the first time she ever felt grateful for her disfigurement.
The last boxcar rushed past, rain swirling in its wake. Morgan clawed her way back up the hill, dragging her paralyzed legs through the rocks behind her. Mike’s body lay scattered down the tracks in shapeless chunks and smears of rain-washed gut. The Railroad Man was back on the tracks, examining Mike’s ruined remains as he walked between the rails towards the point of impact.
Morgan dragged herself back through the bushes and onto the muddy road, the sound of her movements masked by thunder. She crawled as fast as she could until she made it to the Railroad Man’s truck. She looked behind her, saw that he was still engrossed in the mess on the tracks, and then pulled herself up into the driver’s seat. Her first inclination was to leave with the truck, to put as much distance between herself and this psychotic bastard as possible, but she still couldn’t feel her legs below the knees, so there was no way for her to work the gas and brake petals. Besides, the sky was still alive with flashes of lightning, and even as the primal part of her brain screamed at her to leave, to get away before this man killed her, her throbbing crotch demanded something else.
Morgan snatched the keys from the ignition and the engine died. She then slid back to the ground, crawled around to the back of the truck and used the rear bumper to pull herself up. She crawled over the top of the tailgate and collapsed into the bed of the truck, which was cluttered with tools. Among them was another spike maul.
She peeked over the side of the truck and saw that the Railroad Man was now on his way back. Because of the din of the storm, he wouldn’t know the truck’s motor had been killed until he saw that the keys were missing. But Morgan wouldn’t let him get that far.
He was close now. Just a few feet away. Walking past the tailgate. Morgan took a deep breath and swung the spike maul over the side of the truck. The steel head struck his face, knocking him backwards. He stumbled, fell to the ground, and lay sprawled on his back, his orbital bone shattered, eyeball destroyed, blood gushing from the hole in his face. His good leg twitched.
Morgan dropped the tailgate, tossed the spike maul to the ground, and then rolled out of the truck. She hit the ground hard, sending needles of pain through her body. But her will to survive kept her conscious. She grabbed the spike maul and slipped the wooden handle between her teeth, then crawled past the dying Railroad Man. She dragged herself up the hill, over the rail and onto the tracks. Body parts were everywhere. Mike’s severed arm lay on the rocks with the hand palm-up, as if trying to cup the rain drops. A leg lay on the opposite slope, a bloody L among the patches of weeds. And there was his head, now just a sack of brains and shattered skull fragments, an eyeball peering up at her from the twisted mass of flesh that had once been a handsome face.
But Morgan had no time to dwell on past lovers, not while her soul mate waited in the clouds. She opened her mouth and let the spike maul fall from her aching jaws. She pulled herself up into a sitting position, grabbed the spike maul and raised it high above her head. Her arms ached from the weight of the tool, but she refused to give up. She knew her lover would return.
It wasn’t long before static fingers caressed her skin. She closed her eyes and licked her lips as the sensation dance down her spine and settled in her crotch, throbbing… throbbing… “Come on,” she whispered. “Come and get me, baby. Come and—”
A horn blared in the distance. Morgan opened her eyes and saw a light on the track. “No!” she cried. She couldn’t stop, not when she was so close. She clenched her teeth and thrust the spike maul higher. Rain lashed her face, the ground shook. Her arms trembled as her shadow stretched out long and thin behind her. And when the lightning finally flashed, she didn’t see it. The train’s light was too close, too bright. As bright as the sun.
DEAD DEANNA
John McNee
I didn’t plan for any of it. I just got in the truck and I drove without thinking about why or what for. And when I got to Buster’s, I just sat there in the lot, hands at ten and two, knuckles white on the wheel, and I waited. I didn’t think, I didn’t plan. I couldn’t get the fog clear long enough. The only thing I knew—all I could feel—was pure, hot rage.
It wouldn’t fade away, it wouldn’t leave me alone. And it had total control.
It was ten when I got there. I sat watching the door, waiting for the place to empty out, for people to go home. It was just before midnight when the last couple stumbled out of the bar, into the last car in the lot that wasn’t hers and drove away.
I climbed out then. There was a toolbox full of blunt instruments in the flat-bed, and a pistol in the glove compartment. I left them where they were and walked calmly through the doors.
All the tables were empty. Ernest Tubb was playing on the jukebox. Deanna was alone behind the bar.
“Hello, handsome,” she grinned. Six hours spent on her feet shilling beers and she looked fresh as the spring. Not one golden hair out of its place. “Shot and a brew?”
I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure what would come out of my mouth if I opened it. So I kept my jaw clenched, crossed the floor and took a stool.
She set a bottle before me. “I’ve been hoping you’d come around,” she said. “I’ve missed you.” She laid her hand on mine and I pulled it back.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” I said, finally finding my voice. It sounded mean.
That feline smile of hers widened and the hand I’d rejected went to her neck, fingers sliding along the collar of her shirt. “Nothing you couldn’t fix,” she answered, hand sliding a little lower. “I’m guessing you finally realized little Lucy never had it where it counts.” She popped a button on the blouse, showed me a little more breast than she’d shown the customers. And she’d shown them plenty.
“Stop it,” I said, not sternly enough.
She cocked her head to one side, looked me up and down, and whispered: “I’ll get the door.”
I gritted my teeth and took a swig from the bottle as she rounded the bar. She didn’t look at me, but did her best hip-sway walk to the door. She was wearing her favorite too-short denim skirt. Any man who dared to watch her long enough would eventually find out she didn’t wear panties. She slid the bolts firmly into place and turned back to me, fixing me with a cool, considered gaze. “Well?”
“You’re crazy,” I said.
She laughed and came back to the bar. “It’s just us here, Ray. You don’t have to keep up the act.” She climbed up onto a stool and sat down on the bar, perched there cross-legged, looking down at me.
“That’s rich,” I said. “You’re the actress. You have any idea what your lies have done to me?”
She pouted and rolled her eyes. “You’re not still angry with me are you, Ray? Can’t you forgive me having a little fun? I’ve forgiven you.”
“You’ve nothing to forgive,” I growled.
She smiled slowly and picked up my beer bottle. “You’re still sore,” she said. “I can see that. But I bet I can make it up to you.” She spun around on her ass and lay down, stretching out on the bar in front of me, blonde hair spilling out over the polished wood. She opened her blouse and showed me the full mounds of her tanned breasts, nipples pert. She hitched up her skirt and put the bottle between her legs, running it along the inside of her thigh. The condensation on the glass left tiny water drops on her skin. In a movie, they would have sizzled away into steam.
“Dee,” I said. “It’s not going to happen. Not ever again.”
She lifted her hand and placed it on my shoulder. I resisted the urge to slap it away. I wanted to make her understand.
She sat up, face coming closer, clear green eyes gazing into mine. “Say it,” she whispered. “Say it so’s I believe it.”
I took a deep breath. “Deanna, you… ”
She grabbed the back of my head and pulled her face into mine. Her mouth tasted of Bourbon. I didn’t fight her. I don’t think I could. She wrapped her arms around my neck and slid into my lap. Her tongue was hot against mine. She pressed her breasts up against my chest. She was tying me up in knots. The rage and the hate were still there, but she wouldn’t let me get it out. She silenced me with her kiss and forced the fury back down, where it stayed, bubbling away in my gut, throbbing at the back of my skull. It’d have to come out some time.
