Deadliest of the Species

by Michael Oliveri

  “My name is Marie. I was in the back yard the night you escaped. When you were caught, I, as well as the other women in the front yard, were punished severely by Sebastian and Alexandra. Stripped of rank and power…humiliated before our peers…oh how we wanted to get even with you.” A distinct threatening tone sharpened her words.

  Involuntarily, Tim turned and slid closer to the wall.

  “They got over it, but not me. Oh, no. I’ve waited a long time for this day to come.”

  “What do you want?” Tim asked, his voice shaky. He did not know what to think of this woman standing in his room, and worse yet, he did not know what to do about it. He thought fast, trying to spot anything that could be used as a weapon.

  She ignored him, going on with her monologue. “I had to be a good girl. I humbled myself to them, atoning for my error. But always there was a place for you in my heart, a hole in my belly that I knew only you would fill.”

  Tim glanced about the room, too scared for a moment to meet her gaze. This was all too surreal, even considering this warped little town. Did she suggest what he thought she did?

  “I built up my appetite. Conditioned it, if you will, for this very moment.”

  She did!

  She reached behind her back, pulling at something. “Now, finally, I have been given the chance to redeem myself by being the in-house guard while Alexandra is away for the day. Yes, I’m going to take full advantage of this time.” Whatever bound her top came loose, and she pulled it free and threw it to the floor. She kicked off her shoes as she went to work on the ties of her pants.

  Eyes wide, Tim rose to his knees, one hand still keeping the sheets around his body. He looked frantically about the room, sizing up his chances for fight or flight. Marie blocked the stairs. There was the door to the other half of the cellar, but it only led to a dead end.

  She pulled her feet free from her shorts one at a time and stood before him, every rolling inch of her completely naked. “I haven’t had a lover for quite some time,” she told him as she stepped forward. Her bulk loomed over him as she approached. “My last one, he wasn’t very good. I killed him slow, ate him quick.”

  This isn’t happening, he told himself. She looked like one of the fat women on those novelty greeting cards sold at porn shops, or those pictures of humongous women surrounded by naked men people post on the Internet because they think they are funny. Tim vowed he would never laugh at pictures like that again.

  “But you? You I’m going to savor.” She leaned forward and placed one hand on the mattress, her weight pressing it down and making a deep furrow across the surface. “We’re going to have some fun for awhile. And then you’re breakfast!” She snapped her teeth at him and bared them in a vicious grin.

  He gasped as he saw her jagged teeth. They looked sharp like an animal’s. Like a predator’s. A chill ran down his spine from the double image of her biting into his flesh and of her standing in a mirror and running a steel file through her mouth like a toothbrush.

  “What about Alexandra? And Sebastian?” The stall would likely only last a second or two.

  “What about them?” Worse luck, the stall had no effect. She leaned in closer, lifting her knee onto the mattress. “I’ll be gone before they know what happened.”

  Down to his last hope, he took a swing at her. His fist connected hard with her face, making a loud smack high on her left cheek. Her head rocked back for the briefest instant. When it came back, a bright red welt blossomed, visible even through the makeup. That hideous grin, however, widened.

  “Ohh, a feisty one,” she said. He dodged to the left, she followed and blocked him. “I like it rough, you know…”

  He swung to the right, lunging around her toward the headboard.

  “Uh-uh!” she scolded him. Her meaty arm lashed out. Her hand pressed into his chest and she shoved him backwards. He lost his leverage and collapsed against the headboard, the back of his skull bouncing off the concrete wall. Marie heaved her bulk onto the bed, straddling his legs and pinning him. She punched him hard in the stomach and knocked the wind out of him.

  Seeing stars and struggling to take a breath, he screamed at himself in his mind to stay conscious. He tried to struggle but she gripped both of his wrists in one hand with the strength of a vise and pinned them to the headboard. Her other hand rubbed his chest, her tongue warm and wet against his cheek.

  “C’mon! Don’t quit fighting yet! I’m just starting to enjoy it!” Her mouth moved down over his, her tongue pushing into his mouth.

  He turned his head spitting. “Get the fuck off me you bitch,” he gasped.

  Marie raised her hips and reached her free hand down to seize his still-limp manhood. “What’s the matter baby?” she demanded. “You some kind of faggot or something? Don’t worry, momma Marie’s got the cure for that! Alexandra’s not the only girl who picked up a few of the better fuck spells!” She whispered gibberish in his ear, her breath hot and moist.

  Tim felt prickly heat wash through his abdomen, surging through his groin and into his penis. It came erect in an instant, so hard it actually hurt. It pressed into the soft meat of Marie’s inner thigh.

  “Yeah, that’s more like it, darlin’!” She shifted her bulk, nearly pulverizing his left thigh in the process. He twisted flat on his back so his hip wouldn’t give out, and ended up right where she wanted him. Another shift of her weight and he was inside her.

  Despite the intense pressure crushing down on his stomach, hips, and thighs, he found he enjoyed the sensation. He went along for the ride, thrusting upward, deeper, harder. He wanted to turn her over, drive himself home from on top, all the way ’til the end. But he had been there before. The spell that aroused him also demanded his full participation.

  “Ohh, yeah! Keep it up!” She released his wrists, supporting her weight with one hand. Her other hand caressed his face, pushed through his hair. He in turn kneaded her breasts, rolling them through his fingers and palms. He took her left breast into his mouth, spilling the excess flesh across his nose and chin and nearly suffocating himself in the process.

  He played along long enough to make it convincing. She squealed and moaned atop him, fully engrossed in the act. Tim teased his right hand down her side, rubbed the top of her thigh, then reached out quickly for the lamp. He managed to get a grip on its base, nearly knocking it off the dresser in the process, and swung it in a wide, high arc. The cord popped free of the base and the glass body smashed across Marie’s temple. The room plunged into darkness and chaos.

  Marie, wailing like a banshee, reeled in shock as blood trickled down her face. Tim refused to give her the time to recover. He seized the fat of her stomach with both hands and twisted as hard as he could. Instinctively she rolled away from the pain, giving Tim just enough leeway to slide free and off the mattress. Standing beside her now, he doubled his fists and brought them down hard on her head, again and again and again. She crumpled, screaming into the pillow and shielding her head with her pudgy hands, but not before Tim felt her jawbone give beneath one blow.

  “You—fat—fuckin’—slut!” he shouted, punctuating his words with more blows to her head and neck. She stopped screaming and sobbed heavily. She tried to speak but her words were rendered unintelligible by her broken jaw.

  Tim hit the wall switch and turned on the ceiling light. While Marie blubbered face down in her own blood he dressed hurriedly, keeping one ear cocked for anyone upstairs. He dropped to one knee to tie his boots. When he stood he gave the fat woman two last kicks, one in the side and one in the head.

  He noticed then she passed out. Whether it happened before or after the two kicks he didn’t know and didn’t care. He turned out the light and slowly climbed the steps, again listening to see if anyone came into the kitchen. Hearing nobody, he eased the door open and stepped out.

  It never got cold or snowed in Rapture, much like the desert outside the valley. However, it did rain every so often, and today it came down in a steady patter. It l
ooked dreary and grey outside, and through the windows he saw three women in colorful rain slickers gathered beneath the trees in the backyard.

  He knew Sebastian and the witches’ magic controlled the climate in Rapture and brought the rainfall into the valley. The clouds gathered low, probably staying within the confines of the valley walls. He imagined the spells or whatever must have sapped every bit of moisture from the surrounding desert lands for miles and more to make it rain like it does.

  He looked out front, side to side out the window, and saw nobody. His worried one of them took shelter from the rain where he could not see, but then again, the women outside would undoubtedly still think Marie guarded him closely. Perhaps they grew lax from his cooperation over the last few months, and would not be afraid to gather around back, sheltered from the rain, and leave the front open.

  He told himself he had to take his chance now, before the women did come around front, before they realized Marie was not sitting at the customary guard’s position at the table. He imagined the trouble he would be in when they discovered her, too. Sure, the woman was a fat pig, but she was one of their little coven. No trial for him. Again he pictured the satyr pummeling him to death with bare fists.

  Carefully, he unlocked the front door and eased it free of the jamb. The faint squeak of the hinges seemed almost deafening. The light storm door frame also made a good deal of clatter, making him cringe. Anxiety built inside him as he dosed the doors. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched, that at any moment somebody would seize him from behind. The rain felt light but cool on his head and shoulders, and he squinted into the soft wind as he stepped away from the house. A few more cautionary steps and a few quick glances over his shoulder…

  …And he made it.

  He broke into a run, sprinting down the street and praying the witches back at the house wouldn’t spot him. Alexandra lived on a lonely, dead-end side street, and it wasn’t long before he made it to the residential portion of the town. Fortunately the rain kept everyone indoors, thus reducing his chances of being caught. He had no way of knowing whether or not every women in town belonged to the coven, and he knew he would best he be careful around the men, too. No telling how many of the henpecked cowards would run and tell their wives about him.

  Before long the rain soaked him to the bone and left him lost on the side streets of Rapture. He stopped running and took deep breaths of the cool air as his heart rate slowed. Now what?

  The sound of sobbing, soft and distant, carried through the rain from somewhere to his left. Tim stepped off the sidewalk and onto the soft grass of someone’s front yard. He saw no sign of anybody at the windows so he continued on. The sobbing grew louder, and he realized it came from the back yard of the house next door. He hopped over the rail fence and peered around the corner.

  A young boy, perhaps eight or nine years old, sat on the ground. His tears mingled with the rain as he clutched his right ankle. Behind him, a long ladder leaned on a diagonal as if it slid across the gutter and caught itself on the brick chimney on the back of the house.

  “What’s the matter kid? Did you fall?” He approached slowly so he would not alarm the child.

  The boy’s sobbing stopped abruptly. He looked up at Tim with wide, wet eyes, sniffled, and nodded.

  “Well, let’s just take a look.” He moved the boy’s hands away and reached for his ankle. No sooner did he touch it than the boy yelped and pulled his foot away. “I know it hurts, but you’re going to have to let me see it.”

  With another sniffle, the boy relinquished his wounded leg. Tim gingerly examined the ankle. The boy winced but made no more attempts to pull away. “There you go. That’s a trooper…” He felt some swelling, but near as he could tell it was not broken.

  The boy sniffed loudly.

  “Well, kid, looks like you got yourself a good sprain. We better get you inside. Is this your house?”

  A nod.

  “Anybody home?”

  He shook his head.

  “Good.” The last thing he needed was for this kid’s mother to be one of the witches and to catch him as a result of his good will. He placed his arms beneath the boy’s knees and back and lifted him, the child in turn wrapping an arm around Tim’s neck. He carried the boy into house through a narrow kitchen door and laid him down on a couch in the living room.

  “So what were you doing out there in the rain?” Tim asked as he went into the kitchen. He opened the freezer and looked inside.

  “Cleaning the gutters,” he replied simply. •

  “Cleaning the gutters? In this weather?” He pulled some ice out of the freezer, wrapped it in a dishtowel, and carried it back to the couch where he set it on the kid’s ankle.

  The boy nodded. “I was almost done, and I reached over too far and slipped.”

  “You’ll be lucky if you don’t catch pneumonia. Does your mom know you were out there?”

  The boy gave him a strange look. “Mommy sent me out there. It was part of my chores for today.” His words carried a tone that said “what a silly question.”

  Tim nodded. Somehow he was not surprised. He noticed an afghan draped over the back of the couch and pulled it down over the boy. “What’s your name kid?”

  “Useless.”

  “‘Useless?”’ Tim asked, incredulous.

  “My real name’s Jack, but Mommy and my sister, Rebecca, call me Useless. Because I’m a boy.”

  Tim snorted in disbelief. Again, he was not really surprised. “How old are you, Jack?”

  “I turned nine today.”

  “Alone on your birthday and a sprained ankle for a present. Now that ain’t right.”

  “You get used to it.”

  Tim chuckled. “I guess. Where’s your father?”

  “He’s dead. Mommy killed him a few years ago. Her and her friends.”

  “The witches?”

  Jack nodded.

  “Where’s your mom now?”

  “She went to the ceremony for the winter solstice.”

  Tim nodded. Good.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll be safe for a while,” Jack told him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’ll be gone most of the day. You’re that man that they hate so much. The newcomer that causes all that trouble.”

  “Me? I didn’t do anything wrong!”

  The boy shrugged. “I didn’t think so. Daddy didn’t do anything wrong either. They killed him anyway.”

  “Aren’t you worried about yourself?”

  “No. Mommy says my only saving grace is that I was born on the solstice. She tells me that when she’s angry with me. And she gets angry with me a lot.”

  Tim laughed. He tousled Jack’s wet hair. “You’re a tough kid.”

  Jack grinned. “Thanks for helping me.”

  “Hey, we men gotta stick together. Especially in this burg.”

  “That’s why I can help you, too.”

  Tim cocked an eyebrow. “How’s that?”

  “One of Daddy’s friends hates the witches, too. They know about you. I could tell you how to find them.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Jack beamed. “Nope. I still talk to them and tell them what Mommy and her friends talk about sometimes. Bart says I’m instrumental to their efforts. I’m their spy!” he said proudly, pronouncing “instrumental” with extreme care.

  Perfect! Tim thought. He would have a place to hide out if not a way to get the hell out of town. “Where do I have to go?”

  Jack gave him an address and brief directions. “They know all about you, too. I’m sure they’d help you out.”

  “Thanks Jack. You’re a good kid.”

  “Us men got to stick together, right?”

  “You got it kid. I better get going before it’s too late. Take care of yourself.”

  “You too. Oh, and I hope Alexandra has a boy. That’ll piss her off real good!”

  Tim laughed, tousled the boy’s hair one more time, and
went back out into the rain.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It took Tim nearly an hour to find the right street, and another twenty minutes to find the right house. By then the rain and the long walk left him cold, wet, and hungry. He sneezed several times, and feared he caught a cold.

  He felt defenseless on the streets, but fortunately little traffic filled the streets. As it was, every time a woman drove by his heart skipped a beat and it took all the self-control he possessed to keep from running.

  Bart’s house looked pretty much like all the rest on the block: a simple two story design with a modest yard, moderately-weathered siding, and trimmed hedges along the front. Off-white siding covered the sides over a short foundation of red brick, and black shutters adorned the windows. He anxiously stepped up his pace a bit but used the front walk rather than cutting across the grass. The front door swung open as he crossed the wide front porch.

  “Hurry up! Get in here!” came an urgent voice. A short, stocky man, built like an Olympic wrestler, leaned through the screen door. He had close-cropped black hair with a hint of gray at the temples. His cauliflower right ear rounded out the wrestler image.

  Tim complied, jogging the last few steps past the wrestler and into the house. “Are you Bart?”

  “Yeah.” He closed and locked the door behind them. “I’ve been pulling my hair out waiting for you. Jack called me right after you left. If he were thinking, he would have called first so I could pick you up.”

  “I’m just glad I happened to run into him. He seems like a good kid.”

  “He’s bright, but he’s still learning. It’s nice to finally meet you, Mister Wilder. We’ve heard a lot about you.” Bart thrust out a large hand.

  Tim shook it. “Man, I’ve been hoping to find an opportunity like this for a long time.”

  “Well, c’mon. Let’s get you under cover downstairs. The witches use clairvoyance.”

  Tim followed Bart to a narrow doorway down the hall. “Clair-a-what?”

  “Clairvoyance. They use the cats and the blackbirds as their eyes and ears.”