The Thugateers? Jase, Luke—but not Wally, the scrote’d be asleep.
Who then?
Rick held still for a while.
No more rustles.
Silence.
Then,
The words hissed loudly in Rick’s left ear.
It was
He twisted away and rolled off the rock. Hit the ground and lay there. Gasping for breath. Panting with fear. Choking on the pall of fetid breath that still warmed his cheek. It was wet with spittle. Uhhh ... He rolled over, heaving and grunting with disgust. Slashing at his face with both hands.
“God almighty!”
Outlined in the darkness, a man dressed in animal skins stood astride Rick’s body, his bony arms akimbo on his hips. Atop his head was the head of a coyote, flaps of gray fur hanging and winging about his shoulders. The coyote’s mouth hung open, showing teeth and a lolling tongue. There were dark holes where its eyes had been.
The weird headgear swung back and forth as its owner shook with rage. Rage? Rick couldn’t distinguish. Laughter? Yeah. The bastard was laughing. High-pitched squeals of glee.
A sweaty, hormonal
“What ...
“Angus is the name. Dearly beloved son of the Right Rev. John Brown McTavish! I was brought to this wilderness fifty years ago to preach the good Lord’s word. Aye. Praise be to the Lord. A-men!”
With a manic cackle the creature lifted a scrawny arm above his head, crooked the other at his hip, did a quick jig and then vanished, cackling, into the night.
The bottle was three-quarters empty. Rick held it toward the fire and shook it, watching the amber fluid swirl.
Better cut it out or I won’t have any left for tomorrow night.
He stood up. The revolver slid off his lap and dropped, its muzzle pounding his left foot. He winced at the sudden hurt, then bent over and picked up the weapon. He carried it in one hand, the bottle in the other. Bending over his pack, he put away the bottle.
He stood up straight. He breathed deeply. The chill night air smelled of pine. Just like a Christmas tree lot. He was a kid, and he’d gone with Dad and Julie to the Lopez Ranch to pick out a tree. They wandered through a maze of spruce and pine. Their breath made white plumes. Julie wore a down vest. Her jeans had a butterfly patch on the seat. Her jeans were cut off so high that the bottoms of her rear pockets hung out. Odd that she would wear such pants on a night like this. Odd, but nice.
Julie slipped in sideways between two trees, and vanished. Rick stayed with his father. Together, they inspected a silver spruce to see if it had any bare spots. It looked good. “Go find your mother,” Dad said. “We’d better get her approval.”
Rick squeezed his way through the trees, smelling their rich scent, feeling their limbs run like soft, cool brushes against his body. He came out the other side.
And almost tripped over Julie’s leg. She was sprawled on the ground of an aisle between the rows of Christmas trees, naked except for a single knee sock. Bert lay nearby, the handle of a knife standing upright in the center of her chest Reeling, Rick staggered sideways. His bare foot (why was he naked?) came down on Bonnie’s belly, slipped into a gash and sank deep into her warm guts. With a gasp, he pulled his foot free and stumbled to the other side of her body before falling. He landed on his hands and knees between Andrea’s spread legs.
Jase and Luke were on each side of him, holding Andrea by the ankles. Wally was sitting on her face.
“Go to it,” Jase urged him.
“You killed her! You killed them all!”
“You did,” Luke said.
“All your fault,” Wally said, and bounced on Andrea’s face, his blubber shaking.
“No!” But Rick looked down at himself. His body was slick with blood, his penis erect.
“What are you waiting for?” Jase asked. “Go to it, pal.”
“Don’t worry about Bert,” Luke said. “She’ll never know.” He chuckled.
NO!
Rick was on his knees, doubled over, his forehead pressed against the cool damp mat of the forest floor. He pushed himself up. The revolver was clamped between his thighs. He wrapped his hand around its grips, and stood up. His legs had pins and needles, and he was barely able to keep himself up.
The campfire had burnt down to a heap of glowing embers. He looked at Bert’s tent, then at the girls’ tent. Then he scanned the dark trees surrounding the camp.
He wondered how long he’d been out of it.
Must’ve been a long time, or his legs wouldn’t have fallen asleep like that.
What if Jase and Luke and Wally had come while he was ... was what?
What the hell was all that, anyway? he wondered.
An hallucination? A nightmare? A premonition?
And Angus, the mad preacher. A fantasy? Or the real thing?
His heart started thudding hard. He licked his dry lips.
He walked to the remains of the fire, crouched there and tossed sticks onto the embers. White smoke rose off the sticks like thick steam. The wind shredded the smoke and cast it away.
With a sudden
Firelight shimmered on the front of the girls’ tent.
Rick stood up, trembling. He switched the revolver to his left hand and wiped his right hand dry on the leg of his pants. He fingered the handle of the knife sheathed at his hip.
He glanced at Bert’s tent and half hoped to see the flaps bulge and Bert crawl out, ready to join him on the watch—and in time to stop him.
He turned toward the other tent.
Were they both asleep in there? Or was Andrea still awake, waiting for him?
He pictured the way they had looked on the ground in the Christmas tree lot, all three of them, and Juiie— naked and dead.
Taking the revolver into his right hand again, Rick stepped around the fire and walked away from its heat.
Jerry had said, “Why don’t you stay here tonight? We’ll get your stuff out of your uncle’s place and bring it over.”
“Right now?” Gillian had asked.
“Maybe not
They were both naked in bed. He was lying on his side, propped up on an elbow, looking at her body in the candlelight while his other hand rested open on her hip, fingertips moving ever so slightly in the curls of her pubic hair. Gillian was on her back, hands folded beneath her head. She felt worn out and wonderful.
