Brian Lumley - Psychomech 03, page 24
Another car came from behind, also flashing, but this one was pulling up as it drew level. They turned towards it, were momentarily blinded by its lights. It stopped and doors sprang open. Two figures confronted them in the night.
'You!' Lynn gasped.
Michael Jackson had a gun with a silencer. He pointed it at Richard. 'Goodbye, Mr "Garrison"!' he said. The gun spat a small jet of fire, went plopl - and Richard was knocked back off the edge of the road and down into the grass.
At the same time, as Lynn drew breath to scream, Darren Jackson grabbed her and slapped a gloved hand over her face. He squeezed her mouth, crushing her lips as he bent her head viciously backwards. A moment later and he had dragged her into the back of the car. Somewhere far off in the night Suzy barked enquiringly.
'Hurry!' Darren called out, his voice hushed but urgent. 'Finish him off!'
Michael aimed his gun into the darkness. A figure came half-way to its feet in the long grass at the side of the road.
'Hurry, for fuck's sake!' Darren called again. "There's a car coming!'
The figure in the grass stumbled and croaked an inarticulate protest. Michael was panicked. His hand shook as he squeezed the trigger. Plop -plop - and the stumbling figure was knocked down again.
'Quick!' Darren called.
Michael stepped into the road, into the driving seat, slammed his door. He put the gun in the glove compartment. His hands shook as he took the steering wheel, put the car in gear. Then they were moving.
'Not too fast!' Darren cautioned. 'Drive normally. Take it easy.' In the back he shifted his grip on Lynn's face and heard her sob. The sound of women crying always did something to Darren. It made him feel strong, potent. 'You take it easy, too,' he said. 'Give me a hard time and I'll break your fucking neck!' He held her tightly, aware of her woman's shape against his.
Tits like melons! he thought. And just as sweet. Oh, sweet lord! And couldn't I just?
The first bullet had broken Richard's right collar bone and passed out the back of his shoulder. The second had scored a shallow groove along his rib cage on the right. But the third had lodged in him, three inches over his heart. He was a dead man, or should have been. But he had inherited more of his father than even he had guessed.
At first he crawled, then got up and staggered, and finally he ran back to the Schweitzerhof. Half-way there Suzy joined him, whining as she sniffed the blood that dripped where he stumbled and swayed.
It was a miracle that no one saw them go through the porch and into the reception area. The desk clerk was out for the moment, the stairs free for Richard as he slid up the wall to the corridor leading to his and Lynn's first-floor room.
Lynn! And where was she now? And who were those two who had her?
Suzy went with her master all the way into the dark room, watched him anxiously, whining as he tipped the contents of the suitcase out on to the floor. He left a trail of blood and he knew it; he must surely be dying and he knew that too. The pain was unbelievable; it threatened to black him out; it was a white-hot poker in his chest, his heart. But it was also something to fight. And God, his father had been a fighter!
His pulse was speeding up, his heart hammering behind his ribs. The final burst, perhaps, before it ground to a halt.
He fell to the floor and in the darkness found what he wanted. In his hand, the wire knuckleduster, its points sharp as the devil's horns. He crawled to the TV set, found the cable. Suzy growled, danced in her anxiety. She licked his face, his blood where it stained the room's carpet.
'Away, Suzy!' he whispered hoarsely. 'Away, over there-go!'
She went, sat whining, shivering, watching him.
He squeezed his fingers through the coils of the wire device, located the cable again and stabbed one prong right through it. He was starting to black out: . . the pain . . . the room was spinning.
He caught the other prong between the numb thumb and forefinger of his flopping left hand, positioned it over the cable -
- And leaned his weight on it.
The jolt of electricity snapped his body out as rigid as a pole. The stink of roasting flesh instantly wafted into the air as his fingers began to blacken where they held the smoking conductor. For one, two, three seconds he lay there, his body stretched out straight, vibrating. Then he released his grip and was shot away across the room.
But as he flew so he rose up off the floor, came to a halt in a horizontal position in the centre of the room. And slowly spinning like a human fan, there he stayed.
His legs were open wide; his arms stood out straight from his shoulders; he formed a five-pointed star, slowly turning, unsupported, in mid-air. And the room was no longer dark but lit with the strange soft glow of his body. Suzy continued to whine low in her throat, her forelegs stiff and the hair of her body risen; but she sat still, never taking her eyes off him for a second.
His rate of rotation slowed, stopped. He turned through ninety degrees until he was vertical, stood there on air inches from the door. His entire face and body had a St Elmo's fire glow in the darkness - but his eyes when he opened them were golden!
Suzy had seen eyes like these before and v/as unafraid. She waited impatiently as those eyes sought her out, as their golden beams reached out and touched her with their warmth.
SUZY. GO, FIND LYNN. BRING HER TO ME. BRING HER TO THE CABIN. AND SUZY, THOSE MEN . . . THEY ARE OUR ENEMIES!
The golden fire from his eyes intensified. Something passed from him to her, from man to dog. She leaped for the windows. Mid-leap, the windows opened, banged back on their hinges, and the great black bitch was through. But out in the cold mountain air it was not a dog that came plummeting down through the night. Nothing fell from that high balcony, nothing at all - but a dark cloud flowed over the valley. A nebulous cloud with the shape of a vast hound, whose paws were big as houses where they loped over St Andreasberg's rooftops ...
When Suzy had gone, Richard's body turned back through ninety degrees to the horizontal position. His legs came together and his arms slowly closed to his sides; his eyes closed; much of his body's glow faded until his luminosity left him a mere outline. Then he too sped out through the open windows . . . away and out into the night.
The desk clerk, Georg Stuker, had been slowly, methodically checking the security of the cars in the hotel parking lot when Richard and Suzy had entered the Schweitzer-hof. He had taken his time, smoked a cigarette as he worked. The hotel was quiet tonight, only a handful of people in the bar, nothing much happening. It was good to get out from behind the desk for a few minutes. But as he was finishing and turned to go back inside -
Gravel crunched behind him, the unmistakable sound of a car's tyres freewheeling. Stuker whirled. He had seen no one in the car park. What did this mean? Then his jaw dropped and his eyes bugged. A silver Mercedes was rolling directly towards him!
Stuker leaped out of the way, skidded on the gravel and went down on one knee. He yelled out after the car as it glided by. He cursed vividly as only a German can, yelled again. Couldn't the driver hear him? Why didn't the madman put his lights on?
The car turned towards the exit, passed between Stuker and the hotel. The hotel's lights shone clearly through its windows. Stuker stopped yelling, snatched back his breath. The car was empty - there was no one in it!
Its lights came on as it turned out of the car park and its engine roared into life.
Stuker was enraged. Someone thought to make a fool of him! He ran after the car a little way, caught up, crouched down and stared hard. Empty! There was definitely no driver! An empty car was driving itself down the road towards St Andreasberg!
'I am doomed!' Stuker groaned out loud. He clasped his head in both hands, spat out his cigarette. 'The mind-plague!' He staggered into the hotel through the porch, came to a frozen halt half-way to his desk. His eyes went to the floor, grew round as marbles in his head. He saw the swath of fresh blood where it patterned the carpeting and climbed the stairs.
'Afein Gott!' he croaked. And a moment later, ashen-faced, he was screaming for help.
'Herr Gutmann!' he cried. 'Herr Gutmann! Oh, mein Gott, mein Gott! Mord! - Mord! - Mord!'
Michael Jackson drove the big square Fiat through the night at a speed just a few kilometres over the limit. He knew he had to control his excitement, which always ran high after violence. And certainly tonight had been violent. Remembering the way he had cold-bloodedly stood there and killed a man, he shuddered in strange pleasure.
'Christ, the way I knocked him down!' he said, glancing over his shoulder.
In the back, his brother chuckled. 'Dead as a doornail,' he said. 'You stretched him out in the grass like a fallen tree!' He looked down at Lynn where he held her head in his lap. She lay on her back, her legs sprawled along the back seat. Her right arm was trapped under his left leg, the other arm was jammed down between her and him. He took his hand off her face, said: "Fraid your boyfriend's a goner, love.'
'You bastards!' she sobbed. 'Murderers! I'll see you dead!'
'Orders is orders, love,' said Michael from the front.
'Whose orders, you swine?' she spat.
'Wouldn't you just like to know?' Darren mocked. He moved a little where he sat, freed his erection where it was trapped awkwardly in his trousers. He let his left hand ride up a little where it crossed her midriff. His thumb touched the swell of her right breast. She struggled and started to sob again but he leaned down, put his mouth over hers and sucked at her. She was nearly sick.
When he drew back she spat out saliva, sobbed and screamed until she was hoarse. The brothers laughed, and Darren's hand was more determined where it explored her breast.
'Where are you taking me?' she demanded. 'And you -you ... - take your filthy hands off me!'
'Here, our Darren!' said Michael, his voice gently chiding. 'What are you doing back there then?'
'God, couldn't I just?' the other answered, his voice husky.
'You all randy, then?' asked Michael.
'Randy? Jesus!'
'My father will have the skin off you,' Lynn sobbed unashamedly. 'He'll cut your hearts out!'
'Your fucking daddy-dear sent us, sweetheart,' said Darren softly.
She froze. 'What?'
'It's right, love,' Michael agreed. 'He said we was to knock over the Stone kid and bring you back home to him.'
Darren switched on soft, internal lights. He looked down into her astonished, unbelieving face. 'Eh? You don't believe it: Well, it's true enough.' He laughed and got his hand up under her pullover, began unbuttoning her trouser-suit top.
She struggled again. 'I don't. . . don't believe you!' she snarled. 'And did he say you were to maul and molest me? He'll kill you for this!'
Michael looked over his shoulder again, saw what his brother was doing. 'Better cool it,' he warned, his voice a croak. 'You're getting me all worked up.' ~~
'God, look at that mouth,' Darren ignored him. 'Jesus, I could fuck her face!' He yanked up her pullover, tore open the front of her trouser-suit, ripped her brassiere loose.
'Swine!' Lynn sobbed helplessly. "The first responsible person I see, I'll - ' Darren dipped his head, sucked her right nipple into his mouth.
Michael applied his brakes, pulled off the road beneath an overhang of night-black trees. He looked into the back, licked his lips. His brother's mouth worked at the girl's breasts; his left hand was down inside her trousers; his right arm was across her face, stifling her sobbing. 'Jesus!' breathed Michael.
Darren looked up. 'We'll never take her back, you know,' he husked. 'She'll yell copper every chance she gets. And if we did get her back, what about her old man?' He took his hand out of her trousers, yanked open his fly. His stiff penis lolled out against her face.
'What'll we tell old Craig?' Michael asked, reaching between the front seats to squeeze Lynn's wet breasts.
Tell him Stone had already killed her when we nailed him. Tell him we forced it out of the bastard before you shot him.'
' yeah!' said Michael. 'I like it!'
'Come on, sweetheart,' said Darren, clasping Lynn's chin. He grunted as he strained to hold her writhing body still. 'Turn your sweet little mouth this way a bit.'
'No!' said Michael. 'Not here in the car. Too confined. If we open the boot we can have her there, with her legs sticking out. There's a light in the boot, too, so we can see what we're doing.'
'Me first,' the other grunted. 'I want her mouth.'
'No!' Michael snapped again. 'Me first. You've been having your fun. I want her up the front. Then you can have her face - and after that I'll have her up the back!'
Lynn could hear all of this and could hardly believe her own ears. Half an hour ago there had been hope for everything. Now there was only horror. They literally stripped her in the car, tore her clothes from her. Terrified, she knew she was going to die. What could possibly save her? And anyway, Richard was dead, killed by these two monsters, so what was left for her? But surely she didn't have to go this way?
'You wouldn't kill me!' she whimpered, which only drove them to greater frenzy. 'Have me if you must, but let me go-please?
'Wouldn't we kill you, little Miss Craig? Wouldn't we?' said Michael, his voice a hoarse bark. 'Well, we would, see. First we're going to fuck you with our little guns – and then our Darren's going to fuck you with my big gun -plop! plop! plopl'
'Can I?' Darren giggled. 'It's only fair. You shot him, so I'll shoot her - and I know just where to do it!'
They dragged her naked from the car, opened the boot and thrust her headlong into musty darkness. A moment later and the boot light came on, illuminating her nudity -and their animal bestiality. As Michael went to mount her, she cried again: 'You wouldn't kill me!' But she knew they would.
Strength came to her from somewhere. Her hand snaked out, opened the side of Michael's face in four scarlet lines. He cursed and fell back. Her sweat helped her slip from Darren's grasp. She ran along a ditch beside the road, screaming. They were on her in a moment. She tripped and fell, was dragged down into shallow, icy water.
Michael positioned himself between her legs, began to come down on her. His breath came in great foul whooshes into her face. 'Come on,' he gasped to his brother who was crouching over her. 'Have the cow's face!'
Something huge, black, of awesome strength, incredible weight, came down on the car twenty-five yards away. It came down out of the sky, between the trees, a black column that crushed the car flat as if it were a matchbox under a boot. And like a box full of matches, the car exploded, lighting the night in a searing flash of igniting petrol, blasting back the darkness in a livid tongue of light and flame.
The Jacksons looked, saw - froze!
A black shape blotted out the stars. Golden eyes as big as doors fixed them in their glare. Teeth like logs gleamed white in a snarl high as the trees. And a growl like thunder rumbled all about them!
Suzy's head came down. She snapped at Darren where he came upright, the gun he carried falling useless from nerveless fingers. He had time for a grunt but not a scream as her teeth met through his waist and severed him, flinging his halves aside. Michael screamed, but only for a second. Then Suzy picked him up, shook him as a ferret shakes a rat, ground his skull and his chest and his body to a pulp and hurled him high over the pines in a welter of blood and entrails.
Then-
Lynn had fainted before ever she could see the cause of the explosion or the night-black phantom come to save her. Now Suzy's great moist tongue licked her once, head to toe, warm as a blanket. Her unconscious form was taken up in a mouth soft now as pillows, and Suzy's great head lifted.
She sniffed the air, searched out and found her master. She bounded high and wide . . . and the trees and the blazing car and the horror shrank into insignificance behind her . . .
Lynn came awake with a frantic lashing of her naked arms and legs. She cried out, thrust something wet away from her face, huddled down into herself to hide her nakedness. Suzy whined at her, barked, peered with great soft eyes. Lynn looked fearfully about for her attackers, felt the bed of pine-needles under her. . . saw where she was. There was no explaining it; for a moment her mind reeled and she almost fainted again. Then Suzy crept closer, her tail fanning left and right.
'Oh, Suzy, Suzy!' Lynn cried. She clutched the bitch to her, the only sane thing in a mad world, stared beyond her at the cabin. And her eyes grew round in the night and her lips parted in a gasp at what she saw.
The cabin was as before, except that now the door stood open and a light shone out from within. A soft, bluish light that filled the doorway and windows with its not quite electric radiance. The roof, the eaves, the verandah and corner posts - all were outlined in foxfire. Unflickering, steady as the glow of a dim electric lamp, the light was strangely cold and not at all reassuring.
Beginning to shiver, Lynn looked down at her body and touched herself all over. She seemed unharmed. Bruised perhaps, but that was all. She did not feel unclean, not as she would if ... but what of those terrible men? She scrambled up, reeled, clutched at a verandah post and steadied herself.
Suzy coughed out a little bark, backed up the steps onto the verandah, turned to the door. She looked back at Lynn, wagged her tail. Lynn followed, swayed, grabbed at a doorpost. She looked into the cabin.
A moment later and she had thrown herself inside, was clutching at Richard's glowing body where it hung suspended in air above the table. Then she realized that it was suspended!
She backed away into a corner, her hand to her mouth. His head turned, his shuttered eyes opened a crack. Golden light bathed his drawn face, washed out from him and touched her. His mouth remained closed, moved not at all, but -
LYNN. DON'T BE FRIGHTENED. STAY WITH ME. SUZY WILL . . . PROTECT ... The voice in her mind grew faint, tailed off. His eyes closed and his face turned upward again.
'Oh my God my God my God!' Lynn gasped, shuddering in every limb. But Suzy was there, unafraid, and Richard was . . . alive?
