Deputy Strife shook his head as the sun went down. He had been on the scene at the

cemetery for hours. The sheriff still hadn’t called back to release him. Abandoning

his post looked good at the moment.

He doubted anyone else was on the way to take over for him. The sheriff probably

forgot to release him.

It had happened once before at a wreck heading up to Atlanta. The sheriff had

allowed him to stand on the side of the road after the cars and passengers had been

cleared out by tow trucks and ambulances. His explanation was he had forgotten to

send the all clear.

Strife grumbled in the descending dark. Goldbricker probably forgot him again. What

did he do about it?

He checked his watch. He would give the goobers one more hour. After that, he was

going back to the office and checking out.

Strife saw a spark in his mirror. He got out of the car. He looked out of the gate.

Something burned in the distance.

Earle City didn’t have a fire department. Out on the edge of the county, he might be

able to call a company from one of the bigger municipalities. He needed to see where

the fire burned before he did that.

Strife got back into his car and turned it around. He headed out of the gate and rolled

toward the glow. If he got back to the cemetery and it was empty, a fire took

precedent over a graverobber.

The sheriff should have sent one of the others to sit on the cemetery. Sitting in place

for hours seemed to be all they were good at doing.

Strife realized the burning was on a farm back off the main road. He wondered if they

were burning debris. Should he bother checking it?

He decided he was still on duty for the next forty five minutes. He might as well at

least look at it.

He pulled up to a gated fence. He got out of his car. The fire burned behind the

farmhouse. He thought he saw people out there. He decided to check it. If it was the

owners, it had gotten him out sitting on his butt. If it was trespassers, it had gotten

him out of sitting on his butt.

The fence consisted of wooden slats fixed in upright planks. The gate rested

awkwardly on its hinges. He didn’t bother opening it so he could drive up. He jumped

the fence and marched across the lot toward the farmhouse.

He wondered what was going on. It didn’t seem right to have a bonfire. Maybe it was

the Klan.

Strife walked over to the bonfire. The figures he had seen were pylons stuck in the

ground. Little flags flew from their tops. He looked at the farmhouse. A family stood

there. The father had a bleeding cut on his forehead.

“Anybody want to tell me what’s going on?,” Strife asked.

“These people came and set our yard on fire,” said the mother. “Then they danced

around the flame, and said some things. Then they piled into their cars and left. Their

leader said they had some more fires to set.”

“How long ago was this?,” said Strife.

“About sundown,” said the woman. “They said that was the best time to do their

business.”

“They hit you, sir?,” said Strife.

“I tried to stop them,” said the father. “The one guy hit me. He told me to stay out of

the way. This was the end of negras.”

“Really?,” said Strife. “Let me put this fire out, then I’ll go look for these idiots.”

The deputy walked back to his car. He opened the trunk. He pulled out the fire

extinguisher he got from one of the volunteer fire departments around Earle City. The

sheriff didn’t want to spend money on the equipment, so he spent money out of his

own pocket to get the thing.

He had wanted it in case he had to deal with a vehicle fire. Now he was going to put

it to putting out this bonfire.

He walked back to the fire. He primed the extinguisher and then let a white cloud

attack the flames. Two minutes of spraying blasted the burning pile to smoldering

ashes.

Strife nodded when the fire emitted smoke and nothing else. The extinguisher had

been a good idea. He pulled the pylons out of the ground and stacked them up next

to the burnt grass.

“I have to go look for these idiots,” said Strife. “I’ll come back and file a report if I

can find them.”

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“Be careful,” said the woman. “They sounded like crazy people.”

“Go to the doctor and get that crease looked after,” said Strife. “I’ll look around for

these guys. If I catch them, I’m going to need someone to press charges.”

“It won’t be us,” said the man. He pushed his children into the house. “It would be

our word against a bunch of white men. That would never fly.”

“All right,” said Strife. He picked up the fire extinguisher. He walked back to the car.

He put the red sprayer in the trunk as he thought about his next move.

He got behind the wheel. A bunch of whites burning blacks’ property was the

problem. Where could he find the whites?

He decided to cruise along this part of the county. He expected to see something if

he drove along far enough. He didn’t need witnesses if he caught this group

redhanded with their hands on the gasoline.

He noticed a light in the distance. This could be the group that he wanted. He rolled

forward to get a closer look. If he could catch them in the act, it was the hoosegow

until the sheriff decided what to do about the charges.

The lazy goof would probably cut them loose so they could continue their rampage.

A caravan of cars and trucks rolled out of a driveway. They turned and headed away

from the police car. Strife paused at what he should do. Should he stop and help with

the fire, or chase after the line of vehicles?

He braked the car and jumped out. He grabbed the extinguisher from the trunk and

ran up to where another family watched their yard burn. The fire had been built

around a tree and it stood framed against the sky.

Strife aimed the sprayer at the flame and threw out a cloud of white over it. He

sprayed as much of it down as he could. Then he handed the red can to whom he

thought was the most qualified adult there and told him to keep at it until the foam ran

out.

He ran back to his patrol car. He had to get after that caravan before they started

another fire. Once he had that done, he could run them in for arson and destruction

of property.

Strife got behind the wheel of his car and rolled down the road. He could still see

lights in the distance. They winked at him as the trees and other growth blocked them

from sight.

He didn’t bother to put the siren or lights on. He didn’t want them to see him coming.

They might keep driving out of the county if they saw him coming on after them.

He slowed to a stop when he lost sight of the caravan completely. He got out of the

car. He looked around in a circle. Where had they gone?

He spotted three red lights moving perpendicular to the road he was on. He realized

they had turned off on one of the farm roads ahead. He had to hurry if he wanted to

stop them from burning anything else.

Strife got back in the car and rolled along. He kept his eyes scanning for the right

turnoff ahead. He nodded when he came to a gravel road and saw the brake lights

ahead. He backed up and turned onto the road. He wheeled down that more cautiously

as the patrol car bounced on any irregularity in the road.

He pulled up under a tree to assess the danger he might be facing. He counted about

fifteen men in what looked like costumes from Ben Hur. Some of them poured

gasoline on the ground. Others hammered pylons like the ones he had seen at the

other properties into the ground. A couple of the men pointed rifles at the house and

shouted for the people to stay inside.

If he wanted to stop the men, he had to do something about those rifles. He couldn’t

count on them not shooting at him when they saw his badge. It was time for him to

get to work.

He got out of the car. He pulled his pistol and circled around in the dark. He didn’t

think any of the working men paid him any attention. Once he was close enough to

do something about the guards, things would get exciting.

Strife came on the first man with a rifle while the man was watching the house. He

wasn’t watching behind him, or to one side. The deputy whacked him on the head as

hard as he could with the butt of his thirty eight.

The man groaned as he fell to his knees. Two more whacks stopped that.

Strife searched his victim. He took a wallet, loose money, and a bag of something. He

didn’t look into the bag. He put everything in his pockets before he picked up the

rifle. He put the thirty eight in its holster.

Strife looked around. No one seemed to be looking at him. The other guard watched

the preparations for the bonfire. His rifle rode the crook of his arm so he would have

to adjust his grip to bring it up to shoot.

The second man never saw the wooden butt that knocked his lights out.

Strife looked at the group of men preparing the bonfire. They had gathered around the

perimeter, standing outside the pylons like the wooden stands marked a do not cross

line. One of the men pulled out a lighter to set the bonfire ablaze.

“Stop, or I’ll shoot!,” said Strife. “Just put the lighter down, and everything will be

all right.”

The man with the lighter looked at him. His eyes glinted in the night. He smiled to

show rotten, crooked teeth. He thumbed a flame into life.

“I will shoot you,” warned Strife. “Put out that flame, and step away. This is the last

time I am going to tell you.”

The man dropped the lighter into the gas soaked grass. Blue fire ran through the

grass. A shape formed into a word that vanished under a layer of smoke.

Strife shot the man. He felt that he couldn’t let whatever was going on keep going,

and shooting the leader usually stopped that. The man looked at him in anger, but he

didn’t fall down like the deputy expected.

The group of men laughed as their leader advanced on the deputy. Smoke trailed from

the man’s mouth.

“Now is the time that I impose my will on your petty species and wipe out your

civilization,” said the man. “You can’t stop me now that I have made the call.”

Strife shot him again. This time he put the bullet in the man’s head. He might be

wearing a bulletproof vest. Shooting higher should take care of that.

This time the man did fall down. Smoke erupted from his mouth and nose. It fled to

the other men that had formed the circle. Their eyes changed as Strife watched. They

took on that red glint and smiles as they regarded the deputy.

“Give up, or face the consequences,” said Strife. He pointed the rifle at the closest

man.

“You are too late to do anything to stop me, man,” said all of the group at the same

time. “I have made the call.”

Something reared out of the drifting smoke. It looked down on the farm with burning

eyes. Strife took a step back. He had seen a lot of things in Korea, but nothing like

this.

If someone had told him he would come home from killing Chinese and Koreans to

face a dragon of fire and smoke, he would have punched them in the face.