The quake, p.37
THE QUAKE, page 37
He looked over his shoulder at her. “We’re almost to Sunset.”
“Oh. Just great. Loreen’ll be happy about that.”
Clint saw Loreen and Caspar walking side by side, probably fifty feet behind Mary. They were facing each other, gesturing and moving their mouths.
“Nothing is going to happen at Sunset,” Clint said.
“If you don’t count me getting killed.”
“Including that.”
“Like, you’re gonna save me.”
“Like, nothing’s gonna happen. Stop worrying about it, okay?”
“You’d be worried, too, if some fucking gypsy bitch said you were gonna die at Sunset.”
“Nobody’s gonna die at Sunset,” Clint said.
“We’ll see about that.”
A few minutes later, Sunset Boulevard came into view. Em tightened her grip on Clint’s hand, and halted.
“Let’s keep going,” Clint said, trying to keep his voice steady.
Em shook her head. She made a high-pitched humming sound, not quite a moan, not quite a whine.
“It’s all right,” he said. But he knew it wasn’t all right. Not at all. He knew why Em wanted nothing to do with the intersection ahead, and why she was making such a frightened noise. He had a quick urge, himself, to squeal, “Let’s get outa here!” and whirl around and run away.
It was the first major thoroughfare they’d encountered since Ventura Boulevard on the other side of the hills.
Like Ventura, every lane was jammed with traffic.
But the other boulevard had been alive.
Not Sunset.
Here, the vehicles didn’t try to inch forward. None moved. Some had been turned onto their sides, others upside-down. Many were smoky, smoldering husks.
No horns honked.
There was nobody to honk them.
Most of the cars and trucks and vans looked abandoned, as if their drivers and passengers had thrown open the doors and run for their lives.
Many hadn’t made it.
There were bodies. Fifteen or twenty of them, at least, that Clint saw from where he stood looking down on the scene. Several bodies were slumped across car hoods. Most of the others were sprawled on the pavement, just this side of the traffic, as if they’d been slaughtered while trying to flee toward Laurel Canyon.
Mr. Gooey must be the one that got away, Clint thought.
But he didn’t exactly get away, did he? They took what they wanted from him, and let the poor guy go.
Who the hell could’ve done all this? Clint wondered.
He saw nobody down there roaming among the cars. Nobody at all who didn’t look dead.
Mary staggered to a halt by his side. She didn’t say anything. She stared straight forward and trembled.
Soon, Caspar and Loreen arrived.
Everyone stared at Sunset Boulevard.
After a while, Loreen muttered, “Blood on the face of the day. So much blood. I saw…”
“Stop it,” Clint said.
“There’s a police car,” Em said, pointing.
Clint nodded. Like the patrol car at the other end of Laurel Canyon, this one had been parked broadside—stationed there to prevent vehicles from turning off Sunset onto the closed boulevard.
Clint remembered the two cops at the other end.
A young man and woman. They’d been friendly and helpful. He hoped they were still all right.
These cops were probably not all right.
Probably among the dead.
None of the bodies scattered on the street near the patrol car wore uniforms.
None wore much of anything.
At this distance, the figures seemed to be made of bare skin and blood. Clint could see that some, at least, had been scalped. Several had been dismembered to one extent or another.
“Shoot ‘em full of arrows,” he muttered, “and it’d look like an Indian massacre.”
“We can’t go down there,” Mary said.
“I have to,” Clint said.
“Not me.”
Em squeezed Clint’s hand. “I go where you go.”
“Whatever happened,” Clint said, “it looks like it’s over. Whoever did this might be long gone, by now.”
“They’re waiting for us,” Loreen said.
Clint scowled. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”
“Don’t say it, anyway,” Mary told her.
Loreen shrugged her thick shoulders. “I only tell what I see.”
“Well,” Clint said, “please don’t. Unless you literally spotted someone down there. Did you actually see someone?”
“With the eye of my mind.”
“Then we don’t want to hear about it,” Clint told her.
“When Loreen sees something ‘with the eye of her mind,’” Caspar said, “it’s usually there. We’d better turn back.”
“No!” Loreen blurted. “We cannot turn back. Going back is far worse than going forward. This, I know.”
“Terrific,” Mary said. “We can’t go forward, we can’t go back, where the fuck are we supposed to go? Not that it matters a hell of a lot, far as I’m concerned, seeing as how I’ve been pronounced dead already by this fat tub of…” She cut off her words and eyed Caspar. “This delightful psychic,” she added, then gave Loreen a grin that looked more like a snarl.
“I only tell what…”
“Knock it off!” Clint snapped at Loreen. To Mary, he said, “I know you’re scared. We’re all scared. I don’t wanta go down there any more than you do. But my home is on the other side of Sunset, so I’m going across.”
He reached into a front pocket of his pants and pulled out the paring knife he’d taken from Em’s kitchen. “Time for these,” he told Em. As he drew the blade from its cardboard sheath, the girl lifted the hanging front of her T-shirt and removed two butcher knives from the pockets of her shorts.
“Give me one,” Caspar said.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“You don’t need the both of them.”
“One’s for Mary. If she wants it.”
“That makes no sense,” Caspar protested.
“I hate to say this, Mr. Blotski, but I’m not sure you’re someone I’d trust very much with sharp objects, if you know what I mean.”
“Me?” Eyebrows leaping up in shock, he pounded an open hand against his chest. Shiny waves of red silk rippled the front of his blouse. “Me?” he blurted again. “You don’t trust me?”
“You’ve made some threats,” Clint explained.
“Besides which,” Em said, “Mary was with us first. And she’s the one Loreen says is in the most trouble around here, so she oughta have something she can use for defending herself just in case things get hairy.” She held one of the knives out toward Mary. “You can have it if you want it,” she said.
Mary looked from the knife handle to Em’s face. “Thank you,” she murmured. “You… You really… want me to have it? After everything…”
“Sure.”
Mary’s chin trembled. Tears spilled from her eyes and dribbled down her cheeks. “Thank you.” She took the knife. “You’re so nice to me. I don’t deserve…”
“You don’t deserve!” Caspar assured her. Pounding his chest again, he gaped at Clint. “I am a man. I should get a knife!”
“Go find one,” Clint told him.
“This is outrageous! This girl, this child, she has no right to decide who gets what! Are you mad?”
“They’re her knives,” Clint pointed out, “so knock it off.”
“Fool!”
“Settle yourself down, Caspar,” Loreen said, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Look at you. And you wonder why little Em doesn’t want to give you a weapon?”
“She’s a child. She knows nothing.”
“Child,” Clint said, “rip the tape off your blade. You too, Mary. Then try to keep your knives out of sight when we go in. With any luck, you won’t need to use them. If you do get attacked, though, don’t let your assailant see your knife. Let him feel it before he sees it. Shove the blade in as hard as you can, then twist it, rip with it. Do as much damage as you can, as fast as you can.”
Mary nodded and sniffled.
“Where’d be the best place to stab somebody?” Em asked.
“Wherever you can get to. Just get that knife into him as fast and hard as you can. And don’t worry… either of you. I’ll be there to help.”
“What a mensch,” said Caspar.
Clint faced him. “We’ll all help each other. There’re five of us. We oughta be able to take care of trouble.”
“I go first,” Loreen said.
“What?” Caspar blurted.
“You heard me, Papa. The madness cannot touch me. My aura will act as my shield. Those who would do us harm will be struck numb with awe. Thus will I settle the turbulence and make the passage safe for you who follow.”
Em wrinkled her nose, glanced at Clint and rolled her eyes.
Mary made a snorting sound.
Caspar said, “I forbid it.”
“No harm will come to me,” Loreen told him, smiling with gentle confidence.
Maybe she knows something I don’t, Clint thought. Or maybe she’s just nuts.
“No,” Caspar said. “Let them go first, the Three Stooges. We’ll wait and see what happens to them. If they get to the other side without…”
“My way is best,” Loreen said.
She took a step, and Caspar blocked her way. They both stood motionless. Caspar glared into her eyes, but slowly his fierceness faded and vanished. He moved out of her way, then turned and watched her walk past him. When he started to follow her, she raised her hand. He halted.
She kept on walking, her peasant skirt swishing from side to side with the sweep of her broad rump.
“Loreen!” Caspar called.
Without looking back, she waved him forward.
Caspar hurried after her. He gained on her for a few moments, then slowed his pace. He stayed about twenty feet behind her as they made their way toward Sunset.
“Let’s do some catching up,” Clint said. Holding the knife inside his right pocket, he gestured Mary forward with his other hand.
She started to hobble.
With her left hand at her chest, she held her torn blouse shut. She carried the knife in plain sight by her right hip, blade to the rear.
“Better hide the knife,” Clint reminded her.
Without argument, she swept it upward. The knife and the hand that held it disappeared inside the front of her blouse.
“Move it along, now,” Clint said. “Come on, you can do better than that. Pick it up, pick it up.”
Mary quickened her pace.
“Em, you go now.”
Em hurried past him.
Her right arm, bent at the elbow, hitched up the back of her T-shirt so high that a swath of bare skin showed above the top of her shorts.
Clint felt a sudden ache, glimpsing the skin. Not arousal, exactly. Partly that, but more a strange mix of desire and envy and loss. And a great, awful tenderness.
Can’t let anything happen to her. Can’t. No matter what. She’s what’s best in the world, girls like her and girls like Barbara. Have to take good care of her.
He had a thickness in his throat, but he smiled about the back of Em’s Roadkill T-shirt.
The cloth was so thin and clingy that it took on the shape of her forearm, her fist, and the broad tapering blade that stood upright over her spine. The point of the knife was midway between her shoulder blades.
The knife’s almost bigger than she is, he thought.
Such a toughie.
And damn it, she shouldn’t have to be going around in this world with a knife in her shirt like some sort of pint-sized Saint Joan.
THIRTY-SIX
“What’re you doing?” Sheila asked.
“Nothing,” Stanley told her. He had exhausted himself earlier by hoisting the remains of Crash out of the tub. Breathless, drenched in sweat, heart slamming, he had sat down in his favorite place beyond the foot of the tub. It had only taken him a few minutes to recover. But he’d stayed where he was, sometimes mopping himself with the towel while he stared at Sheila.
“Are you just going to sit there?” she asked.
“I guess so. It’s a nice view. And this way you can’t get your hands on me.”
“Sure,” she muttered.
“You look like you’re sweating blood. All shiny red, and dripping. Do you want to rub it off?” He raised his towel.
“Please.” She lifted a hand to catch the toss.
But Stanley laughed and draped the towel over his shoulders. “Nah. You look beautiful just the way you are. You look like a wild woman. A gorgeous, naked, wild woman.”
“You wanta do more than look, Stan. You know it and I know it.”
He grinned. “But what are we going to do about it?” he asked.
“You have to finish sawing through this beam.”
“Uh-huh.” He bobbed his head. “But what happens to me when you’re no longer pinned down? There’s the rub, so to speak. The sad fact is, you’re not only gorgeous but extremely powerful. Muscles, muscles, everywhere. If I set you free, you might try to take me apart.”
She stared up at him. Her face was bloody. In the shade of the beam above it, the whites of her eyes had a pale blue tint.
“Maybe we can make a deal,” she said.
“What sort of a deal?”
“You help me get out of here, and… I won’t do anything to you. I won’t try to hurt you.”
“Will you let me fuck you?”
She pressed her lips into a tight, straight line, and nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “Okay. If that’s what it takes to get out of here.”
“No fighting? I get full cooperation?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire! Woops! What pants?”
“I’m not lying, Stan. Quit the games. Just let me out of here. I’ll do anything you want.”
“Why is it that I don’t believe you?”
“Believe me.”
“Maybe if you hadn’t grabbed my ankles when all I wanted to do was play a little footsies with your tits…”
“I’m sorry. That was a mistake.”
“A big big big mistake.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“There might be something.”
“What? Name it.”
“Because, the thing is, I’ve got half an inclination to just leave you down there, call it a loss, and wait around to see who else shows up. Maybe your husband, for instance. You’ve seen how easily I kill people. But do you know who I think is bound to show up sooner or later? Barbara. Wherever she is, I’ll bet she’s on her way home right now. I’ve seen her in her bikini. She’s got a sweet, young body. Is she a virgin? I’ll bet she is. I’ll bet she has a…”
“You don’t want her,” Sheila said. Her dry, husky voice sounded fairly calm, but Stanley heard a tremor in it. “I’m the one you want. She’d be a lousy substitute, and you know it.”
“But she hasn’t got your muscles. If she fights me…”
“I won’t fight you. I’ll do anything you say.”
“Will you? We’ll see about that.”
“You’ll see.”
“At the first sign of resistance, it’s over. You’re history, and I nail Barbara.”
“I won’t resist.”
“And you’ll do exactly what I tell you to do.”
“Exactly.”
“Very good. We’ll see how it goes.”
With that, Stanley got to his feet. He made his way alongside the hole in the floor and crouched over Eagle’s pale, hairless body.
The barbed wire was wound four times around Eagle’s waist, its ends twisted together in front.
Why on earth anyone would wear a barbed wire belt…
Maybe so he’ll have some handy, Stanley thought, for occasions like this.
Or maybe it’s just a fashion statement.
After untwisting the ends of the wire, Stanley used Eagle’s straight razor to slash the belt loops. Then he nudged the ring of wire higher, past the top of the leather pants, so the four loops encircled Eagle’s bare waist.
Holding one end, he stood up and stepped to the other side of the body. Then he pulled hard.
By the time all four loops had unwound, Eagle looked as if he wore a frayed, red ribbon around his waist.
Stanley coiled the wire. It was slippery. There were bits of skin on some of its sharp little points.
He stepped over the body and placed the wire on the floor near his saw, scissors and straight razor. Then he climbed down onto the edges of the tub. When he leaned over the middle beam, his leg and back muscles began to tremble.
“Boy,” he said, “am I ever gonna be sore tomorrow.”
Sheila didn’t open her mouth.
“Okay, now let’s see if you’re as good as your word.”
“I am.”
“Give me your hands.”
She raised her arms from her sides and stretched them toward him.
“Put them together.”
She did, and Stanley watched the way her breasts got squeezed between her upper arms.
“Very nice,” he said. “Keep them that way.”
He reached out and grabbed the coil of barbed wire. When Sheila saw it, her eyes opened wider. But she said nothing, and held her arms up toward him, hands together.
He began to bind her wrists, winding the wire around them, drawing it between them, bending it, twisting it, pulling it tight. Sheila twitched a few times when barbs dug in, but she never protested or struggled.
Finally, her hands seemed securely bound together and Stanley had his “lead”—five or six feet of leftover wire that extended from between her wrists.
“So far, so good,” he said.
“You didn’t have to do this,” Sheila told him.
“Sure, I did. You may now put your hands down, but be careful where you put them. You don’t wanta poke yourself.”
He paid out the lead and watched her. Wrists bound so tightly together with the barbed wire, she had trouble finding a new position for her arms. Finally, she swung them up and rested them against the edge of the overhead beam. Face between the undersides of her arms, she looked as if she were about to perform a high dive.
