Endless Night (3 page)

“You look at his butt.” She stepped toward the machete. “The other one’s still out there. The fat guy.”

“It’s sewed shut.”

When Andy said that, she had to look. She looked as she crouched to pick up the machete, and saw a crosshatch of stitches up the center of the man’s rump. She thought, How does he poop? And then she saw the rumples in his buttocks and the backs of his legs. Then the ragged edges hanging around his ankles.

The rope of braided hair around his waist wasn’t merely an ornament. It was a belt.

She looked up at Andy.

“They’re pants,” he whispered. “They’re pants!”

Still prancing on his bed with the pillow clutched to his groin, Andy suddenly rushed to the end of his mattress, bent over and vomited.

The thick gush missed his bed, but splashed down on the head of the intruder. Jody stumbled backward to get away from it.

Suddenly, she was having a very hard time catching her breath.

Bat in one hand, machete in the other, she turned toward the bedroom door. She felt as if her heart and lungs were being squeezed by fists. She gasped for air.

Behind her, Andy coughed and sniffed. “Where’re Mom and Dad and Evelyn?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You said about another guy. A fat guy.”

“Yeah.”

He’ll smash through the door right now and pick me up with his spear.

She wished that the door had a lock.

Bedroom doors always have locks. In the movies.

Some bedroom doors in real life probably had locks, too, but she’d never seen one.

“Do you think ... Do you think they’re all right? Mom and Dad and Evelyn?”

“No.”

“Oh, God. Oh, Jesus.”

Jody turned around. Andy stepped to the floor and sat on a comer of his bed and hunched over, hugging the pillow, head down: “We’ve gotta get out of here,” Jody told him.

He looked up at her. His face was red, eyes squeezed almost shut, teeth bared.

“The other’s gonna come,” she said.

Lowering his head again, he muttered, “I don’t care.”

“He’ll kill us.”

“So?”

Jody went to him. She stepped between his knees. The hanging front of her nightshirt enfolded the top of his head. She moved forward until his head pushed against her. It pressed her lower than she had expected.

An odd bit of her mind thought how embarrassing this would be under other circumstances.

But she didn’t feel embarrassed at all.

With the knuckles of the hand that held the machete, she gently caressed the back of his head. His hair was dripping wet.

“We’re gonna get out of this,” she whispered.

“Is everybody dead?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m so scared.”

“Me, too. It’ll be all right, though.”

Andy lifted his head, but didn’t move it away. She felt the rub of his hair through the thin jersey fabric, then the pressure of his face. His face was so low that she couldn’t feel the push of his chin. “What’ll we do?” he asked. She felt his lips move. His breath was like hot steam against her skin.

Can’t believe I’m letting him, she thought. If Rob had ever tried to put his face there, much less his hand ...

This isn’t Rob. This is Andy and he’s just a kid and his family’s been wiped out and we’re probably gonna die ...

How do we not die?

There has to be a
way.

Standing here with Andy’s face buried in her wasn’t accomplishing a thing.

Yes, she realized. It calms him down. Calms me down, too.

Her heart was no longer slamming. She could breathe almost normally.

“We’ll be okay,” she whispered.

He didn’t speak. His face moved from side to side. Maybe he was telling her no. Maybe he was just doing it to feel her.

“I sure wish you had a phone in your room,” she whispered.

“Mom and Dad have one.” His voice was muffled, his breath very hot.

“I know. But it’s in their bedroom. I’m pretty sure that’s where the fat guy is.”

If he isn’t about to crash through the door
.

“Maybe we’d better jump out a window,” she said.

“They don’t open.”

“I know. We’d have to break one.”

His head shook again. This time, Jody was sure he meant no. “It’s awful far down. And it’s cement. We’d bust our brains out.”

That might be better than meeting up with the fat guy, she thought. Anything might be better than that.

“I wonder what he’s doing,” she said.

“The other one?”

“Funny he hasn’t come to check on this one.”

“Maybe he’s busy ... stealing stuff.”

“If he is,” Jody said, “maybe we can sneak right by him. All we’ve gotta do is get downstairs and outside, then we’ll be okay.”

“That’d be better than trying to jump.”

“Let’s do it.”

“Okay.” He nodded, his head rubbing up and down against her. And then he kissed her through the nightshirt.

The kiss made her squirm. “Hey!” she gasped, and back-stepped away from him. “Jeez!” Then she saw the look on his face. “Never mind. It’s all right. Let’s go.”

“I’ve gotta get dressed.”

“Do it quick.” She turned away. She glanced at the corpse just to avoid stepping on it or in the thick mat of vomit. The sight of the body made an icy snake come alive in her guts. She stepped past it and carried her weapons to the bedroom door.

She leaned her back against the door.

Andy, standing beside his bed, bent over to pull up his jeans. He hadn’t bothered with undershorts. His rump looked very white and smooth.

He didn’t know she was watching. When he started to turn around, she elbowed the light switch.

“Let’s go,” she whispered.

“I’m not done ...”

“All you need are your pants. Let’s go. Be careful you don’t trip.”

“Do you think he’s dead?”

“If the bat didn’t kill him, I’m sure your puke did.”

A strange, hushed laugh came through the darkness. “You’re weird, Jody.” He said nothing for a few seconds. Jody could hear him sneaking closer. “Maybe we can kill the other one.”

“We might have to try. Do you want the machete or the bat?”

“You keep the bat. You’re good with it.”

“Fine.” She lifted the machete up from her side, moving it slowly until it was straight out in front of her, its blade upright. “I’m holding it out,” she said. “Don’t cut yourself.”

Something in the darkness bumped her outstretched arm just below the elbow.

I hope that’s Andy.

“That you?” he whispered.

“Yeah.”

Both his hands found her arm. One held on while the other fingered its way to her hand. Jody let the machete go. When he released her arm, she reached out. Her hand met bare skin. She stroked him. His side, she guessed. Just a little down from his armpit.

“Are you ready?” she whispered.

“Not really.”

“Yeah. Me neither.”

“What’ll we do?”

“Whatever we have to,” she said. “We’ll sneak out if we can. But if he sees us, we’d better run like hell.”

“What if we can sneak up on him?”

“I don’t know. Depends, I guess. If it really looks like we have a good chance of taking him by surprise, I guess we should try it. The thing is to get out of here alive. That’s the only thing that matters, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Ready?”

“Will you hug me?”

“Geez, Andy.”

“Please? Everybody’s dead.”

“Okay. But watch the machete.” With her hand on Andy’s side to guide her, she stepped forward and pressed herself lightly against him. He put an arm around her back. It hardly touched her, though.

“I’ve always wanted ...” He went silent.

“What?” Jody asked.

“Something like this. To hold you like this. I mean, it really... it’s really nice.”

She kissed his forehead.

“I sure love you, Jody.”

“Hey.”

“I do. I love you so much.”

“Hey.” She bent her knees enough to slide her down to where Andy’s mouth was. Then she hugged him hard with her free arm, squeezing herself against him, kissing him.

With his free arm, he hugged her fiercely.

When she finished kissing him, he said, “I won’t let anybody hurt you, Jody. Not ever.”

She patted his side. “Just you ‘n’ me, kid.”

“I’m ready when you are.”

“Okay. Follow me.”

“No. I’ll go first. I’m the guy.”

“You’re the guy, fine. But I’m in charge. You follow me.”

“But ...”

“Shhh.” Taking his arm, she pulled him away from the door. She squatted at its edge herself, and rested the bat against her right shoulder. “Get behind me.”

She felt one of his knees nudge her rump.

“Here goes,” she whispered.

Reaching up with her left hand, she found the doorknob. She turned the knob and swung the door inward.

Chapter Three

Nobody stood waiting on the other side of the door.

Jody lowered her knees to the carpet and shuffled to the middle of the doorway. There, she leaned forward and glanced both ways.

The corridor looked deserted.

Light still glowed from the master bedroom near its far end, and the music had resumed. Now, the song was Billy Joel doing “Goodnight Saigon.”

Dad’s favorite song, Jody thought. And again, she wished he were here.

He’d been a platoon leader in Vietnam. Now, he was a sergeant with the LAPD. Out on the streets somewhere, right now, protecting the civilians.

Here’s a civilian who could really use you, Dad.

Jody got to her feet and stepped into the corridor. She walked slowly toward the lighted doorway, Andy following with his hand flat against her back.

No way to avoid the open door. Not if she wanted to use the stairs. They were on the other side.

She could only think of two alternatives: jump from a two-story window, or hide. Getting hurt was a sure thing if they jumped. They might not break their heads open as Andy had suggested, but the impact was likely to disable one or both of them and keep them from running away. Hiding wasn’t the answer, either. The very idea of hiding gave Jody the creeps. As a kid, she had played hide ‘n’ seek enough to know that you usually get found. Besides, the guy might be in the house for hours. He might set it afire before leaving.

Hiding seemed like crawling into a dark trap to wait for the slaughter.

We won’t be safe till we’re outside.

Which meant they had to use the stairs. Which meant they had to pass the lighted bedroom doorway.

“Goodnight Saigon” grew louder with every step Jody took.

She didn’t like the part about all going down together. Not at all. It meant getting killed together, didn’t it?

We’re not gonna get killed. We’re gonna make it.

If we can just make it past the door ...

She wanted to warn Andy against looking into the room. She didn’t dare make a sound, though. And she knew that he would have to look, no matter what.

As she neared the doorway, she gripped the bat with both hands and switched it to her left shoulder as if she were stepping up to home plate.

She had always batted lefty.

Hitting baseballs was the only thing she did left-handed. She didn’t know why. Dad
claimed
not to know why. Sometimes, she suspected that he’d pulled a fast one when he’d shown her how to swing.

Bet he never thought I’d have to bust a guy’s head.

I might have to do it again
.

Oh, Jesus.

Only a few steps from the doorway, Jody felt her terror surge. She ached to scream. She ached to break into a sprint and race past the door.

Slow and easy, she told herself. Easy does it. If we can get past the door without being spotted, we’re home free.

She wondered if they should crawl by, or squirm past the opening on their bellies. They might be less noticeable that way. But they’d be exposed for a longer period of time. Besides, it would be a tricky maneuver with their weapons. And if they did get seen, they’d be down on the floor, unable to defend themselves or make a quick run for it.

We’ll stay on our feet, she decided.

Scoot right by, silent and fast.

She didn’t know which side of the corridor might be best. It seemed that crossing close to the doorway would give them the briefest exposure. She couldn’t do that, though, just couldn’t. What if the guy was right inside? He’d be able to grab them as they went by.

Or skewer them.

Anyhow, the top of the stairway was on the left side, away from the door.

She angled to the left, Andy’s hand still pressing against her back.

The wood of the baseball bat felt slippery in her sweaty hands.

She stepped into the spill of light.

Don’t even look, she told herself. You’ll hear it if he spots you.

She kept her eyes straight ahead.

And spotted the dim shape of the newel post at the top of the stairway. Eight or ten feet away, no more.

We’re gonna make it!

That’s what she thought until Andy’s fingertips dug into her back and he let out a moan that made her skin prickle.

She snapped her head to the side.

She looked through the doorway.

Standing near the bed was the fat man who’d killed Evelyn. But he wasn’t alone. There were others. Five, six? More?

They were silent in there. Not laughing or growling or discussing matters or kidding around. They were silent and busy. The only sounds were Billy Joel on the radio singing about the Vietcong, bedsprings squeaking, rough breathing and wet noises.

Jody couldn’t recognize Evelyn or Mr. Clark or Mrs. Clark.

She supposed they must be in there, though, in the middle of things.

All she saw were men, bare skin, weapons and blood.

She looked in at it all for only a second, not even long enough to see what they were doing, but more than long enough to know that she didn’t want to see.

At the same instant she began to turn her eyes away, one of the men swiveled around.

He’d probably heard Andy’s moan.

He was hairless. He wore blood. He held a hatchet in one hand, a severed head in the other. He held the head upside down by the red mess in the stump of its neck. Its hair hung swaying. Jody couldn’t tell whether the head belonged to Mrs. Clark or to Evelyn.