Endless Night Part 2

This is what I get for trying to help someone, she thought. And then she felt ashamed of herself.

Dad does this stuff every day.

G.o.d, if only he were here now!

That's just what Evelyn had said, she remembered. And a couple of minutes later, the spear had picked her up.

It got me, too, she realized. The same point.

Just a little poke. She could feel the wound now, a small sore place just below her navel and a little bit to the right.

Got me after going all the way through Evelyn.

"Jesus," she murmured.

"What?"

"Nothing. You'd better get dressed."

"I'm not moving. If I start to get dressed, you'll turn the light on. Where's Evelyn? What's she doing, hiding someplace with a camera?"

He'll lose his att.i.tude fast, Jody thought, if I tell him she's dead.

No, he'll think it's part of the gag.

Besides, she couldn't tell him. She knew she couldn't force herself to say the words.

What's taking the G.o.dd.a.m.n monster so long?

Maybe he isn't coming. Maybe he's gone.

Fat chance.

What am I doing here?

Waiting and bleeding, she thought.

Correction, not bleeding. From the feel of things, the wound had quit leaking. There seemed to be a single strip of blood, no longer going anywhere but making her skin itchy underneath it. The strip went down from the wound to the hollow at the top of her leg, then ran along the hollow at a downward angle to her groin.

Now that she was thinking about it, the itch got worse.

She wanted to rub it and wipe the blood away.

Her hands were busy holding the baseball bat overhead.

Just my luck, the second I let go ...

The door swung slowly inward.

Jody caught a whiff of the death stink. She held her breath.

As the door opened more, a dim mist of light spread across the room. The edge of light found Andy's bed, crept toward him, revealed him sitting cross-legged.

His mouth fell open.

His back straightened.

He began to make a quiet, very high-pitched humming sound, a soft whine of panic as if he ached to scream but didn't dare.

A shadow blotted out the fan of dull light.

A floorboard in front of Jody creaked.

Go for broke, hon!

She chopped the Slugger down with all her might.

She'd played enough hardball with her dad to know the sound and feel of a good hit with the fat of the bat. This was a very good hit. This was a home run.

The thock of the blow was followed by a grunt, then m.u.f.fled thumps which Jody figured were the man's knees. .h.i.tting the carpeted floor, then a softer sound which had to be his torso landing, then another thump-his face making contact.

Jody swept her forearm up the wall until it flipped up the light switch.

The man lay face down, motionless on the carpet. The top of his hairless head was a collapsed, bleeding gully.

Jody shut the door fast.

"Oh, G.o.d!" Andy blurted. He was standing near the foot of his bed, prancing on the mattress to keep his balance, clutching a pillow to his groin. "Oh, G.o.d, what's going on? Look at him! Look at him!"

Jody stood over the intruder, holding her bat high, ready to strike again if he should move.

He had come in with a machete, not a spear. It was still in his hand. Its blade was smeared with blood. Blood also speckled and smudged both his arms, his back and rump and legs.

"Hit him again," Andy said.

"Shhh."

"What's wrong?"

"Everything," Jody whispered. "It isn't him."

"Huh?"

"It isn't him. This guy's skinny."

"Look at his b.u.t.t."

"You look at his b.u.t.t." She stepped toward the machete. "The other one's still out there. The fat guy."

"It's sewed shut."

When Andy said that, she had to look. She looked as she crouched to pick up the machete, and saw a crosshatch of st.i.tches up the center of the man's rump. She thought, How does he p.o.o.p? And then she saw the rumples in his b.u.t.tocks and the backs of his legs. Then the ragged edges hanging around his ankles.

The rope of braided hair around his waist wasn't merely an ornament. It was a belt.

She looked up at Andy.

"They're pants," he whispered. "They're pants!"

Still prancing on his bed with the pillow clutched to his groin, Andy suddenly rushed to the end of his mattress, bent over and vomited.

The thick gush missed his bed, but splashed down on the head of the intruder. Jody stumbled backward to get away from it.

Suddenly, she was having a very hard time catching her breath.

Bat in one hand, machete in the other, she turned toward the bedroom door. She felt as if her heart and lungs were being squeezed by fists. She gasped for air.

Behind her, Andy coughed and sniffed. "Where're Mom and Dad and Evelyn?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"You said about another guy. A fat guy."

"Yeah."

He'll smash through the door right now and pick me up with his spear.

She wished that the door had a lock.

Bedroom doors always have locks. In the movies.

Some bedroom doors in real life probably had locks, too, but she'd never seen one.

"Do you think ... Do you think they're all right? Mom and Dad and Evelyn?"

"No."

"Oh, G.o.d. Oh, Jesus."

Jody turned around. Andy stepped to the floor and sat on a comer of his bed and hunched over, hugging the pillow, head down: "We've gotta get out of here," Jody told him.

He looked up at her. His face was red, eyes squeezed almost shut, teeth bared.

"The other's gonna come," she said.

Lowering his head again, he muttered, "I don't care."

"He'll kill us."

"So?"

Jody went to him. She stepped between his knees. The hanging front of her nights.h.i.+rt enfolded the top of his head. She moved forward until his head pushed against her. It pressed her lower than she had expected.

An odd bit of her mind thought how embarra.s.sing this would be under other circ.u.mstances.

But she didn't feel embarra.s.sed at all.

With the knuckles of the hand that held the machete, she gently caressed the back of his head. His hair was dripping wet.

"We're gonna get out of this," she whispered.

"Is everybody dead?"

"I don't know."

"I'm so scared."

"Me, too. It'll be all right, though."

Andy lifted his head, but didn't move it away. She felt the rub of his hair through the thin jersey fabric, then the pressure of his face. His face was so low that she couldn't feel the push of his chin. "What'll we do?" he asked. She felt his lips move. His breath was like hot steam against her skin.

Can't believe I'm letting him, she thought. If Rob had ever tried to put his face there, much less his hand ...

This isn't Rob. This is Andy and he's just a kid and his family's been wiped out and we're probably gonna die ...

How do we not die?

There has to be a way.

Standing here with Andy's face buried in her wasn't accomplis.h.i.+ng a thing.

Yes, she realized. It calms him down. Calms me down, too.

Her heart was no longer slamming. She could breathe almost normally.

"We'll be okay," she whispered.

He didn't speak. His face moved from side to side. Maybe he was telling her no. Maybe he was just doing it to feel her.

"I sure wish you had a phone in your room," she whispered.

"Mom and Dad have one." His voice was m.u.f.fled, his breath very hot.

"I know. But it's in their bedroom. I'm pretty sure that's where the fat guy is."

If he isn't about to crash through the door.

"Maybe we'd better jump out a window," she said.