Pete Miller was having a nightmare. Something to do with zombies chasing him through a cemetery at night. And there was someone running ahead of him. A girl. She had a kind of goth or punk look. And she was topless. It was like a scene straight out of a Z-grade horror flick on late-night cable. But the weird thing was how very real it felt. He could almost smell the stink of the rotting corpses struggling to catch up with him. And he even knew the girl’s name. Melinda. She was hot as hell, but she was a stone-cold crazy bitch. The tone of the dream shifted subtly. He realized he was one of the zombies. Melinda had killed him. And now he was chasing her, burning with a primal need to rip flesh from her body with his teeth.
The van bounced through a pothole, and Pete woke up.
The vivid nightmare images stayed with him for a few moments, temporarily blotting out bleak reality. He felt he could slip back into that world for real, with just a little concentration. It was a very odd and unsettling sensation. Then he became aware of the loud rumbling of the old van’s engine. Someone was sitting on his back, keeping him pinned to the floor. Couldn’t be the fat man, or he wouldn’t be able to breathe. This had to be one of the scrawny card players.
His eyes widened.
It all came back, every horrible moment of it. The shotgun aimed at his belly. The card players wrestling him to the floor. The heavy boot on his back. The painful crash of the shotgun’s stock against the back of his head. And then the blackness. Flashing images and sensations as he slipped in and out of consciousness, usually only for a few grim seconds at a time. No longer in the store proper, but in a back room stuffed with crates and boxes. His body bent over one of the crates. His pants hauled down. The fat man on top of him. Grunting. Shoving. Cursing. The other man laughing. The blackness mercifully taking him away again. And now here, fully awake again in the back of a smelly old van, being taken God only knew where. The stark truth of it all hit him with brutal force. These men were going to kill him. They were going to do some unspeakably ugly things to him, probably, and then they were going to fucking kill him.
He suddenly longed for a return to the world of the zombie nightmare.
Or, no. Not there.
Where he really wanted to be was in the Jetta with Megan, riding fast away from this place. He wanted to go back in time and decide against taking the detour that would take them through Hopkins Bend. The detour would only have saved them an hour, and what was the hurry anyway? He liked spending time with Megan. Liked being alone with her. It was always better when it was just the two of them, with no one else around. She made him feel good about himself. Being in her presence made the world feel like a more interesting place. Vital and vibrant. Full of possibility, with a new adventure or fun revelation always just around the corner. The world was a duller place when she wasn’t around. A grimmer place.
Oh, Megan.
He couldn’t bear the idea that he’d seen her for the
last time. Or heard her sweet voice for the last time. Kissed her for the last time. The notion filled him with a bottomless despair. But a more pragmatic part of him hoped it was so anyway. This part of him knew the only way he’d ever see her again would be if these monsters returned to the general store to grab her, too. And that idea tore at his heart, made him feel as if an abyss had opened within his soul.
He was helpless to stop the sob that lurched out of his throat.
The man sitting on his back shifted and said, “I think the boy’s wakin’ up, Gil.”
Pete didn’t recognize the voice. Had to be one of the card players.
He twisted his head and looked up at the man.“Where are you taking me?”
The man’s thin, wormy lips stretched and curled, revealing teeth stained dark yellow by decades of smoking, some of them black with untreated cavities. He held a length of rusted pipe in his hands. Pete assumed the man would rap the back of his head with it if he caused trouble.“Ain’t none of your concern.”
“I beg to differ.”
The man’s lips stretched even thinner as he snickered. “Oh, you’re gonna be beggin’, boy. That’s for damn sure.”
Someone else laughed. Something in the timbre of the sound sent a cold finger of dread down Pete’s spine.
The fat man.
Gil, this one had called him.
The laugh came from the front of the van. Pete couldn’t see the asshole, but he assumed the fat fucking pig of a rapist was driving. So where was the third man?
Gil made that phlegmy, throat-clearing sound Pete recalled from the general store.“We’re almost there.”
The van slowed and made a left turn. Gil tapped the gas pedal and the van picked up speed again, but now the vehicle jounced and shuddered in a more pronounced way. Something about the sound of the tires was different, too. Pete decided they were on a dirt road now. Great. Even deeper into the sticks. Even if Megan did manage to get away and alert the authorities, his body was never going to be found.
The van lurched to a stop.
Pete heard Gil wrench the gearshift and twist the key back in the ignition. The engine shut off, and for a moment all he heard was a twitter of birds through the van’s open windows. It was an almost peaceful moment, in a strange way. Then the van lurched again as Gil opened the door and shifted his great weight out from behind the steering wheel. A moment later the van’s rear doors came open, and bright sunlight made his eyes blink faster.
Pete turned his head again and looked at Gil. The big man moved closer, and his bulk nearly blotted out the sun. The pump-action shotgun was in his hands again. “Let’s get this bitch out, Carl.”
Carl stood up and knelt to grab a handful of Pete’s sweat-soaked shirt.“Up and at ’em, faggot.”
Faggot.
Huh.
Kind of a strange choice of epithet, given what had been done to him at the general store.“Fuck you.”
The pipe struck the back of Pete’s head hard enough to elicit a pained yelp. But even as he cried out, Pete realized the man had pulled the blow, striking him just hard enough to hurt and prod him forward without knocking him out again. He didn’t bother talking back again, knowing harder, angrier blows would follow. So he got shakily to his feet and allowed himself to be
manhandled out of the van. Pete stood blinking in the sunlight, a hand held at his brow. Gil kept the shotgun trained on him as Carl let go of him long enough to shut the van’s doors. Then an end of the pipe jabbed against the small of his back.
“This way, boy.”
Pete sighed.
And did as he was told.
What else could he do?
They walked around the van, and Pete saw a sprawling, ranch-style house. Surrounded by wilderness, it was the only house in sight. So much for screaming for help or hoping for an eventual rescue thanks to the prying eyes of a nosy neighbor. The pipe jabbed his back again, and the three of them walked toward the house. The front door opened, and an old woman with a warty, fairy-tale-witch face stepped out. She wore a dirty apron over cutoff shorts and a bra. Her legs bore traceries of varicose veins, and her heavily tattooed skin looked like rawhide.
“Check it out, Ma.” Carl jabbed him with the pipe yet again.“Got us another outsider for the holiday feast.”
Ma eyed Pete up and down, her gaze lingering on his crotch long enough to make him uncomfortable. Then she snorted and said,“Put it out back with the other.”
Pete frowned.
It?
The old hag disappeared back inside the house, but not before Pete got an eyeful of the faded tattoo that covered her back—an image of a large-breasted, nude woman astride a Harley Davidson motorcycle.
Pete shivered.
Jesus, these are some fucked-up fucking strange-ass people.
For the first time, he wished they’d just killed him at the start.
Another jab with the pipe got him moving again. They
went around to the back of the house, and Pete saw a row of interlinked chain-link cages. Most functioned as dog pens. The dogs growled as they approached. Pete saw Dobermans, a Rottweiler, a pit bull, a German shepherd mix, and various other mutts. They all regarded him with wary, threatening expressions. These weren’t pets. They were vicious killing machines, no doubt kept and trained for blood sport. Pete had read news stories about such things.
Oh, my God,
he thought.
They mean to feed me to these fucking animals.
But Pete knew this was wrong when they reached the last pen. Another human being, naked and dirty, sat curled in a corner of the pen. A woman. Her arms were wrapped around her knees as she rocked and whimpered. She looked up at them as they approached, met Pete’s anxious gaze for a moment, then looked away.
Carl fished keys from his pocket, unlocked the padlock on the pen, and grinned at Pete.“Get in, boy.”
Pete just stared at the woman.
She had a slender body and looked as if she might be pretty, but it was hard to tell because her hair was matted and she was covered in grime.
Pete’s whole body shook.“No. Please. No. No.”
He was whining now. Couldn’t help it.
He heard a whiff of air, and then Carl’s pipe cracked against the back of a knee. Pete cried out and pitched forward, fell to his hands and knees. Gil stepped forward and kicked him hard in the ass with one of his heavy boots.
Pete was in the cage now.
He looked up at the woman.
She rocked faster, pressing her face between her knees.
The gate slammed shut behind him. He heard the click of the lock.
He closed his eyes, felt the rough dirt against his cheek.
Gil said, “We’ll be back to check on you later, boy. Don’t have too much fun while we’re gone, ya hear?”
Carl cackled and then they were gone.
Pete thought of Megan.
Run,
he thought.
Please.
Run and don’t look back.
The look on the man’s face when she came out and pointed the rifle’s barrel straight between his eyes was strangely satisfying. She’d spent so much of the day as a victim, running and fearing for her life. The deadly encounter with the hunter and the Kincher boy was an anomaly, a quick and dirty minitriumph in the midst of a greater struggle, over almost as soon as it had begun. Now she was the hunter, the terrorizer, and dammit, it felt good. It also felt primitive and uncivilized, this reveling in the shock and terror playing across the face of a human being, and maybe later, if she survived, she’d look back and feel bad about this.
But right now?
Fuck, yeah.
Jessica and the man in the rocking chair stared at each other. His jaw hung slack. His eyes were wide with dumb disbelief, the dull orbs reflecting incomprehension as well as abject fear. A corncob pipe dangled from one corner of his mouth. He had a thick beard and a mop of bushy
dark hair. His clothes looked homemade. His appearance might have made her laugh, had the circumstances been a tad less dire.
Christ, he looks motherfucking Amish!
“You’re not fucking Amish, are you?”
The man’s expression shifted subtly. He was still afraid, still wary, but a bit of the blind terror drained away. He removed the corncob pipe from his mouth and held it delicately between a thumb and forefinger. “No, ma’am. Ain’t no Amish in these parts.”
Jessica breathed a relieved sigh.“Good. I didn’t want to have to shoot some peace-loving Amish dude. Not sure I could live with that.”
The man’s gaze shifted from her eyes to the rifle and back again.“Yes, ma’am. I can see how that’d be the case.”
Jessica scowled. “Don’t be a smart-ass. I’m still aiming a loaded weapon at your face, and you better believe I won’t hesitate to put a big fucking hole between your eyes if you do anything to make me jumpy.”
The man flinched. It was a small thing, barely noticeable. But she was glad to see it. Couldn’t let him get too comfortable, or allow herself to be lulled into thinking she was safe. She wasn’t safe. And this guy was still the enemy.
He swallowed a lump in his throat and sat very still as he looked her in the eye again.“Yes, ma’am.”
Jessica shot quick glances to her left and right. They were still alone here, so far as she could tell. Still, it wouldn’t do to tarry long here. She moved up onto the porch, careful to keep out of leaping distance from the man’s rocking chair. She walked backward toward the far end of the porch, listening to the loud creak of the wooden planks beneath her feet. She stopped at a window and peered inside. She saw a sparsely furnished room she guessed accounted for maybe half the little cabin’s living space.
There was a sofa, a table, and some chairs. A thick, black-covered book with red-tinted pages sat in the center of the table. A Bible, most likely.
The room was unoccupied.
Jessica breathed another relieved sigh and moved a few steps closer to the man, though she still kept a prudent distance. She looked out at the clearing, scanned the entire visible perimeter, and saw that her initial guess had been correct. They were alone. But probably not for long.
She made her face go hard when she looked at the man again. “I’m not here to fuck around. I’m gonna ask you a couple quick questions and I want immediate, no-bullshit answers. Got it?”
The man nodded, didn’t say anything.
“What’s your name?”
“Ben.”
“Anyone else here, Ben?”
“Not just now. Wife’s gone into town. Errands. Reckon she’ll be gone a few hours.”
Jessica nodded. “Good. That’s real good to hear, Ben. I really don’t want to kill more innocent people than absolutely necessary. And if you cooperate, I won’t even have to kill you.”
Did his jaw tremble slightly at the statement?
She thought so.
And here was that strange, primal satisfaction again. Maybe she was a monster at heart. Like Hoke.
No.
Not
like Hoke.
Never like Hoke. That animal. That fucking animal.
Jessica tightened her grip on the rifle.
Ben’s voice sounded strained as he said,“I…I certainly don’t want to die.”
“And I certainly don’t want to have to kill you.” Her voice sounded strange to her ears. Strained, in a different
way, with tight, razor-wire tension. “But I will, Hoke. I fucking will, if you piss me off.”
Ben frowned.“Hoke?”
Fuck.
For a moment,she trembled on the edge of a meltdown. In that moment, surrender was possible. Defeat seemed inevitable. She’d been able to put aside thoughts of the rape for much of her desperate flight. But in that moment it all came back. In vivid, Sensurround memory. Hoke’s musk, that unwashed-man smell. The feel of his skin against her own as he thrust against her. The sweat beading on his brow. The way his mouth twisted, his handsome face becoming ugly.
She gave her head a hard shake and glared at Ben. “Never mind. I want the keys to that truck, Ben. Right now.”
Ben’s shoulders sagged. “I’ll give you the keys, ma’am, but they won’t do you no good.”
“Bullshit.”
Ben held up his hands, palms turned upward. “God’s honest truth. Truck don’t run.”
The words were a sharp knife slammed through the center of Jessica’s heart. She bit her lip to hold back a whimper. She fought hard to keep herself together. It wasn’t time to give up yet. He could be bluffing. “We’ll just have to see about that, Ben. Where are those keys?”
He nodded at the cabin’s closed front door. “Inside, hangin’ on a hook in the kitchen.”
Jessica moved back a step, made a gesture with the rifle. “Stand up. We’re going inside. I’ll follow with the rifle at your back. Any sudden moves, and I’ll put a round through your spine. Leave you paralyzed on the fucking floor. And you better believe I can do it. My daddy’s a hard-core military man. Taught me everything he knew about shooting, and that’s a lot.”
This was mostly bluster based on half truths. Her father had given her a gun, had even taught her the basics of shooting. He hadn’t, however, taught her any Special Forces stunt-shooting shit. But she figured what she’d said sounded badass enough to pull the wool over this simple hick’s eyes.
Ben got shakily to his feet, looking even more frightened now than he had in those first moments. “I ain’t no kind of threat to you, ma’am. I promise.”
Jessica made the gesture with the rifle again. “Get moving. Keep your hands where I can see them when we’re inside.”
Ben nodded and wiped moisture from his mouth with the back of a shaking hand. He opened the cabin’s front door and stepped inside. Jessica followed him into the cabin, keeping the rifle’s barrel aimed at the small of his back. She kicked the door shut behind her. She’d at least want the warning of the creaky door opening should someone else show up unannounced. Ben walked past the table and past the weathered-looking sofa, keeping his hands up as he headed toward a closed door in the room’s far-right corner.
“That the kitchen through there, Ben?”
He paused at the door, nodded.“Yes, ma’am.”
“Go slow.”
Another nod.“Yes’m.”
He reached for the knob, turned it slowly, and pushed the door open. Then he raised his hands again and stepped through into the kitchen.
Jessica paused outside the door and watched him walk into the middle of the room, which looked to be about half the size of the sitting room. She saw a wood-burning stove and another table. Some cabinets and another door that led outside.
“Stop right there.”
Ben stopped, kept his hands held up.
Jessica stepped into the kitchen. She’d just moved past the door when she sensed the quick movement to her right. Someone had hidden behind the door as Ben opened it. She began to turn, but something heavy struck a glancing blow off the crown of her skull and sent her tumbling to the floor. Her vision blurred and pain lanced up her shoulder as her side crashed against the wooden planks. She rolled onto her back in a panic, fighting to clear her head even as someone snatched the rifle from her hands. She squeezed her eyes shut, hard, and when she opened them again, she saw two men standing above her. Ben, and a younger man who might have been his brother or cousin, the similarity was so striking.
Ben was holding the rifle.
The other man held a heavy black cooking pot.
They weren’t looking at her.
Probably thought she was down for the count.
Idiots.
Ben propped the rifle over his shoulder. “Took your goddamn time ‘bout comin’ to the rescue.”
The other man shrugged. “Hell, Ben. Didn’t know there was trouble till I heard the lady jawin’ in the sittin’ room.” He glanced at Jessica. She kept her eyes at half-mast, feigning semiconsciousness.“She’s an outsider.”
Ben laughed. “And here it is, the holiday feast comin’ up. It’s our lucky day.”
Feast?
What were these redneck assholes babbling about?
Hell, did it matter?
She brought her knees up to her chest and then shot her legs out, striking at the other man, who stood closest to her. Her feet smashed against one of his knees, eliciting a high yelp of surprised pain. The man dropped the pot and fell back through the open doorway. Jessica stayed in
motion, sweeping Ben’s legs out from under him before he could get the rifle aimed at her. The rifle flew from his hands, struck the floor with a clatter. Jessica kept moving. A hot shot of adrenaline hit her veins with a cocainelike kick as she just kept on moving, sweeping up the rifle as she surged to her feet.
The man in the sitting room was starting to stand up.
Jessica aimed and fired.
The round took him in the temple. Blood and brains splashed the sitting-room table.
Almost calm now, Jessica stared down at Ben. He was shaking. He held his hands up, palms up. Beseeching her.
She sneered.“You lied.”
She reversed her grip on the rifle and knelt to smash the stock against his face. She heard a crackle of cartilage as his nose gave way. The crunch of his teeth as the rifle came down again. His mouth filled with blood. The rifle came down yet again.
Again.
Again.
Jessica stood up after he’d stopped breathing. She looked at the man in the sitting room. She looked at Ben. And she shook her head.“How many of you fuckers am I gonna have to kill today?”
She found the key ring on the hook Ben had described.
He hadn’t lied about everything.
She took a quick look around, thought for a flashing instant about searching the place.
No.
No time to fuck around.
She went out to the truck.