She ducked through the low doorway. In the circle of light cast by her flare, she saw a rocking chair, a pedestal table, several lamps, and a sofa. She stepped away from the door. Moving sideways, she squeezed between the table and sofa. Ahead stood a weaver’s loom. She skirted to the left of it, swung a leg over the high roll of a rug, and stumbled to keep from stepping on a hand. Catching herself against a chair, she whirled around, saw wild hair, wide-open eyes, torn shoulders and breasts.
Not Jud, thank God.
Mary Ziegler.
From ankle to hip, little except bones remained of Mary’s right leg. Donna turned away, doubled over, and vomited. Her stomach, already empty, kept convulsing, wracking her with pain. Finally, it stopped. She wiped the tears from her eyes and started back toward the door.
She stepped over the rolled rug. She pressed sideways between the table and the sofa. Then, just ahead of her, the door slammed shut.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
1.
Jud made his way farther into the tunnel, crouching beneath its low ceiling, trying to fight off the sense of suffocation caused by its narrow walls. In places, the earth was shored up with boards. The work of humans.
Wick Hapson, maybe. Or Axel Kutch.
Jud knew, even before stepping into the tunnel, where it would lead him. But he hadn’t realized it would be this far. For some reason, the tunnel was not straight. It meandered like an old river, with twists and loops, and hairpin turns. At one point, it split into a Y. Jud went left. The tunnel curved, rejoined the other branch, and continued toward the west.
At every turn, his finger tensed on the pistol trigger ready for an abrupt assault by the wounded beast. But rounding each, he saw only more tunnel and another bend.
Soon he began to wonder if he had somehow passed the opening he’d expected to find. He remembered the Y. Perhaps the right-hand branch led past the house entrance before curving back to join the one he’d taken.
That seemed unlikely. Still…
He stepped around a bend, and the tunnel opened. With a sweep of his flashlight, he found himself in a cellar. Pillows and cushions, like islands, littered the floor’s blue carpet. In a far corner was the beast.
Jud walked toward it. The creature lay on its back, white arms clutching a pillow to its chest. Its long, pointed tongue hung from a corner of its mouth. Kneeling beside it, Jud pushed its snout with his gun barrel.
Dead.
Its lower body was sheathed with blood. He quickly checked, and saw that Lilly Thorn’s description of the sex organ had been accurate. Amazed and disgusted, he backed away.
He climbed the wooden stairs and entered the kitchen of the windowless house.
2.
Axel Kutch, hunched like a wrestler in front of the attic door, grinned at Donna. His bald head gleamed in the light of her flare. Curly hair matted his bulky shoulders, his arms and chest and belly—but his penis stood hairless, thick and shiny and tilted high. He limped toward her.
“Stay back.”
He shook his head.
Threatening him with the flare, Donna tried to unsling her rifle.
A two-fingered hand grasped her wrist. It twisted sharply. The flare dropped, but he didn’t stop twisting. Donna spun sideways, off balance, and fell to her back. Still clutching her wrist, Axel kicked her in the side. He dropped to his knees. Picking up the flare, he jammed its unlighted end into a crack between the sofa cushions above Donna’s head. Then he threw a leg over her. He sat on her belly, pinning her arms to the floor.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
She struggled, trying to free her arms.
“Stay still,” he said.
“Get off!”
“Stay still!”
Bending, he pushed his mouth against hers. She bit his lip, tasting the salty warmth of his blood, but he didn’t stop kissing her. She bit again, savagely tearing the flesh of his lip. With a grunt, he pulled away. The back of his hand clubbed her face.
Weak from the blow, she tried with her free arm to shove him away.
He knocked her arm down, then punched her twice in the face.
Each blow was a stunning explosion of pain. Barely holding onto consciousness, she knew that he was tearing open her blouse. She heard buttons skitter across the floor, then felt the rough touch of his hands. Though her arms were free, she couldn’t find strength to lift them. He pulled at her bra. When it wouldn’t come off, he broke the shoulder straps. Donna felt the looseness, then the chilly bareness of her breasts. Axel squeezed them. The pain helped clear her mind. She felt the suck of his mouth. Then he was tugging at the belt of her corduroys.
She realized she could lift her arms. Opening her eyes, she saw Axel kneeling between her legs, head down as he worked to open her pants.
She reached behind her head. Stretched her arm. Grabbed the shaft of the flare. In a single swift motion, she plunged its sputtering head into Axel’s left eye. He shrieked as the room went dark. She shoved the flare harder. A warm wetness spilled onto her hand as the flare slid deep. Axel’s rigid body bucked with convulsions. She pushed him off and rolled away from his body.
3.
Ahead of Jud, blue light glowed from the living room. He approached silently. He peered around the corner. The sight staggered him. Glancing to his left, he saw the front door. It was no more than six feet away.
Maggie and the creatures were probably thirty feet from him. One, underneath her, would be slow getting free. The beast at her rear wouldn’t be able to see him. But the one at her head was facing his way. He couldn’t possibly make the door without it noticing him.
He pressed himself to the wall, out of sight. For several seconds, he listened to the grunting and the slippery smacking sounds. Maggie was gasping. From the violence of the sounds, he guessed that they would soon be done.
Once they were finished, his chance of escape…
Escape?
Christ, he’d almost forgotten what he’d come here to do.
He’d come here to kill the beast.
He’d come to stop it from murdering again.
Except it’s not one beast, it’s five. Maybe more. That doesn’t change the purpose of the mission. It doesn’t change the need for them to die: If anything, it increased the urgency of the task.
Lunging away from the wall, Judgment Rucker crouched and fired. A beast shrieked as the bullet crashed through its head. It stumbled backward, penis sliding from Maggie’s mouth, ejaculating onto her face and hair.
The one behind her looked. Caught a bullet in its right eye. Slumped onto Maggie’s back.
Jud held fire, watching Maggie struggle. The dead beast on her back fell away. She rolled off the live one, and lay on her side so that her body protected it from a shot by Jud.
Slowly, she stood up, being careful to shield the beast with her body. It got to its feet behind her. She began walking toward Jud.
“Bastard,” she muttered. “Who do you think you are, bastard? Sneaking in here? Shooting us up? Killing my darlings?”
She kept limping toward him, dragging a leg that looked as if it had been chewed many years ago, and healed badly. Her ancient, swaying breasts were lined with scars and recent cuts, some bleeding. Blood dropped from her scarred shoulders and her neck. Jud knew why she wore a scarf in public.
“Stop,” he said.
“Bastard!”
“Damn it, I’ll drop you!”
“No you won’t.”
Suddenly, he heard snarling on the stairway behind him. He pivoted and fired at the darting shape. It shrieked but didn’t stop. The claws of the beast with Maggie slashed across Jud’s back. He lurched forward, turning, jerking the machete out of his belt. The claws swiped again. This time, he lopped off the creature’s arm. He shot it once in the chest, then turned his gun to the beast leaping from beside the bannister post. His snapping finger blasted three holes into it. It fell.
Maggie dropped to her knees beside it. She hugged the white body, crooning,
“Oh Xanadu, Xanadu. Oh Xanadu!”
Her back was a disfigured mass of scar tissue and bleeding cuts.
“Oh Xanadu,” she sobbed, cradling the dead beast’s head.
“Are there more?” Jud asked.
Maggie didn’t answer. She didn’t seem to hear.
Stepping around her and the body of Xanadu, Jud approached the stairway. He saw dim blue light in the upstairs hallway. Silently, he began to climb.
4.
Donna staggered down the front porch stairs. She slumped against the newel post, hugging it to keep from falling. The rifle strap slipped off her shoulder. She heard the walnut stock batter the railing. Probably put a scratch on the stock.
She wondered, vaguely, if the scratch would anger Jud. Men could be funny about that kind of thing.
God, would she ever see Jud again?
Where could he…?
A distant popping noise interrupted her question, and answered it. She raised her head. She heard more of the strange, low popping sounds, and she knew it was gunfire.
Gunfire muffled by the brick walls of the house without windows.
Watching the house, she heard another shot. Then three quick ones.
She started to run. The hanging rifle slapped her leg. Without slowing, she gripped the sling and swung the rifle in front of her. She gripped it solidly with both hands.
She glanced at the Chrysler, far to the right. Sandy’s head was visible. The girl was locked in, safe.
Donna climbed awkwardly over the turnstile. She sprinted across the road. Then up the dirt driveway. She tried to remember if the rifle was cocked. Couldn’t remember. As she ran, she worked the bolt. The ejected cartridge spun up and hit her face, its point jabbing her upper lip. Blinking tears away, she rammed another cartridge into the chamber.
Approaching the front of the dark house, she slowed to a trot. She shifted the rifle to her left hand. Heavy. She propped its butt against her hip and pulled open the screen door. She tried the knob. Locked. The screen door swung back, bumping her shoulder.
Damn!
She aimed at the door crack next to the knob.
It’s getting to be a habit, she thought.
The thought didn’t amuse her.
5.
Cautiously, Jud stepped into the main bedroom. The mirrors exposed every corner. No beast. He looked inside the open closet. Satisfied that nothing would jump out at him, he stepped closer to the bed.
Wick Hapson, naked except for a leather vest, lay facedown on the sheet. Chains anchored his wide-spread arms and legs to the bedposts. His face was turned to the left.
Kneeling, Jud looked into his eyes. They were wide with fear. His lips were trembling. “Don’t kill me,” he said. “Christ, it ain’t my fault. I just gone along. I just gone along!”
As Jud left the room, he heard the blast of a gunshot downstairs.
6.
Donna drew back the bolt. As the shell spun out, she saw that the ammunition clip was empty. Her mind flashed a memory of the live cartridge stabbing her face and falling to the dirt of the driveway. No chance of finding it.
Okay, nobody had to know the rifle was empty.
She shouldered open the door and lurched back at the sight of two hideous beasts lying sprawled near the foot of the stairway. Their shiny flesh looked pale blue. The severed arm of one lay near the wall.
Stepping around them, she glanced into the living room. Two more.
“Jud?” she called.
“Donna? Get out of here!”
His voice came from upstairs.
7.
Damn it! his mind screamed. What was Donna doing here?
He ran toward the last room, the room where he and Larry had heard strange breathing sounds that afternoon. The door was open slightly. Through the gap, he saw a blue light. He kicked the door, lunged into the room, and aimed at a pale figure crouched in a corner.
He held fire.
In the dim light, he saw dark hair hanging to her shoulders. She cradled something in her arms. An infant. Its snout, clamped on her dug, was sucking loudly.
Groaning, Jud backed toward the doorway.
8.
Donna, reaching the top of the stairs, saw the naked, ravaged form of Maggie Kutch limping toward the far end of the hall.
“Mom!”
Her head snapped to the side. Sandy, in tears, stood in the foyer looking up at her.
Donna looked again down the corridor. Maggie glanced back. Donna saw a butcher knife in the old woman’s right hand. Donna shouldered the empty rifle. “Drop it!” she shouted.
9.
Jud turned, faced Maggie, and started to raise his pistol. The knife plunged.
He was astonished.
He couldn’t believe it.
That shiny, wide blade was actually vanishing into his chest.
She can’t do this, he thought.
He tried to pull the trigger.
His hand didn’t work.
She can’t!
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
In the cold darkness of the crawl space beneath the last cabin, Joni lay on her side. She hugged her knees close to her chest. She kept her teeth clenched tight to keep them from chattering.
The man would never find her here.
Never.
A long time ago, when she first got away, he hadn’t even looked under the cabin. Maybe he would come back, though.
She didn’t dare to move.
The dirt and rocks dug into her skin, but she didn’t move. Sometimes, itchy bugs crawled on her. She made believe they were caterpillars and lady bugs, and let them crawl.
The cold was worse than anything. It made her shake. If she shook too much, maybe the man would hear her, and catch her again.
A long time went by.
Then she heard something move nearby. An animal.
She held her breath.
Then she heard a quiet, “Meeeow.”
The cat came up against her legs in the darkness, furry and warm and purring like a motor.
“Kitty,” she whispered.
She stroked its head and back.
The cat let her hold it. She held it lightly against her chest. Its purr was so loud she worried the man would hear it and find her.
Soon she was no longer shaking.
A sound from above startled the cat. It leaped away and disappeared.
Joni listened closely.
Footsteps on the cabin floor.
She heard the door swing open. She saw bare feet on the stairs at the front of the cabin.
“Girl?” she called.
The legs stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
“Girl?”
The legs turned. The girl crouched and looked through the darkness of the crawlspace. “You under there?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“You gonna stay there all night?”
“Is he gone?”
“Yeah, I think so. It’s been hours. Took me that long to get untied.”
Getting to her hands and knees, Joni began to crawl through the darkness toward her waiting friend.
EPILOGUE
“When will they take the chains off?”
“When they figure we won’t run away,” Donna said.
“I wouldn’t run away.”
Donna, squinting through dark, could see only a white blur where her daughter sat among the pillows. “I would. I’d run away in a second.”
“Why?”
“We’re prisoners.”
“Don’t you like it?” Sandy asked.
“No.”
“Don’t you like Rosy?”
“I do. Except she’s ugly like Axel.”
“They’re twins, she ought to be.”
“She’s a retard.”
“Yeah.”
“Who do you like better, Seth or Jason?”
“Neither.”
“I like Seth better,” Sandy said.
“Oh.”
“Aren’t you gonna ask me wh
y?”
“No.”
“Come on, Mom. Just ’cause you’re mad they killed Jud. Besides, they didn’t even kill him, Maggie did. And he deserved it, too.”
“Sandy!”
“Look how many of them he murdered. Six! God, he deserved it. He deserved a lot worse.”
“Damn it, shut up!” And then she was ashamed for using such language on her daughter.
“At least he didn’t get Seth and Jason,” Sandy said.
“Too bad he didn’t.”
“You’re just saying that. You’re just saying that to spoil things. You like them. I know you do. I’m not deaf, you know.”
“Well, I don’t like being chained up in the dark. I don’t like that at all. And the food stinks.”
“Maggie might let you start cooking, if you ask her. Wick told me I can drive with him to Santa Rosa, one of these days, and pick up groceries. Once they trust us more, we can do all kinds of stuff.”
“I’d sure like to see the sun again.”
“Me too. Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Do you still think you’re pregnant?”
“I think so.”
“Who’s baby do you think it is? Jason’s, I bet.”
“I don’t know.”
“I’d like to have Seth’s baby.”
“Shhh. I think they’re coming.”
RAVE REVIEWS FOR RICHARD LAYMON!
“I’ve always been a Laymon fan. He manages to raise serious gooseflesh.”
—BENTLEY LITTLE
“Laymon is incapable of writing a disappointing book.”
—NEW YORK REVIEW OF SCIENCE FICTION
“Laymon always takes it to the max. No one writes like him and you’re going to have a good time with anything he writes.”
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