Johnny Gruesome (30 page)

“We’ll impose a curfew tomorrow,” Matt said.

“What the hell were they doing up here?”

“Bus party, I’ll bet. We should have done something about them a long time ago. Send someone to Henry Norton’s place to see what he knows.”

Matt saw glowing lights even before they broke through thebrush. Officer Diane Sailey stood at the base of a hill, shooting photos of a still body. Matt approached the corpse, his boots sinking deep into snow.

Diane stopped shooting. “He tried to make it over the hill,” she said, pointing at the furrow that stretched halfway up the hill.

Matt aimed his flashlight at the corpse. He recognized Derek despite the blood on his face, which trailed down his collar and into the snow. His right eye socket glistened in the direct light, and Matt saw that snow had melted below his ear, revealing something like dark jelly.

“Stabbed him through the eye,” Diane said. “Right into his brain.”

Crouching low, Matt aimed his light at a half-melted icicle, stained with blood. “This is evidence. Pack it in ice.”

“Right.”

Gazing at the crest of the hill, Matt shivered. When would this end?

Eric felt a twinge of nervous excitement as Rhonda pulled into his driveway. The headlights splashed the garage door and the car came to a gentle stop. He looked at her and saw she was looking at him, her eyes illuminated by the dashboard lights. He felt guilty for wanting to kiss her.

Was it wrong to experience these feelings when Johnny had just been murdered?

Before he knew it, Rhonda had unfastened her seat belt and he did the same. She slid over to him and he leaned forward, keeping his hands at his sides. They pressed their lips against each other, and he felt her tongue ease into his mouth. A tremor ran through his body, and she caressed his cheek as he returned the kiss. For an instant he worried that his parents were watching them, and Rhonda pulled back, as if sensing his hesitation.

“Good night,” she said, securing her seat belt again.

“Good night.” He didn’t know if he had done something wrong.

“See you tomorrow?”

He smiled. “Yeah.”

When he opened the car door, bitter cold prickled his face, but he felt like jumping into the air. He jogged around the Neon to the front of his house, then turned and waved.

Smiling, Rhonda waved back. A dark shape rose behind in the backseat and clamped a hand over her mouth. Rhonda’s eyes went wide as she clawed at the hand, raking her assailant’s flesh. With the headlights blasting his eyes, Eric couldn’t discern the shadowed figure, but he sensed its identity:
Johnny.

As if on cue, Johnny leaned closer, allowing Eric to glimpse his rotting features. Johnny triggered an object in his free hand, and his switchblade sprang open, visible in the dim light of the dashboard. Rhonda’s glasses came loose as he dragged her, kicking, halfway over the seat. Her panicked eyes struggled to focus on Eric, pleading for rescue.

Eric charged forward but slipped on the ice and struck the frozen pavement. He climbed up the front bumper of the car, framed by the headlights, just as Johnny drew his blade across Rhonda’s throat. He glimpsed her shocked expression, then blood jetted out of the gaping wound in her throat, painting the windshield red.

No!

The voice inside his brain screamed, and he sat up in bed, gasping for air in the darkness. He felt disoriented as his eyes adjusted to the familiarity of his bedroom.

Dream, he thought. Nightmare.

Had he screamed out loud?

With his heart hammering, he looked at his bedside clock: ten past midnight. He had just fallen asleep, with the events of the night still lingering in his mind. He ran one hand over his forehead, and it came away damp with cold sweat. The nightmare had felt so real.

Everything came back to Johnny. Eric wondered if he could possibly have really seen him at The Bus. That whole incident seemed like part of the dream as well. He stared at the ceiling, knowing hours would pass before sleep came again.

J
ohnny stood before a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. Beyond it dead automobiles stretched as far as he could see, piled one on top of another, three vehicles high. On the other side of the fence a long, muddy driveway led to a concrete building with nondescript walls. Johnny knew the structure housed the office and garage for Lackey’s Auto & Scrap Yard. He and Eric had spent an entire summer scouring the yard for inexpensive parts for the Death Mobile, which they assembled like Frankenstein’s monster.

Trees surrounded the yard, and the main building stood dark and unoccupied in the falling snow. Work lights stationed throughout the yard cast a dull glow over the metal and fiberglass corpses.

Johnny closed his fingers over the chain links and scaled the fence, pressing his steel-toed boots through the empty spaces. The fence bowed from his weight, but the wind blew him back like a sail. When he reached the top, he clawed the barbed wire and lifted himself over it. The wire scratched his jacket and tore his jeans and he landed in the snow below. Standing, he set off on his quest, his boots kicking snow and cracking ice.

He had been walking for less than five minutes when he heard the first dog. A Doberman appeared in the twisted metal alley ahead, its body as rigid as stone, its growl deep and menacing. He heard the sound of claws scraping metal behind him, and as he looked over his shoulder, a German shepherd appeared atop a stack of cars. Lowering its head, the shepherd poised to leap at him, its growl invading the space between them.

Shit,
Johnny thought. He hadn’t anticipated guard dogs. Through the snowfall he watched the first dark shape pad in his direction. Running was out of the question; the first beast had been built for speed. He’d never make it back to the fence before they tore him to pieces. Both dogs knew every inch of the property, every possible hiding place, and he was confident they’d have no problem following his distinctive odor. He liked animals more than he did people, but he had to stand and fight. Reaching into his M.C. jacket pocket, he said to the Doberman, “Here, boy.”

The scrabble of claws on metal caused him to turn just in time to glimpse the shepherd leaping from its perch, a black and brown shape diving straight toward him. He whipped out his switchblade and triggered it, but the dog collided with him before he could use it. The weapon flew from his hand as the canine knocked him to the ground.

Johnny rose in a half crouch, searching the snow for his knife. As the muscular shepherd rolled on the ground, the Doberman launched itself at Johnny’s throat. Johnny caught its sleek black neck in both hands and hurled the dog onto the hood of a rusted Buick. While the Doberman recovered, the shepherd attacked, clamping its jaws on Johnny’s left forearm. Its teeth punctured the leather, its hind paws kicking the ground. Johnny shook his arm, but the dog would not release its grip on him. He punched its side with his right hand, over and over. While he pummeled the beast, the Doberman struck him full in the chest, knocking him on his back.

Johnny struggled with the dogs in the snow. The shepherd’s teeth pierced his leather armor, and he felt them tearing his flesh. The Doberman lunged at his face, slobbering. Teeth and gums blurred together as the dog snarled and barked. Johnny hammered the fierce animal with his right fist but his blows did little to deter the dog.

The shepherd dragged him in a circle, causing him to lose his bearings. He could not plant his heels in the ground for traction. The Doberman bit his right thigh, and he heard the tearing of denim and flesh.

Goddamn it! These are my favorite jeans!

He kicked out with the heel of his left boot, dislodging the Doberman, and when it lunged again, he kicked it hard with the steel toe of his right boot. The dog yelped and rolled, and when it came up, its jaw hung at an unnatural angle.

“I’m not a dog bone!” Johnny said.

Reaching back to prop himself up, Johnny’s right palm sank into compacted snow and pressed down on a familiar texture. The Doberman went for his throat again and he drove his switchblade deep into its belly and lifted it over his head, spilling its steaming guts in midair. The dog’s momentum jerked the knife out of Johnny’s hand and carried it away. It rolled on the ground once, spraying the snow with blood, then lay still. The shepherd locked its jaws, and Johnny felt its teeth scraping his bone.

“You’re tearing me
apart!”
Straining to regain his balance, Johnny stood upright and raised his arm as high as he could, lifting his attacker into the moonlight. He swung his arm back and forth, but the dog held fast, gnawing on his bone. Johnny held his fist close to his face, staring the shepherd in the eye. The dog continued to snarl at him.

Johnny snarled back. Then he raised his fist as high as he could and buried his teeth deep into the dog’s throat. Fur and flesh and blood filled his mouth, and he tore the beast’s throat out. The dog released its hold on him and tried to howl as it fell to the ground. Instead, a gurgling sound escaped from the gaping wound in its neck as it collapsed in a heap at Johnny’s feet.

His face covered with animal blood, Johnny examined his torn sleeve and arm, then wiped his mouth. Stepping over the canine corpses, he continued his search.

T
hrough the window of his father’s Lexus, Eric stared at the American flag, once more at half-mast, billowing in the wind outside the high school.

“They released Darryl Bower for lack of evidence,” Robert said. “Maybe he’s innocent, maybe not. Either way, there’s a madman on the loose. Your mother and I want you to come straight home after class. Don’t dawdle, and take the bus if you have to.”

“Okay.” He got out, and as his father drove away, he spotted an empty police car parked in The Lot. Matt Crane had assigned an officer to protect the student body. What had his father just said? “…

there’s a madman on the loose.”

He prayed that was the case.

He moved through the crowded halls, his eyes peeled for Rhonda. A police officer stood at the intersection of corridors, nodding to the passing students. As Eric stood at his locker, dialing his combination lock, a figure in a black leather motorcycle jacket materialized beside him. Eric flinched and stepped back, his pulse racing even as he realized that Gary had replaced his army jacket with the shiny new leather.