the rhythm.“The river flows!” Laveda yelled, wandering among her people. “It flows and winds. We shall drink from its shores, this night. We shall drink its all powerful waters and take its power into ourselves. The river is endless. Its waters flow forever. Eternal power shall be ours!”She stopped and placed her open hand on the head of the beautiful young mulatto. The woman rose to her feet.“We shall drink at the river!”Dukane winced as Laveda jerked the woman’s head back by the hair and flicked her knife across the throat. She pressed her mouth to the spouting wound.Two men held the convulsing mulatto from behind, and Laveda stepped back. Her face was smeared with blood. It streamed down her body.“Drink, all of you, at the river!”As the drums roared, the whole mob rushed forward. Including Alice. They caught the blood in their mouths and hurried off, smearing their bodies, dancing with sudden fury as if they’d all gone mad. Laveda, herself, leapt and spun like the others, her golden hair flying, flesh shimmering in the firelight, breasts slick with blood. A huge, black man fell to the ground at her feet. She dropped onto him, impaling herself. As she rode him, she took a man into her mouth.Everywhere Dukane looked, bodies were falling upon each other, mounting and thrusting to the thunder of the drums.Alice, on her back near the center of the group, was barely visible under the pale body of a middle-aged man.Slinging the rifle across his back, Dukane climbed down from the tree. He propped his rifle against its trunk. He tried to ignore the lump of fear in his belly as he disrobed.A piece of cake, he told himself.Cakes get eaten.Screw that analogy, he thought, and managed a smile.When he was naked, he mussed up his hair until it hung over his eyes. Then he slipped his Buck knife from its sheath.The things I’ll do for money.Even as he cut into his forearm, though, he knew this wasn’t just for money. Now that he’d located the girl, he could think of several less hazardous ways to snatch her from the cult. But none were this daring, this exciting. None would give him the same thrill.Gonna get myself killed one of these days.With a trembling hand, he smeared blood over his cheeks and mouth and chin.He stabbed his knife into the trunk of the cypress, then made his way toward the clearing. His heart pounded with the thudding drums. His mouth was parched. Licking his lips, he tasted his own blood.From behind a bush, he studied the fire-lit congregation. No one was standing, no one keeping watch. All were busy writhing in groups of two or more, or crawling off to join new partners.Six feet from where he stood, two women were entwined, faces buried between widespread thighs. The one on top was a lean, white woman with a strawberry birthmark on her rump. Dukane crawled forward and nipped it. Her buttocks clenched and she yelped with surprise. Twisting her head around, she gazed at him with wild eyes. Dukane leered. He threw himself onto her sweaty back. Together, they rolled off to the side. She squirmed on top of him, moaning as he nibbled the side of her neck and fondled her breasts. The other woman scurried to join in. She pried apart their legs and knelt between them, her mouth going to the girl, her hand groping Dukane.It squeezed him, massaged him, stroked him. He grew hard, his erection rising and pressing against the groin of the girl on top of him. He felt a tongue.Then the woman tumbled away, sprawling as a burly black man fell upon her and rammed in.Dukane threw himself over, rolling onto the girl who’d been on top of him. She clawed at the grass as he wedged her legs apart. Kneeling behind her, he stroked her wet opening. Then he clutched her hips and thrust into her. His quick, hard lunges soon brought her to a quaking orgasm. He withdrew, rigid and aching, concentrating to prevent his own body from finding its release. With a pat on her rump, he crawled away from the girl.He spotted Alice. She was several yards away, on her back, her heels embedded in the rump of a fat man, pressing him down deeper. As Dukane crawled toward her, a hand darted from behind and gripped his erection. Lowering his head, he looked between his legs.A chill swept up his spine.Lying on her back, one hand clutching him, was Laveda. She licked her lips. Her eyes looked dull and glazed.Maybe she’s too far gone, Dukane thought, to realize I don’t belong.He started to crawl backward as Laveda pulled him.There are thirty others here, he told himself. At least thirty. She couldn’t know them all on sight.Could she?No. The New Orleans group was only one of a hundred. She had followers all over the country. Several thousand. New members all the time. She couldn’t possibly keep track.Her face appeared between his legs. Lifting her head, she sucked him into her mouth. He felt her tight lips, her pressing tongue, the edges of her teeth.If she knows, Dukane thought, she’ll bite. Or ram that dagger…But she didn’t. Her mouth held him tightly, sucking.At least she can’t see my face, he thought.And then he was lost in the growing ache of need. Images flashed through his mind of Laveda writhing in the firelight, her skin glossy, her firm breasts tipped with rigid nipples.Her hands spread his buttocks. She pushed a finger in, and he burst with release. She sucked hard as he pumped inside the tight wetness of her mouth. After he was done, she continued to tug at him for a few moments.Then her head lowered. Her eyes were shut. She licked her lips.Dukane crawled forward. Looking back, he saw her curl onto her side and reach out for the foot of a nearby girl. The girl, astraddle an older man, freed herself from his embraces and scurried toward Laveda.He looked for Alice, and found her in the same place, still gasping under the fat man. He hurried to them. The fat man was grunting and pumping, his rump shaking like Jell-O.Dukane pinched his carotid artery, felt him go rigid for a moment, then limp. He rolled the man off Alice, and took his place.She smiled languidly. Her hands stroked his back. Her heels caressed his rump. She was hot and slick beneath him. She shivered as Dukane gnawed the side of her neck.He pushed himself to his hands and knees. Alice clung to his neck, at first, when he started to crawl forward. Then her grip loosened. She fell to the ground and he kept crawling. Her hands trailed down his belly as he passed over her. They fondled his penis.Dukane lowered his head to look at her. “Ride me,” he said.Alice made a husky laugh. Then she rolled over and climbed onto Dukane. She straddled him, thighs hugging his hips, breasts against his back, arms wrapping his chest. “Giddyap,” she whispered.He crawled past several squirming piles of bodies. Once, Alice reached out to squeeze a looming breast and fell from Dukane’s back. She quickly remounted.Dukane continued forward.“My turn,” Alice whispered in his ear.“Huh?”“You ride me.”Dukane dropped to his elbows. She slid forward. Dukane climbed onto her back, but kept his feet on the ground for support. With one hand, he gripped her hair. He raised her head and pointed her toward the bushes. With his other hand, he slapped her rump. She whinnied and started to move.Dukane walked, keeping most of his weight off her back while he guided her away from the group. At the edge of the clearing, she halted. She began to chew the leaves of a nearby bush.Hunching low, Dukane pressed himself to her back. His right arm reached under her and caressed a breast. His left hand pinched her carotid. She started to collapse. He threw her over and they rolled together under the sheltering bushes.For a long time, Dukane lay motionless on top of the girl. He watched the crowd.Apparently, the disappearing act had drawn no attention.He climbed off Alice. Staying low, he dragged her deeper into the undergrowth. When they were well away from the clearing, he hoisted her over his shoulder and ran.
CHAPTER THREE
Lacey climbed onto a bar stool. She tapped a cigarette out of its pack, and pressed it between her lips.George O’Toole swiveled toward her. His ruddy, broad face crinkled with a smile, and he struck a match.“Thank you.”“And what’ll it be you’re drinking to night?” he asked, with a lilt Lacey assumed he had picked up from Barry Fitzgerald movies.“A little red wine.”“A dainty drink for a dainty lady,” he said. He raised a thick, weathered hand and caught the bartender’s eye.The bartender was Will Glencoe.“A spot of red for the lady, Will. And another Guinness for himself.” The bartender turned away. “You did Red a fine turn, writing up your story the way you did. He was almighty ashamed of the way he carried on about Rusty. I can understand a grown man weeping over the loss of a good dog—done it myself more than once. But it’s a private thing, and a man doesn’t want it blatted about. You did him a fine turn.”“He’s right, there,” said Will, setting down the drinks. “Take your average reporter, he’d have a field day. Bunch of blood suckers, that’s what they are.”“But not our Lacey. You did yourself proud, young lady.”She reached into her purse.“You put that away.”“Thank you, George.”He paid, and Will stepped away to take an order down the bar.“Where
