Blood Games

waist. It clawed its way up her back, ripping cloth and skin.

    Before the others could move to help her, Batty’s upraised right hand darted sideways, clutched the front of Finley’s shirt, and yanked. Buttons popped away. A quick stumble, and Finley dropped across Batty’s thighs.

    Like a kid about to be spanked.

    Cora dropped the shotgun, tucked, and jumped. In midair, she flipped herself heels over head. The cat rode her down. Her back slammed it against the floor.

    Batty’s left hand clenched the nape of Finley’s neck. The right snatched her shirt halfway up her back, then reached for the hilt of the knife at her hip.

    Cora rolled. Vivian rushed the stunned cat and raised her ax.

    Batty jerked out the knife. Brought it up over Finley’s squirming, bucking body.

    With both hands, Abilene grabbed Batty’s forearm. She wrenched it backward and down, unaware of Batty turning, stretching out her other arm. Suddenly, something was coming at her face. She looked up just in time to see an eyeball leap from its socket. The other seemed to watch her. She turned her face away an instant before the skull struck her. Its brow pounded her cheekbone. But she kept her grip on Batty’s arm as she staggered back. And heard a crack like a snapping branch. Batty wailed. The knife fell to the floor. Abilene released the arm.

    Staggering back, she saw Vivian double over and vomit Cora was struggling to free the ax from the floor. As she pumped its handle, Amos wobbled.

    Abilene’s stomach turned. She fell to her knees, heaving.

    When she finished and lifted her head, she saw Finley shoving Batty’s legs into the air. The chair tipped backward and crashed down. Batty spilled out of it, did an awkward somersault hit the floor knees first, and flopped down flat.

    Finley kicked the chair. It tumbled and skidded. Cora leaped out of its way. The chair stopped abruptly when a corner of its seat met the dead cat.

    Finley picked up her knife. Clamping it between her teeth, she turned Batty over. As the body rolled, the skinny arm swung the wrong way from its elbow.

    Abilene groaned.

    I did that, she thought. Oh, Jesus.

    Finley dropped onto Batty’s stomach and took the knife from between her teeth. Breathless, she gasped, ‘Told you not to touch me, you bastard.’

    'Leave her alone,’ Abilene said.

    ‘Him,’ Finley corrected. ‘See?’ She reached behind her and flapped aside a leg of the split cut-offs. ‘Felt it when he had me down.’ She leaned over and pressed the blade to his throat. ‘Dirty old shit. You killed Helen, didn’t you? Didn’t you!’

    ‘Fin,’ Abilene said quietly.

    She looked up, her eyes red and wild. ‘He did it.’

    ‘Even if it was him…’

    ‘Weren’t,’ Batty gasped. He was panting for air, wincing. Abilene saw no fear in his eyes. They seemed sly and full of hate. ‘I purely aim t’kill you, though. Ever’ one a ya. Get me plenty a fresh items for m’stock.’

    His lips peeled back, forming a nasty grin of gaps and brown stumps. Finley pressed the blade harder against his throat. Ignoring it, he reached up with his left hand. Reached inside Finley’s drooping, open shirt. She sucked a quick breath.

    ‘I’ll cut me this one right off.’

    ‘Uhhhhhh!’ She lurched backward, slashed his forearm and leaped off him, gasping and frantically rubbing the front of her shirt against her breast.

    Batty laughed. Quick, nasal beeps that sounded like a honking car.

    ‘You’re fuckin’ nuts!' Finley shouted.

    Batty laughed harder. He lay flat on his back only a couple of yards from his chopped cat, laughing. One arm broken, the other pouring blood, and he was shaking with laughter.

    Finley was first out the door. Vivian followed her with the ax. Cora backed away, keeping the shotgun aimed at Batty. ‘Let’s go,’ she said.

    ‘I’m coming.’ Abilene picked up Helen’s sleeping bag. No way would she leave a possession of Helen’s with this lunatic. Sidestepping toward the door, she said, ‘I’m sorry about your arm. But you shouldn’t have tried to stab…’

    ‘I’ll… have yers!’ Batty squealed between honks of hilarity.

    Abilene rushed for the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

    She found the others down at the lake, Finley bending over the knee-deep water and washing her breast, Vivian washing splatters of cat blood off her thighs, Cora picking up the block of concrete that served as the anchor for Batty’s rowboat. The ax and shotgun were already stowed in the craft.

    ‘We’re taking his boat?’ Abilene asked.

    ‘You got it.’ Cora dropped the anchor into the bow. ‘In, in, in! I’ll row.’ She held the boat steady while Vivian climbed aboard and made her way, crouching low, toward the stem.

    As Finley lunged over its gunwale and the boat tipped wildly for a moment, Abilene waded into the lake. The back of Cora’s tank-top was bloody and tom. Above its low neckline and around the right shoulder strap, her bare skin was furrowed with claw marks.

    Abilene tossed the sleeping bag aboard. It rolled under the center seat. ‘I’ll hold on,’ she said. ‘You climb in.’ As Cora moved out of her way, she grabbed the prow.

    Twisting her head around, she gazed back at the cabin. No sign of Batty. Nor could she hear the crazy laughter.

    He won’t come after us, she told herself. Not with a broken arm. Not with that gash.

    Not right now, anyway.

    She realized they had left their water bottle in the cabin.

    It’s okay. We’ve got two more back at the car. Sure not going back in for it.

    Just stay where you are, Batty. Don’t come after us.

    Returning her attention to the boat, she saw Cora already seated in the center and busy fitting an oar into the metal U of its oarlock. Finley, behind Cora, sat cross-legged on the bottom of the boat and now had the shotgun. She held it straight up, the barrels rising like a mast above her head.

    Cora got the other oar into position.

    Abilene leaned against the prow and pushed. The boat began gliding away, stem first, and she sloshed after it, guiding it farther from shore until the water climbed to her waist. Then she boosted herself up, kicked high enough to hook a calf over the gunwale, squirmed and twisted until she dropped aboard.

    She lay on her back, struggling to catch her breath. Beyond her upraised knees, Cora was rowing with a single oar to turn the boat around. Then both oars were in motion, Cora leaning forward to dip them in, coming back toward Abilene as she drew their blades through the water, and starting over again.

    Abilene lifted a hand to her face. Gently, she fingered the lump of soreness beneath her right eye. Her cheekbone felt as if a golf ball were growing out of it.

    I got him better than he got me, she thought. Still, she wished she hadn’t broken his arm. She had never hurt anyone like that before and the memory of it sickened her.

    He was going to stab Finley, she reminded herself.

    Besides, it was an accident. I only broke it because he bashed me with that skull and I started to fall.

    The boat dropped abruptly, then rebounded off the water, its wooden ribs pounding against her. Enough of this, Abilene thought. Rising, she scooted across the bottom until her back met the edge of the bow seat. She