Carnival of Death (7 page)
Authors: Carnival of Death (v5.0) (mobi)
“What is it?”
“It’s a surprise,” Sue Jean said, taking Madison’s hand. “Come on.”
At first she thought Madison might pull away, but Sue Jean gave her a big smile and clasped her fingers with a friendly squeeze. Madison smiled too and came right along.
“What’s the surprise?” she asked again.
“You’ll see. You’ll never believe it.”
About a block from the carnival was a big open field that served as a parking lot. Sue Jean led Madison into it. Except for the parked cars, the field was deserted. The ground was muddy from the previous night’s rain, and there were ruts in the mud. Sue Jean and Madison threaded their way along, trying to stay on the grass and avoid puddles and mud.
“You stand right here,” Sue Jean said, dropping Madison’s hand. “It’s too muddy for you. I’ll go get the surprise.”
“It’s a car!” Madison said. “Your dad got you that new car you’ve been wanting!”
“You guessed it,” Sue Jean said. “I can’t wait for you to see it.”
Madison waited while Sue Jean went off to get the car, which wasn’t new at all, just the old family sedan, a gray Camry that was four years old. Sue Jean started it up, pulled it out of the parking space, and headed for Madison. When she got so close that Madison couldn’t get out of the way, she gunned it. The car slewed and mud flew from beneath the front tires.
The look on Madison’s face was priceless. Surprise, shock, fear…it was wonderful. The sound the car made when it smashed into Madison was even better.
Madison’s body disappeared under the front of the car. Sue Jean kept right on going, having disconnected the airbag earlier. She didn’t even realize she knew how to do that. It just came to her.
At the entrance to the lot, Sue Jean turned around and located another parking spot. After she’d parked, she walked by what was left of Madison. Her body was mashed down in the mud, and her horsey old face was greatly improved by the way the car’s front end had rearranged her features.
Sue Jean giggled with happiness. She could hardly wait to meet Freddie at the ringtoss booth.
Buford looked down at Marcy, lying there on their bedroom floor. She hadn’t bled much. Buford was a little disappointed. You’d think that with a hole that big through her chest, she’d have bled a lot more. Oh well, you couldn’t have everything. He took a deep breath and enjoyed the satisfying smell of gun smoke.
He thought about dressing Marcy out, the way he’d have dressed out a deer, but he didn’t really have time for that. He had other things to take care of, namely those bastards at the carnival. He hadn’t looked forward to anything this much in years.
He put on his Saints cap and gave it a tug to settle it on his head. He picked up his rifle, gave Marcy one last look, blew her a kiss, and left by the kitchen door.
Earl picked up Harry and George at their houses in his old Ford pickup. George was a mess. His lips were puffy and his nose looked a little askew, as if someone had moved it to one side and hadn’t moved it back. He talked funny too, like he had a cold.
“I think my fuckin’ nose is broke,” he said. “You said Sue Jean was begging for it. You said it’d be easy.”
“Shut up,” Earl said.
Harry was in a little better shape. His ear was puffy and red, but it was still firmly attached to his head. “Don’t be such a pussy, George,” he said.
George slapped his ear, and Harry howled.
Idiots,
Earl thought. He drove them to a little convenience store near the edge of town. They knew the guy who worked the late afternoon shift there, and he’d always sell them a six-pack if they slipped him a buck or two extra.
“I’m paying today,” Earl said when he stopped at the side of the store. He handed Harry some bills. Couldn’t send George, not the way he looked. “Don’t get that fucking Old Milwaukee.”
“Yeah,” George said. “I don’t know how you can stand that stuff. Get a good beer. Like Miller Lite.”
Harry sneered. “Miller Lite?” Harry fancied himself a comedian, and he made a farting noise, which for him was the height of humor. “That stuff tastes like piss.”
“You should know,” Earl said. “Just go get the beer.”
Harry went into the store and came back with a six-pack of Budweiser.
“Will this do?” he asked, tossing a can in George’s lap.
“It’ll do,” Earl said. “Let’s go drink us a couple for lunch.”
“Can’t we just drink it on the way to the carnival?” George asked.
Earl shook his head. “Can’t risk it. We might get stopped.”
“I’m going to start mine anyway,” George said. He took a can and snapped it open.
“Shit,” Earl said.
He headed out of town and turned off on the first country road he came to, a gravel-topped lane that didn’t lead anywhere of consequence. After he’d gone about half a mile, he pulled off on the shoulder and pointed to a clump of bushes.
“Let’s go drink over there. Nobody can see us from the road.”
The others bitched a second or two, but they went. When they were sitting on the ground slurping from their cans, Earl said, “You two still blame me for last night, don’t you?”
Harry touched his ear. It was red and swollen. “It was your idea.”
Earl got up and stood behind Harry. He pulled out the pistol. It had been digging into his back the whole time he drove, and he was relieved to have it in his hand.
“Look what I have,” he said, holding it up for George and Harry to admire.
“Where’d you get that?” Harry said, turning to look.
“At the gettin’ place,” Earl said. “Drink your beer.”
Harry didn’t need any encouragement. He turned back to his drinking.
“Is it loaded?” George asked.
“Hell, I don’t know,” Earl said. “Let’s find out.”
He shot Harry in the back of the head. Harry’s skull came apart in a haze of blood, bone, and greasy hair, a lot of which spattered on George, who dropped his beer and screamed.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!”
Earl didn’t approve of screaming, so he shot George right in the center of his forehead. The bullet didn’t make much of a hole going in, but it took a nice-sized chunk out of the back of George’s head.
“Whose fault was that, asshole?” Earl said.
He picked up the beer cans. He’d drink the beers and recycle the cans. A friend of the environment, that’s what he was. As for Harry and George, well, they were biodegradable. They’d make good fertilizer for the bushes if nobody found them, or they’d be good food for some scavenger or other. Earl didn’t really give a shit.
Serena had never liked Ken, and he’d been there in the tent when her darlings had died. He’d done nothing to stop the killing, so he was just as guilty as the rest of them.
He was also the first person she saw when she came out of her trailer. She wore jeans and a long-sleeved plaid shirt. The knife was hidden in the right-hand sleeve.
“Hello, Ken,” she said.
She knew just the kind of voice to use on him. He was a man, after all, and men were stupid. They’d fall for anything, even a come-on from a woman that everybody in the carnival knew didn’t like men in the least.
“Hi,” Ken said. “I was just coming to check on you. Cap’n Bob wanted to know if you were doing OK and if there was anything he could do for you.”
“He did?” Serena smiled. “How thoughtful of him.”
“Yeah,” Ken said. “The cap’n’s a thoughtful guy.”
“Let’s talk about that, Ken, shall we?”
“Uh…sure. Why not.” Ken looked back toward the midway. “Seems peaceful enough. Things don’t start hoppin’ until sundown.”
“That’s right,” Serena said. “Why don’t we step right over here and chat awhile.”
She led the way between two of the trailers. One of them belonged to the Seven Dwarfs, though there were actually only four of them. They doubled the parts. The other belonged to a couple of freaks, the Alligator Boy and his mother, the World’s Strongest Woman. They’d be busy in their tents and wouldn’t bother anybody.
Once they were sheltered between the trailers, Serena stood close to Ken and said, “You were telling me how thoughtful Cap’n Bob is.”
“Yeah. Right. He’s always looking out for us, y’know?”
“I suppose that’s one way of seeing things.” Serena paused and gave Ken a piercing look. “Can he bring back my babies?”
“Babies? You mean the snakes? No. No, he can’t do that. But he said to tell you he has a line on a couple of pythons just like Clem and Clementine. A little younger, but just the right age for you to train. You’ll be back onstage in no time.”
“I don’t think so,” Serena said.
“But…”
“No buts. And no snakes are
just like
Clem and Clementine.”
“Well, I’m sure the cap’n didn’t mean anything bad when he said that. He doesn’t know much about snakes, I guess.”
“I’m tired of talking to you,” Serena said, and she let the knife drop down from her sleeve into her hand.
Ken saw it. “Wha…?” was all he could say before the knife slit his shirt and slid into his stomach and ripped upward though his skin and muscle as if it were slicing through a loaf of bread.
Serena pulled out the knife, stepped away, and looked at him. Blood ran down the knife blade and dripped on the ground.
“Y…you…” Ken said, or tried to say as he tried to hold in his intestines with both hands.
“Can’t you finish a fucking sentence?”
“I…I…sh…shit.” Ken sank to his knees.
“You surely did,” Serena said. “Or maybe that’s just your guts. It stinks, whatever it is. I’ll be leaving you now.”
Serena walked around behind him and kicked him forward onto his face.
“There aren’t any other snakes that are
anything at all
like Clem and Clementine,” she said, not that Ken gave a damn about that or about anything else, being pretty much dead by then.
Serena wiped the knife blade on the leg of her jeans and left him there.
Matt continued his patrol of the carnival grounds. He was passing the Ferris wheel when he saw Gloria heading in his direction. Matt smiled. She wore her gypsy duds. The show must go on. He stopped smiling when he saw the look of fear in her eyes.
“Something very bad is about to happen,” she said.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But it’s already begun. It can’t be stopped.”
But Matt knew better than that. In his own way, he saw the future too, every time he looked into the decaying face of someone eaten alive by evil.
“That’s what he wants you to think,” Matt said.
He brushed past Gloria and headed for his trailer. Gloria reached out to touch him, but he ignored her. When he got to the trailer, he looked back. She was right behind him. Matt went inside. Gloria followed. He didn’t try to stop her.
Matt pulled his duffel bag from under the bed.
And took out his ax.
Whatever game Mr. Dark was playing was entering another phase. Matt felt like a checker that was being pushed across the board from one square to the next.
He’d had that feeling before.
He hated it.
“Go back to your trailer,” he said. “You don’t want to be a part of this.”
“You’re right, I don’t, but I am whether I like it or not. Hiding from it isn’t going to change anything.”
“OK, but it’s going to be ugly.”
“I know,” she said.
They walked out together, Matt holding the ax at his side. He didn’t care who saw the ax. It was more important to him to have it handy and ready.
They had gone only a few steps when they heard dogs growling and snarling. Snapping teeth clicked together.
“What’s that?” Gloria asked.
The ruckus was coming from somewhere between the nearby trailers. Matt moved cautiously in the direction of the sound, his ax raised, Gloria safely behind him.
He rounded the edge of a trailer and stopped cold.
Three mongrels were tearing at something that had been a man. They’d ripped away most of its stomach, and bits of flesh lay on the ground. The dogs were chewing busily. One of them stopped and turned to look at Matt, its snout bloody, its teeth bared, its eyes blazing.
“Ken,” Gloria said at Matt’s shoulder. “That’s Ken.”
The dog started toward them, and Matt turned around, taking Gloria’s hand. “It’s not Ken now. Come on.”
Gloria let herself be led away, but she said, “We can’t just leave him.”
“We can’t help him, and the dogs won’t let us move him.”
Gloria gasped. She stopped and bent over.
“Are you going to be sick?” Matt asked.
“I’ll be all right,” Gloria said after a couple of deep breaths and looked back at the trailers. The dogs were out of sight, but they could still be heard as they worked at the body. “Should we call the police?”
Matt shook his head. “If anything, bringing men with guns into this could make things worse.”
More checkers for Mr. Dark.
They walked on in silence, Gloria holding his free hand. They went past the Ferris wheel and the carousel with their happy crowds and their merry tunes that were so out of place with what they’d just seen. Matt thought about warning everyone he saw to leave the carnival, but what good would it do? Everyone was as much a piece on the checkerboard as Matt himself. What Matt had to do was change the rules of the game.
And then it hit him.
Perhaps he already had. Just by coming here.
Matt’s arrival had awakened some latent gift in Gloria, and now, in her own way, she saw the darkness that he did.
He’d gained an ally.
And a new weapon against Mr. Dark.
And even though she was frightened, she’d shown that she had the courage to act when needed.
Matt felt a small surge of hope.
The two of them headed down the midway. Matt noticed a crowd growing around the ringtoss booth. As they got closer, he heard shouting.
From a distance, Matt could see someone standing at the edge of the booth, yelling at Jerry.
It was Buford, the mark from the previous night.
Today Buford wore a long overcoat, though the day was warm. His face was red, and the veins stood out in his neck. The people nearby seemed fascinated, but they gave him plenty of room. Matt didn’t blame them. He headed into the crowd just as Buford opened his coat, took out his rifle, and blasted open Jerry’s stomach.
The crowd broke into a panic, nearly trampling Matt and Gloria in their hurry to get away. For some of them it was too late. Buford started picking them off. The sound of the rifle shots was almost deafening. A woman fell, then another man. People screamed. Most ran, but some stood rooted in place, shocked into paralysis.
Mr. Dark had made his move.
