F Paul Wilson - Novel 10 (36 page)

 
          
This
is what you get when you have to depend on scum.

 
          
And
what do you get when you depend on an egomaniac like Franco? Just as much.
Maybe less.

 
          
Wasn't
anything going to go right down here in this wasted little section of the
coast?

 
          
Word
had come from
New York
that Franco was refusing her request for a contingent of ferals and
more experienced serfs. Franco was going to handle this matter himself, in his
own way, whatever that meant.

 
          
What
it meant was a slap in the face not just to Gregor, but her as well. Damn him.
Damn them all. If just once she could—

 
          
One
of her get-guards returned then with the bucket of water she'd ordered. Olivia
pointed to the cow on the floor.

 
          
"Pour
it on her. See if that wakes her."

 
          
The
guard did as he was bid. The cow stirred and shivered but didn't open her eyes.

 
          
"Damn!
Get more!"

 
          
Just
then one of the serfs, a tawdry blond woman, tried to step through the Post
Office door. Olivia's guards restrained her.

 
          
"That's
her!" the woman screamed. A deep purple bruise ringed her left eye.
"That's the one who suckered me! Let me at her! Just five minutes!"

 
          
"Get
her out of here," Olivia said.

 
          
"No!"
the woman shrilled as she was shoved back into the night. "I got a score
to settle with her. She owes me!"

 
          
"Out!"
Olivia screamed.

 
          
With
help like that, she thought, who needs enemies? How we came this far I'll never
know.

 
          
Another
commotion at the door.

 
          
"If
it's that serf cow again, slit her throat!"

 
          
"It's
Gregor's get," one of her guards said. "All his guards."

 
          
"What
does he want now? He's supposed to be hunting his beloved vigilantes."

 
          
Her
guard looked puzzled. "He's not with them."

 
          
Olivia
stiffened with shock. Gregor's get without Gregor? What on—?

 
          
And
then she smiled. Had Gregor gone off and done something foolish? Something
reckless? Oh, she hoped so. It would look all the worse for him when he showed
up empty handed again.

 
          
"By
all means, send them in. But keep close watch on them."

 
          
CAROLE
. . .

 
          
As
Sister Carole changed out of her slutty clothes she had a feeling something was
wrong. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she sensed something strange
about this one. He wore the earring, he'd reacted just the way all the others
had, but he'd been stand-offish, keeping his distance, as if afraid to get too
close. That bothered her. Could there be such a thing as a shy collaborator?
The ones she'd met so far had been anything but.

 
          
God
willing, she thought, in a few moments it would be over.

 
          
She'd
followed her usual routine, dashing upstairs, being sure to take the steps two
at a time so it wouldn't look strange hopping over the first.

 
          
Now
she began rubbing off her makeup, all the while listening for the clank of the
bear trap when it was tripped.

 
          
Finally
it came and she winced as she always did, anticipating the shrill, awful cries
of pain. But none came. She rushed to the landing and looked down. There she
saw the cowboy ripping the restraining chain free from its nail, then reaching
down and opening the jaws of the trap with his bare hands.

 
          
With
her heart pounding a sudden mad tattoo in her chest, Sister Carole realized
then that she'd made a terrible mistake. She'd expected to be caught some day,
but not like this. She wasn't prepared for one of them.

 
          
you've done it, Carole! Now you've really DONE IT!>

 
          
Shaking,
panting with fear, Sister Carole dashed back to the bedroom and followed the
emergency route she'd prepared.

 
          
GREGOR
. . .

 
          
Gregor
inspected the dried blood on the teeth of the trap. Obviously it had been used
before.

 
          
So
this was how they did it. Clever. And nasty.

 
          
He
rubbed the already healing wound on his lower leg. The trap had hurt, startled
him more than anything else, but no real harm done. He straightened, kicked the
trap into the opening beneath the faux step, and looked around.

 
          
Where
were the rest of the petty revolutionaries? There had to be more than this lone
woman. Or perhaps not. The empty feel of the house persisted.

 
          
One
woman doing all this damage? Gregor could not believe it. And neither would
Olivia. There had to be more to this.

 
          
He
headed upstairs, gliding this time, barely touching the steps. Another trap
would slow him. He spotted the rope ladder dangling over the win-dowsill as
soon as he entered the bedroom. He darted to the window and leaped through the
opening. He landed lightly on the overgrown lawn and sniffed the air. She
wasn't far—

 
          
He
heard running footsteps, a sudden loud rustle, and saw a leafy branch flashing
toward him. Gregor felt something hit his chest, pierce it, and knock him back.
He grunted with the pain, staggered a few steps, then looked down. Three metal
tines protruded from his sternum.

 
          
The
cow had tied back a sapling, fixed the end of a pitchfork to it, and cut it
free when he'd descended from the window. Crude but deadly—if he'd been human.
He yanked the tines free and tossed them aside. Around the rear of the house he
heard a door slam.

 
          
She'd
gone back inside. Obviously she wanted him to follow. But Gregor decided to
enter his own way. He backed away a few steps, then ran and hurled himself
through the dining room window.

 
          
The
shattered glass settled. Dark. Quiet. She was here inside. He sensed her but
couldn't pinpoint her location. Not yet. Only a matter of time—a very short
time—before he found her. He was making his move toward the rear rooms of the
house when a bell shattered the silence, startling him.

 
          
He
stared incredulously at the source of the noise. The telephone? But how? The
first things his nightbrothers had destroyed were the communication networks.
Without thinking, he reached out to it—a reflex from days gone by.

 
          
The
phone exploded as soon as he lifted the receiver.

 
          
The
blast knocked him against the far wall, smashing him into the beveled glass of
the china cabinet. Again, just as with last night's explosion, he was blinded
by the flash. But this time he was hurt as well. His hand . . . agony he
couldn't remember ever feeling pain like this. Blind and helpless ... if she
had accomplices, he was at their mercy now.

 
          
But
no one attacked him, and soon he could see again.

 
          
"My
hand!" he groaned when he saw the ragged stump of his right wrist. The
pain was fading, but his hand was gone. It would regenerate in time but—

 
          
He
had to get out of here and find help before she did something else to him. He
didn't care if it made him look like a fool, this woman was dangerous!

 
          
Gregor
staggered to his feet and started for the door. Once he was outside in the
night air he'd feel better, he'd regain some of his strength.

 
          
CAROLE
. . .

 
          
In
the basement Sister Carole huddled under the mattress and stretched her arm
upward. Her fingers found a string that ran the length of the basement to a
hole in one of the floorboards above, ran through that hole and into the pantry
in the main hall where it was tied to the handle of an empty teacup that sat on
the edge of the bottom shelf. She tugged on the string and the teacup fell.
Sister Carole heard it shatter and snuggled deeper under her mattress.

 
          
GREGOR
. . .

 
          
What?

 
          
Gregor
spun at the noise. There. Behind that door. She was hiding in that closet.
She'd knocked something off a shelf in there. He'd heard her. He had her now.

 
          
Gregor
knew he was hurt—maimed—but even with one hand he could easily handle a dozen
cattle like her. He didn't want to wait, didn't want to go back to Olivia
without something to show for the night. And the cow was so close now. Bight
behind that door.

 
          
He
reached out with his good hand and yanked it open.

 
          
Gregor
saw everything with crystal clarity then, and understood everything as it
happened.

 
          
He
saw the string attached to the inside of the door, saw it tighten and pull the
little wedge of wood from between the jaws of the clothespin that was tacked to
the third shelf. He saw the two wires—one wrapped around the upper jaw and
leading back to a dry cell battery, the other wrapped around the lower and
leading to a row of wax-coated cylinders standing on that third shelf like a
collection of lumpy, squat candles with firecracker-thick wicks. As the wired
jaws of the clothespin snapped closed, he saw a tiny spark leap the narrowing
gap.

 
          
Gregor's
universe exploded.

 
          
LACEY
. . .

 
          
Lacey
had been conscious for a while but kept her eyes closed, daring every so often
to split her lids for a peek. It had taken all her reserve to keep from
screaming when that bloodsucker had splashed a bucket of water on her.

 
          
At
least they'd kept that
Vichy
broad, the one from under the boardwalk, from getting to her. Lacey
didn't think she could handle any more pain.

 
          
She
hurt. .. oh, how she hurt. Everywhere. In places and in ways she'd never
imagined she could hurt. She didn't remember the details, but she knew those
three
Vichy
must have worked her over good. Raped her
every possible way.

 
          
Lacey
ground her teeth. Goddamn human animals ... male human animals, using their
dicks as weapons.