A Crying Shame (107 page)

Christy tried to think of a prayer. But all she could think of was the Laclede High School fight song. And she could not get that idiot melody out of her mind. She didn't think her high-school fight song would be much help at a time like this.

She passionately wished she had paid more attention to the sermons at church.

She felt herself jerked to her knees, hard, clawlike fingers jerked away the remnants of her panties. Oh God! she prayed, the stench of the creature's body sickening her. God, please help me. She tried to bite the paw over her mouth; all that got her was a slap on the side of the head. It hurt. The beasts were grunting, kind of like laughing, she guessed, and pointing at her. If that was a laugh, she thought, and somehow she knew it was, I sure don't want to make them mad.

The Link behind her put one of its fingers inside her, then another, spreading her virgin lips. Then that hardness was pushing against her, and the pain began. She felt intense pain, and then felt herself give in to the pressure; she almost blacked out. The penis slammed and slid inside her. Then, mercifully, she passed out.

 

She did not know how long she had been unconscious. She awakened to a world of pain, her private parts hurting fiercely. She lay with her cheek pressed against cool moss. The creatures were grunting savagely, almost as if they were arguing.

They were.

She had enough presence of mind to remain perfectly still, to keep her breathing shallow, to attract no attention. She did not move her head, just barely cracked her eyelids. She could not see Jean. Did not know her friend was gone, carried off into the swamp—to be used for breeding purposes.

She could feel warm blood and sticky stuff on her bare thighs. Icky-feeling stuff. She knew what that stuff was, too. One time her then-boyfriend, exasperated by Christy's refusal to give him any pussy, had persuaded her to jack him off. She had got that icky stuff all over her hands. It was gross. All over the dashboard, too. The guy had acted like it was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him; acted like he was gonna pass out or something. He'd moaned and sighed and shivered and closed his eyes and altogether acted the fool.

She never dated him again. But he did tell the story all over school that Christy had sucked him off; really gave great head, man. Deep-throated him.

Bastard.

Christy was just barely sixteen, but she was no fool. She was a very level-headed country girl, having spent her formative years, before moving into Laclede, on a working farm. She was earthy for her age, and also for her age, practical. She knew if she was ever going to get away from these . . . things, monsters, she'd damned well better do it quickly.

She opened her eyes wider. Three of those things were arguing with a great big . . . whatever in the hell they were. All were standing about twenty yards from where she lay. The big one was standing facing her, but not looking at her.

Suddenly, he shifted his eyes and for one heart-stopping moment looked right into her eyes. He quickly put his back to her . . . and
motioned to her!
Was that possible? The Link turned as if making a point with body English and again looked right at her! He pointed with the hand he held behind his back, pointed toward the road! He gestured impatiently with the hidden hand, signaling her to go. He then grabbed and began shaking one of the smaller . . . uglies.

Christy realized escape was either now, or never. She gathered all her strength, all she could muster, and carefully digging the toes of her tennis shoes into the soft, damp earth, leaped to her feet, running hard for the fence. She heard the beasts scream in anger and leap after her. She saw, out of the corner of her eye, the big one stick out a foot and trip one of them. Then she could see no more because she was over the fence, ripping a gash in her leg. She was on the blacktop, running for her life—literally.

She heard one of the monsters scream. It was not a scream of anger; it was a yell of pain and shock. She hoped it was not the one who had helped her escape, but she feared it was.

Christy put her strong young legs to work. She cut off the blacktop and into a turn-row, heading down a row of beans.

She gave it everything she had, heading for the plantation house, about a mile and a half away. She looked behind her; the beasts were gaining, closing the distance.

Christy began screaming.

 

Blackwell had worked himself into a blue funk searching for Sheriff Saucier. He could find neither the sheriff nor that religious nut, Ratliff. He roared about town in his Cadillac, cursing under his breath, blood pressure soaring. He decided he'd go to the funeral home, demand to see the bodies of those killed, by God. Blackwell would get to the bottom of all this if he had to intimidate half the people in the parish. Something awfully fishy was going on; there was too much secrecy about these deaths.

 

Mamma?” Booger called into the gloom of the great swamp.
Mamma? Where are you? I brought you some things, Mamma.”

A growl came out of the gloom. But it was a friendly growl.

 

Governor Parker buzzed his secretary.
Make me an appointment with Doctor Glary for tomorrow, will you, Susie?”

Yes, sir. You feel all right, Governor?”

I feel lousy, Susie. Real bad.”

 

Mike Saucier was driving toward the great swamp, toward a point to which he often went to sit and think and reflect and relax and review any troublesome matters. He felt very much at home in the swamp. Almost as if he had some link with the place.

 

Be quiet!” Jon snarled the command, startling and silencing the men and women in the den.
Listen!” he said, rising to his feet.

Very faint screaming drifted to them. A girl's yelling, full of fear.

The women started for the door. Jon's hard voice halted them.
Get your goddamned weapons!” he roared.
Don't
ever
forget them.”