Slimer

only be a matter of time before he made a move against either her or Chris.

He was sitting on the couch eyeing them both in an increasingly suggestive way. The bottle of whisky that he’d unfortunately discovered in the back of a cupboard was almost empty now and he wasn’t even paying any more attention to the TV set on which an incredibly graphic pornographic video film was unspooling towards an imminent, and sticky, end. Out of the corner of her eye she could see a naked woman surrounded on a bed by several men making use of her every available orifice.

Alex took another swallow out of the bottle then resumed his maddening drone: ‘Ba-Ba-Ba-Ba-Barbara Ann; Ba-Ba-Ba-Ba-Barbara Ann!’ His eyes moved back to Linda, travelling slowly up and down her body, lingering on the tight crotch of her jeans. She felt as if he could see through her flesh as well as her clothes; that he was penetrating deep into her most vulnerable inner places. She could feel the waves of lust radiating from him like heat from a fire. She could sense the cruelty mixed in with the animal desire; if he got his hands on her she knew he wouldn’t be satisfied with just sex, he would want to hurt her too. And badly. She gave an involuntary shiver which she hoped he hadn’t noticed. If only Paul and Mark would get back. Where the hell were they? They’d been gone all morning…

Even Rochelle’s return might be enough to avert what was undoubtedly going to be a nasty incident. But no, she didn’t really expect Rochelle to come back yet. She had left furious and in tears a half an hour ago after Alex had viciously slapped her when she’d tried to take the bottle from him. Linda knew now that she and Chris should have left with her. It was too late now. Alex would surely stop them if they made any attempt to leave.

Linda glanced at Chris. She looked pale and tense and was obviously thinking along the same lines as her. Linda wondered what to do when Alex made his inevitable move. Shoot him? She’d like to but she didn’t think she’d be able to. But then perhaps she wouldn’t have any choice… if he tried to rape either her or Chris she would have to shoot him. If only he would just pass out…

‘You. C’mere. I want you…’ He was pointing at her with the bottle.

The muscles of her stomach tightened. Oh shit. ‘What do you want?’ she asked calmly.

‘Wannafuck. That’s what I want.’ He lurched up out of the sofa, swaying badly. She hoped he would fall but he didn’t.

‘Linda…’ said Chris, in warning.

‘It’s okay,’ she said quickly, then, smiling at him, she stood up.

‘Sure I’ll fuck you, Alex,’ she told him sweetly, ‘but you’ve got to promise me you’ll behave. Promise me you won’t hurt me — that you won’t be rough. Do you promise that?’

‘Uh?’ He hadn’t been expecting this. He stared at her suspiciously through alcohol-glazed eyes. Then he grinned suddenly, pleased with himself. ‘Sure… sure, promise.’ The lie was so transparent it would have been amusing to observe his expression in different circumstances.

‘Good. Shall I undress now?’ She managed to keep smiling at him.

‘Uh?’ he gruntpd, frowning again. Then, ‘Yeah, take ’em off. Everything.’

She slowly undid the buttons on her shirt then pulled it open, baring her breasts. He stared at them with naked, leering hunger. All that was missing was drool falling from the corner of his mouth. She had to work hard to keep the smile on her lips.

She began pulling the shirt free of her jeans. Reaching behind her she then drew the gun out of her waistband…

There was a crash as the bottle hit the floor and shattered. Alex was lurching towards her, hands reaching for her breasts. At the precise moment he touched her she hit him very hard on the side of the head with the butt of the gun. There was an unpleasant thunk sound and he reeled backwards, eyes wide with shock.

She hit him again — this time right in the middle of his forehead. He yelled with pain and sagged to his knees, clutching at his head with one hand and trying to grab her with the other.

She tried to hit him again — thinking at the same time that knocking someone out with a gun never looked this difficult in the movies — but somehow he caught her wrist. ‘Run, Chris!’ she screamed as she tried to pull free from his grip. Then she kicked him in the stomach. He gave a bellow of rage but she was able to break free. The gun, however, was sent skittering across the floor.

She made a dash for the doorway. Chris was already there ahead of her and they collided together as they went through the door. ‘This way!’ she cried, tugging on Chris’s arm. They ran down the passageway in the direction of the kitchen where they’d eaten breakfast. She had no specific plan in mind — she just wanted to get as far away from Alex as possible.

As she ran she looked over her shoulder and saw, with a sick lurch of her stomach, that Alex was staggering out of the doorway. He was brandishing his switch-blade in one hand. There was blood on his face but he gave no sign of being seriously hurt. Oh shitl she thought, I should have shot him..

They ran into the kitchen and Linda wondered if she should grab something, like a carving knife — if there was one — and make a stand there. But she quickly dismissed the idea. She didn’t fancy her chances of winning a knife fight with Alex. If ony half his stories were true he’d had a lot of practice at that sort of thing.

She herded Chris through the kitchen and into the next corridor. Their cabins were down there. All they could do was get in one and barricade the door. Somehow.

She pushed Chris through the first open door they came to. Checking to see that it had a key she slammed it shut and locked it. She knew Alex wasn’t far behind them. She heard the sound of his footsteps as he half-ran, halfstaggered along the corridor. Then there was silence, apart from their own ragged gasps for breath.

Then came a noise. An unpleasant one. Linda realised that it was the sound of Alex’s knife being scraped across the door. Again and again. Then he began to speak. He no longer sounded drunk as he told them, in precise and clinical detail, what he was going to do to them both.

Chris’s sobs changed to retching sounds as she deposited her partly digested breakfast onto the cabin floor.

Rochelle had no idea where she was going. Nor did she care. The right side of her face was still stinging badly from the slap Alex had given her. Her eyes were filled with tears but more from anger than the pain. How dare that bastard hit her like that Who the hell did he think she was? Did he think he could treat her like trash and expect her to sit back and take it like an obedient puppy? He’s just getting too damn big for his boots these days…

And it wasn’t just the slap, it was the way he’d made it plain he wanted to lay Linda, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes herself. Right in front of her. And of course the previous night he’d had Chris. She knew that for a fact. He hadn’t admitted it yet but nor did he bother to even deny it — just grinned that smug grin of his. Okay, so during the eighteen months they’d been going together they’d both screwed around with other people — him especially — but they had an unspoken agreement not to be goddamned blatant about it. Well, as far as she was concerned he’d gone too far this time. Once they got back to dry land she was giving him the elbow…

It was about then that Rochelle realised she was lost. She wasn’t even sure which level she was on. She knew she had gone up some stairs and passed through at least one set of automatic doors but how far exactly had she climbed? All these corridors looked the same. It was like being in a giant three-dimensional white maze.

She sighed and kept on walking. She would find the stairs and go down again. A tiny worm of worry was beginning to burrow into the edge of her mind but she tried to ignore it, turning her thoughts back to Alex again. She had never seen him that drunk before. It had been a bit frightening. But sometimes he was a little frightening even when he wasn’t drunk. There was a manic streak in him that scared her a little. But she was attracted to him in spite of — or perhaps because of- that. She knew it was unfashionable to admit such a thing these days, especially in front of a feminist like Chris, but she had always been something of a masochist when it came to lovers.

Not that she didn’t give as good as she got at times, but there did seem to be something about her that dragged the psychopaths out of the woodwork. Small-time psychopaths at any rate.

She stopped her musing as she turned a corner and saw that the corridor came to an end at a pair of doors. After a moment’s hesitation she went on through them and found herself in the big room containing all the empty cages and tanks. She frowned, trying to remember which level this had been on.