Fiends. Part 18

w.i.l.l.y pushed himself up and sat across her hips.

She started to raise her back off the ground, but he clutched her throat and held her down.

*Please,w.i.l.l.y.'

Grinning, he shook his head. Either he was too drunk to understand or care about the gla.s.s under Marty, or he liked the idea of grinding her into it.

Pleading, she thought, might only make it worse.

w.i.l.l.y pulled the revolver out of his jeans, tossed it on the wet gra.s.s about six feet away, and unbuckled his belt.

*Honey,' Marty said, trying to stay calm. *Let go of my throat, okay?' She crossed her arms over her belly and started to pull up the jersey. *I can't get it off without sitting up.'

He leaned back, taking his hand from her neck, and finished opening his jeans. Then he took off his s.h.i.+rt and threw it aside.

As Marty slowly raised her back off the ground, she pulled the jersey up. It was sticky with blood. Shards of gla.s.s pulled loose from her back, dropped and tinked against others. When the jersey was off, she flung it away. Sitting upright, she wrapped her arms around w.i.l.l.y and hugged him tightlya And twisted to the left so they tumbled sideways, rolling.

She came down on her side. Though she felt no broken gla.s.s, she knew it couldn't be more than a few inches away. So she wrestled w.i.l.l.y onto his back. Stretched out on top of him, she pushed her open mouth against his.

Reaching out with one arm, she patted the dewy gra.s.s. Stretched her fingers.

Then had to look.

The revolver lay three or four inches beyond her fingertips.

w.i.l.l.y squirmed beneath her, trying to force her legs apart.

They suddenly rolled onto their sides. Farther from the gun.

Marty swung a leg over him and forced him onto his back again.

Straddling him, she reached out for the revolver.

He clutched her b.u.t.tocks and thrust.

Marty grabbed the gun by its barrel.

w.i.l.l.y's p.e.n.i.s rammed deep into her, throbbing and squirting.

She swung the pistol and clubbed the side of his head.

w.i.l.l.y yelped. His body jerked rigid, and he suddenly went limp.

Except for the part that was buried in Marty.

Still rigid, it kept jumping and spurting for a few seconds after the rest of w.i.l.l.y seemed to be unconscious.

As fast as she could, Marty climbed off.

On her feet, she took a couple of steps backward, then stopped and reversed the revolver and took aim at w.i.l.l.y.

He wasn't hard any more.

He lay motionless on the ground.

Marty felt blood running down her back, her b.u.t.tocks, and the backs of her legs. She felt s.e.m.e.n dribble out of her and trickle down her left thigh.

Soon, w.i.l.l.y moaned and pressed a hand against his ear. He squirmed a little.

When he opened his eyes, Marty thumbed back the hammer and aimed at his face.

*Don't,' he said. The word came out like a groan of pain and fear. *Please, don't shoot me.'

*Dirty rotten b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' she said.

*Please.'

*Don't move.' Keeping the gun leveled at him, she crouched and picked up his s.h.i.+rt. She wiped herself with it and flung it at him. He cringed as if he expected the s.h.i.+rt to burn him. When it fell onto his legs, he flinched.

*Don't move,' Marty repeated.

Trying to keep the revolver aimed at w.i.l.l.y as much as possible, she put on her shorts. Then she picked up her torn, b.l.o.o.d.y jersey. She put the gun through its right sleeve and used her left hand to pull the jersey up her arm and over her head. For a few moments, she was blind. But when she could see again, w.i.l.l.y was still on his back.

She changed the gun to her left hand, worked it under the jersey and out through the left sleeve.

*Okay,' she said, the jersey still rucked up above her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. *Pull your pants up.'

As he drew the jeans up his legs, Marty tugged her jersey down. It felt heavy and wet and sticky against her back. It hurt her cuts, but she was glad to be dressed.

She waited for w.i.l.l.y to finish with his jeans. Then she told him to put on his s.h.i.+rt.

When he had it on, she said, *Stand up.'

*Where we going?' he asked.

*Back to the car. Let's go.'

Trying to get to his feet, he staggered and fell down. But he tried again. This time, he made it.

*Walk ahead of me,' Marty told him.

He turned his back to her and started walking. He walked awkwardly, sometimes stumbling.

Marty followed him, staying a few paces back and out of reach. Soon after they entered the thick trees, she unc.o.c.ked the gun to prevent it from going off by accident.

It seemed to take a very short time to reach the edge of the woods.

Marty followed w.i.l.l.y down the gra.s.sy slope to where the ground was soggy, and up the embankment to the road. w.i.l.l.y stopped beside the car and turned around to face her.

*Open the trunk,' she ordered.

*Okay,' said w.i.l.l.y. But he didn't move.

*Now.'

*Whatcha gonna do if I don't?'

*Shoot you and open it myself.'

*You ain't gonna shoot me.'

*Just open the trunk anda'

He lurched toward Marty, reaching for the gun.

She pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

w.i.l.l.y grabbed the barrel. As he jerked the gun away from her, he punched her in the face.

Marty dropped to her knees.

*It's single action,' he said. *You dumb f.u.c.k. Gotta c.o.c.k it.'

His fist came in, smas.h.i.+ng her face again. And again. And again. She slumped backward.

w.i.l.l.y said something, but she couldn't hear him through the ringing in her ears. She tried to get up. Her legs were bent behind her and her arms wouldn't work right.

w.i.l.l.y walked toward the rear of his car.

Marty struggled to her knees. Her head drooped. It felt as heavy as lead. The side of her face was burning from the punches. She wanted to let her arms fold, to stretch out on the ground and lie there, on and on.

Instead, groaning with pain, she raised her head. She saw w.i.l.l.y open the trunk of the car. She wanted to ask him what he was doing, but she didn't have the strength. Then she saw him raise the revolver, c.o.c.k it, and aim into the trunk.

*NO!' she screamed.

The gun blasted, leaping in his hand.

Marty struggled to her feet and staggered to the back of the car. Before w.i.l.l.y could grab her, she glimpsed Dan's face in the darkness of the trunk.

The top of his head was partly gone.

*NO!'

She kicked and squirmed in w.i.l.l.y's arms, but couldn't get loose until her teeth found his ear and she bit it hard. His yell of pain stunned her for a second. Then she realized that he had let go of her.

She dashed to the edge of the embankment and jumped as far as she could. She made it almost to the bottom before her heels. .h.i.t the wet gra.s.s. Her legs flew forward and her rump hit the slope. She slid the rest of the way down, then scrambled to her feet and ran, splas.h.i.+ng through the soggy gra.s.s.

*Stop!' w.i.l.l.y shouted.

Her legs chugged, carrying her up the rise on the other side of the ditch.

From behind her came the sound of a metallic clank.

The gun hammer dropping.

But there must've been no live round in the chamber, because there was only the clank and no blast.

She reached the top of the slope.

Broke into a sprint for the woods.

A root snagged her foot.

As she lurched forward, falling headlong, a gunshot split the night.

30.

w.i.l.l.y grinned when he saw the girl walking backward alongside the road ahead, her thumb out. The same girl he'd tried to stop for, back near that town.

She must've pa.s.sed his car while he'd been out in the woods with Marty.

She'd gone a pretty good distance, too.

A mighty quick walker.

He stopped his car beside her. *Want a lift?' he called out the pa.s.senger window.

*Man, oh man, do I!'

The light inside the car came on when she opened the door, and w.i.l.l.y got a good look at her.

Nice. Real nice.

He always did like the young stuff, and the way this gal's dress was clinging to her skina He watched it slide up her thighs when she climbed into the car.

*Where're you headed?' he asked.

*Gribsby.'

*I'm going as far as Marshall.'