She caught a glimpse of someone outside the rear door before the foul cloud coming from the cubbyhole obscured the window in the door completely... and then she no longer cared. The stink was unbearable.
Pandemonium broke loose. The Daughters of Isabella plunged back and forth in the cloudy, stinking room like maddened sheep.
When Antonia Bissette was shoved backward and broke her neck against the steel edge of the Chairwoman's table, no one heard or noticed.
Outside, thunder roared and lightning flashed.
6
The Catholic men in the K of C Hall had formed a loose circle around Albert Gendron. Using the note he'd found taped to his office door as a take-off point ("Aw, this ain't nothing-you should have been there when..."), he was regaling them with horrible yet fascinating stories of Catholic-baiting and Catholic revenge in Lewiston back in the thirties.
"So when he seen how that bunch of ignorant Holy Rollers had covered the feet of the Blessed Virgin with cow-patty, he right away jumped in his car and drove-" Albert broke off suddenly, listening.
"What's that?" he asked.
"Thunder," jake Pulask' said. "It's gonna be one big storm."
"No-that," Albert said, and got up. "Sounds like screamin."
The thunder retreated temporarily to mere grumbles, and in the hiatus they all heard it: women. Women screaming.
They turned toward Father Brigham, who had risen from his chair.
"Come on, men!" he said. "Let's see-" Then the hissing began, and the stink began to billow from the back of the hall toward where the men stood in a knot. A window shattered and a rock bounced crazily across the floor, which had been polished to a mellow gloss over the years by dancing feet.
Men yelled and skipped back from the carom. The rock rolled across to the far wall, bounced once more, and lay still.
"Hellfire from the Baptists!" someone yelled from outside. "No gambling in Castle Rock! Spread the word, nun-fuckers!"
The foyer door of the K of C Hall had also been propped shut with a crowbar. The men struck it and began to pile up.
"No!" Father Brigham yelled. He fought his way through the rising stench to a small side door. It was unlocked. "This way! THIS WAY! "At first no one listened; in their panic they continued to pile up against the Hall's immovable front door. Then Albert Gendron reached out with his big hands and knocked two heads together.
"Do what the Father says!" he roared. "They're killing the women!"
Albert builed his way back through the crush by main force, and the others began to follow him. They made their way in a rough, stumbling line through the streaming murk, coughing and cursing. Meade Rossignol could hold his churning gut no longer.
He opened his mouth and yarked supper all over the wide back of Albert Gendron's shirt. Albert hardly noticed.
Father Brigham was already stumbling toward the steps which led to the parking lot and the Daughters of Isabella Hall on the far side. He paused every now and then to retch dryly. The stink clung to him like flypaper. The men began to follow him in ragged procession, barely noticing the rain, which had now begun to fall harder.
When Father Brigham was halfway down the short flight of steps, a flash of lightning showed him the crowbar propped against the door of the Daughters of Isabella Hall. A moment later one of the windows on the right side of the building shattered outward and women began to hurl themselves through the hole, tumbling on the lawn like large rag dolls which had learned how to vomit.
7
Rev. Rose never reached the vestibule; there were too many people stacked up in front of him. He turned, holding his nose, and staggered back into the church. He tried to yell to the others, but when he opened his mouth, he sprayed a great jet of puke instead. His feet tangled in each other and he fell, knocking his head hard on the top of a pew. He tried to get to his feet and could not do it.
Then large hands thrust themselves into his armpits and pulled him up. "Out the window, Rev'rund!" Nan Roberts shouted. "Boss y'freight!"
"The glass-"
"Never mind the glass! We're going to choke in here!"
She propelled him forward, and Rev. Rose just had time to throw a hand over his eyes before he shattered his way through a stained-glass window depicting Christ leading His sheep down a hill the exact color of lime jell-o. He flew through the air, struck the lawn, and bounced.
His upper plate shot from his mouth and he grunted.
He sat up, suddenly aware of the dark, the rain... and the blessed perfume of open air. He had no time to savor this; Nan Roberts grabbed him by the hair of his head and jerked him to his feet.
"Come on, Rev'rund!" she shouted. Her face, glimpsed in a blue-white flash of lightning, was the twisted face of a harpy. She was still wearing her white rayon uniform-she had always made it a habit to dress just as she had her waitresses dress-but the swell of her bosom was now wearing a bib of vomit.
Rev. Rose stumbled along beside her, head down. He wished she would let go of his hair, but each time he tried to say so, the thunder drowned him out.