After Midnight

by Richard Laymon

  By now, he had a face of blood from my shot to his head. The rest of his body was a mess, too. A worse mess than before. Now, it wasn’t just the woman’s old, dry blood. It was his blood, too, and plenty of it. It was pouring out of four or five holes in his chest and belly.

  Have you ever seen those cartoons where a character gets all shot up, then drinks a glass of water and suddenly he’s squirting out of every hole?

  It was like that.

  Except these holes weren’t really squirting. They were flowing like garden hoses when the water is just barely turned on.

  A guy shot up like that shouldn’t have still been coming at me. And he certainly shouldn’t still have a hard-on. What kind of a freak was he?

  “You’re dead!” I shouted as he lumbered closer. “Fall down, you motherfucking idiot! Don’t you know when you’re dead?”

  He raised his head slowly and grinned at me.

  What a nice thing. What lovely teeth. Brown and crooked. Maybe it was just my mind playing tricks, but I thought I could see shreds of flesh caught between some of them.

  I gagged.

  He stopped just on the other side of the fire. Still grinning, he drew back his right arm. He was getting ready to throw the hatchet at me.

  I stuck my own right arm straight out over the fire, shouted, “Eat this!” and fired.

  Instead of going into his open mouth the way I wanted, my bullet slashed his right cheek open and punched a hole through his earlobe.

  My slide locked back.

  I gasped, “Shit!”

  He hurled the hatchet. It flew at me over the fire, tumbling, coming straight for my face.

  I dodged it. The damn thing came so close that I felt a gust of air against my left cheek. And I’d lurched sideways too fast. I stumbled, trying to stay on my feet. Then I fell.

  The bastard cried out, “Ah-ha!”

  He thought he had me.

  As he staggered his way around the fire, I rolled over, got to my hands and knees, and tried to scurry up. My feet slipped on the dewy grass. I fell and banged my knees, and he gained on me.

  “Get away from me!” I yelled.

  He grunted and kept coming.

  He was almost on me by the time I made it up and launched myself out of reach.

  “Thata girl!” Judy cried out.

  Cheering me on from the sidelines.

  “Get his ax!” she yelled.

  I’d already thought of that.

  I’d already spotted it, too. The hatchet lay flat on the ground about fifteen feet beyond where I’d been standing before my fall.

  I could get to it, but I needed a lead. I’d have to swoop down and snatch it up. Without a good lead, he might end up on my back.

  “Die, you bastard!” I yelled as I ran.

  He giggled. Giggled! Do you believe it?

  Maybe he had a right to giggle. He’d taken all the bullets I could throw at him. Now, he was only a few strides behind me. He’d be on top of me if I slowed down to pick up the hatchet. And he’d probably plunge his knife into my back.

  So I didn’t slow down, I dived. Slamming the dewy grass, I slid on my chest and belly, my arms reaching out ahead of me. In mid-slide, I grabbed the hatchet with my right hand. As I skidded to a stop, I flipped onto my back.

  Grinning, the big boy sank to his knees in the grass just beyond my feet.

  He clamped the knife between his teeth, then leaned forward and clutched my ankles. Grunting, he jerked them apart. He started pulling me toward him.

  I don’t know what the hell he thought he was doing.

  Well, maybe he wanted to pull me closer in order to work some sort of mischief on me. If you can call rape and murder mischief, which I’m not sure would be proper.

  Anyway, he obviously wasn’t thinking straight.

  How could he, with all those bullets in him?

  I slid toward him on the seat of my cut-offs. He kept forcing my legs farther apart as if he wanted to dive between them. Judy dangled in silence from her limb.

  When he dragged me close enough, I raised the hatchet high and swung it down with all my might. It got him in the back of the head.

  WHUNK!

  Chopped him deep, the hatchet busting through his skull and into the mush underneath. Blood and stuff flew up, glistening in the firelight.

  He grunted.

  He farted.

  Then he plunged forward.

  Like he had it all planned to land on top of me and pin me down, crush me, suffocate me, kill me with his corpse.

  I jerked the hatchet, trying to turn him away. With a slurp, it jumped out of his head and I was left holding it. Before I could scoot out of the way, he bumped me in the stomach. Then his head slid lower as if he wanted to shove it down the front of my cut-offs. It was too big to fit in, though. So it stayed outside. The next thing I knew, it was shoving at my crotch. As he kept on falling, his head acted like a plow and pushed me ahead of him.

  By the time he’d finished, I was in the clear.

  23

  SURVIVOR

  Utterly worn out, I lay on my back and figured I might stay that way for an hour or two. But the top of the guy’s head was jammed between my legs, big and leaking blood through my cut-offs and making me all sticky down there.

  So I squirmed to get away from it.

  When nothing of me was touching him anymore, I sprawled and shut my eyes and took deep breaths.

  Vaguely, I knew that I had to get up. A lot needed to be done. But I had no interest in moving.

  “Alice!” Judy called.

  “Yeah?” I answered, not even bothering to lift my head.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I guess.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  “That’s great. You really did great. You saved our lives.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you come over here and cut me down?”

  I didn’t answer, just sighed and stayed on my back.

  After a minute or two, Judy said, “Please?”

  “What’s your hurry?” I called to her.

  “This isn’t very comfortable.”

  No kidding, I thought.

  Even though the ground felt good under my back, I wasn’t very comfortable, either. I ached just about everywhere. I was sweaty and itchy. And I didn’t like how my cut-offs were soaked with the dead guy’s blood. I needed a bath and a bed.

  “Alice?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Come on, okay? Please?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.” I picked up the hatchet, got to my feet, and stood over the body. It wasn’t a pretty sight, I can tell you that. You should’ve seen the butt on this guy. It would’ve ruined your appetite for a week.

  Anyway, I thought about going for his knife. It had fallen out of his mouth when I chopped him. It was probably on the ground underneath him, somewhere in the region of his waist.

  Only one problem about getting it.

  I didn’t want to touch him.

  “What’re you doing?” Judy asked.

  “Nothing.”

  I’d managed to keep Tony’s loafers on, so I sat down on the grass near the side of Fatso the Friendly Corpse. Drawing in my legs, I swiveled around so my feet were aimed his way. Then I leaned back, braced myself up with my arms, placed the bottoms of my shoes against his hip and buttock, and punched out.

  His body lurched and shook, but didn’t go much of anyplace. So I kept ramming it with both feet, shoving it and kicking it until finally he rolled onto his side as if he wanted to take a look at this gal who was making his life so difficult.

  The knife was a little lower than where I’d expected to find it. Good thing I hadn’t tried to grab it by reaching under him. I might’ve gotten a handful of something that wasn’t a knife.

  Anyway, I picked it up.

  The fire had dwindled quite a bit, by then. On my way over to it, I found the .22 on the ground. I couldn’t remember dropping it, bu
t there it was. When I put the pistol into the right rear pocket of my cut-offs, I noticed that I’d lost the rock I’d tucked back there.

  I kept losing stuff.

  It was turning into a trend.

  Near the campfire, I set down the hatchet and knife on one of the larger rocks. Then I went to the small pile of firewood and started adding pieces to the flames. Soon, a pretty good blaze was going.

  I emptied my pockets to find out what I still had.

  The pistol. Two red bandanas and one white handkerchief. Judy’s keys, Tony’s keys, my keys. And Tony’s wallet.

  Inspiration striking me, I dropped Tony’s wallet and keys into the fire.

  “What’re you doing?” Judy asked.

  “A little house-cleaning.”

  I put everything else back into my pockets. Down in the fire, flames wrapped the black leather wallet and key case.

  So much for my fingerprints.

  I realized, of course, that the keys wouldn’t burn. I’m not stupid. Maybe some of the things in Tony’s wallet would survive the fire, too. But that was fine. His stuff, being found here in the campsite with everything else, would probably make the cops think Tony was just another victim of Fatso.

  I stood there, added more wood, and even turned the wallet over with a stick to make sure it was burning okay.

  Then I retrieved the knife and hatchet. I dropped the hatchet into the fire, but kept the knife. After watching for a while to make sure the handle was catching fire, I started toward the tent.

  But changed my mind. For one thing, I’d seen more than enough nasty stuff for one night. The remains of Fatso’s last victim, last lover, last meal—whatever—were in there. I didn’t need to see her close up and personal.

  For another thing, why risk leaving evidence of myself inside or near the tent? I happen to know that people always leave stuff behind at crime scenes: a telltale hair or fingerprint; samples of their own blood, saliva, semen, etc.; maybe a hat, maybe a glove. This one serial killer in L.A. actually got caught because he lost his wallet at the scene of a crime and it had his driver’s license in it. Talk about morons!

  But here’s the deal. I couldn’t possibly leave any evidence of myself in or around the tent if I stayed a safe distance away from it.

  So I avoided the tent and headed for Judy.

  She was all golden and gleaming in the firelight, standing there straight and rigid with her arms high, like before. The gag was gone, but she was breathing hard, anyway.

  Gasping for air and staring at me.

  “You saved my life,” she said. Her voice sounded rough and shaky.

  “I know.”

  “I’m not your enemy.”

  “Who said you are?”

  “Nobody. But look…I know you think I’ll tell on you, but I won’t.”

  “Tell about what?”

  Looking me straight in the eyes, she said, “You killed Tony.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “That was his wallet you threw in the fire, wasn’t it? His wallet and keys.”

  “Who’s to say?”

  “Me. You killed Tony. Then you were trying to cover it up, but you came over to my place by mistake. So then you figured you had to kill me, too. Because I’d be able to recognize you. And you still want to kill me, don’t you?”

  “That’s right, Sherlock.”

  “Well, don’t. Okay? You don’t have to.”

  “Afraid I do.”

  “No, look. Like I said, you saved my life. I’m not going to do anything that’ll hurt you or get you thrown in jail or anything.”

  “It doesn’t bother you that I killed your old lover-boy?”

  She didn’t answer right away.

  “Come up with a good one,” I suggested.

  “It bothers me,” she said. “Sure it does. We were in love. But maybe he deserved what he got.”

  “And maybe he didn’t,” I said.

  “Either way, he became my enemy when he attacked me. And you became my friend when you killed Milo.”

  “Fatso? You know his name?”

  She nodded. “Milo. That’s all I know. And I know that you saved me from him. I would’ve ended up in the tent.” She shuddered, and I actually saw her chin tremble. She said, “You’re my friend now. And forever. I won’t betray you.”

  “There’s only one way I can be sure of that,” I told her.

  She glanced at the knife in my hand. Then, very quickly, she said, “No, look, I’ve got a plan.”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “The plan is for me not to kill you.”

  “Will you listen?”

  “I’ve got places to go…”

  “I’m Milo’s victim!” Judy blurted. “I’ve got his sperm in me to prove it!”

  “You do?”

  “What do you think? The first thing he did was rape me. He got me about ten minutes after I ran away from you.”

  The idea of it sickened me. That filthy, bloody slob, grunting and drooling on top of Judy while he shoved his vile cock into her.

  “I’ll tell the cops I killed him,” she said.

  “Sure.”

  “No, listen. I’ll say that Tony and I came over to park and mess around. We were going at it on the picnic table when all of a sudden this stranger jumps us and kills Tony. See? That gets you off the hook for Tony.”

  “I’ll be off the hook for Tony the second I kill you.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that. Maybe, maybe not. But I don’t think you really want to kill me. You don’t, do you?”

  “Just go on with your story.”

  “Okay. So Milo kills Tony, and I make a break for it. But he catches up to me. I can show the cops right where it happened. My clothes’ll be there. Most of them, anyway.”

  “Yeah. Your panties are over by the picnic table somewhere. In pieces.”

  “I’ll say Tony did that. He has done it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But they’ll find everything else in the place where Milo got me. They’ll find other stuff there, too, if they really look for it.”

  “Like what?”

  “You know.”

  “Your blood and his semen?”

  Nodding slightly, she said, “And I guess our footprints. Anyway, it’ll all back up my story. And then I’ll explain about him bringing me to the camp, here, and hanging me up like this.”

  “Which he did,” I threw in.

  “Right! And the cops’ll find that poor woman in the tent, and they’ll know I would’ve been next. They’ll figure Milo was some kind of Dahmer. I’ll be a hero for killing him. And you’ll never enter the picture.”

  “How do you plan to explain killing him?”

  “Easy. While Milo was asleep in the tent, I got my hands loose and found his gun.”

  I switched the knife to my other hand, then reached into my pocket and pulled out the pistol. I raised it in front of her. “This one, right?”

  “Right.”

  “It’s Tony’s gun,” I explained. “How do you get hold of it?”

  “Easy.” A smile twitched at the unhurt corner of Judy’s mouth. “Tony took it with him when we were making out on the picnic table. He would’ve done that, too. We came here sometimes, did I tell you that? We hardly ever stepped a foot out of the car, but Tony knew this was sort of a dangerous area, so he always brought his .22 along, just in case.”

  “Why didn’t he use it when Milo attacked?”

  “It was in the pocket of his jeans, and his jeans were down around his ankles. He couldn’t reach it in time. Then, after he was dead, Milo took the pistol. And kept it.”

  “Where?”

  “In a pocket.”

  “A pocket of what?” I asked.

  “He was wearing overalls most of the time. You know, bib overalls?”

  “Cute. The pig dressed up like a farmer.”

  “Yeah. And he kept the gun in his pocket. So when I finally got my hands free, I snuck into his tent and found it. But he wok
e up and came after me. That’s when I start shooting him. Just like you did. From there on, my whole story can be almost exactly the same as how it really happened, but it’ll be me instead of you.”

  “I could leave you the loafers to wear,” I suggested. “That way, you’d match the footprints.”

  “Good idea.”

  I nodded, frowning, wondering. “It’s not a bad plan,” I admitted. “Almost sounds like something I might’ve come up with.”

  “It’ll work.”

  “That’s what you think.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Lots of stuff.”

  24

  FRIENDLY PERSUASION

  “Like what?” Judy asked. “What’s wrong with my plan? Tell me. Maybe we can work it out.”

  “I’m running out of time, here.”

  “Alice, look. I’m giving you a chance to walk away from everything. If we can work this out, the cops will think nobody was involved but me, Tony and Milo.”

  “Here’s one little problem,” I told her. “Tony’s body is in the trunk of his car. Which is parked in the garage of your apartment building.”

  She gaped at me. For a few seconds, she looked stunned and lost. But she recovered fast. “Easy,” she said. “Take my car. Drive to my place, put my car back where we got it, and come back here in Tony’s car. Park it where mine is, now. Then just leave his body in the trunk and be on your way. I’ll say Milo put him in the trunk. Hey, that’ll be perfect! He knocked me out and left me on the picnic table. That way, I’m out cold while he hauls Tony’s body over to the car. But before he can make it back, I come to and run into the woods. Then he hunts me down and, you know…the rest.”

  “That sounds okay. But where are you while I’m driving the cars back and forth?”

  “I’ll stay right here in camp.”

  “Like a good little girl,” I muttered.

  “Okay. Well, leave me tied up. But if you do, you’ll have to come back and cut me loose after you’ve dropped off Tony’s car. I mean, I can’t exactly be found like this or it’ll blow the whole story.”

  “It’ll blow the story if I help you. They’ll wanta know who cut the rope.”