by Raisor, Gary
The headlights pinned the two boys in its glare. The dust settled on the car, covering the windshield. The wipers came on, slapping the dust away with their thin arms, each stroke revealing more of Bobby's white, grinning face.
He just sat there. Waiting.
The V8 revved a couple of times and the Caddy edged closer, stopped, edged closer, stopped.
All the passengers were in whiteface now. A few flies still clung to them. One crawled from Doralee's mouth and disappeared into her open eye socket.
The Caddy suddenly roared, came straight at the bike.
Elliot faked right, went left, and he was past the Caddy, past Chester's car, when Bobby cut the steering wheel. The cars behind began jackknifing. The BMW clipped the bike, sending it rolling end over end. Timmy fell clear of the bike, but Elliot wasn't so lucky. He got tangled up with the Kawasaki for a few seconds, and they did a little dance across the desert floor, first one on top and then the other, as though they were trying to decide who would lead.
Finally, they parted company. Elliot looked as though the dance had made him tired. He lay in the dust, eyes glazed, trying to suck some air into his lungs.
"Get up, get up," Timmy screamed. He was yanking on what was left of his brother's shirt, trying to get Elliot up. Timmy's nose was bleeding profusely from the left side; dirt had clogged the right nostril.
The Caddy swung in a wide circle until it was once again facing them. It moved to within twenty yards, stopped. The engine revved to a deafening pitch and the car began to sway from side to side. Bobby was standing on the brake. If he raised his foot, they would be crushed.
Timmy tried to lift his brother to a sitting position.
Elliot managed to take in a breath and his eyes slowly lost their glaze. He climbed to his feet, began backing away from the Caddy, never taking his eyes off it. Exhaust poured from the tailpipes, coating the backs of their throats with the taste of burning oil.
The car made no move toward them. It simply waited, headlights blazing.
Raising the bike, Elliot straddled it, pulled Timmy on behind. The Kawasaki was covered with dust but otherwise unhurt. Elliot kicked the starter. Got only a cough. They looked toward the Caddy to see what it was doing.
At the moment, that was nothing.
Bobby was fiddling with the radio. The white-hatted head leaned out of the window. "Need a tune for our little Western drama here, a killer tune." He poked his head back in the car and country music filled the night. "Nah, I ain't in the market for that crying-in-your-beer shit. I'm all through with that." Something dark and shiny moved behind his eyes.
A loud squelch of static followed, then some rap, more static, and then the Stones' "Satisfaction" began thumping from the speakers. "Yeah, that's the one, a killer tune. Something to get your blood moving." Bobby kept time by thrusting Elliot's rabbit pole into the dirt beside the car. "You boys all rested up and ready to go again?"
Elliot kicked the starter again, and the bike still refused to fire.
The Caddy crept forward. "Ready or not, here I come." Elliot kicked down again. And again.
The bike wouldn't start.
The Caddy was picking up speed. Spitting dust from beneath the tires.
Elliot put his feet on the ground and began trying to push the bike out of the way. He could hear the music growing louder, pumping from the speakers, vibrating in his bones.
Bobby was mouthing the words to the song. "I can't get no… I can't get no… satisfaction."
The lights grew incredibly bright.
Elliot kicked the starter again and this time the bike fired. But it was too late.
Timmy had jumped off and was trying to push the bike. Elliot grabbed him, put him back on. The move cost too much time.
The Caddy was right on top of them.
Timmy screamed.
At the last instant, the Caddy swerved.
The dead passengers all swayed together. Rollercoaster for the dead shot through Elliot's head as he aimed the bike away from the car. They were in the clear. He jammed the gears. The bike lurched, lost speed.
The Caddy was turning. Coming around.
Elliot found the gears, started again.
Up ahead was a dry creek bed, the same one he and Timmy had traveled on the way here.
That seemed years ago now.
He gunned the bike.
They beat the car by seconds.
The Caddy, unable to fit in the creek bed, raced alongside, smashing bushes and cactus beneath its grille. Bobby leaned out and swung the stick, almost connecting with Timmy's back. Elliot veered closer to the far bank, where they would be safe for the moment. The only problem was that the creek bed widened out about two miles ahead. He put his head down and concentrated on keeping the bike upright. Off to his right, he heard the clanking of the cars, punctuated by Jagger's plaintive cry.
"I can't get no satisfaction. I can't get no satisfaction!" Bobby swung the pole, missing Elliot, but he broke the mirror off the bike. "Oh, man, that's seven years' bad luck."
The mirror bounced out of sight, a tinkle of broken glass.
Bobby was doing something in the car, something with the passengers. The Caddy veered dangerously close to the creek bed and dirt crumpled beneath the tires, cascaded down the bank.
"Hey, Elliot, you ever had a woman?" Bobby stepped on the gas, pulling several car lengths ahead. He had Doralee sitting in his lap. "You play your cards right, you can have this one. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Elliot kept his head down, guiding the bike into the curve ahead.
"She's quiet and she don't eat much. Perfect for a man on a fixed income, such as yourself."
Then, without warning, Bobby opened the car door and pushed Doralee out. She hit the ground, bounced a couple of times like a loose-limbed rag doll, and rolled in front of the bike.
Elliot ran over her outstretched throat and the bike almost went down. Several flies crawled out of her eye sockets, buzzed away.
"Guess she's not your type, huh," Bobby said. "Funny, she was everyone else's." His face was filled with manic glee. He pulled Nicky to the car door, pushed him out. "We don't want to split up the family."
Elliot dodged the tumbling body.
Martin Strickland was up next. The big foreman rolled down the bank in a shower of dirt and his hat flew off, rolled after him. His scalped head shone wetly in the light.
Taking the bike up on the far bank, Elliot managed to get past Martin.
Next came Billy Two Hats, matinee cowboy. With his white makeup and filthy clothes, he looked more like a mugged drag queen. Bobby was trying to get Billy to hold the knife he had used to scalp Martin, but Billy wasn't cooperating. He kept dropping it.
Bobby finally grew exasperated and wrapped Billy's fingers around the knife, made Billy stab himself in the chest. Right above the bullet holes where Lefty Thunder Coming had shot him.
Billy slid out.
"The cops are gonna absolutely shit when they see this," Bobby said. "Dead Indian scalps dead white man, shoots and stabs self before jumping from moving car."
Elliot leaned the bike over, barely missed Billy.
"You can really ride that thing," Bobby said admiringly. "Well, I saved the best for last." He wrestled Chester over the car's windshield and out onto the hood, then he stuffed some newspaper in the dead man's shirt. "I been waiting a long time to do this." Bobby pulled the cigarette lighter from the dash, lit the newspaper.
In seconds Chester Roberts were ablaze. The wind fanned the flames and the owner of The Broken R came down the bank like a birthday cake with one candle, landed in the middle of the creek bed.
Elliot couldn't miss Chester. There was a soft squelching sound, a moment of heat, and they were past him. The bike came out of the curve. And Elliot had to lay it down in the dirt. There wasn't time for anything else.
A red Cadillac was blocking the way.
The bike slammed into the red Cadillac, bounced off, leaving a gap-toothed grin in t
he grille. The impact didn't do Elliot's Kawasaki much good, either. The guy reclining on the car hood, however, didn't seem too upset at the damage. He slid off with weary ease and walked toward Elliot and Timmy. His steps were sure, catlike, and he covered the distance with deceptive quickness.
The boys lay on the ground, pinned there by the headlights, watching him come. Timmy's nose was bleeding again. Elliot made a sincere attempt to get up, but he was all played out. His leg felt as if it might be busted.
"You boys look like you've had a rough day," the driver of the red Caddy said. "I saw your lights and decided to see what was going on." He wore black high-tops and they crunched through the gravel as he moved toward them. He was dressed in black and he had a silver crucifix dangling from one ear. His expression was one of mild concern. "My name is Steven Adler. Might I ask who you are?"
"I'm Elliot Cates and this is my brother, Timmy." Elliot turned to see what Bobby was doing. The white Caddy had stopped and Bobby was just sitting there, staring straight ahead. He looked scared, and Elliot had to wonder what could scare a guy who had just killed five people.
"Bobby tried to hurt us," Timmy said, his voice accusing. "It's all Elliot's fault. He touched Bobby's car."
"Bobby won't bother you anymore," Steven said, following the boy's gaze.
"Mister, he's already killed five people," Elliot said. "He's got something inside him. He's not—"
"Human. I know. I've been hearing a lot of that lately. It's really beginning to get on my nerves."
Elliot tried to hold on to what was left of his sanity as the meaning of the stranger's words sank in. "Jesus, are you one, too?" he asked. "A vampire?"
The Caddy's warm engine made ticking noises in the cool night air.
"Fraid so. Looks like Crowder Flats is infested with bloodsuckers tonight." Something occurred to the tall, blond man as he studied their red hair. "You two look familiar to me for some reason. Did you say your name is Cates?"
Timmy nodded, wiped at his bleeding nose.
"Your great-grandfather was a rancher, wasn't he?" Steven said. "And he rode off one day, disappeared. Nobody ever saw him again."
"How'd you know that?" Elliot asked.
"I knew your great-grandfather. A friend of mine killed him." The blond man threw back his head and laughed. Timmy made a break for the bushes.
Steven Adler darted forward, picked up Timmy and cradled him gently. He dabbed at Timmy's bleeding nose with is free hand. "You'll be okay. I don't think it's broken." Like magic, Steven produced a piece of gum from his pocket, handed it to the boy.
Timmy took the gum. It was Wrigley's Doublemint.
Steven licked Timmy's blood off his fingers and smiled absentmindedly. "I'm afraid I've only got one piece, so you'll have to share. Is that okay?"
Timmy nodded, stuck the entire stick of gum in his mouth.
With his freehand, Steven took hold of Elliot and lifted him to a standing position. The guy was really strong. Elliot felt himself picked up as though he were weightless.
Steven ran his fingers through the five-year-old's hair, brushing the dirt from it. "Timmy, I want to talk to your brother alone for a minute. I need you to be brave, can you do that?"
"What are you gonna do?"
"Nothing that will hurt you. I promise. I'm just going to put you in the trunk of the car."
Timmy looked doubtful. "I'm kinda afraid of the dark."
"How about if I give you a flashlight?"
Timmy thought it over. "You ain't gonna leave me there, are you?"
"No, just for a minute while I talk to Elliot."
"Okay, but I gotta go to the bathroom first," Timmy said. He began fidgeting.
Steven sat him down. "So go to the bathroom. Hurry up."
"I can't. Everybody's watching me."
A small tic appeared in Steven's left eye though his voice remained calm. "Come on."
The three of them moved away from the car lights, with Steven holding on to Elliot and Timmy.
"Don't look," Timmy admonished.
"We're not looking," Steven assured him.
The five-year-old unzipped his fly and cut loose, sending a silvery liquid arc out into the moonlit night. The sound of urine splattering in the dust filled the silence, but something was odd about the way Timmy was whizzing. There were breaks in the flow.
"Oh Jesus," Elliot said, "I don't believe this."
Steven tightened his grip on Elliot's ann. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, Timmy's just showing off."
Steven looked into the dust and an expression of surprise settled on his face. "I'll be damned…"
Elliot looked frightened and more than a little embarrassed. "Don't be mad, mister, it's my fault. I taught him how to do it. He's been driving me crazy ever since."
Looking at the wet wee in the dust, Steven picked up the small boy and ruffled his hair affectionately. "That's pretty neat, partner. Can you spell any other words?"
"No, but Elliot can spell pussy."
"Shut up, Timmy." Elliot's face turned beet red.
"I'm going to get a big kick out of you, Timmy." Steven was still laughing when he carried the child over to the red Caddy, put him in the trunk, and closed it.
Absolute darkness descended over the five-year-old before he managed to get the flashlight to click on. The trunk was warm, smelling like dust and old rubber from the spare tire nestled there. Timmy listened to footsteps moving away and did his best not to cry. He didn't quite succeed.
Steven led Elliot away from the car, and the blond man was serious now. "Listen close, Elliot, I don't want to have to repeat this."
Flinching from the grip on his arm, Elliot faced Steven. He could barely look into the cold eyes.
Steven pulled him close, until their faces were almost touching. "You get your ass on that bike and you find Louise Warrick. Tell her John Warrick is to meet me at Jake's at three A.M. tomorrow tonight. Tell John to bring the cue stick." Steven walked over and righted the bike, sat Elliot on it. "If I don't see your lights on the main highway in two minutes, something very unpleasant is going happen to your brother. Am I making myself clear?"
"Don't hurt him, mister. He's just a stupid kid."
"You do what I told you and your brother will be fine." Steven looked at his watch. "Your two minutes are running"
Elliot made the highway in a minute and fifty-three seconds. He flashed his high beams off and on several times before setting out for Louise's house.
Steven flicked the Caddy's lights off and on in answer. Then he moved to the white Caddy and pulled its passenger out. Bobby Roberts was sullen, refusing to look at Steven.
"You're not supposed to be here," Steven said. "What were you doing poking around the graveyard?"
"I was only trying to help."
"Were you, really? I wonder."
"What are you talking about?"
Steven produced a knife from beneath his sweatshirt. The handle was a bright red feathered serpent, the blade was polished jade. "This is what you were looking for, isn't it? This is what you killed all those people for? This knife. You were planning to kill me with it." Steven held the blade beneath Bobby's chin, pricked him with the point. "Don't lie, it won't do any good. I'll know the truth in a minute, anyway."
Bobby hung his head, but his voice was defiant. "I want to live. I want you to let me go."
"I can't let you go. You're a killer."
"I'm part of you." Bobby's smile was bitter. "If I'm a killer, what does that make you?"
"I haven't killed anyone. My hands are clean," Steven answered.
"Maybe they are but I see the look on your face when I come back to you. You can't wait to feed on me, to relive everything I've done. Especially the killing."
"It's a good deal for everyone. You get to be human for a while and I get to…," Steven decided not to pursue the thought.
Bobby's face twisted up with hatred. "You pretend you're better than me, but you're not. You just don't have the guts
to do your own killing."
"Is that right?" Exasperated, Steven plunged the knife into Bobby's chest. Twisted it. "Why am I standing here in the dark talking to myself?"
Bobby screamed in agony, tried to pull away.
But Steven held Bobby, kept sticking the knife into his body. Over and over. Until the screams fell silent.
"Don't fight me," Steven said. "You know it's useless. You've got to come out."
Bobby slumped against the car hood, his mouth working. "Let me go. Please."
Steven plunged the knife in again, held it there, and Bobby began twisting like a worm on a hook.
"No can do," Steven said. "You might get the urge to tell Earl what I've been up to. He thinks I've stopped the killing. If he found out differently, he would leave, and I can't allow that to happen. It's one of the hazards of staying in one body too long, I guess. You pick up… emotions." Steven slapped away the weakly flailing hands. "Come on out. I haven't got all night."
Wisps of smoke began pouring from the stabbed man's mouth, curling upward. "I'll go away," Bobby promised, "far away from here. You'll never see me again."
"I don't want you to go away. I want us to be together."
Bobby opened his mouth one last time, a barely audible mewling. "I want my own life. I want to be… human." His body arched—and—the black substance poured out of Bobby in streams, coming out of every wound, crawling up over Steven, caressing his body with lover's arms, until it finally converged at his face and disappeared into his open mouth. A huge knot appeared in Steven's throat as the blood poured into him. Steven's eyes fluttered, became glazed with pleasure as he collapsed across the car hood.
As he relived the stolen lives. Taking what he wanted. Discarding the rest.
After a few minutes, Steven came to, and his eyes held that heavy-lidded look that comes from really great sex. He dumped Bobby onto the floorboard of the white car, then moved over to the bushes and unzipped his fly. His teeth flashed a white grin in the moonlight as he guided the black substance that was expelled from him into letters in the dust.
Steven went to the red Caddy and pulled Timmy out, showed him the letters. "Look, Timmy," he said, laughing, still flushed from the pleasure he had just experienced. "I spelled my name, too."