Quake (30 page)

    'Stay down!' Barbara gasped.

    The woman thrashed her legs. Her knee pounded Barbara under the armpit.

    'Nail her, Banner!'

    She glimpsed Earl and Pete standing side by side, their eyes fixed on the action. Pete's mask was gone. Both the weapons were lowered. Thank God, she thought.

    'Offa me!' the woman gasped, and kneed her again.

    'Nail her! What're you waiting for?'

    'You can take her,' Pete added.

    She didn't know whether to feel proud or betrayed. And she suddenly knew that she wouldn't let this woman get the better of her. The knee caught her in the breast. This time, it hurt. Damn it, all did was try to save you. She drove her forehead down. The woman's belly was at Barbara's brow and her face sank in, and she heard a blow of air come out of the woman. Pushing at the hot concrete, she lifted her head. The woman's eyes were bulging, her mouth wide. She was fighting to suck in a breath. As Barbara watched, her arms folded at the elbows. She sank down slowly, then lay flat, gaping at the sky and wheezing.

    'Give her another one!' Earl urged her.

    Barbara shook her head. She climbed off the woman and stepped clear. She was breathless, dripping. Bending as she clutched her knees. She knew that her blouse hung but she didn't much care. They've got her to stare at, she thought. The woman was sprawled there, arms and legs flung out, with everything showing. And the guys were both gazing at her. Maybe this is what she was after, Barbara thought. Who knows? Why the hell did she come out like that? Could've at least gotten dressed.

    Earl approached the woman. Barbara stood up straight and said, 'Leave her alone.'

    'She ain't a natural redhead, is she?'

    'Do you always have to be such a pig?'

    Grinning at Barbara, Earl let out a couple of snorts. Then he cradled his rifle, stepped between the woman's legs, squatted down and ducked his head for a closer look.

    'Cut it out,' Pete said.

    'Looks like somebody already did.'

    'Bastard,' Barbara muttered. Wiping her face with the front of her shirt, she stepped around the woman's head and hurried toward Pete. 'Let's get out of here.' He nodded. 'Come on, Earl.'

    'We ain't finished yet.'

    Barbara whirled around. 'We're finished! Come on!'

    'She saw our faces. And she knows your name, Banner.'

    'So what do you want to do, shoot her?'

    'We don't want her telling tales, do we?'

    'You idiot. Do you think she's the only one? Lee said there're tenants in four apartments. Four. This gal only accounts for one. What do you wanta do, go through the whole building and shoot everyone?'

    'It's a thought,' Earl said.

    Reaching down by Pete's side, she took hold of the forty-five. He made no attempt to keep hold of it. She pulled it from his hand, raised it, and aimed it at Earl's head. He looked disgusted with her.

    'Gimme a break, Banner.'

    'Set the rifle down and stand up.'

    'Yeah, sure.’

    'Do it!'

    'Like you're gonna put a bullet in me. I'm sure.'

    'I've had enough. Put the rifle down and stand up.’

    'Fuck you.'

    She fired. The pistol boomed, leaped in her hand. She'd aimed for a near miss. From Earl's reaction, he must've felt the slug's wind in his hair. He flinched so hard that the rifle hopped out of the crooks of his elbows. He bobbled it for a second or two. It started to fall, stock first. With his left hand, he caught the sling. He sprang up and turned toward Barbara, the rifle dangling by the strap.

    'Fine,' she said.

    'You stupid fucking bitch!'

    'Don't try anything with the rifle, or the next round goes in your chest.'

    'Fuck you.'

    'Yeah, right. Pete, go up and take the rifle from him.'

    'Just try it,' Earl said.

    'Just do it,' Barbara said, trying to soften the tone of her voice for him. 'If Earl goes for you, I'll put him down.' Pete started walking toward Earl. The woman lay on her back, head turned, and stared at Barbara. She was breathing hard, but looked as if she'd recovered from the blow that had knocked her air out. She also looked terrified.

    'It's all right, lady,' Barbara told her. 'Nobody's gonna hurt you.'

    The woman didn't seem reassured. She has every reason to be scared, Barbara realized. I'm the one who flattened her and pounded her. I just fired in her direction. And here am, all set to empty my pistol at the jerk standing between her knees.

    As Pete walked closer, the woman started to shove at the concrete with her elbows and heels, started to squirm and scoot her way out of the line of fire. Her breasts were lurching around as if they had minds of their own. Barbara hoped Pete wasn't watching them - or trying to get a good look between her legs. She almost warned him to keep his eyes on Earl. Then she realized that she was the one who had better pay attention to Earl and stop worrying about the woman or what Pete might be looking at. She concentrated on Earl's left arm, on the hand gripping the leather strap, on the rifle swaying by his side.

    She held the pistol the way her father had taught her to hold his revolver: right arm bent slightly, left hand supporting her right like a platform, legs apart, knees bent. The weapon shook quite a lot because she was trembling badly, but for the most part she was able to keep the sights on the center of Earl's chest. Pete approached him from the fight. Good. He would be able to take the rifle without getting in the way of a clear shot. Almost within reach of Earl's weapon, he stopped and looked over his shoulder at Barbara. Waiting for the go-ahead? The woman was clear, but making no attempt to get up. She lay flat on her back, gasping for air, gazing at Barbara.

    'Earl!' Barbara snapped. Earl flinched.

    'Pretend you're a statue.'

    The corners of his mouth twitched. He didn't say anything.

    'Get it, Pete.'

    Pete hurried forward and grabbed the barrel and pulled. Earl let go of the strap. The rifle swung like a pendulum, and Pete trotted backward with it.

    'Earl,' Barbara said, 'put both hands on top of your head and intertwine your fingers.'

    'You're really asking for it, Banner.'

    'Do it now.'

    He did it.

    'Lady, we're leaving here now and we're taking him with us. You can go back into your apartment. Everything'll be fine. Only next time, don't stick your nose in. You came close to getting yourself killed.'

    The woman didn't try to get up.

    'Should we tell her about Lee?' Pete asked.

    Barbara nodded. 'Lee's dead, lady.' The woman showed no reaction to the news, just lay there gasping for air and gazing at Barbara. 'I'm sorry about that. He seemed a nice guy. We didn't kill him, though. Heather shot him.'

    'Heather?' The woman narrowed her eyes. 'The girl who threw the cat in the water?'

    She watched everything, 'Yeah, her. She went nuts and shot Lee. Then we had to shoot her in self-defense. They're both up there in his apartment.'

    'She shouldn't have done that to a cat,' the woman said.

    Barbara frowned. 'Shouldn't have done that to Lee.'

    'He was no great shakes, anyhow.'

    'What's the matter with you, lady?'

    'Nothing. None of your business. Why don't you just away and leave me alone?'

    'The National Guard's supposed to show up tomorrow,' Pete told her. 'You oughta stay inside and not get mixed up in anything till then.'

    'Let's go, Earl,' Barbara said, 'This way. We'll take the alley.'

***

    They'd gotten past the other slide without any trouble at all. They simply climbed over the loose mound of dirt and rocks near the right side of the road, where it was only a few feet high, then continued on their way down Laurel Canyon Boulevard.

    This slide, scattered with fallen trees, boulders and parts of a house or two, covered the entire road to a height of at least sixty feet.

    'Now what?' Mary asked, gazing up at it.

    Em hurried back from the right side of the road. 'There's like a gigantic ravine over there,' she said.

    Caspar grinned at her. 'First step's a big one, is it?'

    'First step's a fatal one, if you get my drift.'

    'I guess we'll have to climb straight over the top,' Ciint said. He was glad they had nothing left to carry; after using the last of the food and water, they'd gotten rid of everything except the knives. 'It won't be so bad,' he said. 'We'll take it slow.'

    Loreen put a hand on Caspar's arm. 'I see trouble, Papa.' Ah, Clint thought. So, he is her father. Thought so.

    'Trouble of what sort?' Caspar asked her.

    'Hey!' Mary blurted. 'No predictions. That was the rule.

    We don't want any of that gypsy shit around here.'

    'Take it easy,' Clint warned her.

    'Sure, take their side. You're the one who made the rule - no predictions.'

    'The walking dead woman has a lively mouth,' Loreen said.

    'See! See! Did you hear that!'

    'We don't want that kind of talk, Loreen,' Clint said 'Please.'

    'She is so skinny and aggravating,' Loreen said. Caspar chuckled softly.

    Mary opened her mouth, then shut it and glared. Her lips formed a tight, hard line. Clint supposed she was thinking about Caspar's threat to cut out her tongue.

    'Let's everyone try to be considerate,' Clint said. 'Fighting among ourselves doesn't solve anything.'

    'I need to warn Caspar…'

    'There she goes again!' Mary blurted.

    Clint turned on Mary. 'Would you shut up for 1 minute!'

    Her eyes widened and her jaw sagged.

    'Let the woman finish her sentence!'

    'Thank you,' Loreen told him, then squeezed Caspar's arm. 'Papa, you don't want to climb this. You're not young. You're not strong.'

    His eyes flashed. He jerked his arm from her grip. 'I'm not young?' he bellowed. 'Not strong? Piss on you!'

    She greeted his sudden anger with calm. 'It's a very high hill to be climbing,' she said.

    'For you, maybe!'

    'I'm not an old man,' she said.

    'I'm not a fat cow!'

    Her calm collapsed. 'You're calling me a fat cow?'

    'You are what you are.'

    'Hey!' Clint said. 'Let's stop…'

    Loreen's hand swung out and slapped Caspar hard across his face. 'You don't call me a cow.'

    'Cow!' Caspar slapped her.

    She slapped him again. Mary, grinning, began to clap. Clint clutched one of her hands. She quit clapping, quit grinning. She looked at Clint and didn't try to take her hand away from him.

    Caspar again smacked Loreen across the face.

    Em whistled. No purse-lipped, mild whistle of amazement or appreciation. Certainly not a tune. She had her thumb and forefinger jammed in her mouth for this high and ear-blinding shriek. Clint flinched and gritted his teeth.

    'Jesus? Mary cried out, covering her ears.

    Caspar and Loreen seemed to forget all about their slapping contest. Looking shocked, they gaped at Em. Then came silence like the inside of a vault. Em, smiling slightly, rubbed her spitty thumb and finger on the front of her T-shirt. 'One of my mom's girlfriends showed me how to do that,' she said. She seemed very pleased with herself. 'It sure hurts the ears, doesn't it? Anyhow, I don't want to make a nuisance out of myself, but I really can't stand this rowdy behavior. I think we should all keep our hands to ourselves, especially when it comes to the slapping department. Does that suit everyone?'

    'Loreen struck me first,' Caspar explained. 'I give what get.'

    'You called her a cow,' Em reminded him.

    'She insulted me, I insulted her.'

    'She was only trying to keep you from climbing the hill and dropping dead from a heart attack. That's because she loves you. You called her a cow because she's worried you'll kill yourself.'

    His chest seemed to swell. 'I do what needs to be done.

    'Jeez, and I thought you were a nice guy. It was cause you stood up for Loreen when Mary called her a bitch. And now you end up treating her worse than Mary did. You probably you must suffer from what my mom calls "macho bullshit." 'Stupid child,' Caspar said.

    'Oh, that's nice,' Em said, looking rather amused. 'I thought I was supposed to be a charming scamp.'

    'Let's stop all this right now,' Clint said. 'Em, quit trying to push him, okay? Caspar, be careful who you call names. You want to treat your daughter like crap, that's your business. Em and Mary are my business, so you'll treat them decently'

    'The cow is no daughter of mine,' Caspar said.

    'Whatever.'

    'Granddaughter,' Mary suggested.

    Caspar, growling, lunged at her. With a yelp, she moved away. Clint shouted, 'Hold it!' He hurled himself in front of Caspar, but was shoved aside. As he stumbled, Mary went backward up the steep slope of dirt, Caspar rushing for her.

    'Caspar!' Loreen yelled.

    One foot planted in the dirt, he leaned toward the slope and reached high, and grabbed Mary's left ankle. Then Em crashed against his side, throwing him over sideways. For a moment he kept his grip on Mary's ankle. Her leg was jerked from under her. She sat down hard, then skidded downhill on her rump, her skirt climbing her thighs. Caspar struck the slope with his shoulder and flopped onto his back. As he started to sit up, Clint stepped on his chest. 'Stay put,' Clint said. 'I don't wanta hurt you.'

    'Keep him away from me!' Mary cried out. She was on her feet again, now at the bottom of the slide, rubbing her buttocks with both hands. Em sat in the dirt, her knees up, frowning as she glanced from Mary to Clint and Caspar.

    'I don't want any more trouble!' Clint snapped. He kept his foot on Caspar's chest. 'From either one of you! I've had it with you, Caspar. You pushed it one too many times. Mary, you've been nothing but a pain in the ass from the get-go!'

    'Fuck you.'

    Em frowned up at her. 'Cut it out, would you?'

    'Fuck you too, you little twat.'

    'Hey!' Clint yelled.

    'Fuck all of you!' Mary whirled around. She threw herself at the slope and scurried upward, gasping. The filthy tail of her blouse draped the seat of her skirt. The skirt swished across the backs of her thighs. Her shoes sent down tiny avalanches. Em stood up, turned around, and watched Mary climb. After a few seconds, she glanced at Clint. 'She's not a very happy camper, is she?'

    'She'll probably be back.' He looked down at Caspar. 'Don't even think about going after her. Just stay down till I tell you otherwise.'

    'Behave yourself, Caspar,' Loreen said, approaching. 'If you try to sit up, the cow will sit on you. That is no prediction, but a promise.'

    Clint lifted his foot off the man's chest, and stepped away. Caspar stayed on his back. He was gasping, but he managed a smile for Loreen. 'I've misbehaved, I?' he asked.

    'You've behaved atrociously. These people - with the exception of Mary. As for Mary, she is to be meeting her end. Her end will be very bad, very bad.

    'Do you have to say that?' Em asked, wrinkling her face.

    'I only say what see.'

    'Just because you see it, you don't have to say it. Don't say anything, it gives me the creeps. And don't think you improved Mary's disposition with all that kind of talk. I gotta admit she isn't any prize, but that's no reason to say horrible things are supposed to happen to her, you know?'

    'She gets what she deserves,' Loreen said.

    Clint looked over his shoulder and found that Mary was more than halfway to the top. She had stopped for a rest. She was bent over slightly, holding one hand on a section of brick chimney that protruded from the soil just to her right. Could almost feel sorry for her. But she's done all this to herself, he thought. Nobody's been holding a gun to her head and forcing her to act so obnoxious all the time. All she had to do was act decently. What's so hard about that? 'Does she get killed because she isn't with us?' Em asked.

    'That's entirely possible,' Loreen said.

    'May get up, now?' Caspar asked.

    'Yeah,' Clint told him. 'But behave.'

    'He will behave,' Loreen said. Caspar struggled to sit up.

    'Maybe we should tell Mary to wait for us,' Em suggested.

    'We're better off without her,' Clint said. 'Anyway, it's her choice. This isn't like before. We didn't force her to go running off like this.'

    'But we can't just let her get killed.'

    'You don't believe that stuff, do you?'

    'I don't know.'

    'She is right to believe,' Loreen said.

    'Don't give me that,' Clint said, turning to face her. 'You two are just a couple of con artists, and you know it. You make a business out of tricking suckers. So don't fall for it, Em. Loreen doesn't know any more about what's in the future than you and do.'

    'The fellow doth protest too much,' Caspar said. On his feet at last, he brushed off the seat of his jeans and nodded at Clint. 'You believe. Oh, yes, you do indeed. And you're frightened by what she…'

    Mary cried out, 'Eeeeeeee!'

    Clint ripped his gaze away from Caspar and swung around in time to see Mary, arms flapping, stagger backward as if to get away from the horrible thing crawling above her on the crest of the hill. He thought, Shit! It's happening already! Should've stopped her. It's my fault. What the hell is that? A person? Not a person! He only glimpsed it before his gaze seemed to sheer away from the ragged, crimson creature and find Mary as she lost her footing and toppled backward. Grabbing at the air with her hands, she teetered and fell. Clint thought of ski jumpers. How their skis seemed to fly for a long while just above the snowy slope before touching down. Mary glided downward, head-first and face up, stiff and straight except for her waving arms - plunging not quite touching the ground.

    Someone was squeezing his ann.

    Em?

    Em, by his side, was yelling, 'Marrrry!'

    Then Mary touched down, but not with the smooth landing of a ski jumper. Her back slammed the tilted earth a bit to the side of the chimney where she'd been restin so long ago - and her legs bounced up. The impact forced them high. Clint saw a shoe fly off and sail away. Then both her legs were pointed at the sky like a V - tall and slender bare legs, a patch of bright pink fabric where they joined at the bottom. They came forward and down as Mary folded at the waist. Her pink panties turned out to be a thong. Her naked buttocks quivered when her knees pounded slope. For a moment, she looked as if she might be kowtowing in homage to the beast at the top of the landslide. Then she raised her head and shoulders. She was upright on her knees, then tumbling backward again. She hit the slope quicker than before. Her legs swung toward the sky. This time, the V looked a little crooked. Clint jerked his arm free from Em's grip and charged up the face of the landslide, arms pumping, shoes chunking into the loose soil, eyes on Mary. Her body had turned. Instead of pitching down the slope heels over head, she was now rolling, flipping over and over. Her limp arms and legs were tossed about in a way that made Clint sure she had no control over them. She was unconscious. Or dead. And tumbling fast down the hill straight at him. Just as they were about to collide, he braced himself, twisted his body and rammed his right shoulder forward. It caught Mary in the hip. Her weight slammed into him. He grunted. His feet scooted a few inches, then held. But Mary had already flipped over, flinging herself onto his back and knocking his forehead into the dirt. He shot his left elbow up. It struck her and almost stopped her, but she began to slip. He realized there was no way to stop her from falling off his back. So he lowered his elbow. She rolled off him, striking the slope with one shoulder. As she tumbled onto her back, Clint reached down and grabbed her upper arm.

    And stopped her.

    He knew he wouldn't be able to hold her for long; his own position was too precarious. But Em was on the way up. In a moment, Em was kneeling just below Mary. She leaned forward and pushed against the woman's shoulder and hip. 'Got her?' Clint gasped. 'Yeah.'

    He let go, then started to get up. As he raised his head, he tried to spot the thing that had startled Mary into falling. It was nowhere in sight. He scurried across the slope until he was clear of Mary's feet, then crawled backward past her sprawled body and made his way over to Em. On his knees beside the girl, he pressed his hands against Mary's hip and thighs.

    'What now?' Em asked.

    'Depends,' Clint muttered.

    'She isn't dead, in case you were wondering. Just really messed up.'

    She lay sprawled on her back, tilted as if all set to roll down on them the moment they let go. She had lost both her shoes. Her skirt was twisted around the tops of her legs. Her filthy, torn blouse was spread open. The left shoulder strap of her bra had broken. A few inches of the strap, along with the flimsy silken pouch, hung beneath her breast. The breast had a few minor scratches. It had fared better than most of Mary. From her face down her torso, from her thighs down to her bare feet, she was smudged with dirt, blotchy with ruddy contusions, puffy with welts, scuffed raw with abrasions, striped by bright scratches, bleeding here and there from deeper wounds.

    But Clint could see the slow rise and fall of her chest and the throb of a pulse at the side of her neck. 'Mary?' he asked. She didn't react. He called her name again, louder this time. Nothing. With both hands, Em gently shook her. Mary's body wobbled a little bit, but she didn't wake up.