Mark Henry_Amanda Feral 02 (24 page)

He started thrusting, deeper, grinding his hips against me. He lifted my thighs, forcing me back onto the counter. I met each push with a lift of my pelvis, rising up, forcing him further inside of me.

“Unh unh. You feel that?” he asked, teeth chattering between the words, canines longer and thicker than before.

“Um … yeah? Of course I—”

“Yeah? That’s me fucking you, baby.” He cut me off, lifting my knees higher, directing his cock like an orchestra. “Fucking you wide open. Getting in there good.”

“Okay?” The talking was really turning me off, and I was almost there. Something had to be done.

“Am I hittin’ your spot? I mean really hittin’ it. Hit-tin’ it right?”

Enough with the porno talk, I decided. I pressed my hand across his mouth. He mumbled into my palm.

“Just fuck me,” I said.

He did. And for the first time since I died, I had an orgasm. The muted throbbing from our rhythm gave way to a rolling shudder so intense that I curled over and screamed, heaving an unconscious lungful of
the breath
from my mouth. It scrolled through the air, tendrils seeking the warm dampness of human lungs. Scott’s lungs. I pinched off his nose, and sucked as much as I could of the virus back in—the rest would need some time to dissipate. My little porn star was going to have to hold out for air.

His thrust became more fervent, his fiery eyes
widened and his breath blazed against my hand. He seemed to be enjoying the experience a bit too much. When he did come, his body convulsed as though a grand mal seizure was passing through it. He shook and his jaw slackened. He slid out of me and onto the floor, unconscious.

I prodded him with my toe, fearing that I’d been too slow in shielding him from the breath and half expecting him to turn zombie on the spot.

And then I realized what I’d done.

I remembered the kid on the news that died strangling himself for a high when he masturbated. I thought of the lead singer of that band, rumored to have done the same.

Erotic asphyxiation.

That’s what I’d done to Scott and the freak had truly gotten off on it. But I’m pretty sure that wasn’t on the books as a method to kill a werewolf.

“Wha-wha-what was that?” He twisted on the floor. Writhed might be a better word. It wasn’t at all sexy as chunks of filthy moss stuck to his naked skin with each roll across the disgusting carpet. His socks were similarly spotted and streaked; all he needed was a frame and an art critic.

“Oh God. Are you okay?” I reached down and helped him to his feet. Settling him in to the booth before hunting down my underwear.

“Are you kidding? That was awesome.”

“Awesome? Are you nuts? Do you even know what happened?”

“Sure, we made love and—”

“Made love? That’s debatable. Let’s just call it sex, shall we?”

“Fine, we had
great
sex. Risky sex, sure. Because of the whole zombie—werewolf thing, but when you pulled
your little kink move at the end—God it was awesome. Now … I’m your slave, baby.” He reached for my hand, tried to pull me into his lap.

I swatted him away. “Ew. No. You’re super gross from being on that floor. And it wasn’t ‘a move,’ I was trying to save you from my breath.”

“It didn’t smell
too
bad,” he said.

My mouth dropped open, purely instinctual response to the stupidity of the male animal. Did he just say my breath stunk? “You can shut up any time now.”

I turned away from him and slipped on my panties, just as the camper door swung open revealing four shocked faces. It was really a crap shoot as to which was the most horrified, Wendy or Honey. Gil simply covered his mouth and chuckled, while Fishhook openly drooled. It’s not enough that I’m clearly a kinky pervert, now I have to be a slut, too. The evening had been nothing short of magical.

“You should probably put your bra on,” Wendy said. “There’s been another murder.”

Of course.

Tad’s body was strewn across three parking spaces in a gory smear as brown and stringy as a discarded diaper after an unfortunate tire spinout.
¹²⁹
His head was missing, like the albino’s, though large clumps of hair don’t normally sprout from concrete curbs, so it might have been smashed into the mess somewhere.

Dawn had brought a shimmering glow to the scene— we all know how important good lighting is, particularly for us innocent bystanders. But it also lit up a particularly obvious claw mark that grooved the concrete paving in five distinct lines, a pile of collected stone at its ends.

Werewolf. No question.

The police cordoned off the area and were questioning the bystanders too curious to witness the atrocity from their cars. One cop unleashed a tirade of judgment on a stringy-haired youth holding a tree branch. A gray bit of gristle hung from the end—I didn’t even need to take a whiff, to tell you the globber was brains. What a waste. Perfectly good brains rendered inedible by hardened wads of chewing gum, cigarette butts and oil-soaked kitty litter.
¹³⁰

We settled in behind an ever-expanding ring of gore hounds.

“Alright, this is getting ridiculous,” I said. “It’s been what … an hour since we saw the fucker last? And now he’s been pap-smeared by a werewolf. Who was with him?”

Scott shrugged. Wendy pointed at Honey.

“Dude! Was not,” the girl recoiled, crossing her arms.

“Where’s Fishhook?” I asked.

“Oh yeah. Fuckin’ Fishhook.” Wendy’s eyes widened and she started searching the crowd for the scraggly blood tap. “He took a walk with the guy right when you guys got back.”

“No. Where’s he now? He was just with you guys.”

“Was he?” Honey looked confused.

Had I been seeing things or had the shock of being exposed like that made me fill in the blanks with
just another face to horrify. He’d been drooling, though.

“I was sure he was. I meant to talk to him first thing when we got back, too. Particularly after Madame Gloria told me that bit about the mushrooms. Shit, and then it turns out Tad is his dealer. That’s got to be it right?”

“Who else could it be?” Scott asked. “You and I were … um … busy.” His face changed as though he’d thought of a rational alternative. “Gil
was
off feeding—”

“And
then
he joined Honey and me with that weird family. Plus, he’s not big on unmaintained body hair.” Wendy headed off any insinuation of Gil’s involvement, slapping her hands on her hips—a Nancy Drew pose that really didn’t suit her. Though, if she hadn’t done it, I probably would have.

Scott shrugged.

I scanned the parking lot for the massive RV. “Where are the Cleavers, anyway?”

“They were there an hour ago when we left them.” Honey jumped onto the bumper of some domestic piece of crap to get a better look. “I don’t see it now.”

“When you left them?” I asked.

“Oh yeah.” Wendy nodded. “Couldn’t put up with their charades, and I do mean the stupid game, not their obvious attempts at presenting themselves as the perfect family. You don’t think they’re were, do you?”

“We definitely can’t rule ’em out.” Scott wound his arm around my waist, an action that caused Honey to roll her eyes and Wendy to flinch.

I twisted from his grip. “Yeah, but doesn’t Fishhook make more sense? He was with the guy last, after all. Now, where’s Tad’s truck? I bet his mushrooms are gone.”

I meandered back to the RV, the others following. We walked in a slow and deliberate manner, not to attract attention from the cops who’d surely be getting information that Tad had been seen with a certain gorgeous brunette.
¹³¹

I was right. The mushrooms were gone. So was the truck. So were the Cleavers. Leaving us the only possible suspects in the parking lot. We didn’t even need to discuss it, really. We were outtie.

“Anyone need some groceries?” Scott asked.

“Dude!” Honey exclaimed.

We dispersed to our respective vehicles, cranked up and sped out of Billings.

Newsflash: There is more than one grocery store on the Crow Reservation—and I’m not including the Custer’s Last Stand Gift Shop, Café and Quick Mart— but not a single roadside casino, as far as I could tell.
¹³²
I don’t know why I was surprised at this; perhaps I’d gotten used to the glut of neon rising on the sides of the Western Washington interstate, or the billboards for Gamblers’ Anonymous.
¹³³

The grocery store in question was as far from civilization as is humanly possible. The cut-off from the main highway promised to shave an hour off the drive to South Dakota, but miles of grassland, rolling hills and abandoned houses lay in between, so reaching the
shaman and our final destination was as tedious as a televised cheerleading competition.

“This is boring, dude.” Honey flung her Chuck Taylors up on the dash. The skin-tight jeans she wore made her tiny feet seem larger, flatter. The girl needed to be introduced to the world of high-end heels.

I cringed but didn’t chastise.
¹³⁴

She turned in her seat, eyes wandering over the backseat. “Where is he?”

I scanned the rearview. Kimmy was sitting on the hump between the backseats, grinning. “She want to talk?”

“He asked if you wanted to talk.”

“Dude, totally.” She faced the general area where the ghost sat. “What’s it like? Being all ghosty, I mean.”

Mr. Kim chuckled. “Tell her it not so bad. Get to see people I like. Go places. See things.”

I did.

“But you’re always stuck with her.”

“Hey! I’m right here. I can hear you.”

Honey ignored me. “You can’t move around. Do as you please.”

“I can’t?” Mr. Kim seemed to be genuinely surprised.

“I don’t know.” I stopped directing the conversation back to Honey. “I’d always heard that you’d be stuck where you died. But maybe that’s not the case. Maybe you just stick around because I’m the hottest person you know.” I winked and could swear a light pink tinged his aura.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Honey rolled her eyes.

“I wasn’t always here. Before I somewhere different. Right after get shot.”

I thought back to the vision. Mr. Kim standing in the cave entrance, the car nowhere in sight.

“After get shot,” he said, “there was time where I could no see anything. Just black. More black.” He paused, waited for me to interpret before continuing.

“When lights came on, was in room, like waiting room at doctor’s office only big big. A beautiful girl with gold hair and blue eyes like ocean sat behind desk. In front there was long line of people. Ghosts like me only solid. Understand?

“There we all solid. No see-through. I got in line behind old woman with cane carved like horse head, hair like steamed bun. She very nice, ask, ‘What are we doing here?’ I say, ‘Don’t know, thought maybe you know.’

“She did not know, but ask man in front of her. He wear white construction hat and mustache like ′80s television star Magnum P.I. He say, ‘I don’t know, either.’

“Line move slow but could tell that once ghost talk to pretty lady behind desk, then go to one of two doors.

“Macho construction guy answer questions and go to door on right, steamed bun lady go through door on right, too.

“Then it my turn. I expect to go to door on right.

“‘Natural causes?’ she ask.

“‘Not really,’ I say.

“‘What was it, exactly, sir?’ she ask.

“When I say, I no remember, because I didn’t, then, she grab up big stick like office light bulb. I think she going to hit me, so I put up arms to protect—like this—but she waves over my body, sits back down and say, ‘Gunshot. Left door, please, thank you, next.’

“I no see anyone go to left door before, so I scared. Little bit. Little bit.

“The door knob it’s damp and cold. When I turn, it open into dark tunnel which also cold and damp. I walk down and get to end, realize I’m back in Ms. Amanda car. Lickity split. Only much later.”

“That’s so weird, dude,” Honey said. “It’s like all those shows and movies about the afterworld are right. It’s like dying is no different than going to get your driver’s license or a smoothie. Kinda sucks dog weiner.”

“No shit.” I slowed to a stop for a roadwork flagger. “Of course, death can go in other, more bizarre directions. Just look at me, or Wendy, or Gil. You never know what’s going to happen, but it’s always exciting.”

“That’s comforting.” She smiled then and bit her lip. “I guess.”

The flagger, a barrel-shaped Native American woman with a smooth smiling face spoke to Scott, ahead of us, and then approached my window. I hit the button and the glass rolled away.

“You gotta slow down through these parts for the construction. Gotta drive no more than 25 miles per hour, and there’s the cops, so you know.”