Quake (38 page)

    The woman didn't move.

    'Lady? It's okay, now. We're here to help you.' Still, she didn't respond.

    'Oh, man,' Pete muttered. 'I bet shot her.'

    'I don't think so,' Barbara told him. The back of woman's cream-colored blouse was spattered with blood, not sopping. Though a sleeve had been ripped from blouse's shoulder, Barbara could see no holes.

    'Why don't you wait here?' Pete suggested.

    'I'll come with you.'

    'Some of these guys aren't dead.'

    'I know. What'll we do about them?'

    'Just make sure they don't try anything, I guess.'

    She glanced at the Colt in her hand. 'I'm all out. How about you?'

    Pete shook the rifle slightly as if testing its weight. It's not empty yet.'

    'Are you sure?'

    'I've got one ready to go, I'm sure of that. It might be the last, but…'

    'Yo! Compadres! My oh my, what have you done?' Glancing back, Barbara saw Earl come striding them. She quickly fastened a middle button of her blouse. Then she crouched and picked up the sawed-off shotgun.

    'Fine shooting, Pizzaboy.'

    'Why didn't you just keep running?' Pete asked. He was watching Earl's approach, so Barbara kept her eyes on the bikers and the woman.

    'I waited for you, but then heard all the gunplay so I came back to help out.’

    'Yeah, right.'

    Earl laughed. 'Not really. Just wanted to see who won. And see who was doing what to who, if you know what mean. Looks like you sure cleaned house. Hey, Banner.'

    She looked at him. He had halted on the other side of Pete. Grinning, he raised a hand in greeting. 'Aren't ya glad I'm back?' he asked.

    'Thrilled.'

    'Now you guys're killers, just like me. Feels good, don't it?'

    'Shut up,' Barbara told him. 'Looks like ya missed a few.’

    'They aren't missed,' Pete said.

    'Aren't dead, either. Want me to take care of 'em for you?'

    'Just leave everyone alone,' Pete told him, and walked in among the bodies.

    'Give you a hand,' Earl said, starting after him.

    'No,' Barbara said. 'Stay where you are.'

    'What's your problem?'

    She ignored him. 'Pete, why don't you take all the guns and stuff away from them? I'll keep you covered.'

    Nodding, he slung the rifle behind his shoulder. 'What about the woman?'

    'She can wait. I don't want you getting killed by a "dead" guy. It happens all the time in the movies.'

    He looked back and smiled at Barbara. 'You're some kind of an expert on playing possum, aren't you?'

    Though she returned Pete's smile, the reminder of the time in the pickup truck made heat rush to her face. 'Yes that's me.' In a loud voice, she said, 'Any of you hear me, I'll blast anyone who makes a sudden move. Nobody answered. Nobody moved.

    She wondered if all the live ones had either passed out or died in the past couple of minutes. Not likely.

    'Careful,' she said.

    Wandering slowly among the bikers, stopping over bodies, Pete crouched again and again to pick up weapons. He only went after those in plain sight: handguns and knives that were still clutched in hands or had fallen to the pavement; knives sheathed on belts. He stuck the guns into the pockets of his trousers, and pitched the knives away. But he disturbed none of the bodies. He seemed reluctant to touch them at all, much less frisk them or turn them over. Not exactly a thorough search, Barbara thought. I wouldn't wanta touch them, either. But, my God, if one of them comes up with a gun…

    'Do you want to go in and help?' she asked Earl. 'Thought you'd never ask 'Turn 'em over, make sure they don't have anything.'

    'Never fear, Earl is here.' He pointed at Skull-face. 'Dead.' He pointed at the Viking. 'Dead.'

    Pete, now standing above the woman, looked up and asked, 'What's going on?'

    'Earl's double-checking things.'

    'Maybe dead.' Earl kicked a body in the head.

    'Hey!' Barbara yelled.

    'My way of checking.' He smiled down at the corpse and pronounced, 'Dead.'

    'For the love of God,' Pete said.

    'Just turn them over, Earl.'

    'If they're dead anyhow, why bother?'

    'Stop kicking them in the head!'

    'Okay, okay. Don't wet your pants.' The next biker was face down. Unlike the two that Earl had kicked, this one still wore a helmet. The back of the black T-shirt had a few holes in it and looked awfully bloody, but Barbara noticed that one arm was tucked out of sight beneath the body.

    'Be careful of that one,' she warned.

    She worked the shotgun's pump action, and took aim. 'Okay, turn him over.'

    Earl stepped to the other side of the body and glanced at Barbara. 'Make sure you don't shoot me with that thing.'

    'I'll try not to.'

    Crouching, he reached over the body. He grabbed it by the shoulder and hip. Then he pulled. It came up, rolling onto its side. The hand had a gun in it. Big surprise, Barbara thought. She saw the pistol start to come up, muzzle rising toward her.

    She yelled, 'No.' And fired. Blasting apart the face guard and the face behind it, blowing the helmet off. The pistol leaped out of the biker's hand. It fell, clattered against the alley pavement, and Earl snatched it up. Barbara cocked the shotgun. 'Put that down,' she said.

    'Yeah, right.'

    'Do it,' Pete called. His rifle still hung down the back of his shoulder by its strap, but he'd already pulled one of the guns from one of his pockets and pointed it at Earl. Earl glanced back at him, then faced Barbara and shook his head.

    'Hey, this sucks, you know? All this shit and I'm not supposed to have a gun?'

    'Put it down,' Pete said.

    'Come on!' Though keeping his eyes on Barbara, Earl spoke loudly enough to be heard by Pete, too. 'I could've had yours back at the pickup, and you know it. I could've taken both of 'em and even shot off both your asses if I'd wanted to! But I didn't. 'Cause I'm not the bad guy around here, you know what mean? I'm on your side.'

    Pete tilted his head to one side and shrugged at Barbara.

    'Okay,' she said. 'We'll let you keep the gun.'

    'Thanks. You're a champ, Banner.' He stood up, and walked to the next biker. 'Dead,' he announced. He stepped around it. Bending over another sprawled body, he said, dead.' He bent lower, shoved the muzzle of the gun at the nape of the biker's neck, and fired. 'Dead now.'

    'Earl!' Barbara cried out.

    He grinned. 'Better safe than sorry.'

    'Don't do that!'

    'Okay,' he said. Standing in place, he aimed and fired into another body.

    'Damn it!' Barbara shouted as Earl fired twice more. The body jerked with each impact, then went limp. Earl lowered the pistol. He grinned at her. 'I won't shoot any more. I promise.'

    'That was the last of them,' Pete pointed out.

    'Ah, then,' Earl said, 'I guess we don't have to worry about any surprises from them, do we?'

    'You're such a bastard,' Barbara said.

    'Me? A bastard?' Laughing, he shook his head. 'I'm not a bastard. How can you possibly call me a bastard? If I was a bastard, I might do something like this.' His arm came up fast. Laughing, he shot Barbara and she fired back as he pivoted and shot Pete. The thunder of the gunshots crashed through the alley. Blood exploded from punched flesh. All three went down.

***

    'We're almost there,' Stanley said. 'The pool's just on the other side of this fence.'

    Sheila didn't respond. She hadn't spoken at all, in any way, since her small rebellion in the bathtub. After slamming her down on the bottom of the tub, Stanley had let her rest. He'd needed time, himself, to recuperate before starting the journey to the Bensons' swimming pool. So he'd stepped around her body and sat on the beam and tried to be patient. The view was nice. This first chance for a good, long look at her backside. Her hair wasn't much to see, the way it was dark and plastered to her head. Though her skin glistened, filthy, stained with blood, sprinkled with dust and crumbs of plaster that had adhered to the moisture. But her shape was lovely. Even with her arms stretched Stanley could see how broad and strong she was across shoulders. She tapered down from there, smooth curves with muscles showing where he'd never seen them before on other woman; not on a flesh-and-blood woman, just superhero types in comic books, on body-builders pictured in magazines and sometimes on television. Never on another woman sprawled in front of him. And her ass. He'd seen it many times before, full mounds flexing in shorts or sweatpants. He'd seen it in jeans. He'd seen it in little bikinis that didn't cover much at all. But never like this, never naked so he could study the twin, bare globes, linger on them, run his eyes down the curve of their crack. Near enough to touch. To kiss. Mine. She's mine from head to foot.

    I could go ahead right now and fuck her, he'd realized. She isn't trapped anymore, and she's sure in no condition to fight me. Just step down, spread her legs, and have at her. 'No no no no no.' That'd ruin everything. His heart was set on taking her to the swimming pool, getting her all washed up so her skin would be shiny, wrestling with her in the cool water…

    'What are we waiting for?' he'd said.

    No answer from Sheila. She lay on the bottom of the tub, and all that moved were her back and ribcage, just barely rising, expanding, lowering, shrinking with the in and out of her breath.

    'Sheila? We're leaving, now, so get up.'

    Her head had lifted slightly.

    'We're leaving right now. I'm taking you to a nice, cool swimming pool where you can wash up and get all squeaky clean. You can even wet your whistle, if you don't mind the chlorine. Any questions?'

    She hadn't answered. But from that moment on, she'd followed every order: climbed out of the tub while he'd watched from below; waited on hands and knees for him to climb out; made no fuss when he'd knelt behind her and steadied himself with a hand on her rump while he ducked down and reached forward between her thighs to find the loose end of the barbed wire. Suddenly hard again, his face so close to her, he'd been tempted to mount her without any more delays. No no no, he'd told himself. You've waited this long. A few minutes more won't kill you, and you'll be able to have her all clean and wet in the pool. Don't spoil it. There's no hurry. Stick with the plan. Why wait for the pool? can lick her clean. 'No!' Just a little bit, and then I'll stop. What can it hurt? So he'd stuck out his tongue and begun moving his head toward her, but then his hand, groping through the rubble under her torso, had found the barbed wire. Was the timing of the discovery a signal that he should hold off?. In a high-pitched mockery of his mother's voice, Stanley had said, 'No snacking, boy! Do you want to go and spoil your dinner?'

    'How about just a little taste?' he'd asked in his own voice.

    'You go and do that, boy, you'll shoot your squirt and spoil your appetite same as if you'd whanged her.'

    'Hmmm. Good point. No snacking for me.'

    With his left hand, he'd picked up the scissors and straight razor. Then he'd pushed at Sheila's rump and raised himself, holding on to the long strand of barbed wire with his right hand.

    'Up.'

    Offering no objection, Sheila had gotten to her feet.

    'Now. A few simple instructions. You're going to walk ahead of me. I'll be holding the other end of this.'

    Lifting his hand, he'd pulled the dangling wire up between her legs until it met her flesh. She'd flinched a bit and gone up on her tiptoes. After a moment on tiptoes, however, she must've figured out a better course of action; bending forward at the waist to lower her bound wrists and her end of the strand.

    'If you give me any trouble,' Stanley'd gone on, 'I'll be forced to give it a yank. Which is bound to hurt, don't you think? I don't care how much you bend over, give it a good pull and you'll be sorry.'

    After the warning, he'd given the wire some slack so Sheila could stop bending over so much.

    'Okay. Start walking.'

    She had begun to make her way slowly through the ruins, walking ahead of Stanley. She didn't stand up completely straight, but Stanley couldn't blame her for that; the lower her hands, the less chance of catching the wire in sensitive areas. She kept her legs apart to spare them from the barbs. As a result of her precautions, her gait was more a waddle than a walk.

    She'd flinched and winced sometimes when she either stepped on something with her bare feet or allowed the barbed wire to scratch or poke her. It had taken a long time to get through the ruin of her house, but she'd picked up her pace after that. They'd made fairly good time crossing her patio and back yard, but they'd been stopped for a while by the cinderblock wall at the rear of her property.

    'How do we get you over this?' Stanley had asked.

    She'd simply stood facing the wall, neither speaking nor gesturing.

    'It's going to be a problem, since I'm not stupid enough to undo your hands.' Frowning, he'd swept the wire from side to side, watching it swing below her buttocks like a jump-rope.

    'We can't exactly go around, can we? Just suppose we take the front way, and we wouldn't have to worry about walls at all. But I think we'd probably attract a wee bit attention, if I walk you around the block like a dog. A dog, huh? What a leash! Ho! Can't you just see it? It'd be worth a try. But somebody'd come running sure as hell, and try to save you. Wouldn't want that. Have to kill 'em, and I'm too pooped for any more of that. I need to save all my energy for you. So I guess we'll have to climb over. He'd let his end of the wire fall to the ground, then pushed her toward the wall.

    'Give you a boost.' After setting the scissors and razor, he'd crouched behind her and held out his hands.

    'Put a foot in the stirrup, my dear.'

    Sheila had raised her arms, placed her bound wrists at the upper edge of the wall, and planted her right heel into the cup of his hands. Then she'd straightened her leg, pushed herself upward, rising toward the top of the wall. As he had uncrouched, he'd looked up and watched Sheila move out her left leg and kick it high.

    'Oh, look at you,' he'd said. Too bad there aren't ten walls between us and the pool, or a hundred. I could look at that all day!

    As her foot started to rise out of his hands, he gave a sudden upward thrust that sent Sheila hurling over the top. 'Surprise!'

    No complaint had come from Sheila. Just a squeal of alarm as she went head-first over the wall, feet kicking at the sky.

    Not waiting to hear her land, Stanley had snatched up his scissors and razor, tossed them over, then hurled himself at the wall and clambered up. From the top, he'd looked down at Sheila. She had apparently not landed on her head. Perhaps she'd hit the ground arms-first and done some sort of somersault. She was lying on her back, head toward the wall, hands on her belly, knees up.

    'You're lucky I cut down the rose bushes,' he had called to her. Then he'd lowered himself to the ground, retrieved his scissors and razor, and squatted beside Sheila to pick up the end of the barbed wire.

    'Fall down go boom?' he'd asked in baby-talk.

    No answer from Sheila. Just a narrow-eyed glare. She was gasping very hard for breath, so Stanley had spent a while watching her chest heave, lifting and lowering her breasts. They were shiny with sweat and blood. They were speckled with goosebumps, and the nipples stood erect.

    'You turned on? You can't be cold. Maybe you like all this. Do you? Do you like pain?'

    She'd blinked her eyes, then crossed her legs and sat up.

    'Ah. You'd rather get going. Scared I'll start on you, I bet.'

    The momentum of her quick sit-up had carried Sheila to her knees. From there, she'd gotten to her feet. Instead of bolting, she'd only stood there, her back to Stanley, the wire hanging between her legs to the grass. At her back, Stanley had ducked and reached between her knees and grabbed the wire. He'd drawn it up behind her.

    'Welcome to my back yard. That's my house right there or what's left of it. Of course, it fared better than yours. Mine is only half down. Over here is my garage, which fared worse than my house. Mother's in the house. Deader than shit, as the saying goes. And a good thing, too. She wouldn't approve of my behavior today. Wouldn't approve in the least. The old bat always did think I was a pervert.'

    Laughing, he'd given the wire a couple of quick tugs that made Sheila jump and gasp.

    'Giddy-up, horsey.'

    Bending over, Sheila had started to hobble forward.

    'To the right, to the right. Our next obstacle is the block wall there by my driveway. But I think we'll go around it. Would you like that? You took such a nasty fall at the last wall, so we'll try to spare you, this time. I think we can probably make it to the gate without drawing undue attention to ourselves, don't you? We'll just go down my driveway.'

    She'd led the way, and Stanley had kept a sharp watch as they approached the front of his house. Making her wait, he had stepped past her and opened the gate that shut off Judy's side of the cinderblock wall. Then they'd gone in and made their way alongside her house to her back yard.

    'This is the home of my friend, Judy. I don't believe you know her. Me, I've gotten to know her quite well since the quake. It was her saw we used to get you out. A lovely woman. Not in your league, of course. Nobody is in your league. Perhaps we'll visit with her, later on. You two have a lot in common. Me, for one thing. And guess what - she's still in her bathtub. Not that her house fell on her. Her house didn't fall at all, the lucky bitch. But fell on her. Ho! Maybe we'll let her out, later on, and ask her to join us for cocktails and hors d'oeuvres. Why not? It'll be her stuff.'

    Stanley had kept the monologue going all the way across Judy's back yard, smiling at Sheila's backside, sometimes chuckling, wondering if she was at all impressed by his wit. Under the circumstances, he'd thought, I can hardly expect her to be amused.

    'We're almost there,' he said. 'The pool's just on the other side of this fence. See where I made a doorway for us? We won't have to climb over this one or go looking for a gate, we can walk straight on through. But watch your head.'

    Hunching down, Sheila stepped over the lower crossbeam and slipped through the gap in the redwood fence. On the other side, she halted. Stanley stepped through. He ducked, but not quite enough. The upper beam scraped the top of his head.

    'Ow!'

    Sheila ignored him.

    'I hurt myself.'

    She acted as if she were deaf.

    'Say you're sorry.'

    'I'm not sorry,' she muttered.

    'You're not being very nice to me.' Stanley flipped the wire from side to side, switching it against her thighs. 'But why should you be? All did was rescue you.'

    She didn't look back, didn't make a comment.

    'Get moving.'

    She waddled toward the pool.

    'Go to the right. We're going to the other end. That's where the water is.'

    She followed orders. As they walked alongside the pool, Stanley said, 'Bet you can't wait to get in. I've been in. Not a whole lot of water down there, but it's plenty good for washing off blood and it's really quite refreshing. I'm sure we'll both enjoy it. stop here.'

    Sheila stopped.

    'Face the pool.'

    She turned and looked down.

    This is it! Stanley thought. Suddenly, he was excited. He could hardly believe that he'd actually freed Sheila from the bathtub and brought her to the swimming pool. They were finally here, exactly as he'd hoped. This is my day! The greatest day ever. And the best hasn't even started yet! Dreams can come true, he told himself. All you've do is reach out for them and not let anything get in your way. Stanley peeled the clinging remains of his pajamas away from his rump. He crouched, lowering his pajamas. While still down, he placed the scissors and razor on concrete. Then he straightened up. With a few quick, movements, he stepped out of his moccasins and the rag that draped his feet. Sheila seemed to be unaware of what he'd done.

    'We can't go in here,' she said.

    'Sure we can.' The concrete felt awfully hot under his feet. He was glad to be naked, and wanted her to turn around and look at him. See how big am? It's all because of you. Just tell her to turn around. No no no. I want her right where she is.

    'It's too shallow,' she protested. 'This is the deep end, moron!'

    With that, he used both hands to jerk upward on the wire. Sheila cried out. The barbed steel vanished in the crease of her rump, but she bent down and it came out fast. Still tugging the wire, Stanley took a quick step backward. The pull made Sheila fold as if broken at the waist. Her bound hands came swinging toward him between her calves. Her elbows struck the inner sides of her knees. Her face appeared, upsidedown, hair hanging. Stanley yanked the wire upward as hard as he could. Sheila shrieked. For a moment, Stanley thought he might be able to drag her whole body, arms-first, through her widely spread legs. Make her kiss her own ass! But suddenly her legs flew up, bare feet almost kicking him as she flipped over. Her back, just below the shoulders, struck the edge of the pool. The blow jolted her body, straightened her out. Stanley strained at the wire as if he hoped to drag her from the brink. Propped up at only one end, Sheila was stretched out over the pool like the naked and bloody victim of a demented magician more interested in torture than levitation. The wire lurched in Stanley's hands. Letting go, he watched his end of the wire leap high. Sheila's legs dropped out of sight and the fulcrum of the pool's edge seemed to launch her upper body forward. Stanley rushed to the edge.