Fiends. Part 23

As they walked in tandem toward the door, w.i.l.l.y saw their reflection in the window. It was the brand new window that he'd installed just before taking off to get Marty. *Hold it,' he said, and grabbed her shoulders. *Get a load of the lovebirds. Almost as good as a mirror,' he said.

*Can we go?' Tina asked.

*When I say so.'

In the reflection, he watched his hands vanish behind her shoulders. They reappeared under her arms, then covered her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s felt hot and slippery. He watched himself squeeze them, watched his fingers pinch her stiff nipples.

She squirmed and made odd little noises in her throat, but didn't protest.

He'd grown hard. He rubbed himself against her back.

In the reflection, he saw one of his hands glide down her belly. It continued downward and went too low to be seen in the window.

He felt her moist curls.

Then his fingertips spread her and slid in.

He saw her smile in the gla.s.s.

*Feels good, huh?' he asked.

*This does,' Tina said.

The portrait shattered. Jagged shards exploded into the night outside. Others dropped from above. They plunged down like broken slabs of ice, stabbing and slicing her outstretched arm.

w.i.l.l.y jerked her away from the broken window.

*You b.i.t.c.h!' he yelled as they both stumbled backward, cuffed at the ankles. *You stupid b.i.t.c.h! You busted my f.u.c.kin' window!'

When they fell, Tina landed on top of him. She squirmed and thrashed. Her back and b.u.t.tocks were hot and slippery. w.i.l.l.y liked how they felt, sliding against his skin.

He didn't know that she was clutching a spike of broken gla.s.s until she started to use it on him.

44.

After what seemed like more than an hour of slow driving through the woods, Marty rumbled down a slope and spotted a rock, pale in the moonlight, resting in the strip between the ruts.

She jammed on the brakes.

Not quick enough.

The rock sc.r.a.ped and thundered against the car's undercarriage.

When the noise stopped, she wiped the sweat out of her eyes. She eased her foot onto the gas pedal. The car started slowly forward.

Then she saw it.

Ten feet ahead, s.h.i.+ning in a stray slant of moonlight, was the rear window of another car.

w.i.l.l.y's car. The one he'd taken after killing the two men on the roadside last night.

Marty hit the brakes and turned off the engine. She opened her door, glad she'd taken care of the ceiling light.

She climbed out and dragged the shotgun after her. Propping its stock on the ground, she crouched behind her open door. She c.o.c.ked both hammers.

Looking over the top of the door, she could only see the back of w.i.l.l.y's car. She gazed at its trunk. Beneath the dark curving metal, Dan lay dead.

Unless w.i.l.l.y'd moved him.

Dan.

She turned her eyes away from the trunk.

To each side of w.i.l.l.y's car, she could see woods. But not much else, not from her crouched position behind the door. She didn't want to stand up. She liked it fine behind the solid, protective door. But there was no choice.

Slowly, she stood up straight.

She gazed into the darkness, half expecting a gunshot to crack the silence.

No, she thought. He won't shoot me.

He had shot at her before, but only to stop her from escaping. This time, she wasn't trying to escape; she was coming to him. He would want her alive.

Hefting the shotgun, she rushed, crouching, to the front of his car. There, she knelt down by the tire. After taking a moment to catch her breath, she raised her head and looked up the road.

The shack, less than fifty yards away, was probably no bigger than her bedroom at home. The walls looked like pale, weathered wood. From where she crouched, she could see a door and a window. The window was lit by a dim, hazy glow. As if a flashlight might be on inside the shack.

She s.h.i.+vered and felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck.

Is he up? she wondered. At this hour?

Up or not, this is it.

*Here I come, w.i.l.l.y,' she whispered. *Ready or not.'

And she was up and running, shotgun heavy in her hands, pine needles crunching under her shoes, running, fingertip sliding through the trigger guard, running, stopping at the shack's wall, thrusting the barrels in through the broken windowa

45.

w.i.l.l.y, standing naked only a few feet away, grinned at her. He was b.l.o.o.d.y from head to toe. His arms were high as if he might be hoping to surrender.

Before he had a chance to say anything - before he had a chance to dive for cover - Marty fired.

With a harsh roar, the shotgun spat flame and jumped in her hands and slammed back against her shoulder.

The blast caught w.i.l.l.y in the middle of the chest. It hit him like a hard wind, lifting him off his feet, hurling him backward.

But he didn't go down.

In the light of a battery lantern on the nearby table, Marty saw him, still grinning, start to glide back toward her.

A deathless thing, still up and coming.

She glimpsed s.h.i.+ny, broken rib bones in the pulpy clutter of his chest.

She let out a scream that scorched her throat.

And she thought, Go for the head!

She aimed for w.i.l.l.y's face as he came gliding toward her.

It was only then that she noticed the s.h.i.+ny blades of gla.s.s jutting out of his eyes. And the wide wedge of gla.s.s jammed into his mouth, giving him such a big, strange grin. And the slash across his throat.

She held fire.

A ceiling beam creaked, and w.i.l.l.y began to glide backward again.

Marty suddenly realized that he was suspended by his wrists.

He swung back and forth below the rope like a mutilated Tarzan.

Lowering her gaze, Marty saw that his genitals were gone.

So was his left foot.

When she was done throwing up, Marty entered the shack and looked around. She tried not to look at w.i.l.l.y.

n.o.body else seemed to be there.

She found lots of blood, especially on the floor near w.i.l.l.y's dangling body. And on the wall and floor near the broken front window. And on the mattress.

There was a lot of s.e.m.e.n on the mattress, too.

He must've brought someone here. Grabbed some other poor girl after I got awaya Someone tougher than he counted on.

Tough enough to take him out.

*h.e.l.lo?' she called.

No answer came.

*Anybody here?'

Still, no answer.

*Whoever you area if you can hear me, thanks. I came here to kill the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, but you beat me to it.' Marty suddenly found herself smiling. *You did a good job on him! You did a great job!'

After a few moments, she called, *Do you need a ride out of here? Or help? Are you hurt? Do you need medical attention? h.e.l.lo? I'll do anything I can for you!'

Nothing.

She spent a while longer looking around - hoping w.i.l.l.y's tough victim - his killer - might return.

She searched the entire shack.

As she walked out with the shotgun slung over her shoulder, she wondered what had become of the person.

She also wondered what had become of w.i.l.l.y's left foot and his genitals.

She climbed into the car, turned it around, and headed back for Jack's place.

46.

The next morning, Tina walked out of the woods and onto the road.

She was barefoot.

She was clean from soaking in the lake last night. The lake water had sure felt good on her sunburn and on a lot of places where w.i.l.l.y had hurt her. She supposed she might've stayed in it all night, but her hands and arms kept on bleeding.

So then she'd waded out and hunted around until she found the remains of her paisley dress under the tree where w.i.l.l.y had torn it off her. w.i.l.l.y had ruined it, shredding it with his teeth like that.

But the shreds had turned out to make very fine bandages. She'd bound the cuts on her arms and hands with bright, s.h.i.+ny rags.

She'd tied a piece around her left ankle, like a broad bandage, to conceal the handcuffs there.

And she'd made herself a bikini top by knotting a few pieces together.

After sunrise, she'd returned to the shack. w.i.l.l.y was antsy, and he stank. She'd gotten out as fast as she could.