The Golem Part 26

The callused hand cracked across her face.

"Never you mind. I ask the questions."

Half her face burned from the slap. "The skull's not here!" she shrieked. "It's supposed to be buried at the ruins of the old mill in town."

"You know a lot, but it ain't. Someone dug it up a long time ago and buried it here," he said.

Judy winced. "Why the h.e.l.l would somebody-" But she bit her lip and reeled back the complaint.

"Ain't kiddin' now, ya shut up'n listen." He stepped brazenly closer, right between her parted knees as she sat on the edge of the bed. "There must be another bas.e.m.e.nt here, ain't there?"

The hidden room! her thoughts fired. He doesn't know about it! That mummified hand's buried there so the skull must be, too... A crude instinct told her to reveal the information, that surely she'd be rewarded for it, but instead she said, "I don't know of any other bas.e.m.e.nt in the house."

"So look!" he quickly yelled in a high pitch, and the whole house seemed to shake. "Maybe there's a inside door somewhere, or a trap door."

"Okay, okay," she blurted. "I'll look. That could be true. We've only lived here a week and haven't checked everything yet."

"And we'se also lookin' for a little wooden box with a piece'a paper in it-"

The mezuzah, she realized.

"-and some funky kinda candleholder and a wooden bowl..."

Now Judy knew something he didn't, and it was something he wanted. Which only means he probably won't kill me... "I'll look around."

"You do that"-he pointed into her face-"and find the s.h.i.+t, we'll give ya fifty pieces'a crack."

Even in her determination not to smoke, her addiction seemed to pant at the words.

"And I'll give ya this fer the meantime." He produced another baggie, what looked like at least ten pieces. He threw it on the bed. "Awright?"

"Yes."

"Good girl. But 'fore I leave, ya still got some toll to pay..."

G.o.d Almighty, not again. He pulled his jeans down to his knees, showing inordinately large genitals.

"Ain't no big deal to a wh.o.r.e no ways." He chuckled. "Now flip over on yer belly. My buddy got'cha in your cookie, now I'se gonna get'cha in your b.u.t.t."

Judy froze. She sat and stared at the obscenity of it all, and the obscene genitals. Disconnected commands from her brain took her over; in a split second she'd lurched forward, got a t.e.s.t.i.c.l.e in her mouth, and- He screamed like a gelded walrus.

-bit down on the t.e.s.t.i.c.l.e until she felt it divide between her teeth. His shriek pierced her ears. More brainless impulse hauled her knees back to her face, then fired her feet forward as hard as she could. Both bare heels rammed his forehead.

The man flew backward and crashed against the floor.

Don't stop! Don't let up! Judy was on him as he thrashed and yelled, a mad synchronicity sending one hand to his s.c.r.o.t.u.m and the other to the dresser lamp.

"I'll kill ya, I'll kill ya!" he raged, dazed, but then the protestations turned into mewls as she squeezed his other t.e.s.t.i.c.l.e with all her might, her adrenalin affording her preposterous strength. He flopped and kicked as the small organ ruptured in her palm, then- THWACK, THWACK, THWACK!.

-her other hand stamped the lamp base repeatedly against his forehead.

The thwacking went on for some time.

When she was done-and the man was certainly dead-the impulses didn't stop. She dashed into the bathroom, thinking fingerprints! and snapped on a pair of rubber cleaning gloves, then tore a brand-new plastic wastebasket liner from its box. A second later, she'd hauled the bag over his head. Her fingers pulled a new stocking from the plastic-lined card, then she expertly wrapped it around his neck and knotted it tight.

There, she thought, collapsing back against the dresser. His head had landed a foot away from the throw rug; now he would bleed into the bag, not on the floor. Paper towels wiped up the little bit of blood that had spilled thus far. She pulled up his pants, stuffed the towels in them, and refastened his belt.

Silence, then.

She sat nude on the bed and looked at him. The plastic bag didn't move-no evidence of respiration. Yes, he's dead, the f.u.c.ker's dead. Nevertheless she looked on, for many, many minutes. For one moment the bag puffed-and she screamed-but then she heard a m.u.f.fled, wet clicking that stopped a moment later. The death rattle, she knew.

She screamed again and thought her heart would erupt at the next shrill sound, but spared a laugh when she realized it was her cell phone.

"Hi, honey," Seth said when she picked it up. "Just wanted to let you know I got to Tampa without a hitch."

"Oh, good, good," she said.

"I'm at the lab now and we're working away. Jimmy thinks he knows what the problem might be."

Judy had to struggle not to suck in breath. "Really? What?"

"The pixalization codes were misallocated for the new enemies. All we have to do is reallot them."

Sound normal, sound normal... "How long will it take?"

"At least a day, maybe two."

"Oh...But...I miss you."

"I miss you, too, but I've got to do this."

"I know..."

"But I'll call to night, let you know how it's going. How are things at the house?"

Judy felt a hundred miles away. She looked down at the lean cadaver on the floor, a bag over its head. "Things are great here, honey."

"How are you feeling? You sound kind of...exerted." I just killed a redneck in our bedroom-oh, and I bit one ofhis b.a.l.l.s in half and popped the other one, she heard herself say. Instead, she replied, "I was bike riding."

"Then you must be feeling better."

She watched the plastic bag redden from the inside. "Yes, a lot better."

"Good, good. I'll call later, and have a good night."

"I love you!" she blurted.

"I love you, too," he chuckled. "And make sure you keep that alarm on!" And then they rang off.

"You can bet sure as s.h.i.+t I'm never leaving that f.u.c.king alarm off again," she muttered to herself. But her eyes never left the rag-tag corpse. What now? Call the police? No, she already knew she'd had no intention of that.

So what was she going to do?

I'll wait till late to night, her thoughts croaked, and I'll drag him deep deep deep into the fields where the son of a b.i.t.c.h can rot. She lolled on the bed, imagining the ludicrous image: a woman lying naked with rubber gloves on and a redneck corpse on the floor with a bag on its head. I'm not out of the woods yet, though, she thought, curling into a fetal position. This one was dead but there was still the big bald one who raped her in the bas.e.m.e.nt; he'd surely be calling on her soon. It's not just me. They know about Seth, said they'd kill him, too...

She nodded in satisfaction even as the cold sweat began to ooze. When the big one comes looking for his buddy, I'll have to kill him too...

But still...The problem wasn't solved, was it? Her id seemed to grab her by the ears and crank her gaze toward the pillow.

The bag of crack lay there.

She picked it up, stared at it, counting ten pieces. Sethwon't be home for a day or two. I can smoke this, then I'll call it quits...

But there she went again, with her patented crack-smoker's promise, the promise that was always a lie. She'd thrown out one piece today, along with the pipe, but now she was staring at ten pieces.

She sobbed in hitches as she dragged herself up and trudged downstairs to look for something that would suffice for a crack pipe...

CHAPTER EIGHT.

July 31, 1880 I.

Just like in the War, Conner reflected on that last night of the month as the first gunshots crackled in the distance. The raiding teams had already been dispatched, leaving only a guarding party back at the camp, and then Conner and Norris to infiltrate the mill. They crept through the thickets under a low moon, each lugging one end of the dynamite crate. "Get ready," Conner whispered, patting the Beal pistol at his hip. "Lowen might have some'a his Jews guardin' the mill."

Behind them, the sleepy town of Lowensport awoke in a tumult of screams.

Norris stopped them behind a storage shed, scanning the mill-front with binoculars. "One guy there, at the door. Looks like he's fixin' to leave on account of the gunshots."

"Don't let him leave," Conner ordered. "Kill him now so's we don't gotta fight him later."

Norris raised one of the clan's few long rifles, a Spring-field Model 1842 .69 caliber "smoke pole." He knelt, jammed back the hammer, and sighted, then let out half a breath.

BAM!.

Norris bucked in his firing position as the gun roared, spewing sparks. The sound left their ears ringing. "Haven't lost my touch-took his head clean off."

"Fine shootin'! Let's go."

They regrabbed the crate's rope handles and stalked toward the darkened mill. By the time they'd made it to the door, the town behind them was a pandemonium of gunshots.

The mill stood quiet inside, its great saw blades still, its drive-belts idle. At least the sound of the river now drowned out the intensity of shots and screams beyond. Sounds like they're killing ever-thang that moves, Conner thought with a nervous smile. They set down the crate and lit a slurry lantern. "Over here," he said.

Norris dragged the dynamite to some short steps leading up to the stack-deck. "You think them things...have any sense?"

"I-shee-it. I reckon so. They know how ta rape'n kill."

"So they might know how ta read, too," Norris speculated, and pointed to the stenciled words dynamite: high explosives! He first hooked up the fuse-roll, then covered the crate with a tarp.

"Good thinkin'," Conner commended.

"Now let's just hope they can bring Lowen in alive."

Conner pulled his pistol out, a reflex. "They will. Corrigan, Pursey, Stoddard-they'se good men, was with me in the War." He opened a window shutter to peer out. More screams and rapid gunshots poured in. He could see a few fires now; they were burning the east end of town. And burnin' a lot'a Jews, too, I hope...

"Guess all we'se do now is wait."

Conner nodded. "And if I'm right, once they bring Lowen in here, those two things'll follow."

They sat and waited, listening to the din of death outside. Conner's hands were shaking. He remembered what Reid had told them when he'd come back from Salisbury: Yes, sir, a steamboat carryin' a s.h.i.+pment paid fer by Gavriel Lowen. But why was he worrying now? "You sure that s.h.i.+pment Reid told of didn't come in today?"

"Positive, Mr. Conner. I've had men watchin' the docks constant. No steamboats, no nothin'. So there ain't no way it could'a got here early, what ever it is."

What ever it is, Conner thought. Probably guns, but they won't do him no good now. By time they get here, Lowen'n hiswhole town'll be in dead and in the ground. "And did the fellas finish diggin' the grave-pit? What bodies don't get burned up, we'll have ta bury 'fore that boat comes. Can't leave a trace."

Norris nodded with a stiff lip. "We dug a pit big enough fer the whole town'n then some."

The idea pleased Conner; he could see the bodies piled up in that trench. Then the town'll be ours...

Outside, the screams and shots seemed denser, a night-wind of death. But the things, Conner wondered next. What are those two things doin' whiles my men're wipin' out the town?

Conner and Norris twirled, pistols drawn, when the haulage door to the mill banged open. A figure shambled in the entrance.

"Jesus G.o.d, Corrigan!" Conner yelled. "Ya scared the s.h.i.+t outta us!"

The hefty wood-cutter trudged in, bent by a weight on his back. "What's goin' on in town'd scare more'n that outta ya, Mr. Conner," the man huffed and came forward.

"Did ya get-"

"I got Gavriel Lowen right here, sir." Corrigan rolled the lean form off his shoulder and let it fall to the floor. "Alive, and it weren't easy."

Conner's heart leapt, not from fear but in celebration. The unconscious form that flopped to the ground was Gavriel Lowen, all right, gagged and tied.

"Good job, man."

Corrigan sat exhausted on the work deck. When more distant screams rose outside, he shrieked.

"Where's Pursey'n Stoddard?" Norris asked and held up a slurry lantern.

Corrigan's once strong, youthful face looked haggard now in the lamp light. His eyes were shattered, and the long dark hair seemed dusted gray. "They'se both dead, sir. That's why it took me so long gettin' here-I hadda drag Lowen here myself."

Conner stilled. "Was it-"

"It was them things, sir, just like you said." Corrigan's eyes widened in the light. "They ripped Pursey'n Stoddard apart like they was dolls. It's the grace'a G.o.d I got outta there alive myself..."