A Crying Shame

by William W. Johnstone

  Goddamn it! The mule did die. We didn’t elect a mule as lieutenant governor. Look, Badon . . . this may be a big joke to you. I think it is. I think you get your jollies out of combat and killing. But it’s no joke to me. I’m in a bind, man.”

  It’s no joke, Mike, and I don’t view it as such. Come on out, we’ll talk.”

  I’ll be there in an hour or so. I’ve got to see a man first.”

  Doug Cooper met Booger at the east edge of the Crying Swamp. Both men were armed. Cooper said, You can’t be serious. You’re not going to help those things, Booger.”

  They’re family, Doug. My family and your family. We owe it to them.”

  We owe them nothing. We’ve got a right to live normal lives. That’s what I’ve been doing and plan to keep right on doing.”

  You better get your ass out of my way, Cousin. I mean it.”

  Doug raised his shotgun, his eyes meeting Booger’s yellow-tinted eyes.

  Hold it!” A voice spoke from behind them. Light reflected off the .357 on his hip and off the sheriff’s department shoulder patch. The man walked to the now-silent cousins. The three of them stood chatting for a moment.

  You really want to do this thing, Doug?” the lawman asked.

  Only to the ones who have gone crazy and turned to killing. Lord! You know I wouldn’t harm our . . . parents.”

  Booger grinned. You have trouble with the word ‘parent,’ Cousin. What’s the matter? Are you ashamed of our natural parents?”

  I didn’t say that!”

  No, that’s right.” The lawman put his hand on the man’s shoulder. You sure didn’t. Booger, you go on home; your wife’s in a stew worryin’ ’bout you. Go on. I’ll talk to Doug. See you around.”

  After Booger had faded into the darkness, the men stood silent until his pickup turned over and he was gone. Then Doug said, He don’t know ‘bout our plan for in the mornin’.”

  No. I picked only the ones I knew were pure, and would keep their mouths shut.”

  I hope this works.”

  It will.”

  The men chatted for a few moments longer. They shook hands, laughed, and then walked from the swamp’s edge.

  The lawman stood alone for a time, looking at the swamp, before he got into his car and drove away.

  It’s about damned time you showed up,” Blackwell said, anger still very much evident in his voice and manner. He stood with hands on his hips. I get the feeling you are trying to avoid me.”

  It was not put as a question.

  That’s not true,” the mortician said.

  All right, Ralph,” the newspaperman said, calming himself—momentarily, at least. Just too much happening around here to suit me. Too much. It raises the hackles on me, brings out the natural curiosity. No pictures available on those killed. Why? How were they killed? Shot? Stabbed? Clubbed? What? What’s the big mystery? So here is what I want from you: you open those boxes. I want to see Breaux and that other fellow.”

  I can’t do that, Les. You know that. Sheriff Saucier, he sealed those coolers. Les, believe me, I don’t know what’s going on around here.”

  But you know what’s in those boxes, Ralph. Don’t try to tell me you don’t.”

  Yes.” The man’s eyes went suddenly flat. I do. Of course, I do.”

  Well, now I want to know. The public has a right to know. So come on.” He began walking toward the sealed coolers in the rear of the funeral home.

  Les! Don’t do this. You’re in violation of the law. The judge signed those orders sealing the coolers.”

  Hell with the judge. He’s in cahoots with Saucier.” Blackwell marched to the rear of the building to stand before the narrow pull-out coolers. You open them, Ralph, or I will.”

  I’m not touching those seals, Les, and you’d better not either. Go on home, Les. Forget it and I will. I’m warning you; don’t do it.”

  Warning me, Ralph?” Blackwell glared at the man, detecting a note of . . . something he had never heard from the owner of the funeral home. That sounds very much like a threat to me. Where do you get off threatening me?”

  Ralph remained silent, only his eyes flashing danger!

  I thought so.” Blackwell falsely read cowardice from the silence. He reached out and jerked off the paper seals. He opened Paul Breaux’s cooler, then Guy’s temporary home for dead studs with the ultimate cock—which no one had been able to find. Disappointed even in death.

  Blackwell paled, fought back sudden nausea. The bodies, at the request of the judge and Sheriff Saucier, had not been reconstructed. The coolers were full of bits and pieces of human bodies and little piles of organs and entrails.

  Oh, my God!” Blackwell hissed, wiping his dry lips with the back of his hand. He could see bite marks on the larger chunks of human flesh. I’ve got to get to a phone, got to call this in to AP. What a story!” He turned, conscious of Ralph staring at him. Strangely. The eyes of the men touched across the distance. The mortician always did have funny-looking eyes. Yellow-tinged. Kind of like an animal’s. What the hell is your problem, Ralph?”

  Who are you going to call, Les?”

  The Associated Press, if it’s any of your business—which it isn’t.”

  Have all kinds of people prowling around in here, huh, Les? Creating all sorts of problems for something that never meant anybody any harm.”

  Ralph, what are you babbling about? Are you drunk? Been smelling formaldehyde to get high? That’s a cheap thrill.” He laughed at his humor. He felt better. What a story this would be! Might even win him the Pulitzer. Honor and glory and money, for sure.

  You just had to meddle, didn’t you?” Ralph moved closer to an instrument tray, gleaming under the harsh light. Just couldn’t let well enough alone, could you? Just couldn’t let us work it out ourselves. We were going to kill off the bad ones. Mamma told me so last time I saw her.” He smiled, then picked up a scalpel. My real mamma, Blackwell. I don’t think you’d like her very much, wouldn’t have too much in common.” He chuckled. But in my ... half-world, Mamma was—and is—considered a real beauty.”

  Your real mamma? What the hell are you talking about, Ralph? No one knows who your real mamma is. You were found naked on a porch. You and—”

  Ralph cut him with the razor-sharp scalpel; cut him across the face, a long slanting slice, from left eye all the way down to the angle of the right side of his chin. The blood leaped from his face, squirting from the gaping wound.

  Blackwell screamed, staggering back against the cooler wall as Ralph sliced at him again, missing in his haste. Ralph moved slowly toward the newspaperman. Les grabbed the man’s wrist. But his fingers were sticky from blood and sweat and he lost his grip.

  Ralph brought the scalpel down hard, cutting the editor from shoulder to waist, the sharp instrument grating against bone. Blackwell screamed his pain and backhanded the smaller man, staggering him. Ralph stabbed him in the stomach then slipped in the blood on the tiled floor. Blackwell ran from the room, a trail of crimson following him. One eye dangled from an empty socket, hanging down his cheek. It gave him a very peculiar slant on where he was going and where he had been.

  Ralph ran after him, the bloody knife in his bloody hand. Blackwell could swear the man was snarling and growling. Like an animal.

  Dr. von Pappen?” Mike said. Dr. Lewis? You both look grim.”

  Close off this parish,” Walter said. Block the bridges and roads and warn your fellow lawmen in the surrounding parishes.”

  Mike wiped his sweaty forehead. Warn them of what, sir?”

  He wasn’t really sure he wanted to hear the reply to his question.

  It isn’t rabies,” Karl said. But it does create pockets of pus in the brain. We believe the suppuration literally alters the brain process. For a time. Then, we believe, it runs its course. Dies. We don’t know—at this time—what causes the infection, or why it suddenly dies. The body produces some defense against it, would be my guess. In a properly equipped lab . . .”—he spread his big han
ds—”. . . in time, we would probably discover answers to our questions. But here . . .” He shook his head.

  It’s infectious?” Jon asked.

  Oh, my, yes,” Walter said. Very much so. But we don’t believe it’s airborne. Ninety-nine percent certain of that. And that is something we can all be thankful for.”

  I’m glad you found something to be thankful about in all this mess,” Mike said.

  Jon studied the sheriff, not in an obvious manner, but whenever the opportunity to do so undetected presented itself. That little worrisome item about Mike was now clear, no longer mysterious and elusive: the man never took off his sunglasses. Jon stepped around behind the man and glanced into one of the lenses. The glasses were not prescription; not that he could tell. But they were Photograys.

  Odd, Jon thought.

  And the man—a handsome man—isn’t married and never talks about dating anyone.

  And he has shown absolutely no interest in either Linda or Debra or Tammy ... that I have noticed, Jon amended. Maybe the man is just one cool dude?

  Maybe.

  Or maybe he knows he is one of Them and wants his genes to die.

  And maybe, he thought, I am full of shit about this man.

  Von Pappen was saying, . . . think from our brief study of the brains of these Links, the ... let’s call it a virus ... triggers a great sexual drive in those infected. Ummm,” he mused, yes.” He glanced at Walter. ”Are we on the same wave link, Walter?” He smiled. No pun intended.”

  I assure you, none was taken. Perhaps. If your theory is correct, that is. It might be a marvelous breakthrough. Oh, my, yes. Just think ... consider this for a moment, Karl: first we find the suppurative and break it down. It could be a great aid in—if we could reverse it, that is—in containing an overactive sex drive. Why in prisons alone ... oh, yes.”

  Greatest thing since saltpeter.” Jon’s comment was as dry as the world’s best martini.

  Oh, I assure you, Jon,”—Von Pappen beamed—the ramifications—medically speaking—would be far greater than—”

  What in the hell are you people talking about?” Mike interrupted. Oh . . . never mind! I don’t want to know. You just tell me this: if a human being is bitten by one of these ugly ... fuckers roaming around the swamps, is that person going to die?”

  Picturesque way of phrasing your question,” Walter said. But in reply, probably not. At least we don’t believe so. But that person will become insane. At least temporarily ... perhaps permanently.”

  You don’t know for sure?” Mike asked, his face a mask of mental anguish.

  My dear man,” Karl said patiently, how could we know at this time? We have a few instruments—more being shipped in; be here this night—but still not enough to fully equip a proper laboratory. I will give you an opinion, and please bear in mind it is just that. We believe—in Christy’s case, we know—the Links rape instantly, where they find their victims. They, unlike their parents, grandparents, et cetera, if one is to believe Paul Breaux’s work, attack for self-gratification first, then take the woman for breeding purposes. Then, when this ... infection runs its course, they probably return to some degree of normalcy. But we don’t know to what extent the brain is damaged. Miss Nelson told me the Links she witnessed were, she thought, all young males. The older, larger male she saw saved her life. So, taking that into consideration, I feel it would be grossly unfair to start killing all Links simply because of the actions of a few.” He glared at Jon.

  Mike sighed.

  Karl?” Walter said. Do you believe the older males carry this infection? Dormant, perhaps?”

  The German shook his head. Nein. No, I do not. I have no scientific data to support that, however. It is merely a ... a ... Gefuhl.” He looked at Jon.

  Feeling,” the mercenary said.

  Ja,” the German said, nodding his head, lapsing into his mother tongue, as he almost always did when deep in thought. Das was es ist.” He walked toward the door, toward the night, muttering to himself. Jon’s voice halted him. He looked around. Ja?”

  You know the rules, Karl. If you’re going outside, take a gun. Always. I’m not going to wet-nurse either of you. Get used to it.”

  The German smiled, his gaze touching Dr. Lewis. Both men smiled, Lewis saying, Will shotguns be quite sufficient, Jon?”

  No.” His reply was terse. You both know better. I issued you sidearms; where are they?” Both scientists shrugged; each wore a sheepish look. Get them,” Jon said. And bear in mind what a scratch or a bite from an infected Link will do to your brains.”

  That was more than enough to brand the arms rule into the minds of the scientists. They carefully chose rifles from the well-stocked gun cabinet. Jon knew they both were expert shots and, unlike most men in their field, would not hesitate to shoot if they felt their lives—or the life of a friend—were endangered.

  Sheriff Saucier walked to the door. I have some ... heavy thinking to do. I have twelve thousand reasons to do some soul-searching. Before he returned to Baton Rouge, Governor Parker ordered me to sit on this ... situation. Give Jon a chance to clean it up—if he could. But I agree with Jon; it’s too late for any one man to do much. I may be wrong, though.

  I think Joe is going to gather up a bunch of good ol’ boys and really muddy up the waters; they’ll stir up the Links, and probably get some people killed. Maybe a lot of people. That’s a big swamp out there. Thousands and thousands of acres. And I don’t give a good goddamn what the state boys say; I believe there are parts of that swamp that have never been fully explored.”

  The sheriff was right. There are some geologists who believe that the earthquakes of 1811-1812, which created Reelfoot Lake in west Tennessee, destroyed the town of New Madrid, Missouri, and caused the mighty Mississippi River to run backward for a time, also created a small lake in north Louisiana, near Tallulah. Some even go so far as to speculate that the same massive quake also created many deep caves in north and central Louisiana. Very deep caves.

  They are correct in that assumption.

  Almost directly in the center of the Crying Swamp there is an island, about a quarter of a mile wide, one mile long. It is a very peculiar piece of land, this island, this high ground, almost as if it had been belched up from the bowels of the inner earth, thrust forcibly upward.

  That is exactly what happened.

  Before the quakes of 1811-1812, the Links really had no fear of man; they were stronger, adapted to the swamps, and could and would avoid humans whenever possible. Which was always. Many people, white and Indian, have come within inches of Links ... and never known they were being watched.

  That is true to this day.

  But shortly after the great quake in Missouri and Tennessee, which was felt in several states, including Louisiana, settlers began moving into the areas around the great swamp, and the Links felt the island to be their safest haven. In a short time they discovered the caves beneath the island, and there they went when humans drew too near.

  The caverns were dank, dark, and odious—but safe for the Links. Some of the caverns ran for miles under the swamp, gently angling downward, then upward; some dead-ending, a few with exits. It was at the spot where the deepest cave leveled before turning upward toward the exit hole that the Links placed their dead. For a hundred and seventy years their dead had been placed there, the skulls showing the evolutionary change in the bone structure of their faces, as generations marched on. The skulls grinned, shining whitely in the near darkness, amid the hair and rotting flesh.

  And the snakes. And the rats. And the bats.

  For years, only the clan leaders of the Links knew of the main cavern, but with the fast approach of man, who destroyed everything he touched under the name of progress, all the Links soon learned of the last refuge of safety.

  The sex-starved, maddened young males knew of it, too, and knew of the escape routes under the swamp, leading not only to Fountain Parish, but to the surrounding parishes, as well.

  Several fisher
men over the years, when they had approached too closely to the hidden entrances and exits, had just disappeared. Their boats had been found floating upside down, miles from the actual site of their disappearances. Many a fisherman roared through the edges of the swamp in an expensive bass rig, screwing up the vegetation, destroying the delicate flowers, and forever upsetting the balance of nature by spewing gas and oil into the waters, and tossing beer cans and pop bottles into the swamp.

  After the Links had learned to recognize the boats and the routes and the favorite fishing spots (honey holes), several fishermen had had trees or branches fall on them. Terrible accident, you know.

  Many ecologists would loudly applaud the actions of the Links.

  As Sheriff Saucier was pulling out, driving alone through the hot darkness, Linda said, It’s curious, you know?”

  What?” Jon looked at her.

  Mike Saucier. He’s always alone. Knowing all the danger around him, you’d think he’d have a deputy riding with him. He’s ordered his men to double up. It’s almost as if he knows he won’t be harmed by the Links.” She looked into Jon’s eyes. Have you ever thought of that?”

  Yes,” the mercenary said. Many times.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Jon knew, from years of knowledge learned in the highly charged world of international combat, that events were fast coming to a head in the parish. He sensed the Links would soon have to go on the offensive. Attack! The grounds around the plantation were ablaze with light. Jon sat alone in the den.

  Tammy had latched onto Karl, and there were heavy grunting sounds coming from another bedroom on the second floor. Jon knew they would go on for hours; the German was as insatiable as Tammy appeared to be. The sexy blonde would get all the exercise she wanted this night—and more.

  After Saucier had left, Jon had posted Walter Lewis on guard, told the others to stay inside, and had driven into town. The hot summer night lay heavy on the land, almost oppressive in its humid grip. But Jon drove with the air conditioner off, window lowered on the driver’s side, his elbow tasting the hot rush of night. Tension lay thick on the town; Jon could almost taste it. And as he drove, slowly, looking at the town, he wondered more about Mike Saucier. The man had refused, flatly, to go into the swamps with him. Jon did not believe the man was afraid, but if not that, what?