life. A little instruction might keep her from shooting herself in the foot. "All right."

She was apprehensive about being alone with a strange man in a vacant lot, but as it turned out, they weren't alone. Four boys were tossing a football back and forth in the center of the lot when they arrived.

The boys stopped what they were doing when they saw her get out of the car with a gun in her hand.

"Looks like you're going to have an audience," Randy said, coming up behind her.

She was afraid he was right. The teenagers had gathered into a tight knot and now they stood a short distance away, watching her, a bunch of long-haired boys in faded jeans, T-shirts, and black leather jackets.

"Ignore them," Randy said. During the next forty minutes, he showed her how to hold the pistol, how to aim, how to fire. "Okay," he said, pointing at a battered target several yards away, "squeeze off a few."

Holding the pistol the way Randy had taught her, she squeezed the trigger. She had expected the noise to be much louder, but it was nothing like in the movies. In reality, gunfire sounded more like a loud pop or a car backfiring than a big explosive bang.

He worked with her until she managed to hit the target three times out of seven. "Keep practicing," he said, patting her on the shoulder. "I think you're getting the hang of it."

"Thanks for your help."

"Remember, don't aim for the head," he said matter-of-factly. "It's a small target. Aim for the biggest part of whatever you're after. You've got a better chance of hitting something. And don't try any of that shoot-to-wound crap, either. If you need a gun to defend yourself, then whoever's after you is probably out for blood."

One of the boys left the others and swaggered toward her. He had shaggy blond hair and brown eyes. A scar zigzagged down his left cheek to the edge of his jaw.

"You going to war, lady?" he asked.

Vicki started to say, no, of course not, but then she nodded. "Yes," she said. "I am."

"All by yourself?"

Vicki nodded.

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating his friends. "You need some backup?"

She stared at him. "Are you kidding? I could use an army."

He sauntered toward her. "So, what happened?" He waved his friends over. "You catch your boyfriend in the sack with another broad?"

"I wish it were that easy. Listen, thanks for your offer, but I can't accept it. I can't be responsible for— "

He laughed. "Lady, no one's been responsible for me since I was fourteen."

"I believe you." She watched the other three boys saunter toward her. "But what about your friends?"

"No sweat. We can all take care of ourselves."

He introduced his companions as the Torch, Link, and the Hammer. "And I'm Twist."

Interesting names, she mused. "Pleased to meet you… gentlemen."

The Torch was tall and slender, with dark red hair and blue eyes. She wondered if he'd gotten his nickname from the color of his hair, but somehow, she doubted it. Link could only be described as average—average height, average weight, light brown hair and eyes. The Hammer was short and a little overweight. He had black hair and dark brown eyes and looked like he could take on the world all by himself.

Vicki had thought they were kids in their early teens; now she could see that they were all around eighteen or nineteen years old. Seeing them up close, she didn't doubt for a minute that they could take care of themselves, or that they knew the score. They were the kind of guys mothers warned their daughters about.

"So, when's the rumble?" the Hammer asked.

Vicki glanced at her watch. "Right now."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Link asked. "Let's go!"

Her gang scrambled into a late-model Ford pickup, two in the front, two in the back, and then waited for Vicki to lead the way.

Her father was right, she thought as she pulled onto the road. The Lord did provide.

She felt a surge of gratitude for her escort when she pulled up in front of the ramshackle shed in the woods. Even in broad daylight, it was dark in this part of the forest. The shed itself seemed ominous somehow. There were no windows, only a narrow door. No sound came from within.

Was it possible that Falco's goons weren't there? Could she be that lucky?

Pulling her crucifix out from under her sweater, she held it in her hand and murmured a hurried prayer and then got out of the car.

Clutching the pistol in one hand and the bottle of holy water in the other, she walked toward the shed. A glance over her shoulder showed her that Twist and his gang were right behind her. She wasn't surprised to see that all four of them carried guns. The Hammer carried a knife in his free hand that looked to be a good twelve inches long.

Link had a thick chain coiled around one fist.

If things hadn't been so serious, she would have laughed at the picture the five of them must have made marching across the clearing toward the lambing shed.

When they reached the door, the boys spread out around her, two on each side.

"I'll go in first," Twist said.

Vicki nodded.

Twist looked at his gang. Each of them nodded at him in turn.

"Let's do it," he said, and kicked in the door.

The other three boys swarmed in after him. Vicki brought up the rear.

Twist stood unmoving a few feet inside the door. Shifting to one side, Vicki stared at the scene in front of her. Antonio was spread-eagled on the warped wooden floor, held in place by thick silver chains. Someone had removed his shirt, his shoes and socks, and rolled up the cuffs on his trousers. Silver manacles that must have been at least two inches wide circled his wrists, ankles, and neck. Even in the dim light, she could see the ugly red streaks and blisters that rose on his skin wherever the silver touched him. His eyes were closed. As near as she could tell, he wasn't breathing, but maybe that was natural when he was… resting.

He looked… dead.

Six zombies surrounded him. They looked up, their expressions blank. All six looked like they had been kidnapped from a pro football team.

"What the hell?" Link muttered.

Twist looked at Vicki. "You weren't kidding about needing an army. What's our next move?"

"I want the man chained to the floor. To get him, we have to go through the others."

The Hammer swore a crude oath. "I was afraid you'd say that."

"Shouldn't be too hard," Link said. "They look like they're glued to the floor." He took a step forward. As soon as he was within a foot of the nearest zombie, the creature began to move toward him, its arms extended.