Bloodfire (23 page)

They were in a clearing lit faintly by moonlight and surrounded by saw grass and towering cypress trees. There was a rambling, flat-roofed shack with a falling-down porch. A very old, block-long Cadillac was parked in front of it. Off to the left was a post-and-wire fence. The posts jutted crookedly from the ground like spindly broken fingers, but the wire was taut and appeared barbed. A cluster of small animals stood inside the fence. Goats, Carver thought, though he could only make out vague shapes in the moon shadows.

He knew they were a long way from civilization here. A long way from help. Beth seemed to sense it, too. She shivered beside him in the hot swamp air.

Junior was still holding the Uzi. Still grinning. His porcine little eyes were glittering diamonds in the moonlight. “Know what we use them goats for?” he asked.

Carver said, “Not keeping the grass short, I bet.”

“There’s a bet you’d win,” B.J. said. He was waving the rifle barrel slowly to sweep the space between Carver and Beth. He could nudge the barrel either way and put a bullet through one or the other in an instant. Carver thought he might be able to inch near enough to lash out with the cane, maybe knock the rifle aside or out of B.J.’s grip, but then brother Junior would open up with the Uzi. The Brainards had it figured. This was their game.

Junior said, “We take them goats one at a time an’ stake ’em out at night at a place near here. ’Gators hear ’em when they bleat, come up outa the swamp to feed on ’em. When a big enough ’gator’s busy with his meal, B.J. an’ me open up with rifles an’ get us enough alligator hide to make somebody a suit.” He rolled his tongue around the inside of his cheek, looking for a moment as if he were chewing a wad of tobacco, then spat. “Killin’ ’em might be illegal, but they’s good money in ’gators,” he finished, as if defending his poaching.

“Not to mention fun,” B.J. said.

Junior said, “Gonna be the most fun tonight.”

Carver felt his good leg turn to rubber. He leaned hard on the cane. Beth moved closer to him, so her hip and thigh were touching his. She’d realized the direction of the Brainards’ revenge. He could feel the vibration of her trembling.

She said, “You bastards!”

Junior giggled, sounding like a hog that had been tickled.

B.J. said, “Save your insults for the ’gators, nigger.” He motioned with the rifle barrel. “Now, the two of you walk straight ahead, into the swamp. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Beth moved slowly while Carver limped beside her, along what seemed to be a narrow path. Leaves brushed his arms and face. Something that felt like a web settled on his neck and he brushed it off. His fingers touched a large insect for an instant; brittle wings whirred and he heard it buzz and drop to the ground behind him. A beetle like the ones that had flitted into the Blazer? “Walk on . . . walk on,” Junior muttered. Carver set the tip of his cane carefully. The ground was getting softer, soggy. Off on either side of the path, he could hear things moving in water. The swamp lapped at the saw grass and the exposed roots of the giant cypress trees that twisted grotesquely in the darkness. One of the brothers shoved Carver forward when he paused to find a dry spot for the tip of his cane. Carver almost fell. He caught himself by levering the cane into the damp ground. It made a sucking sound when he withdrew it from the mud. Beth said again, “Bastards!”

B.J. produced a flashlight from where it was stuck in his belt beneath his shirt. He switched it on, then swept the beam from side to side like a lance that met hard shadow and was turned away. Blackness and thick foliage curved around them. Once, Carver was sure the yellow beam swept past a pair of luminous eyes. Beth hadn’t seen them; she was busy helping Carver maintain his footing on the softening earth.

“They’s quicksand around here,” Junior said, and giggled again. He was up for something tonight, was Junior.

They walked on toward the center of the darkness.

After what seemed like half an hour they were in another clearing. This one was smaller. A tall, angled tree grew near the middle of it. The grass was flattened around the tree. The flashlight beam lingered on a thick rope wound around the trunk.

B.J. said, “This here’s the place, folks.”

Junior moved around to stand in front and off to the side of Carver. He aimed the Uzi at him at gut level and said, “You move, asshole, I’m gonna cut you in half. Leave you for ’gator food.”

B.J. planted a hand in the center of Beth’s back and shoved her toward the tree. Pushed her again as she stumbled and tried to catch her balance. On her knees, she glared up at him in the moonlight, then spat at him. He raked the rifle barrel across her head. A trickle of blood, black in the dim light, snaked down her cheek. He dug the long barrel into her back, forcing her to lie flat on her stomach in the beaten down grass. Carver noticed a bare white bone on the ground near her left shoulder. Helpless rage flared in him as he looked into Junior’s fat grinning face.

Spreading his feet wide, B.J. stretched out an arm and nimbly unwound about five feet of the rope that encircled the tree. Then he knelt with his knee in the small of Beth’s back and skillfully used the rope to bind her wrists behind her. It was like an event at a rodeo; took no more than half a minute.

B.J. stood up, letting the rifle point at the ground as he stared down at Beth. He smiled dreamily in the moonlight and said, “She ain’t goin’ nowhere. Not ever again.”

Beth sat up and twisted her body awkwardly. Struggled against the rope for a moment and seemed to realize she couldn’t escape. There was no way to free her arms. Her body bent, she waddled in a circle around the tree to unwind the rope, but it was knotted so only a few more feet played out and she couldn’t stand upright.

B.J. stepped close to her and slapped her hard on the cheek. Then he gripped the top of her blouse and ripped it halfway off. The parting material made a sound like a hoarse whistle.

Carver took a step toward them. Junior raised the Uzi, looking as if he wanted to use it. “Stay right fuckin’ there, tough man. You wanna watch, don’t you?”

Carver took a deep breath. It was all he could do not to strike out with the cane and hurl himself at Junior, try for the Uzi so he could open up on B.J. But Junior kept just the right distance between them. The drug trade, or maybe the military, had taught him how to restrain someone with a gun. Unable to move, Carver couldn’t look away from what was going on beneath the branches of the tilted tree.

Beth kicked furiously at B.J. and he laughed. He caught a leg and hoisted it suddenly so she fell on her back, on her bound wrists. He unzipped her Levi’s and worked them down around her ankles so she couldn’t kick. Then he tore off her bikini panties, looked thoughtfully at them, and stuffed them in his pocket. He pulled off the rest of her blouse except for a few tatters, and removed her bra with an odd gentleness. Then he yanked her Levi’s the rest of the way off, sending her muddy shoes flying, and stood back in triumph as if to admire his work.

Junior rubbed his crotch with his free hand. Under his breath he said, “Gonna be fun for sure.”

B. J., breathing hard from his efforts, stared at Beth and said, “Ain’t such a rough bitch now, are you, nigger?”

Beth said, “Fuck you, you backwater bumpkin!”

B.J. shook his head. “Jesus, ain’t you somethin’? Don’t you fuckin’ know what’s gonna happen to you?”

Beth was quiet. She sat with her knees drawn up to partly cover her breasts. The moonlight highlighted her long, lush body and made her look as vulnerable as she was. Her painted toes curled down into the mud. She was gazing at Carver, something tight inside her controlling the terror that was in her eyes.

Junior moved around in front of Carver and waved the Uzi. “Walk on over there,” he said, as B.J. swaggered across the clearing to stand behind him.

Carver hobbled along the narrow path until Junior said, “Far enough. Now ease on over to your right, ’neath that tree. In deep amongst them big roots.”

Water seeped into his shoes as Carver obeyed. He could hear the soggy ground squishing beneath his soles. His cane found little support and was almost useless.

Then he was leaning in the gnarled wood jumble of cypress roots, trapped as if he were in a grotesquely distorted cage.

Junior wedged in close behind him. Carver could feel his warm, anxious breathing, smell his sour breath. Junior had eaten onions lately, drunk beer. B.J. had the Uzi now. He settled down in a sitting position on a horizontal stretch of exposed root.

Carver could barely move; Junior was pressing him from behind, and an elbow of hard wood was digging into his stomach.

B.J. and Junior had spent time here before and knew the place as a vantage point. From the tangle of thick cypress root they could see through the darkness to where Beth sat curled beneath the tree, her shoulders hunched and her hands bound behind her. She was motionless, her head bowed, as if what was happening had finally caught up with her and mercifully sent her into shock.

Carver heard what sounded like Junior licking his lips. Felt a revulsion and hatred he hadn’t thought possible.

B.J., as wily as Junior, kept a safe distance with the Uzi. Stark shadow turned his bony face into a death’s head. Still breathing hard from struggling with Beth, he pressed a thumb to the side of his nose, blew noisily, and flicked snot away. He wiped his hands on his pants and glanced in Beth’s direction. Back at Carver.

He said, “Now we settle down an’ wait. Pretty soon, somethin’ll come.”

W
HAT CAME INTO THE
clearing was something long and wet and gleaming dully in the moonlight. First a blunt snout, then a pair of bulbous eyes, then the rest of the alligator. It made no sound as it slithered from the tall saw grass and lay still, peering at Beth, who hadn’t yet noticed it.

“Bitch didn’t even scream nor make any noise,” Junior whispered.

B.J. said, “She surely will scream. ’Gator musta been watchin’ us all along from the dark.”

“It’s a big’n,” Junior said, admiring the alligator. “Least nine, ten foot long.”

There was a faint splashing sound, and another, much smaller alligator eased into the clearing. The moon sent shimmers off its rough, wet flank. It bared its rows of pointed teeth, a ghastly ivory grin in the faint light.

Beth must have heard the splashing. She raised her head and looked at the small alligator, which was no more than three feet long. Her body grew rigid and, legs pumping, she scooted back against the tree. She wriggled in a final attempt to free her hands, then sat staring at the small alligator. It stared back at her.

Carver whispered, “Christ, don’t let this happen!”

Junior said, “What’s this? You beggin’, tough man?”

“Call it that if you want,” Carver said. “Don’t let her die this way. Please!”

“Gonna be some sight to see,” Junior said.

B.J. said, “Shut the fuck up, both of you.” A hoarse command.

The large alligator seemed to notice the smaller one. It suddenly raised itself on surprisingly long, bent legs and hissed loudly. Beth’s head jerked around. She saw the huge creature and her eyes widened. Her mouth gaped. She tried to scream; Carver could see her throat working. But she made no sound. The huge ’gator hissed again and switched its tail.

Beth thrashed against her bonds.

Encouraged by her desperate movements, the big alligator started to drag itself toward her in a terrible lizard waddle. It seemed to be moving slowly, but it was covering ground fast.

Junior pressed his thick body against Carver and prodded the base of Carver’s skull with the rifle barrel. “No noise now, tough man, lest I—”

His body gave a slight jerk. He said, “What the shit? . . .” and began convulsing against Carver. The rifle barrel slid off to the side like an errant compass needle.

Carver was aware there’d been a shot. He turned and looked into Junior’s glazing eyes, feeling something warm and wet against his back. He knew it was blood; he could smell the coppery stench of it.

B.J. said, “What the hell’s goin’ on?” He moved out from the tangle of cypress roots. Carver saw that the big alligator had been frozen by the sound of the shot.

B.J. caught sight of Junior, who’d slumped to an awkward lean. He stared at him in disbelief, then at Carver. “You motherfucker!” he screamed, and bared his teeth like the alligator. Apparently he thought Carver had somehow wrested the rifle from Junior and shot him. He leveled the Uzi at Carver.

Carver yelled, “ ’Gator! ’Gator!”

B.J. only half believed him, but had to chance a backward look.

Another shot sounded from the blackness of the swamp.

B.J. spun around, then staggered out into the clearing.

There was a third shot, like a dull handclap muffled by the thick night, Carver saw B.J.’s head jerk to the side and back, as if he were trying to flip his hair out of his eyes. The Uzi discharged half a dozen chattering rounds into the ground.

Carver had grabbed the rifle and eased himself out from in front of Junior’s inert bulk. Junior, propped upright in the tangle of thick roots, seemed to be watching him, drooling in the shadowed, yellow light.

Carver trained the rifle on B.J., but the lanky swamp man had survived his brother by only a few seconds. He lay on his back with his arms flung wide and his legs splayed out, as if he’d dropped lifeless from high up.

The staccato bark of the Uzi must have scared the alligators back into the swamp. The clearing was empty except for Beth, who was staring numbly at Carver, not comprehending. The whites of her eyes showed all the way around her dark pupils. There was a horror in those eyes that tore at his heart.

He rushed to her and dug his fingernails into the damp rope that was looped and knotted tightly around her wrists. He managed to loosen a knot. Another.

“Listen!” he was saying to her. “Listen. We gotta get outa here! Can you understand me?”

He thought she nodded, but he couldn’t be sure. He kept working on the knots with painful, stiffening fingers.

Didn’t hear anyone approach.

“I’ll take over, Carver,” someone said.