Doomsday Can Wait Read Online Free PDF Page B

The towns that had sprung up to meet the needs of the industry either died or found a new livelihood.
    Most of the Ozark settlements had recently begun to court the boom of tourism brought about by the success of Branson. Barnaby's Gap had not. Couldn't say that I blamed them. Why mar the spectacular view with a bevy of condos, complete with swimming pools, tennis courts, workout facilities, and spa? Why commercialize the main street with shops full of candles, holiday decorations, antiques, crafts, and candy?
    They'd no doubt survived without catering to the masses because of the impressive sawmill we'd passed on the way in. I was certain the majority of the citizenry worked there while the minority made their living on the sidewalk-lined streets where family-owned businesses catered to kith and kin. We rolled past a grocer, doctor, pharmacy, and—yippee and yahoo!—a coffee shop.
    "Coffee," I croaked, pointing.
    My croak must have tipped Summer off to the necessity of said coffee because the Impala coasted to a stop at the curb, and she followed me inside without argument.
    The place was nearly empty this late in the day. We didn't have to contend with tourists sipping their four-dollar brews and reading the most recent New York Times bestseller or the romance novel they wouldn't be caught dead opening back home.
    I ordered a large Mountain Roast from an overly pale young woman who seemed extremely jumpy. She started when I ordered, as if I'd spoken too loud, then dropped my change, flinching when the coins pinged against the countertop. She'd had way too much Breakfast Blend.
    I slugged several sips in quick succession before I turned away from the register.
    Summer eyed me with interest. "Do you have asbestos mouth?"
    "Excuse me?"
    "Most humans would burn their mouths."
    I wasn't most humans, wasn't even sure just how human I was. But I'd been able to drink really hot coffee without burning my mouth even before I'd become su-perpsychic hero girl.
    I shrugged. "I'm used to it."
    Summer strolled to an empty table. Her outfit seemed less conspicuous here, or maybe I was just getting used to that, too.
    "Now what?" I asked. "We wait around until Jimmy shows up for the parade?"
    "I don't think so." Her gaze was fixed on the wide front window that overlooked the main drag of Barnaby's Gap.
    The street was deserted. I started to get uneasy. Sure, this place wasn't a tourist trap, but there should be someone moving around.
    "Come on," she said.
    We walked along the sidewalk, peeking into each storefront. All the places were open, the employees doing their jobs, but everyone was twitchy. When we appeared in the window, they'd start, glance up with wide eyes, then just as quickly look away. I didn't like it one bit.
    Up ahead an elderly man shuffled toward us—tall and thin, with snow-white hair. He was dressed well, not a street person, though the way he hunched his shoulders and mumbled to himself reminded me of many I'd seen. As he neared, his words drifted to us on the sultry afternoon breeze.
    "Red eyes,'* he intoned. "Teeth and blood. Demon in the hills. Demon in the caves."
    I guess that explained the overcaffeinated conduct of the populace.
    I immediately crossed in front of Summer and set my hand on the man's shoulder.
    For the most part, strong emotions—fear, love, hate—transmitted, giving me a view of the situations surrounding them. Since the guy was nearly scared witless, I got smacked with so many images I staggered.
    Night. Dark. Trees. Water. The acrid scent of terror, the heated brush of danger. Running. Falling. Pain. Blood. Then merciful, blessed oblivion.
    Hell. There was definitely something out there.
    The poor guy stared at me as if he expected me to turn into a monster. I couldn't blame him. Regular people aren't programmed to accept the arrival of a horror movie in their hometown. Usually the Nephilim didn't leave anyone alive, so we didn't have to deal with the zombielike behavior of a survivor.