Billy: A Tale Of Unrelenting Terror (13 page)

They tore at each other’s clothes until they were both naked, skin against skin, each trying to consume the other with wild abandon. She straddled him as he sat on the small sofa, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and grabbing the back of his head as he buried his face into her ample breasts. She moaned as his arms held her shoulders from behind and pulled her down onto him. Their lips found each other’s, and they locked on tightly as he ran his strong hands down to her quivering buttocks and squeezed them firmly as he thrust inside of her. He lifted her off the sofa, stood up as she locked her legs around his back, and then carried her to his waiting bed. He laid her on her back and fell down upon her, driving her hips further and further into the mattress while she grabbed at the wooden headboard and moaned in unyielding pleasure. Unable to contain the intensity of the moment, the two lovers climaxed and held each other’s sweat-covered bodies in a tight, loving embrace.

Nick rolled over onto his back, Marie laying her head upon his chest as they both panted fiercely, trying to catch their breaths. He tenderly stroked her long, brown hair and stared into the darkness, trying to hold on to the moment and never let it go. Soft tears silently ran down Marie’s cheeks as she listened to her lover’s heart beat in unison with hers. After a few quiet moments, Nick felt the dripping of Marie’s tears on his chest.

"Are you crying?" he gently asked.

Marie lay in silence for awhile before answering, "Just a little."

"Why, what’s wrong?"

"Oh, Nick. I don’t want you to go."

"Hey, hey, I’m not going anywhere."

"I mean, I don’t want you to go out there tomorrow. I’m scared."

"Marie, there’s nothing to be scared about. I’ll be alright."

"You don’t understand. I know you don’t believe in these things. Normally, neither do I. But I have a bad feeling about it. I can’t explain it, but I just know there’s something out there. I, I love you, Nick."

There, she had said it. She knew there was no retreating, no taking it back. Marie didn’t care. She didn’t care what Ronnie or anyone else had to say about it, either. The only thing she cared about now was Nick. She waited in silence, hoping he would say the words she longed to hear.

"I love you, too, Marie. I always have, I always will. So don’t you worry. If I ever had a reason to come back home, I do now. There is nothing, and I mean nothing, that’s going to keep me from coming back, coming back to you. You believe me, don’t you?"

"Yes, of course I believe you, and I hope you’re right. I’m probably just being silly. It’s just that I’ve never felt like this about anyone before, and I need you to come back to me. I shouldn’t be talking like this to you. You have enough on your mind. Just forget I said anything, but come back to me. I need you."

"I need you, too, Marie, and don’t worry. There’s nothing in the world that’s going to keep me away from you."

Nick kissed her forehead before drifting off to sleep. Marie lay quietly next to him, listening to the rhythm of his breathing and the steady beating of his heart, hoping that he was right. She stared into the night and tried to suppress her fears. As tired as she was, Marie fought against the inevitability of sleep. With sleep, came the nightmares – the terrible visions of sharp claws and pointed teeth, of hungry red eyes burning with hatred, staring into her soul from out of the darkness of the Atchafalaya.

PART THREE

ATCHAFALAYA

Chapter Nineteen

Down the Bayou

T
he following morning came too early. Nick had the sensation that he’d just closed his eyes for a brief moment when the unwelcome sound of his alarm clock woke him up to the unpleasant reality of daybreak. Marie was lying next to him, quietly mumbling in her sleep, apparently in the midst of a bad dream. Given the grave conversation the two shared the previous night, Nick didn’t have to guess what it was about. He took a deep breath, resigning himself to the task awaiting him, and rolled out of bed, trying not to disturb Marie.

He was dressed, packed, and headed down the road in his truck as the sun began to rise. By the time he pulled into the parking lot of the boat launch, Nick could see that the rest of the men were already preparing for the search. Four men that he’d never met before were busy loading gear and provisions into two boats. Another man Nick didn’t recognize was helping Deputy Doucet unload the requested infamous body bags from the back of an official SUV. Nicholas parked his truck, grabbed his gear, and headed toward the group, nodding to Charlie on the way. Cap’n Guidry and son walked over from the bait shop, stopping by the deputy’s truck to double-check the supply list and sign a few last-minute forms.

"Morning, Cap’n, Charlie," Nick said.

"Good morning to you, Nick," Charlie said in return. "You ready?"

"As ready as I’m going to be," answered Nick.

"Don’t you worry none, Detective," Guidry said. "You in good hands. We got da best swamp rats in da parish gonna help us with da search. Come on, I’ll introduce you to da crew."

Nick followed Guidry and son to where the other men were gathered, and introductions were made. A tall, burly man with a deep, dark tan named Henry Trahan shook his hand first, almost breaking his bones with a vice-like grip while smiling innocently. Next up was an even bigger giant named Joseph Batiste, whose long, gray, scraggly hair and goatee made him look like an insane biker. Nick was prepared this time for the pissing contest of firm handshakes and almost felt let down when the man just fist-bumped him. Kirk Alleman, a middle-aged man with a permanent squint in his eyes, shook his hand next. The rough-looking older man didn’t say much, preferring to nod before turning his head to the side and spitting a stream of tobacco-laced saliva onto the white shells of the parking lot. Nick noticed the man’s worn-out brown baseball cap spelled out the Cajun equivalent of big oil:
Texaceaux
. Last to round out the men in the second boat was an almost emaciated looking man named Dennis LeFleur. On closer inspection, Nick could see that Dennis was surprisingly strong and healthy and had likely been thin and gangly since birth.

Kenneth Nunez, a young man who looked to be in his early twenties, was the last of the men to accompany the group. He had longish brown hair and a goatee, and he wore some kind of designer sunglasses. Nick later found out that he was the older brother of one of Frank Guidry, Jr.’s high school buddies and he’d be riding along with Nick and the Cap’n and son in the lead boat.

The crew finished loading the boats and set out while the day was still young. It was a long ride out to where they figured the St. Pierre cabin was, and none of the men wished to prolong the trip that far into the swamp any longer than necessary. They made good time early in the day, sticking to the larger rivers and
bayous
whenever they could. By the early afternoon, their luck ran out. Forced into navigating the smaller and less-traveled waterways as they rode deeper into the swamp, they ran into patches of hyacinths that blocked their way. Several times, they had to backtrack and find alternative routes, which made their search for such an elusive destination more difficult.

The men were well versed in the difficulties of traveling through the swamp and took it in stride. They’d seen it all before. Nick seemed to be the only one who had misgivings about getting lost, and he kept them to himself. The sheriff’s office paid handsomely for the experience of the search party, and Nick was grateful, knowing that he’d be hopelessly lost even this early into the expedition if left to his own devices.

He couldn’t help but think how foolish it was for those kids to go out there by themselves in the first place. Even with the experience of those around him, Nick would have preferred to be anywhere else than where he was at the moment. He shuddered to think how terrified those young volunteers must’ve been when their dire situation became all too real. St. Elizabeth’s Institute for the Mentally Ill seemed to be the obvious destination for anyone hopelessly lost in the swamp for any length of time alone, and even that was only marginally preferable to the morgue.

"I can see why old man Landry didn’t wanna come out here," Cap’n Guidry stated to no one in particular. "What I can’t understand is why dem St. Pierres stayed out here in da first place. Dis place is way passed Bum Fucked Egypt and at least two hundred miles from nowhere."

"
Ca viens
?" shouted Trahan from the other boat. "How’s it going?"

"No worries,
podna
," Guidry replied. "According to Landry, we be dere soon enough."

About an hour later, they came across a thick grove of cypress trees. The crew slowed the boats down and sailed cautiously down the small waterway, carefully making their way around the cypress knots, or
boscoyo
, which impeded their path. The water turned brackish and the sky grew dark as a large thundercloud temporarily blocked the sunlight. No one made a sound, and Nick felt the hair on his neck stand up.

"Hear dat?" Cap’n Guidry asked.

"I don’t hear a t’ing," Frank, Jr. replied.

"Dat’s what I mean. Awfully quiet," the Cap’n replied.

"Dis ain’t natural," Dennis said from the other boat. "Ain’t supposed to be dis quiet out here. I ain’t never seen dis before."

"Hush up now, you
Skinny Mullet
," Batiste stated in his deep baritone. "You sounding
motier foux
, half crazy."

"Quiet! That’s enough, you two," said Henry.

They drifted slowly down the
bayou
, those in the front watching for the lilies and stumps rising out of the black water, while the rest of the men scanned the horizon for any sign that they were in the right place.

"
Coo-wee
! Will ya look at dat?" Cap’n Guidry exclaimed at last.

In front of them, barely visible behind the cypress trees and Spanish moss, was a small, wooden shack perched precariously on wooden poles sticking out of the brackish water. There was only a dark opening where the front door must’ve been and a large hole in the tin roof. Random debris was scattered around the brush and small mounds of dirt that surrounded the cabin. On the front of the house, painted with bright red spray paint, was a symbol that was familiar to the group.

"I t’ink we’re dere. Detective Nick, on behalf of Cap’n Guidry and the Swamp Rats, I welcome you to
Bayou Noir
."

Chapter Twenty

Bayou Noir

T
he boats drifted slowly up to the dock in front of the cabin and were tied to the wooden posts. The men were quiet, and Nick could feel tension in the air, a sensation that surprised him amongst a crew that grew up in the swamp and were so seemingly familiar with its environment. He noticed what a watchful eye the others had on their surroundings, feeling himself growing increasingly pensive in the process. If these self-described Swamp Rats felt uncomfort-able being there, Nick reasoned, something was definitely amiss at
Bayou Noir
.

"Frank, you stay here with da boats," Cap’n Guidry instructed his son, "and keep an eye out."

The younger Guidry seemed annoyed at having been singled out amongst the crew. As creepy as the cabin was, he was dying to see what was inside. The thought of staying back alone didn’t make him feel any safer.

"Keep an eye out for what?" he asked.

"For anything dat don’t belong," answered the Cap’n.

The elder Guidry led the crew up the wooden deck and inspected the outside of the cabin and the cryptic message painted on the rotting boards out front.

"Looks like dem kids were here, alright," Guidry said. "Or, at least, someone was after da storm. Wanna explain dis to us, Detective?"

"It was them, alright," answered Nick. "The initials,
GM
, stand for Generation Millennium, which is what they called themselves."

"What kind of a stupid name is that?" Kenny asked.

"Dat from someone who calls demselves a Swamp Rat," Joe Batiste sarcastically replied.

Nick ignored the others and continued with his translation. "The date at the top is self-explanatory, and the
WA
to the right probably stands for wild animals or some such warning. That’s the spot where the hazards are listed, such as
GL
for gas leaks, et cetera, but there isn’t a standard way to write whatever you may come across. Judging from the date up top and the surroundings, I’m sure wild animals is what you’d expect to find around a group of dead…, well, you know."

They looked at the
4DB
painted in red at the bottom of the X and nodded in silence. No explanation was needed. Whatever was left of the St. Pierre family after the WA’s got to them was found by Generation Millennium back in September; any further questions the Swamp Rats needed answering, they were going to have to get for themselves.