TO WAKE THE DEAD

by Richard Laymon

  “Now we are getting impatient,” the big one said, speaking so close to the window his breath fogged it. “Open up.”

  “No.”

  “Open up or we’re coming in after you.”

  “Make ‘em squeal like pigs,” shouted the one in the bandanna. “Man, I love to hear ‘em squeal… just like this… heee-yeee-heee-yeee.”

  They laughed again, louder. Leers got hornier. They were cooking now. They wanted in; they wanted body contact and heat and dirty things she’d only heard about.

  “Open the door, bitch.”

  “Go away!” she yelled.

  “Open the door or I start shooting.” The big guy bunched a rag around his pocket where he’d carried it through a belt loop. Poking from the rag, Grace saw a black barrel.

  “Grace, he’s got a gun,” Pix cried. “You gotta open the door.”

  “No.”

  “They’re gonna kill us if you don’t.”

  “They’re gonna kill us if we do. When they’ve finished with us.”

  Pix groaned. “Oh, shit. Stop them, Grace. Please…”

  She slammed her hand onto the horn. Didn’t make a sound.

  Damned old truck. Did anything work?

  Outside, the three guys fell out.

  “What a heap of junk,” one said with a laugh. “Bet even the door locks don’t hold.”

  The tall one tugged at the passenger-door handle. With a sick-sounding click the lock gave out, worn to shit by use. Grace watched in horror as the door opened.

  “Oh, boys…” The gang leader smiled. “It’s show time.”

  Grace looked up into his face as the smile turned into a grin. “Me first, boys.”

  The guy in the bandanna scowled. “Hey… why do I always get sloppy seconds, Joe?”

  “You complainin’?”

  “No, but—”

  “Keep your mouth shut, then.” He spoke to Grace. “Your call, girl. Make it easy on yourself or make it hard. Doesn’t matter a damn either way to me.”

  The other one hooted with excitement. “Make her squeal, Joe. Just like a little pig. Hee-yeeee! Heee-yeeee… uck.”

  Grace thought a big black bird had swooped down on the guy.

  A tire?

  A big truck tire came out of nowhere. It sailed down out of the sky and struck the guy tread-first on the shoulder. The pig-squealer went down like a chunk of the moon had fallen on him.

  The other two looked around in confusion. Grace leaned forward and looked at the top of the tire mound. A figure appeared in silhouette. A second later Cody ran down the slope of black rubber. Tires spilled from the mound. Cascaded down. A dark avalanche. Tires bounced. Struck the side of the truck. Bounced over it, the two guys fending them off best they could.

  Cody appeared by the side of the truck, steadying his balance. “Okay,” he told the two guys. “It’s finished. We’re moving on.”

  “What about our buddy? Look what you’ve done to him.”

  The pig-squealer had managed to pull himself up onto one elbow in the dust. His head sagged. The guy was only semiconscious.

  Joe, the gang leader, squared up. “You say it’s finished. We say otherwise.”

  “Yeah.” The bandanna-wearer backed him. “We say when it’s finished.”

  “Look.” Cody held up his hands. “Don’t let this get out of control. We don’t want any trouble.”

  “Says you.”

  “Look what you done to our buddy. Bust his shoulder, then say you’re moving on.”

  “Payback time.”

  “Careful,” Pix warned. “He’s gotta gun.”

  “Yeah.” Joe smirked. “So you get out of here, pretty guy. We’ve got something that needs attending.” He winked at Grace. “Say, you’ve got a nice soft mouth.”

  “Sucks like a Hoover, I shouldn’t wonder.” The guy with the bandanna chuckled.

  The guy on the floor mumbled, “Shit, my shoulder.”

  Cody advanced across the sea of spilled tires. “I’m not backing off. Quit this before someone really gets hurt.”

  “Yeah, my gun can do some hurtin’ if you don’t do some vanishing into the desert over there.”

  Grace leaned forward looking at the bunch of rag with the black tube in Joe’s fist. “Cody?”

  “You okay, Grace?”

  “Cody. It’s not a gun.”

  “Shut your face, bitch,” Joe growled.

  “It’s a—”

  “Bitch, shut—”

  “A pen.”

  Joe scowled in fury. “So who needs a gun, Cody? Come and take the pair of us.” The guy flung the rag and pen away.

  “I don’t want any trouble,” Cody said. “We’ll just be on our way. Forget that—”

  “No way. You’re going to have to fight your way out. Or are you yellow?”

  “We’re leaving.” Cody made to get into the truck, but the tall, mean-looking guy was on him. Dealt him punches to the side of his head. Cody tottered backward. Steadied himself.

  The guy in the bandanna grinned. “Guy’s chicken, Joe.”

  “Time to deck the bastard,” Joe said, as if it was a dull chore but one that had to be done. He stepped forward fists swinging.

  Cody blocked them.

  Moved forward lightning fast.

  Fists flashing in the setting sun.

  Cody didn’t aim for the face. Instead, he landed half-a-dozen crunching body blows into Joe’s lean body.

  Joe rolled back against the pickup, straightened, then walked forward, fists raised. Then he paused, as if forgetting what he was supposed to be doing. Took another two steps before dropping into the dirt, sending up a billow of dust.

  The guy in the bandanna had come around the truck, maybe figuring to do some kicking once Cody was on the ground. Only it was Joe on the ground. When he saw Cody turn to him with that look in his eye—that look that told you someone meant business, he backed off. “It’s cool man, it’s cool. I don’t want no trouble.” He ran back around the truck, tripped over the guy with the busted shoulder, then loped away along the track. Seconds later, Joe and the other guy followed, one holding his side, the other holding his shoulder.

  Five minutes later Cody sat with Grace and Pix in the pickup. He handed Pix the brown paper bag with the sandwiches. For a long time she stared into the bag. Above them the stars came out.

  “I knew it.” Pix looked up. “Cody. You’ve forgotten the mayonnaise.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Neither Virginia nor Marco asked what happened to him when the lights went out. He was thankful for that. Explaining would have been difficult. Explaining his fierce arousal would have been impossible.

  Maybe that’s how it was in the beast house, as Marco called this room full of cages. They did whatever their captor required of them, then went on with their day-to-day lives in captivity.

  Certainly they wouldn’t discuss it with each other. He remembered how evasive Virginia had been when he’d asked her about her injured breasts.

  Now he lay on the mattress.

  Tried to forget.

  Failed to forget.

  That sex was so shameful. He didn’t even know who he was screwing. Man or woman?

  Trouble was: The sex was good.

  No, it wasn’t.

  It was the best.

  Best ever.

  Overwhelming animal sex that had just about blown his mind.

  Later the lights went out. He found himself trembling with what he couldn’t decide was fear or excitement. When they came back on again, he realized there’d be no repeat of the bizarre sexual act. Instead, lunch appeared.

  Same airline trays.

  Same tepid coffee.

  Only this time there was a sandwich and two bright red apples. His two fellow captors ate theirs immediately. As if still ashamed of what he’d done, he waited under his blanket until they were done before he ate. The sandwich was chunky turkey on whole wheat. It tasted pretty good, considering.

  He realized as so
on as he’d eaten that he would have to make use of the sawdust tray.

  Oh, man. Just when he thought he couldn’t suffer any more embarrassment, it was turned up another notch.

  No one watched. He found himself wiping himself with the toilet paper in such a way that the action would be as quiet as possible.

  But no one commented. No one looked his way.

  Later Marco spoke. He sounded pleased. “Who’s a pretty boy then?”

  “Not you, Marco,” Virginia said.

  “Must be. I got a chocolate-chip cookie with my lunch. Home-baked.”

  “So?”

  “You two guys didn’t.”

  “So what does that make you?” Ed was irritated by Marco’s smug attitude.

  “It makes me the favorite with the big guy upstairs.”

  Ed looked across to see Marco beaming through the bars of the cage. He glanced back at Virginia. She shook her head.

  “Forget him, Ed. He’s only trying to wind you up.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says me, Marco.”

  Ed looked at Marco’s mouth. His lips were full and red for a man’s. Even as he watched, the tongue darted out to take a crumb that lodged in the corner of his mouth.

  Could it be…?

  No. Ed’s flesh crawled.

  But could it be Marco who had abused him a few hours ago? Maybe Marco was his captor? He could have an accomplice who turned out the lights and operated the mechanism, raising the panel to the roof of the cage. Then all Marco had to do was unlatch the door, climb onto the cage roof, and then… and then…

  Ed swallowed. No, he didn’t like the way those thoughts led him. That Marco was in on this… even the instigator.

  But it could be the truth. Marco might be playing some sick game.

  He glanced at Virginia. She looked back at him, green eyes cool as ice. Was she in on it too? Two kooky kids have built their own fun house where they bring kidnapped men and women.

  The more he thought of it, the more it seemed likely. But was he just being paranoid?

  “What are you thinking about, Ed?”

  He colored. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing.” Virginia angled her head. “Seemed an intense nothing.”

  “Uh?”

  “You were scowling at me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Thought I’d done something wrong.”

  “No.”

  “That I’d offended you.”

  “Not at all.”

  She looked him in the eye. “You’ll let me know if I step on your toes, won’t you?”

  Right then she looked so vulnerable, he wished he could reach out through the bars of the cage to embrace her.

  “Because,” she said, “if you think bad things about me, I’ll wish you dead.”

  For the next hour or so Ed Lake felt like the odd man out. A little while ago Virginia and Marco had been bickering. Now they chatted to each other. About nothing much in particular. About vacations they’d had as kids. Seemed they’d both been to Lake Placid. Both had fathers who had fished. Both had kept hamsters. Both shared the same birth sign. Taurus. They’d swapped reminiscences. Suddenly they had so much in common.

  They’re trying to exclude me. Make me feel lonely, Ed told himself.

  Mind games.

  Two people buddy up. Shut the other out.

  She toyed with her hair as she spoke to Marco. Once she’d let the blanket slip as if to deliberately show her breast to him. He smiled a lot, tilting his head as they spoke. Because Ed’s cage was in the middle they had to look through the bars and through him as they talked.

  The conversation was cut short.

  Even though the killing of the lights brought a frission of fear for Ed, this time he welcomed it. Because normally, with the darkness came silence. Everyone stopped talking.

  Again it was the same. Rustling sounds. Drafts, as if the door to the room had been opened, then closed.

  A voice came. For a moment Ed thought he was being addressed, and obeyed before he realized it was a different name.

  “Paulo. Move to your right. Keep moving until you reach the cage bars… now turn around.”

  They used Marco’s surname, just as they had used Ed’s.

  Ed heard movement from Marco’s cage. He was obeying the commands.

  “Let the bars of the cage take your weight. Splay your feet. Lower your body. Keep your back to the cage bars… now… bring your head back.”

  It was the same deep voice. It was loud too, and seemed to come from no single direction.

  Odd.

  Then: “Please… I’ll do anything—”

  That was Marco’s voice.

  “I’ll do anything… please!”

  Then the light flickered. It didn’t come completely on, but the fluorescent strips were flickering on-off. Strobing. Ed saw a figure briefly. It was outside the cage. It was doing something to Marco. Marco’s arms were outstretched crucifixion-style. His hands seemed to flutter, fingers spasming.

  Then darkness.

  Ed waited a long time, until he was sure their captor had left, then said, “Marco?”

  Silence.

  “Marco?”

  There was no reply.

  Ed lay on the foam mattress. There was no other sound. Virginia didn’t speak. He felt cold inside.

  He tried to sleep. Couldn’t. His side ached where he lay in the same position, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to change it.

  The lights went on.

  Outside the cage bars there was a tray containing slices of melon and a cupcake. A carton of milk beside that.

  He looked into Marco’s cage.

  Marco leaned against the bars, his arms straight out, wrists tied by wire to the uprights. His eyes were open. His throat was cut. A great grinning crimson wound.

  Blood pooled on the floor around him.

  For a time Ed stared at the dead man. Virginia stared too. Said nothing.

  Then Ed pulled the tray through the gap in the bars and started to eat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Karen, astride Eric’s lap, rocked gently back and forth, making his thick organ move slightly inside her, rubbing just a bit in a delicious way that would make it last. It was deeper than seemed possible. As she rocked, eyes shut, she felt his hands inside her open blouse, stroking her back, squeezing her breasts, teasing her nipples.

  The baby, in the nursery at the end of the hall, started to cry.

  Karen felt like crying herself.

  Just when she’d wanted to start screaming with pleasure.

  “Oh, shit, shit, shit,” Eric muttered.

  She kissed him. “It’s all right, honey. I’ll just be a minute.”

  “Come on, don’t go. She’ll stop pretty soon.”

  “No, she won’t. Not till she gets her bottle. Besides, she’ll wake up Byron. Would you like him to walk in about now?”

  Eric could only groan with despair.

  In so deep.

  In so good.

  Didn’t get better than that.

  He helped lift Karen as she raised herself off his lap. She felt him slide out. It left her feeling empty, hollow now. “I’ll be right back,” she said. Straightening her skirt, she looked down at his erection. It stood like a wet, shiny post of flesh. Kneeling, she kissed its swollen head. “Don’t go away,” she whispered.

  She hurried into the kitchen, took a pink bottle of formula from the refrigerator. Then went down the dark hallway. A night-light was on in the nursery. Jane was on her back inside the crib. Wailing.

  “It’s okay,” Karen soothed. “Everything’s okay.” She slipped the latex nipple into Jane’s mouth. Tiny, eager hands clutched the bottle. “Nighty-night,” Karen said. “Sleep tight.” She waved to Jane and left.

  Even as she hurried toward the den, she felt a tremor of anticipation. Her fingers trembled as she opened the buttons of her blouse.

  The crying of the baby had disturbed Byron’s sleep. He rol
led onto his back. The sheet under him felt hot and wet, so he edged sideways to find a fresh place. His foot dropped over the side of the bed. He let it hang there.

  He was almost asleep when something brushed the bottom of his foot, tickling. He wondered, vaguely, what it was.

  A bug maybe.

  A moth fluttering near his foot.

  Suddenly the smell of spices and garlic seemed strong in the room. The blinds rustled in a dead breath of night air.

  Foot tickled again.

  Damn bug.

  He began to raise his foot.

  It was clutched in a tight, dry grip. He gasped with fright. Tried to kick free. Tried to pull away. The grip only tightened.

  He sprang out of bed. A single, dark hand had him by the ankle. A single dark hand connected to a stick-thin forearm that vanished into the darkness beneath his bed. Crying out, he lunged toward the shut door, dragging the creature from under the bed. Its hair crackled against the carpet. Flickers of blue static shimmered across its head.

  A second hand grabbed his ankle. Looking down, he saw the mummy pulling itself toward the ankle like you’d pull yourself up a tree with a branch. Its elbows bending. A flash of face—eyeless sockets, teeth glinting white. It bit.

  He cried out in pain.

  Twisting, reaching for the door, he fell backward. The thing scuttled up his body. Its fingernails cut into the flesh of his legs, tore at his genitals through his shorts, slashed gashes in his chest. Gouged furrows across his shoulders. The mouth came down on his face; hideously wrinkled; the eye sockets huge empty craters. He turned away, but the teeth sank into his cheek. Ripped. Ripped again. Looking up, he screamed at the sight of his own flesh hanging from its mouth, dripping red.

  “What the hell was that!”

  Karen shook her head. The baby started to cry again. “I’d better go see.” She climbed off Eric, chilled with concern, and reached down for her blouse.

  He clutched her arm. “You stay here.” Fastening his pants, he rushed into the dark hallway.

  Karen put on her blouse. She bent down to pick up her panties, and heard Eric yell as if startled. She froze, gazing toward the hallway. Something slammed heavily against a wall or the floor. She listened for the sounds of a struggle, but the cry of the baby hid any other sounds.