‘I’ll come up and get you, then.’
A boulder as big as a basketball rested on the brink of the ledge. She pushed it off with the sole of her foot.
A crash. A loud one that echoed back as it struck home.
Silence.
Dear God. It hasn’t hit him, has it?
Then came an aggrieved bleat. ‘Hey, be careful! That nearly hit me.’
‘If you try to climb up here I’ll make sure the next one cracks your skull.’
‘You wouldn’t do that.’
Pamela folded her arms. ‘Try me.’
She heard a more reflective Norman mutter, ‘Shoot.’
For a few moments silence descended on the canyon. It would be too dangerous to expose her head by looking over the side of the rock ledge, but if she knelt up with her back to the cliff she could see the shadow creep across the scree floor. This’d become a waiting game now.
Waiting for dark . . . What would Norman do then? Retreat? Or try to reach her under cover of darkness?
At last she heard Norman say, ‘Looks as if we’ve got a dilemma.’
‘I’ve got no dilemma,’ Pamela retorted. ‘I’m staying put.’
‘You can’t stay there forever without water. Not in this heat.’
‘Neither can you, Norman.’
‘One of the others will be along in a minute.’
‘So you’re a telepath. You can communicate with them and tell them that you’re way up here in a hidden canyon?’
‘Ugh.’
She heard the grunt as he realized the flaw in his thinking.
No one knew they were here. So no one would bring Norman a cool bottle of water to slake his thirst.
To sit it out in this arid channel of rock would be an endurance test. The one whose craving for liquid got the better of them would lose.
‘I don’t want you to die of thirst, Pamela.’
‘Women survive longest without water, Norman. We’ve got a thicker layer of liquid-filled fat under our skin. Boobs are pretty much all fluid anyway. Y’ know? Like camels’ humps?’
When Norman spoke next Pamela realized that he was changing his strategy. ‘Pamela? We’re alike, you and me.’
‘Don’t think so, Norm.’
‘We’re educated. I can tell you are from the way you speak.’
‘How observant, my dear Holmes.’
‘Well read, too.’
‘I saw the old Sherlock Holmes movies.’
‘Yeah, Basil Rathbone, he was the greatest, wasn’t he?’
‘Norman, you’re patronizing me.’
‘Listen. We both know it’s stupid for us to sit out here in a godforsaken canyon without water. If you come down here we can walk back to the cafe and talk all this through over a glass of cold white wine. How does that sound?’
‘Sounds wonderful. But you’ll shoot the fuck out of me the moment I start climbing down.’
‘Pamela, I’m not a barbarian.’
‘What about Duke and Boots? They psychotic or what?’
‘Uhm . . . that’s one of the subjects I need to discuss with you.’
‘Say again?’
‘You’re intelligent. I need your advice. To be honest with you I’m in a bit of trouble. Well . . . more than a bit of trouble. A hell of a lot of trouble.’
Pamela realized that she needed to see Norman’s face. His expression would indicate whether or not he was telling the truth. Come to that, the look in his eye would suggest whether or not he’d murder her in cold blood.
She inched toward the edge of the rock ledge. Just one glimpse down. One glimpse at his face would be enough.
That was when the shot rang out.
‘Norman, you double-crossing son of a—’
‘Pamela. Pamela!’
‘You promised you wouldn’t try and shoot me.’
‘I didn’t! I’ve just shot a rattlesnake. It struck out at me.’
‘Like I’d believe you.’ She hunkered back against the cliff. Out of sight.
‘Pamela, you’ve got to believe me. I shot a snake. There’s another thing . . .’ His voice sounded troubled.
‘What’s that?’
‘Pamela, you’ve got to help. The rattler bit me!’
Chapter Forty-nine
‘You’re shitting me, Norman.’
Norman looked up the cliff face. It was in shadow, but he could still make out where the rock ledge bulged out. Couldn’t see Pamela, though. She must be hunkered back against the cliff, out of sight.
‘Please, Pamela,’ he called, his voice echoing from the canyon walls. ‘There was a rattler. It really did bite me.’
‘Yeah, and the second I poke my head out you blow a hole in it.’
‘No.’
‘Can’t trust you, Norman.’
‘It’s starting to burn. It’s the venom . . .’
‘Where’d it bite?’
‘My leg.’
‘Where on your leg?’
‘Come down, Pamela. See for yourself.’
‘As if.’
‘Please.’
‘Are you sure it was a rattlesnake?’
‘Take a look for yourself.’
‘Put the gun on a rock – somewhere I can see it, but well away from yourself.’
‘Yes, yes, anything. As long as you help me.’
Norman still couldn’t see Pamela, so he walked twenty paces and laid the gold-plated handgun on a boulder. Then he returned to the bottom of the cliff.
But he noticed something.
Something bad.
He was limping now. The venom burned up through his veins as if hot wax was flowing there instead of blood. A moment ago he’d felt too hot – now cold shivers ran down his spine despite the heat in his veins.
Oh, God. All this and now I get chewed by a snake – a fucking rattler of all things . . .
His legs had become wobbly by the time he’d gotten himself back to the bottom of the cliff.
When he called out again, his voice had gone croaky.
Start of the death rattle?
‘Pamela . . . I got rid of the gun . . . You’re safe . . . Please . . . you gotta do something. I feel weird . . . I . . .’
‘Okay, Norman. You’ve gotta stay calm. Breathe nice and slow.’
He looked up. The sky was a dazzling blue. This side of the canyon was dipped black in shadow now. But he could see her!
A lithe figure with blonde hair. Long bare legs swinging over the ledge thirty feet above him. She moved fast.
Her hands and feet found small lodges and holes so that she could descend.
So she can save me!
Norman’s heart pounded. An awful taste filled his mouth. The venom? Was it invading every part of his body in a tide of bitter poison?
Oh, God . . .
Norman closed his eyes. He only opened them when he heard a thump of feet. Pamela had jumped the last five feet to the ground.
‘I really think it’s kicking in.’ His voice was weak-sounding. Hoarse.
‘Where’s the snake?’ She sounded suspicious.
She doesn’t believe me.
Swaying slightly, he pointed.
His finger had swollen.
Shit. That stuff acts fast. He was inflating like a balloon.
‘There.’
He pointed to three feet of tube-shaped reptile lying in its own snake blood. His shot had blown most of the head away, leaving strands of skin and gristly bits of snake muscle.
‘My God,’ she breathed. ‘That’s a rattler, all right. Do you see the tail?’
‘Saw the tail? Felt its teeth, too. Bery farp.’
‘Say again?’
Norman moistened his swollen tongue, then took a run at the two words again. ‘Very sharp. Rattlesnake bangs. Bery farp.’
‘Here, sit down on this rock, Norman.’
‘Bank yar.’
‘It’s affecting your speech, Norman. The venom’s entering your bloodstream fast.’
‘Uh . . .’
He felt like death.
Pamela cupped his face in her two hands. She looked into his eyes. He saw the anxiety there.
‘Norman,’ she said in a calm but firm voice. ‘I need to get as much of the venom out of the wound as I can.’
‘Uh-huh.’ He grunted the affirmative. His hands felt cold as frost.
Circulatory collapse. Toxic shock.
She spoke again. ‘Norman, listen . . . no, stay awake for me, Norman. Where did the snake bite you?’
‘Thigh.’
Pamela stepped back to see where he was pointing.
‘Your inner thigh?’
‘Uh.’
‘Okay, Norman. Help me drop your pants. I’m going to have to suck out the poison.’
He’d wondered what Pamela’s lips would feel like against his skin. Now he was going to find out.
But he hadn’t anticipated these circumstances. Not for one minute.
With her help he slid his pants down. Then he sat on the boulder with his bare legs apart. They were awful pale-looking. Shaky, too.
‘I see the bite mark, Norman.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Okay. Here goes.’
Norman felt Pamela’s cool lips on the burning wound. The fangs had indeed punctured the skin on his inner thigh. Midway between knee and groin.
Now Pamela’d clamped her lips on the two bleeding holes.
Oh, man, and how she sucks!
When she paused for breath she also spat. Despite Norman’s dizziness he saw that her saliva was a bright pink with blood.
‘Ya gonna apply . . . apply a tourniquet?’ he croaked.
‘Nope. Never apply a tourniquet to snake bites.’ She wiped her lips with the back of her hand. ‘Always make sure the patient is calm, keep the affected limb lower than the heart. With luck, the venom will localize and not spread through the body.’
‘You really know what you’re doing?’
‘I should hope so,’ Pamela told him. ‘I’m a teacher. I took first-aid courses so I could take the little darlings on field trips. Of course, they never got bitten by snakes, stung by scorpions or chased by grizzly bears. Instead, they got drunk on beer or whacked out of their skulls on E. Here goes again.’ Again she ducked her head down to suck his naked thigh.
Norman’s mind was fuzzy to say the least. His hands were cold as ice. His leg was swelling. But he realized what this must look like to anyone watching the pair of them.
Here I am sitting on a rock with my pants down. Pamela is crouching in front of me. Her head is below my waistline. She’s sucking away like crazy. Her head’s twisting from side to side. I’m moaning.
Only not with pleasure.
Snakebites aren’t fun. They hurt. Fucking hurt!
‘Yee-ow!’ he cried.
Pamela spat and wiped again. ‘Hurting?’
‘You could say.’
‘I think I’ve got some of it.’
‘I’m gonna die.’
‘No, you’re not.’
‘If you felt the agony I felt you wouldn’t say that.’
‘Norman.’ She was panting from the exertion. ‘In this country more than eight thousand people are bitten by snakes in any one year. Less than one percent die.’
He grunted. ‘One percent still sounds like scary odds to me.’
‘Less than one percent. Far less. More people die from wasp and bee stings.’
‘You’ve gotta get me some antidote.’
Pamela shook her head. ‘You won’t get any antivenom in fifty miles of here.’
‘Aw, crap.’
‘Besides, not a lot of doctors administer it for snakebites. Sometimes the side effects of the treatment are worse than the snake poison itself.’
‘That doesn’t make me feel any better.’
‘Well, you sound better.’ Pamela looked closely at his face. ‘Your speech’s improved. So has your color.’
Norman straightened up. Experimentally he moved his arms, and then turned his head from side to side. ‘Hey, I don’t feel as bad as I did a few minutes ago. The dizzy spells are passing.’
She smiled. ‘You’ll live, then.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, pleased. ‘I will, won’t I?’
Pamela turned to look at the gun on the boulder twenty paces from them. ‘You still going to shoot me, Norman?’
‘No. I never planned on killing you, anyway.’
‘But you’re going to take me back to the house and lock me up with the others?’
Norman shook his head. ‘I’ve decided. This madness has got to end.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’m gonna call the cops.’ He paused. ‘At some point.’
‘Why at some point? Why not now?’
He grimaced. ‘That’s why I need to talk to you.’
‘We’d be more comfortable talking down at the cafe.’
‘With the dead guys there?’ He shrugged. ‘It’s a bit of a mess, I’m afraid.’
‘My trailer, then.’
‘Okay.’
He stood up.
She looked at his legs. ‘Norman?’
‘Uh?’
‘Your pants. Before you walk anywhere, best pull them up.’
Chapter Fifty
‘So there it is,’ Norman said. He took a swallow of ice-cold soda. He’d talked so much that his throat burned. ‘Now you know everything that’s happened to me in the last seven days.’
‘You killed two police officers?’ Pamela stared at him.
‘Yes . . . but I didn’t mean to. You’ve got to believe me.’
‘Shoot.’
‘It’s being with Duke and Boots. It’s like some kinda dope. You can’t think straight. They make really crazy stuff seem like the most perfectly rational behavior in the world.’
‘You mean like taking over Pits at gunpoint?’
Norman nodded. Then he glanced across the trailer lounge to a table where the gold-plated handgun gleamed in the afternoon light.
He winced as he shifted in the armchair. The snakebite still seared his thigh although it felt a little less painful than before. Pamela had washed the puncture marks with antiseptic and then had taped on a dressing. After shuffling to get comfortable he sat brooding.
At last Norman said to Pamela: ‘You must think I’m the worst.’
‘I think maybe you’ve done some stupid things, but . . .’
He looked up at her. The change in her tone when she said ‘but’ suggested that something was weighing pretty heavily on her mind, too.
‘But?’ he echoed.
‘But Pits isn’t what you think.’ Pamela went to the table where she’d left a pitcher of chilled water. She refilled her glass.
Pamela’d ditched the waitress apron.
Norman noted with some pleasure that its absence revealed more of her slim figure. She still wore the cafe’s uniform. Bright red shorts, plus a white pullover shirt.
Boy, she looks good.
’S easy to get distracted when a babe looks that hot, Norman told himself. He took his mind off the curves of her bod, concentrated on what she was saying.
‘Norman, I thought Pits was just a little desert community,’ Pamela went on.
‘Doesn’t look much more than a ghost town to me,’ he added.
‘Just what I thought. It’s only got the cafe, gas station and trailers. Those, and a population of six people.’
Five, Norman thought. He realized that Pamela couldn’t know that Terry, the cook, was lying dead in a patch of cholla cacti. He let it pass. Such admissions now would complicate the situation with Pamela . . . Delicious Pamela.
Pamela, he realized, was trying to explain certain facts. ‘You remember what the old guy was saying earlier?’
‘The one-legged guy?’
‘Priest.’ She nodded.
Norman shrugged. ‘He’s a crazy old coot, isn’t he? All that talk of eating people. Has to be certifiable.’
‘He’s not crazy, Norman.’ Pamela took a steadying breath. ‘Here in Pits they reall
y do eat people.’
Norman laughed out loud. Then clammed up.
Pamela ain’t laughing.
‘Jeez,’ he hissed. ‘You’re not kidding me, are you?’
‘Nope. That’s how they funded the cafe refit and the trailers. You see, what they couldn’t eat they sold. Jewelry, watches and stuff.’
‘Holy moly.’ He had to remember to close his jaw. His chin was nearly resting on his chest in amazement. ‘And you’ve . . .?’ He mimed gnawing his hand.
‘I’m a newcomer. I haven’t eaten anybody yet.’
‘This is soooo far out.’ He had to take a deep gulp of soda.
‘But you have.’
‘Me?’
Pamela nodded.
‘Oh no, no.’ Norman shook his head so hard that it made the snakebite sting. ‘I’ve killed people these last few days, sure. But I’ve never ever eaten anyone. Shit, as a kid I didn’t even eat my own boogers.’
‘Have to disagree, Norman,’ Pamela told him matter-of-factly. ‘When you first arrived you ate the Pitsburger. Lauren’s special-recipe burger.’
‘Christ on a motorcycle.’ He swallowed as if he could taste human flesh.
Cannibals say that humans taste like pork. That’s why they call their victim ‘Long Pig’. Did those Pitsburgers taste of pork? They were kinda spicy.
He gulped. ‘The person I ate . . . anyone you know?’
‘Nicki’s pimp.’
‘Holy shit.’
‘The guy rode out here to kill her for running out on him.’
Norman gave a bilious smile. ‘I guess it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.’
‘If it helps . . . I killed him.’
‘Wow.’
‘I biffed him on the head.’
Norman’s nausea passed. His smile broadened. ‘Looks like we’ve got a regular killing spree here.’
‘But you’re right, Norman. The madness has got to stop.’
‘Any ideas?’
Pamela stood up. ‘I’m going to tell the cops.’
‘The cops?’ He shifted uncomfortably. Thoughts of the electric chair crackled into his mind.
‘No time like the present, Norman. After all, we don’t know what Duke and Boots are doing to my friends up at the house, do we?’
‘No,’ Norman replied. ‘We don’t.’
But knowing those two psychos I have a fair idea.
‘Stay here,’ Pamela told him. Her expression was businesslike. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
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