A Crying Shame (72 page)

That many shots fired that fast ain't no guess. Them was combat shots, and you know it, Mike.”

Mike felt the man was right, but he just didn't want to admit it. He felt . . . sick at his stomach. He hadn't eaten all day, and it was a good thing he hadn't, as he was about to discover.

Burn that swamp out!” Joe said, his voice rising, heat in his words.
We can drive 'em toward one central point with fire, just like the good Lord is gonna do the sinners of this earth when the day of Armageddon dawns, when the great battle between good and evil is fought. When—”

Oh, shut up, Joe! Damn it, I'm tired of hearing you rattle. Goddamn it, man, let up on me!”

The men became silent as night crawled steadily around the camp, darkening the already-gloomy bayou, with its dark waters and still vegetation. Joe opened his mouth to speak and Mike waved him silent because of what his eyes had just seen.
Something on the water, Joe. It's a boat. No lights. Come on, the boat looks like it's sinking.”

Both men felt their stomachs flip-flop as they waded into the water to pull the water-logged craft to shore. What was left of Burt Poyson lay in bloody water in the boat. One arm had been ripped off the man, snapped off at the elbow. All the flesh on one side of his face was missing, exposing the whiteness of skull and jawbone. The eye was missing from that side of his face. He had used the small trolling motor sparingly in order to stay in the sluggish stream of current. The big outboard motor was gone; water sloshed in the bottom of the boat, greasy-looking and dark as it mixed with the trooper's blood. Poyson lifted his head. His one remaining eye was bright with pain.

Hit us about . . . four o'clock.” The words, slurred from pain, were spoken in short gasps.
Must have been ... twenty-five or thirty . . . of them. Awful-lookin' things. Monsters. Me and Art . . . managed to fight them ... back. Things not dumb. Set snares with . . . ropes. Made of vines. Made nooses. Jerked Art . . . right out of ... the boat. Saw them eating . . . him. Alive. Tell Jeansonne. . . tell him . . . we tried.... I ... my men . . .”

Lt. Burt Poyson lowered his bloody head and closed his eye. He shivered as he began his journey down the dark and lonely river to the Stygian shore.

Both lawmen stood in shocked and somewhat confused silence for a few moments, allowing night to spread her dark cloak all around them. It seemed to them that this particular night was much darker than any they could remember. But they did not speak that thought, only shared it mentally.

Bullfrogs croaked in the darkness; birds called and wheeled and soared; a 'gator grunted deep in the watery blackness.

And both men sensed they were being watched.

By them.

Them godless devil-men is watchin' us, Mike.”

I know it.”

Creatures of evil!” Joe said.

Mike did not disagree.

Joe jerked his .357 from leather and emptied it into the darkness, firing from rage and helpless frustration. He ejected the empties and refilled the cylinder. The land around them was strangely silent after the roaring of the pistol.

I really hope you didn't shoot some frog-gigger,” Mike said.