A Crying Shame (152 page)

I like it out here.”

I don't.”

That's your problem. Leave me alone.” She turned away from him, her yellow-tinted eyes fixed on the swamp. It seemed to pull at her with some sort of invisible force. Its tuggings were almost mysterious.

I belong there! the thought sprang into her mind.

That's home!

The man put his hand on her arm. Her teeth flashed in the night.

Goddamn you!” he yelled.
You bit me!”

Blood spilled from his torn hand.

He slapped her, rocking her backward, against the porch railing.

She lunged at him, her face suddenly more animal than human. Teeth snapped at him; her hands were curled, fingers talons.

The curved fingers slashed at his face, drawing blood.

He hit her with a fist, knocking her down. She screamed and grunted and kicked out at him, the words spilling from her mouth a language he had never before heard.

Suddenly, the man was very much frightened.

Never seen so many teeth in a woman's mouth, he recalled someone once saying about Betsy.

She grabbed his leg and sank her teeth into his calf, biting right through the khaki of his pants. He screamed in pain and slammed a balled fist into her neck.

It didn't seem to faze her.

He jerked his leg free and ran into the house. He could hear her snarling and panting right behind him.

Just like a werewolf in some horror movie! That thought leaped into his brain.

She leaped onto his back, riding him to the hardwood floor, biting at his flesh, his screaming only driving her on, making her stronger.

She sank her teeth into the softness of her husband's neck and tore away great chunks of flesh and tendon. The blood spouted in a high arc. She lapped at the warm flow. Using her taloned fingers, she tore open the gaping hole in his throat and rose from the dying man.

She ripped off her clothing, to stand naked over his pain-racked, quivering, dying body.

Then she knelt beside him, ripping off his clothing. She began to feast.

After she had eaten her fill of the delicious, warm meat of that being who was not part of her true world, she rose and went outside, to search for vines ... something with which to make her a garment to cover her female parts.

Meanwhile Mack Atkins was driving down the country road, checking to see how many people had not obeyed the order to evacuate.

He smiled as the noticed the lights blazing in the Parley house.
Jack couldn't tear himself away from his young bride,” Mack said aloud.
I'll bet he's eating that pussy up.”

Not exactly the way it was.

Think I'll just drop in on them—unexpected-like,” Mack grinned.
Maybe catch 'em in something. Bet they'll be all hot and bothered.”

One of them would be. In a manner of speaking.

Mack pulled into the drive. The front door was open. Odd, this time of year, what with all the mosquitoes and gnats.

Mack got out of his patrol car and walked up the walkway to the porch.

What the hell was that odor?

Then it came to him. He'd smelled it many times before.

Fresh blood.

He looked through the open door. He could see Jack's naked body lying on the floor. Looked like the man had been ...

... eaten.

Something made a slight noise to his right. Mack spun, the .357 magnum leaping into his hand.

Betsy Parley stood by the corner of the porch. Mack almost shot her.
Oh, God, Betsy!” he said, holstering the pistol.
Jesus what's . . .?