Nasty Little F___ers-Kindle (11 page)

He kicked and scratched with his hands, trying to throw his attacker off, but he ended up overbalanced and he and his attacker fell to the floor of the forest in a tangle of limbs. He landed on his chest and felt the air squeeze out of his lungs, then something hard and painful jabbed into his spine. Bock’s knee, probably. It hurt like a son of a bitch!

“Hold still,” a harsh whisper said near his ear. He could feel Bock’s warm breath on his cheek. “This won’t hurt.”

Not Bock, he realized, but Allen. Allen had him pinned to the ground with his knee. What the fuck?

Then he felt a small jab of pain on the back of his neck. A tiny sting, really, as of something biting him. A spider, maybe, or a horsefly. He felt a wash of warmth flow through his body from the area of the bite, then the sting faded as the whole area turned numb. Venom, Maybe? Jesus! Allen was poisoning him!

He tried to thrash around on the ground, trying like mad to break Allen’s vice-like grip, or at least make enough noise to attract Sarge’s notice, but it didn’t help. Soon his whole body was numb from whatever poison Allen had put into his system. He slumped, too numb and tired to fight any more. Allen’s hand come away from his mouth, and he tried to shout to Sarge and Janice, hoping to get their attention so maybe they’d come save him. There were plenty of antidotes in the supply tent, they’d stocked up on them before they left. Surely they’d have something that could help him.

But he couldn’t work his jaw muscles, and only managed to drool on himself.

Then the numb feeling turned into a strange, pleasant sensation, and he discovered he didn’t want Sarge’s help anymore. Moretz was fine just where he was, lying on the forest floor with his good friend Allen. In fact, he was better than fine; this was perfect. He and a fellow man of science. Life was good! Why had he wanted to call Sarge, anyway? Sarge would just fuck it up. He was military, just another grunt. He didn’t belong in this group. The lazy, stupid bastard was just tagging along and trying to steal a bit of the glory for himself. And get a piece of Janice while he was at it.

The cocksucker. Janice was
his
, not Sarge’s.

He turned to look at the two, sitting at the table and talking, and now he saw Sarge for what he was. A dumb ass pistol jockey just trying to make a move on Janice, another scientist, who was clearly above him. The bastard!

He’d show them. Both of them.

Chapter Thirteen

Colby and Janice sat at the small table in the center of their camp and listened for any sign of their missing comrades. Janice fidgeted with an empty test tube while Colby filled both clips for his .45 with hollow points. Some people might think a .45 caliber hollow point slug was overkill - a single round could disintegrate a man’s chest - but not Colby. Not in this case, anyway. The way the bodies kept getting up and walking around he figured he needed all the stopping power he could get.

The rifle was another matter. He had spare clips for it, of course, but the extra box of ammo he’d packed was missing, leaving him with two empty clips and one with five bullets remaining. Between the two guns, that meant they had a grand total of twenty-three rounds they could fire if the need arose. It should be plenty. He fingered the compass in his jacket pocket. Tomorrow morning he and Janice and any remaining members of the team were going hiking. They’d head East toward Caribou until they picked up a cell phone signal, at which point Colby was going to call Anzer and tell him to get them the fuck out of there.

After half an hour passed with no sign of the others, Colby’s stomach gurgled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He glanced at his watch.
Two a.m.
They were going to have to eat something, then get to sleep if they would have any chance of getting out early tomorrow. He looked up to see Janice with her head on the table, already asleep. She looked cute sitting there like that.

He stood and walked to the tent, keeping an ear open for any noises coming from the outskirts of the clearing. He walked with his hand on the butt of his pistol, just in case. No fucking worm-addled scientist would get the drop on him this time, by God. He poked his head through the flap.

All his gear was in place, and the sleeping bag lay undisturbed on the floor of the tent. He stepped in and grabbed a bag of jerky from his backpack. After shoving the jerky in his pocket, he grabbed a bottle of water from the small cooler by the tent entrance, and stepped back out into the clearing.

He stood still for a count of sixty, listening to the sounds of the woods. No rustling twigs, no voices, nothing but the crickets and nighttime birds. Perfect.

He walked over to the table and set the water and the jerky on top of it, then he slung the rifle over his shoulder and bent over to pick Janice up. She would be easier to watch if she were safe inside the tent. She groaned at his touch, but settled into his arms easily enough. She was heavier than he thought she would be, but that was probably because of her muscle mass. The woman obviously worked out, and hard. He’d have thought the opposite to be true, but then again he didn’t know many scientists, let alone female botanists, so who was he to make assumptions?

He carried her over to her tent, again listening for sounds from the woods, but none came. He got to the tent in peace and carried her through the flap. Once inside, he laid her down on the sleeping bag and zipped it up. She snuggled into it and smiled in her sleep. Yes, definitely cute. He stared at her for another few seconds, fighting a strong impulse to lay down beside her, and then turned around and left the tent.
Far better to let her sleep in peace,
he thought.
Besides, she’ll be gone soon. Back to her university and hallways full of students.
It pained him more than he wanted to admit. Soon she would leave for Arizona, and he would be alone again, listening to the sounds of his empty house as he struggled to find sleep. The last two weeks with Janice had been free of his recurring dreams of Kuwait; the first time that had happened in over a decade. When she left, he knew the dreams would come back.

He thought about asking her to stay, but decided against it. Not because he thought she’d say no, but because he thought she just might say yes.
She doesn’t belong here, Colby,
he thought.
And you know it. Don’t be selfish, now.
He zipped the flap behind him and made his way back to the table, telling himself the moisture in his eyes was due to pollen.

When he reached the table, he checked the guns again, just to give his mind something else to think about. Twenty-three live rounds. Should be plenty. He picked up the jerky and popped a piece into his mouth. His stomach gurgled, excited at the sudden intake of food, and he dug out some more. He sat in silence, eating from the package and drinking from his water bottle, wondering when he would be able to sleep again. He couldn’t do it while Janice was asleep, that was certain. Someone had to stay awake and keep watch. Tonight, it seemed that someone was he.

***

Moretz and Allen watched as Colby sat at the table. Moretz wanted to run into the clearing and rip the bastard’s head clean off, but Allen held him back. Probably better, anyway. Moretz knew he could never get to Colby before the fucker got a shot off. Having seen firsthand how good the man was with a gun, he wouldn’t risk it. He would bide his time and wait until Colby fell asleep. Sooner or later, fatigue would win.

Then Colby would be dead, and Janice would be free for the taking.

Chapter Fourteen

Colby sat at the table and willed his eyes to stay open. It was too dangerous for sleep, that much was obvious. He’d just have to wait until daylight, then he and Janice could hike east toward Caribou and, with any luck, pick up a cell phone signal before the day was over. It shouldn’t be too hard. Even in northern Maine they built cell phone towers, they just put most of them far away from the woodlands because no one lived there. But the closer they got to town the more likely it was they’d pick up some of the weaker signals. Hell, any signal would be better than none at all. He’d take a staticky call over sitting in these fucking woods any day of the week.

The problem was, try as he might, he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes open. He kept nodding off, and he’d jerk his head up as soon as he felt it slipping down.

The forest didn’t help. Crickets chirped around him and night birds sang. An owl hooted a soothing call, and small animals rustled softly through the underbrush. All these soft noises tried to lull him to sleep. He’d sure like to hear a cabbie swearing and honking right now, or maybe a heated argument in the next apartment. Something other than the constant low buzzing of the night time woods, which seemed designed to keep people like him from staying awake. What a fucked up universe.

His head dropped again, and this time his shoulders followed it to the table. What harm would it do to lay his head down, anyway? It was so heavy. He could stay awake with his head on the table, couldn’t he? Of course he could. He pulled the .45 from his holster and laid it on the wood just underneath his palm. There, easy reach. Anyone who stepped into the camp would have to face his gun.

Then, against all his better instincts, Colby closed his eyes.

***

Moretz watched as Colby’s head went down to the table. He never took his eyes off the gun. From his vantage point, he couldn’t tell if the gun was cocked, loaded, or if the safety was on. It didn’t matter, though. Once Colby was sound asleep he’d make his move and walk into the campsite. Moretz spent the next few minutes imagining many horrible deaths for Colby. A burning stick through the eye, decapitation, even skinning alive, he smiled at each new thought. But in the end they were just fantasies, and none of them would be as quick and sure as a bullet through the head.

First, though, he had to get the gun. And for that, he had to make sure Colby was dead asleep. He smiled.

It won’t be long now.

***

The sound of a snapping twig woke Colby from his doze. He jerked to his feet and whipped the gun around to face whatever stepped into the camp. There was Bock, standing five steps away with his arms out in front of him like a zombie in a Romero film. How the fuck was that possible? He tightened his trigger finger and almost squeezed off a round.

“What the fuck, Colby?” The figure said. “Point that thing somewhere else, would you?”

That hadn’t sounded like Bock. Colby rubbed his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs. When he opened them again he saw it wasn’t Bock, but Edison who stood in front of him, holding his arms up like some back alley robbery victim.

“Take off your shirt,” Colby said.

“What?”

Colby pulled the hammer on the revolver back and arched one eyebrow.

Edison got the point. He stripped off his shirt and stood, bare-chested, in the dying firelight. “There. Happy?”

“Now turn around,” Colby said. “I want to see your back.”

Edison did so, turning a complete three hundred sixty degree spin. Colby noted with relief there was not a single grub on him. Nor was there any sign of a bite. He nodded and holstered the pistol. “Sorry, Edison. After Bock, I ain’t taking any chances.”

Edison reached down and picked up his shirt. As he shoved his arms through the sleeves he looked around the campsite and his eyes finally settled on the big bloody patch where Bock’s head had been a few hours prior.

“I guess I can’t blame you there,” he said, and pulled out a cigarette. “Got a light?”

“I don’t smoke,” Colby replied.

“I quit fifteen years ago.” Edison stepped over to the dwindling fire, grabbed a thin branch that glowed red at the tip, and brought it up to light the cigarette. He drew in an exaggerated breath, and after a moment blew out a cloud of smoke. “Tonight seemed like as good a night as any to start back up again.”

“Where’d you get the smokes if you quit?”

“I stole a pack from Bock’s tent after you guys left to find what was left of Jared.” He took another drag off the cigarette.

“No shit?”

“Yeah. At first I was worried he’d get pissed, but now I don’t guess he’ll be coming back for them, huh?”

Colby looked at the bloody patch where Bock’s body had fallen, then at the patch of dirt where Steinman’s body had fallen. Bits of brain and blood still speckled the area where his head had been. Both bodies had disappeared when he’d gone into the woods after Janice and Harper.

“You never know,” Colby said. “He just fucking might.”

Edison snorted, but didn’t say anything. He blew out a long stream of smoke. Colby stared at the tip, glowing bright red in the darkness. He hadn’t had a cigarette in ten years, but damn he wanted one tonight.

What the hell?
he thought.
I could be dead tomorrow.
He reached for the pack and grabbed one, lighting it with a stick from the fire. He took a deep breath, drawing the smoke into his lungs, and felt the old familiar calm wash over him. He blew out a cloud of smoke, while Edison tried to puff out a smoke ring or two. Colby couldn’t help but laugh at Edison’s fish-lipped expression as he botched every single ring. The smoke looked more like the puffy clouds from a steam locomotive.

“Damn,” Edison said. “I never could blow rings.”

Colby chuckled again and turned to watch the fire. The two sat in silence as it burned lower and lower. Edison finished his cigarette and pulled out a flask. He tipped it up, took a swig, and grimaced. He pulled the bottle away from his face, wiping his lips on the back of his sleeve, and handed it to Colby.