Don’t snag yourself climbing the fence,” Jean was warned. This is barbed wire.”
I’m not that stupid!”
While the girls were parking their bikes, their backs to the swamp, the Links crawled and slithered closer.
The girls jumped the narrow spit of water and spent a moment kicking the ground, looking for snakes. Satisfied they were safe from cottonmouths and rattlers and an occasional coral snake, the girls dropped to the ground and sprawled out on the slightly damp coolness under the arms of the live oak tree.
How far you think we rode this afternoon?” Jean asked.
Oh ... pretty good ways, I reckon. Just about one o’clock.”
How could you know that? You’re not even wearing a watch.”
The sun.” She pointed. See, it’s just off center toward the west.”
Christy and Jean lay in silence for a few moments, catching their breath, for they had been racing down the blacktop for a mile, ending in a dead tie.
Christy sniffed the air. Phew! What is that smell? Did you poot?”
Christy! No, I didn’t. God! That does smell bad, doesn’t it?”
The Links remained perfectly still behind the girls. Only a few more yards to go. The maddened young males did not know that they, too, were being observed from a distance.
The girls looked around them; they could see nothing except the dark waters of the swamp behind them and the gloom that seemed to hang over the sluggish water.
Probably a dead animal back in the swamp,” Christy said.
Jean looked into the murkiness. She shivered unexpectedly as a small finger of fear traced wetly up her back. Place sure looks spooky.”
Christy decided to have a little fun with the city girl. It’s called the Crying Swamp.”
Jean closed her eyes. Why?”
Because strange noises are often heard in there . . . coming from real deep in the swamp. Kind of in a haunting way.”
Jean opened her eyes and kept them open. What kind of haunting noises?”
Wild, weird noises. Like people screaming and women crying in pain and fear.”
I think I’m ready to go now, Christy.” She stood up, flushing at her new friend’s laughter. She looked behind her, at the murky waters. Her sudden screaming chilled her companion. It was a scream of pure terror.
Christy had time only to get to her knees before something foul and ugly knocked her spinning, back to the mossy earth. She had a side view of the most horrible-looking creature she’d ever witnessed . . . even in a scary monster movie. It was all covered with hair, with huge dangling arms and claws for hands. Its big head had mean yellow eyes and teeth that hung over apelike lips.
And that thing that dangled between its legs.
She knew what that was. And there wasn’t any way that was gonna be stuck in her.
But she was wrong.
She opened her mouth to scream her panic but a clawlike hand clamped over her mouth, the other hand ripping at her cutoff jeans. From where she was pinned, she had a close-up view of the dangling sex organ.
She shut her eyes, trying to kick her way free. Something heavy slammed her on the side of the head, stunning her. She saw bright lights and spinning balls of fire and heard the incessant clanging of bells. But through the lights and the fire and the bells she could hear Jean wailing. Squalling was more like it. Then she heard the girl begging for them to stop.
It hurts! It hurts!” Jean screamed.
An awful scream.
A second later the girl’s shrieking was abruptly silenced.
Christy opened her eyes. She kept them open, frozen open in sheer horror.
Jean was on her knees, held there by the . . . things. She was naked from the waist down. One of those . . . things was doing it to her, driving and hunching in and out of her. Blood dripped down the girl’s thighs. But Christy could see that Jean was unconscious.
Christy tried to think of a prayer. But all she could think of was the Laclede High School fight song. And she could not get that idiot melody out of her mind. She didn’t think her high-school fight song would be much help at a time like this.
She passionately wished she had paid more attention to the sermons at church.
She felt herself jerked to her knees, hard, clawlike fingers jerked away the remnants of her panties. Oh God! she prayed, the stench of the creature’s body sickening her. God, please help me. She tried to bite the paw over her mouth; all that got her was a slap on the side of the head. It hurt. The beasts were grunting, kind of like laughing, she guessed, and pointing at her. If that was a laugh, she thought, and somehow she knew it was, I sure don’t want to make them mad.
The Link behind her put one of its fingers inside her, then another, spreading her virgin lips. Then that hardness was pushing against her, and the pain began. She felt intense pain, and then felt herself give in to the pressure; she almost blacked out. The penis slammed and slid inside her. Then, mercifully, she passed out.
She did not know how long she had been unconscious. She awakened to a world of pain, her private parts hurting fiercely. She lay with her cheek pressed against cool moss. The creatures were grunting savagely, almost as if they were arguing.
They were.
She had enough presence of mind to remain perfectly still, to keep her breathing shallow, to attract no attention. She did not move her head, just barely cracked her eyelids. She could not see Jean. Did not know her friend was gone, carried off into the swamp—to be used for breeding purposes.
She could feel warm blood and sticky stuff on her bare thighs. Icky-feeling stuff. She knew what that stuff was, too. One time her then-boyfriend, exasperated by Christy’s refusal to give him any pussy, had persuaded her to jack him off. She had got that icky stuff all over her hands. It was gross. All over the dashboard, too. The guy had acted like it was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him; acted like he was gonna pass out or something. He’d moaned and sighed and shivered and closed his eyes and altogether acted the fool.
She never dated him again. But he did tell the story all over school that Christy had sucked him off; really gave great head, man. Deep-throated him.
Bastard.
Christy was just barely sixteen, but she was no fool. She was a very level-headed country girl, having spent her formative years, before moving into Laclede, on a working farm. She was earthy for her age, and also for her age, practical. She knew if she was ever going to get away from these . . . things, monsters, she’d damned well better do it quickly.
She opened her eyes wider. Three of those things were arguing with a great big . . . whatever in the hell they were. All were standing about twenty yards from where she lay. The big one was standing facing her, but not looking at her.
Suddenly, he shifted his eyes and for one heart-stopping moment looked right into her eyes. He quickly put his back to her . . . and motioned to her! Was that possible? The Link turned as if making a point with body English and again looked right at her! He pointed with the hand he held behind his back, pointed toward the road! He gestured impatiently with the hidden hand, signaling her to go. He then grabbed and began shaking one of the smaller . . . uglies.
Christy realized escape was either now, or never. She gathered all her strength, all she could muster, and carefully digging the toes of her tennis shoes into the soft, damp earth, leaped to her feet, running hard for the fence. She heard the beasts scream in anger and leap after her. She saw, out of the corner of her eye, the big one stick out a foot and trip one of them. Then she could see no more because she was over the fence, ripping a gash in her leg. She was on the blacktop, running for her life—literally.
She heard one of the monsters scream. It was not a scream of anger; it was a yell of pain and shock. She hoped it was not the one who had helped her escape, but she feared it was.
Christy put her strong young legs to work. She cut off the blacktop and into a turn-row, heading down a row of beans.
She gave it everything she had,
heading for the plantation house, about a mile and a half away. She looked behind her; the beasts were gaining, closing the distance.
Christy began screaming.
Blackwell had worked himself into a blue funk searching for Sheriff Saucier. He could find neither the sheriff nor that religious nut, Ratliff. He roared about town in his Cadillac, cursing under his breath, blood pressure soaring. He decided he’d go to the funeral home, demand to see the bodies of those killed, by God. Blackwell would get to the bottom of all this if he had to intimidate half the people in the parish. Something awfully fishy was going on; there was too much secrecy about these deaths.
Mamma?” Booger called into the gloom of the great swamp. Mamma? Where are you? I brought you some things, Mamma.”
A growl came out of the gloom. But it was a friendly growl.
Governor Parker buzzed his secretary. Make me an appointment with Doctor Glary for tomorrow, will you, Susie?”
Yes, sir. You feel all right, Governor?”
I feel lousy, Susie. Real bad.”
Mike Saucier was driving toward the great swamp, toward a point to which he often went to sit and think and reflect and relax and review any troublesome matters. He felt very much at home in the swamp. Almost as if he had some link with the place.
Be quiet!” Jon snarled the command, startling and silencing the men and women in the den. Listen!” he said, rising to his feet.
Very faint screaming drifted to them. A girl’s yelling, full of fear.
The women started for the door. Jon’s hard voice halted them. Get your goddamned weapons!” he roared. Don’t ever forget them.”
He picked up a bolt-action rifle leaning in a corner of the room and roughly shoved Tammy out of his way. He jerked open the front door. Jon jacked a round into the chamber of the rifle as he spotted the figure of the girl racing toward the house, kicking up dust pockets in the field.
Jon shouted to her. Head that way!” he pointed. Then angle to the house. Stay out of my line of fire, girl.”
He smiled grimly as she instantly followed orders. Shifting direction, clearing a path of fire for him, she angled toward the plantation house. Jon could tell she had almost reached the limit of her endurance; she was beginning to stagger.
Using a support post for a brace, Jon leveled the .30-06, allowed for distance as he sighted through the fixed iron sights, and squeezed the trigger gently, allowing the weapon to fire itself.
He knocked one Link sprawling, but knew from the pop of dust he had only wounded the beast, high in the shoulder. The Link jumped to its feet, howling insanely. Jon shot him in the center of the chest. This time the Link stayed down.
The other two Links dropped to the earth, the soybeans hiding them. Jon laid the rifle on the floor of the porch and ran inside, grabbing up his M-10 and canvas clip pouch. He was shouting instructions as he ran out the front door and off the porch.
Get the girl. Call Saucier and tell him what’s happened.”
Then Jon was gone, jogging down the road that paralleled the field, jogging slowly, checking each row as he went.
Mister!” Christy called, using the last of her reserve of breath. If you see a great big one, don’t hurt him. He saved my life.”
Von Pappen heard and roared from the porch, You see, you . . . you verruckt Mann! Crazy, that’s you. There are good and bad among the Links. They must be saved, you . . . dummkopf!” He looked at the young girl running toward him. Oh, mein Gott!” Karl stepped off the porch and held out his massive arms, Christy literally falling into them. He picked her up effortlessly and carried her into the house.
Jon jogged down the dirt turn-row, passing the row where the dead Link lay, sprawled and bloody, stinking into the sun. He suddenly ran forward in a burst of speed, heading for the blacktop. The M-10 was held at combat-ready, safety off, the weapon on full auto. In a moment Jon slowed to a watchful walk, knowing the two Links were still in the bean field, anticipating a charge from them.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Linda walking down the road from the house, a weapon in her hand. He smiled. Gutsy lady. He wondered if she held the over/under twenty-gauge. He hoped, if one of the Links charged her, she would wait until it was close before firing. After having seen the beasts, Jon had doubts as to the effectiveness of the light shotgun; he was curious as to its knockdown power.
The smell warned him. The stench from the Link heavy in his nostrils, he slowed his step, his boots kicking up little hot puddles of dust. Sweat stained his back, his armpits. He wiped his forehead before the sweat could drip into his eyes, impairing his vision. The Link was close, but Jon was ready when it reared up and charged, screaming at him, drool from its mouth fouling the hot air.
Jon leveled the M-10, left hand on the padded extension silencer. He pulled the trigger, the slugs taking the Link from left to right, hip to shoulder with the rise of the weapon, knocking it sprawling amid the soybeans. The hideous beast shrieked and kicked, trembled, and then died.
The August air was hot and still, no breeze stirring the torrid summer. Jon spun as Linda’s over/under boomed. Once, then again. He ran across the field toward her just as the Link was staggering to its feet, lurching at the woman, hands clawing, reaching for her. The twenty-gauge had wounded it, but not stopped it.
Linda stood her ground, pulling the automatic pistol from leather, leveling it, firing. She pulled the trigger three times. The Link howled in pain, falling backward, screaming, blood leaking from its wounds. Linda stepped closer, took careful aim, and shot the creature between the eyes. The yowling ceased.
He was at her side. She was calm, unruffled. She said, I shot that damned thing twice with a shotgun and four times with a pistol before it died. Son of a bitch!” she griped.
They’ve got hides like leather,” Jon told her, taking the shotgun. We’ll find you a heavier weapon. I noticed a Winchester Model 1200 in the cabinet, chambered for slugs. That will stop them. Put enough lead in them, pushed by a heavy powder load, and they’ll fall.”
She was cool and under full control as she ejected the clip from the pistol and shoved four fresh cartridges into it. Jon began looking at her in a different light, in a manner in which he had never before viewed any woman. She lifted her head, meeting his eyes.
Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked.
Because I like what I see. You are one hell of a woman.”
You saw everything I had the other night, or have you forgotten?”
Hardly, cherie. But that was not what I meant.”
You and Debra . . . you were once lovers?”
For a day and a night only. Are you jealous?”
I might be. What’s it to you, mercenaire?”
He smiled his reply.
A quoi pensez-vous?”
You. Je vous desire.”
You’ve had me, Jon.”
Again, not what I meant.”
You want me . . . even though I might be related to . . .”—she cut her eyes to the dead Link—. . . those things?”
The stench from the dead Link was horrendous; they moved out of the field, walking slowly back to the house.
That would only make you more interesting.”
Her smile touched him as none ever had, as intimately as a caress. Very well. Then that’s the way it shall be.”
Oh?” His returning smile held more warmth than she had ever seen from his lips. Well now . . . that has something of a permanent ring to it.”
Peut-etre que oui. But would you have objections to that?”
None.” He touched her waist. But isn’t this quite sudden and isn’t it something a man first asks?”
I’m a very liberated woman.”
Ah. Well good. How liberated?”
She smiled, stopped, and pulled his head down, kissing him. She whispered something positively pornographic in his ear.
How crude, Linda!” He feigned great shock. I much prefer the term oral sex.’”
Chapter Ten
After escorting Linda back to the house, Jon walked down the road for a time, then stepped over the fence and entered the gloom of the swamp. He found the spot where the girls had been seized and assaulted, found blood spots on the moss and a larger spot of blood some yards from the rape scene. The Link who had helped her escape, he concluded. Badly hurt. The blood trailed into the swamp, Jon losing it at water’s edge.
Again, he sensed he was being watched, but this time was not sure if he was being observed by the maddened Links or their more normal relations.
He was suddenly torn between right and wrong. Did he really want to kill those who meant him no harm; who would risk their lives, to save a young girl?
Goddamn it!” he cursed in frustration.
He turned away from the eyes he knew were watching and made his way back to the blacktop. The mercenary was irritated at his personal vacillation on a subject that had once been so firm in his thoughts.
He shook his head angrily and walked back to the plantation house, arriving there just seconds after Mike Saucier’s patrol car.
Jon checked his watch. He had been gone for only a few minutes, not nearly enough time for Mike to drive from town. The sheriff must have been close to Despair when he received the call.
Doing what?
Nothing around here but swamp for miles and miles.
Theft, maybe.
Jon was wary of Mike Saucier. Something about the man wasn’t adding up, wasn’t slipping into the right niche. And Jon was a hunch player from way back.
Linda met him at the front walk. Mike got out here very quickly,” she remarked. It usually takes them about thirty-five to forty-five minutes. Believe me, I know.”
He must have been close.”
Doing what? Nothing but swamp for miles around.”
Jon shrugged, a quizzical light briefly appearing in his eyes as if he had suddenly recalled something. Who knows?”
A Crying Shame Page 14