Hunting Season (13 page)

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I sit in the passenger's seat of Tony's beat-up Ford F-150, rubbing my fingers together. We parked in the back of the movie theater parking lot away from any lights but still with a good view of Simms' trailer. Now we wait for the evening's crowd to disperse. Once Simms heads into his trailer and the lights go out, we'll make our move.

The crowd heads out of the movie theater. Many walk to their cars and leave right away. Others linger for a while, chatting, reliving the evening's miracles. Can almost imagine what they're saying:

Can you believe the reverend healed that poor lady's arthritis?

I've never seen God radiate from someone's soul before.

I feel blessed for just being in Simms's presence.

I'm making myself sick so I turn the thoughts off. Need to stay focused. Need to stay angry so I don't chicken out.

Simms leaves the theater through a back entrance, escorted by the tall bodyguard who beat the shit out of me. He says a couple of things to his man and then heads into the trailer. The tall guy stands outside the door like a disciplined sentry.

The lights go out a half hour later.

"You ready to do this?" Tony says.

"I'm ready."

"All right." He grabs a revolver from under his seat. "Let's go."

I follow Tony around to the front of the trailer, moving slow, careful not to make any noise. We don't speak. We went through the plan several times at the mobile home and one last time in the truck. Now we just need to execute it.

The tall guy guards the door to the trailer. Tony creeps up from the side. It amazes me how quickly and quietly Tony moves. I wonder if he was once in the military or something.

Tony raises the gun and brings it down with a surgeon's precision, hitting the tall guy right at the base of the skull. He drops like a sack of potatoes.

I move in and drag the limp body around the side of the trailer out of sight, just like we planned. I throw a few kicks to the asshole's ribs for good measure. My way of thanking him for the ass whipping. He moans but remains unconscious.

Tony waits for me at the door. I move next to him and Tony nods. I return it.

"Blood for blood," Tony says, barely a whisper.

"Blood for blood."

A second later, Tony opens the door and moves in slowly. I follow, leaving any chance to turn back at the door.

NOW

The door to the trailer opens and Tony walks in. He moves around Simms and sits next to me on the couch. He stares at our guest.

"Should be about ready to wake up," Tony says.

"Will he still be numb?"

"Oh, yeah. He'll be numb." Tony picks up the Ziploc bag. "Fucking zombie powder." He sets it back down. "It ends now."

I look at the bag, then the knife, then Tony. "You ready?"

"More than you know." Tony looks at me. "You can have the honors of waking him up, if you want."

"Sure."

I stand and move over to the hand truck. I look at his tanned face and hands and his pink belly and almost laugh at how ridiculous he is. Just a fat conman.

And a killer.

Time to get to work.

"Reverend?" I say and poke his belly

Simms flutters his eyes.

"Reverend?"

Simms blinks hard.

"Reverend?"

Simms opens his eyes.

"Reverend Simms?"

Simms looks to his right.

I'm standing there in his eye line, a broad smile on my face. The sight of Simms trying to figure out where he is, the complete loss of awareness and flood of confusion and fear, amuses me to no end. Like a baby waking up someplace new. Surprised and scared. Looking for momma. But finding two pissed off guys wanting revenge instead.

We brought him back to the mobile home last night. And it took a lot of self-control not to beat the man into pulp as soon as we got Simms through the door. Now my patience will pay off.

"Can you hear me clearly?" I say.

Simms stares at me. I realize the good reverend recognizes me.

"Yes, I'm the one who came and called you out." I rub a bruise on my cheek. "The one your man beat the shit out of. The one who's sister you killed."

Simms tries to move, to run but can't budge his legs. He attempts to flail his arms but can't lift them.

"Look down, Reverend."

He does. Simms' eyes widen when he finds himself strapped naked to the hand truck.

"Help me!"

Simms sucks in deep breaths as he looks around him, eyes bigger than hubcaps. He sees Tony sitting motionless on the couch, staring at him. Then Simms notices Tony holding the butcher knife at eye level.

"Oh shit."

"This is Tony, Reverend," I say. "You killed his daughter."

I move closer to Simms and lean in toward his ear. "You see, we know about your zombie powder. A lot of people think you're a saint for helping their loved ones die in peace. Not us though, Reverend. You took loved ones from us we weren't ready to let go of. You made me think miracles might actually be real. But in the end, you deal in lies. Your little charade killed two innocents. So you're in debt to us. And we've come to collect."

Simms has trouble breathing. "I'll pay you. I'll pay you both! Just let me go!"

"The debt is more personal than money, Reverend," Tony says.

I point at the knife in Tony's hand. "We've decided to take a pound of flesh." I slap the naked reverend's stomach.  "But we don't have any scales to weigh our portions properly. So we might just have to take more than our fair share."

Simms screams.

Tony rises and moves toward the reverend, knife at the ready.

"If it makes you feel any better, we've given you a more than fair dosage of your zombie powder," Tony says. "We figured it's about the same amount you gave our loved ones. Just the right amount not to feel any pain but still be able to think and talk. You'll get to see yourself butchered alive until you just bleed to death."

The screams reach their peak when Tony stops in front of Simms.

"Are you ready for God, Reverend?" I say.

The screams soon fade as Simms watches Tony move the knife to his left love handle. His breaths are ragged. He hitches here and there.

"Hush now," Tony says. A small grin spreads across his lips. "This won't hurt a bit."

I lick my lips and rub my sweaty hands together. My own breathing is ratcheting up. We're really going to do this. Holy shit, we're going to do this.

"I'm sorry!" Simms screams. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry!"

Tony pinches the love handle with his right hand and pulls the skin away from Simms's body and slices, carving like a skilled delicatessen. It comes away without a fight. Blood gushes and runs down the reverend's side and leg.

I vomit in my mouth, choke, and then swallow it down.

Simms just watches, dumbfounded. Tony finishes the cut and lifts the love handle for Simms to see. He shakes it, blood spattering Simms's face.

"See, didn't hurt a bit, did it?" Tony drops the fatty flesh onto the carpet. "Didn't quite feel like a pound, though. Better take some more."

Tony moves to the other love handle and repeats the process. I turn away, unable to watch.

What have I done? What have I done? Oh, Christ, what have I done?

I think about Laura and try to find the anger again. To find the hate and resolve to finish this. But as I start to build the rage back up, Simms giggles and it shatters my will like a boulder hitting a window.

I turn back around and see Tony holding the other love handle up in front of Simms. And Simms is laughing, like this is all a big joke.

He's lost his mind, I think. Shit, haven't we all?

Tony laughs, too. "Yeah, it's a sight, ain't it, Reverend?"

Simms laughs some more. Both of his legs are now slick with blood. He's also puked all down the front of his chest and stomach.

Tony's hands look like a butcher's after a day of slaughtering. His face is on fire with delight. He looks at me, his eyes possessed.

"It something, huh?"

I want to run away, to flee into the night and pretend this shit never happened.

"Your turn," Tony says.

I start to shake my head but Tony motions me forward. Simms laughs.

"Come take your pound," Tony says.

I don't move, frozen in place, staring at the macabre seen in front of me. Tony and his blood-drenched hands and dripping knife. Simms strapped naked to a hand truck, laughing, his sides on the floor in front of him.

How did I get to this point? When did I lose control over my rational mind? When did I become a killer?

When you decided Laura needed to be avenged.

"Come on," Tony says.

I shake my head, looking at the knife. I don't want the lash or the hammer or the spear. I don't want to kill, God or the criminal or anyone. "I can't."

"What?"

"We need to stop," I say. "There's still time."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"We can stop. We can stop and take him to a hospital. He said he was sorry. Before you started cutting he said he was sorry. For fucks sake, he said he was sorry."

"The fuck are you saying? Sorry?"

"We can just drop him off outside a hospital. No one will know it was us."

Tony motions at Simms with the knife. "He'll know."

I look at Simms and then Tony. "We can make him promise not to tell."

"Are you stupid?"

I shake my head. "I just don't want to do this. I don't want to do this and I want it to be over. Christ forgave that criminal on the cross and Simms said he was sorry and this is wrong. It's all wrong." The words are coming out in a mad rush. I can't think straight or control my mouth. "I'm not going to stab him. I'm not going to break his knees. We need to stop."

"Too late for that."

"No it's not."

"Yes, it is." Tony steps toward me, knife at his side. "Blood for blood, remember?"

I look at the knife. "Go easy, Tony."

"Don't worry, I ain't gonna kill you, too."

Tony's free hand springs out and hits me in the jaw. I hit the ground and see stars. The bastard has granite for a fist.

Tony stands over me with knife and fist. "But I ain't gonna let you stop me, either. I've been waiting too long for this."

I rub my jaw and blink. "We have to stop."

"HE KILLED MY LITTLE GIRL!"

The sudden ferocious scream damn near punctures my eardrums. I recoil and shield my face reflexively, thinking Tony's about to pounce on me. But he doesn't move. He stands over me, glaring, breathing hard. Simms laughs behind him.

"Now you just sit still and let me finish this," Tony says. "If you don't, I will have to kill you. I don't want to but damn it, I will."

"Okay," I say. "Do what you got to do."

Tony nods and turns back to Simms.

I look around for a weapon, something I can club Tony with. Nothing to kill. Just something to knock his ass out so I can get Simms out of here and to a hospital before he bleeds to death.

"Oh, God," Simms says. "It hurts. It's starting to hurt." Simms laughs. "It's starting to hurt."

"We'll take care of that soon enough," Tony says.

I don't see a damn thing to hit Tony with. Other than the coffee table.

The coffee table.

Right there on top. The bag of the reverend's powder.

But I can't touch it or I'll dope myself up.

We discovered Simms wore clear latex gloves on his hand when he used it. He had dozens of boxes of them in his trailer. I don't have gloves.

Tony starts cutting away a strip of Simms's right breast. This time the reverend screams. I've never heard a worse sound in my life.

I push up to my feet slow, the screams masking my movement. I reach over the table and grab the Ziploc bag and carefully open it.

Simms is coughing on his screams. Tony does his own bit of laughing and holds up a severed nipple for Simms to see.

"Now let's get the other one off," Tony says.

I get in a decent stance and take a deep breath.

"Hey, Tony."

"What?"

"Tony."

Tony turns around and says, "What-"

I whip the bag at him in a downward arc but don't let go. The powder flies through the opening and hits him square in the face and explodes. I look away and then hustle toward the other side of the trailer, avoiding the zombie powder cloud enveloping Tony and Simms.

Behind me Tony screams. I risk a glance and see him scratching at his face, trying to claw the powder off his cheeks. He's taking big breaths of the stuff and coughing and spitting and screaming some more. After a few minutes of flailing, Tony falls forward and face-plants on the carpet. He doesn't move anymore after that.

I watch him for a while, expecting him to jump up at any moment and charge me, swinging the knife. He doesn't though. He doesn't do anything.

Simms' head hangs to the side. His chest isn't rising or falling.

Shit, shit, shit.

I pull my shirt over my nose and move toward them. I kick Tony and step back. Nothing. I look at his side, trying to get an indication of whether he's breathing. It doesn't look like he is. The only way to be sure is to check for a pulse but I'm not going to risk it and touch the powder.

Simms is definitely gone. He's not breathing and he's still bleeding. No way he's still alive. The powder finished him off like he finished Laura off.

In trying to stop Tony to save Simms, I killed them both. I feel sick. I lean forward and throw up.

It takes me a few seconds to get my shit together. When I do, I take in the grisly scene around me once more. Blood, flesh, and bodies. Christ.

I runaway. I sprint out of the trailer and flee down the dark country road. I run until my lungs burn.

I probably make it a mile before reality hits me. My fingerprints are all over the trailer. On Simms. On the bag of powder I dropped on the floor.

Shit.

I turn around and look down the road back toward the trailer. It's in the middle of nowhere. No one will just accidentally stop by. So it could be a few weeks before the bodies are found. Or it could be tomorrow.