Quake

  'Okay,' she said. 'We'll let you keep the gun.'

  'Thanks. You're a champ, Banner.' He stood up, and walked to the next biker. 'Dead,' he announced. He stepped around it. Bending over another sprawled body, he said, dead.' He bent lower, shoved the muzzle of the gun at the nape of the biker's neck, and fired. 'Dead now.'

  'Earl!' Barbara cried out.

  He grinned. 'Better safe than sorry.'

  'Don't do that!'

  'Okay,' he said. Standing in place, he aimed and fired into another body.

  'Damn it!' Barbara shouted as Earl fired twice more. The body jerked with each impact, then went limp. Earl lowered the pistol. He grinned at her. 'I won't shoot any more. I promise.'

  'That was the last of them,' Pete pointed out.

  'Ah, then,' Earl said, 'I guess we don't have to worry about any surprises from them, do we?'

  'You're such a bastard,' Barbara said.

  'Me? A bastard?' Laughing, he shook his head. 'I'm not a bastard. How can you possibly call me a bastard? If I was a bastard, I might do something like this.' His arm came up fast. Laughing, he shot Barbara and she fired back as he pivoted and shot Pete. The thunder of the gunshots crashed through the alley. Blood exploded from punched flesh. All three went down.

  ***

  'We're almost there,' Stanley said. 'The pool's just on the other side of this fence.'

  Sheila didn't respond. She hadn't spoken at all, in any way, since her small rebellion in the bathtub. After slamming her down on the bottom of the tub, Stanley had let her rest. He'd needed time, himself, to recuperate before starting the journey to the Bensons' swimming pool. So he'd stepped around her body and sat on the beam and tried to be patient. The view was nice. This first chance for a good, long look at her backside. Her hair wasn't much to see, the way it was dark and plastered to her head. Though her skin glistened, filthy, stained with blood, sprinkled with dust and crumbs of plaster that had adhered to the moisture. But her shape was lovely. Even with her arms stretched Stanley could see how broad and strong she was across shoulders. She tapered down from there, smooth curves with muscles showing where he'd never seen them before on other woman; not on a flesh-and-blood woman, just superhero types in comic books, on body-builders pictured in magazines and sometimes on television. Never on another woman sprawled in front of him. And her ass. He'd seen it many times before, full mounds flexing in shorts or sweatpants. He'd seen it in jeans. He'd seen it in little bikinis that didn't cover much at all. But never like this, never naked so he could study the twin, bare globes, linger on them, run his eyes down the curve of their crack. Near enough to touch. To kiss. Mine. She's mine from head to foot.

  I could go ahead right now and fuck her, he'd realized. She isn't trapped anymore, and she's sure in no condition to fight me. Just step down, spread her legs, and have at her. 'No no no no no.' That'd ruin everything. His heart was set on taking her to the swimming pool, getting her all washed up so her skin would be shiny, wrestling with her in the cool water…

  'What are we waiting for?' he'd said.

  No answer from Sheila. She lay on the bottom of the tub, and all that moved were her back and ribcage, just barely rising, expanding, lowering, shrinking with the in and out of her breath.

  'Sheila? We're leaving, now, so get up.'

  Her head had lifted slightly.

  'We're leaving right now. I'm taking you to a nice, cool swimming pool where you can wash up and get all squeaky clean. You can even wet your whistle, if you don't mind the chlorine. Any questions?'

  She hadn't answered. But from that moment on, she'd followed every order: climbed out of the tub while he'd watched from below; waited on hands and knees for him to climb out; made no fuss when he'd knelt behind her and steadied himself with a hand on her rump while he ducked down and reached forward between her thighs to find the loose end of the barbed wire. Suddenly hard again, his face so close to her, he'd been tempted to mount her without any more delays. No no no, he'd told himself. You've waited this long. A few minutes more won't kill you, and you'll be able to have her all clean and wet in the pool. Don't spoil it. There's no hurry. Stick with the plan. Why wait for the pool? can lick her clean. 'No!' Just a little bit, and then I'll stop. What can it hurt? So he'd stuck out his tongue and begun moving his head toward her, but then his hand, groping through the rubble under her torso, had found the barbed wire. Was the timing of the discovery a signal that he should hold off?. In a high-pitched mockery of his mother's voice, Stanley had said, 'No snacking, boy! Do you want to go and spoil your dinner?'

  'How about just a little taste?' he'd asked in his own voice.

  'You go and do that, boy, you'll shoot your squirt and spoil your appetite same as if you'd whanged her.'

  'Hmmm. Good point. No snacking for me.'

  With his left hand, he'd picked up the scissors and straight razor. Then he'd pushed at Sheila's rump and raised himself, holding on to the long strand of barbed wire with his right hand.

  'Up.'

  Offering no objection, Sheila had gotten to her feet.

  'Now. A few simple instructions. You're going to walk ahead of me. I'll be holding the other end of this.'

  Lifting his hand, he'd pulled the dangling wire up between her legs until it met her flesh. She'd flinched a bit and gone up on her tiptoes. After a moment on tiptoes, however, she must've figured out a better course of action; bending forward at the waist to lower her bound wrists and her end of the strand.

  'If you give me any trouble,' Stanley'd gone on, 'I'll be forced to give it a yank. Which is bound to hurt, don't you think? I don't care how much you bend over, give it a good pull and you'll be sorry.'

  After the warning, he'd given the wire some slack so Sheila could stop bending over so much.

  'Okay. Start walking.'

  She had begun to make her way slowly through the ruins, walking ahead of Stanley. She didn't stand up completely straight, but Stanley couldn't blame her for that; the lower her hands, the less chance of catching the wire in sensitive areas. She kept her legs apart to spare them from the barbs. As a result of her precautions, her gait was more a waddle than a walk.

  She'd flinched and winced sometimes when she either stepped on something with her bare feet or allowed the barbed wire to scratch or poke her. It had taken a long time to get through the ruin of her house, but she'd picked up her pace after that. They'd made fairly good time crossing her patio and back yard, but they'd been stopped for a while by the cinderblock wall at the rear of her property.

  'How do we get you over this?' Stanley had asked.

  She'd simply stood facing the wall, neither speaking nor gesturing.

  'It's going to be a problem, since I'm not stupid enough to undo your hands.' Frowning, he'd swept the wire from side to side, watching it swing below her buttocks like a jump-rope.

  'We can't exactly go around, can we? Just suppose we take the front way, and we wouldn't have to worry about walls at all. But I think we'd probably attract a wee bit attention, if I walk you around the block like a dog. A dog, huh? What a leash! Ho! Can't you just see it? It'd be worth a try. But somebody'd come running sure as hell, and try to save you. Wouldn't want that. Have to kill 'em, and I'm too pooped for any more of that. I need to save all my energy for you. So I guess we'll have to climb over. He'd let his end of the wire fall to the ground, then pushed her toward the wall.

  'Give you a boost.' After setting the scissors and razor, he'd crouched behind her and held out his hands.

  'Put a foot in the stirrup, my dear.'

  Sheila had raised her arms, placed her bound wrists at the upper edge of the wall, and planted her right heel into the cup of his hands. Then she'd straightened her leg, pushed herself upward, rising toward the top of the wall. As he had uncrouched, he'd looked up and watched Sheila move out her left leg and kick it high.

  'Oh, look at you,' he'd said. Too bad there aren't ten walls between us and the pool, or a hundred. I could look at that all day!

  As
her foot started to rise out of his hands, he gave a sudden upward thrust that sent Sheila hurling over the top. 'Surprise!'

  No complaint had come from Sheila. Just a squeal of alarm as she went head-first over the wall, feet kicking at the sky.

  Not waiting to hear her land, Stanley had snatched up his scissors and razor, tossed them over, then hurled himself at the wall and clambered up. From the top, he'd looked down at Sheila. She had apparently not landed on her head. Perhaps she'd hit the ground arms-first and done some sort of somersault. She was lying on her back, head toward the wall, hands on her belly, knees up.

  'You're lucky I cut down the rose bushes,' he had called to her. Then he'd lowered himself to the ground, retrieved his scissors and razor, and squatted beside Sheila to pick up the end of the barbed wire.

  'Fall down go boom?' he'd asked in baby-talk.

  No answer from Sheila. Just a narrow-eyed glare. She was gasping very hard for breath, so Stanley had spent a while watching her chest heave, lifting and lowering her breasts. They were shiny with sweat and blood. They were speckled with goosebumps, and the nipples stood erect.

  'You turned on? You can't be cold. Maybe you like all this. Do you? Do you like pain?'

  She'd blinked her eyes, then crossed her legs and sat up.

  'Ah. You'd rather get going. Scared I'll start on you, I bet.'

  The momentum of her quick sit-up had carried Sheila to her knees. From there, she'd gotten to her feet. Instead of bolting, she'd only stood there, her back to Stanley, the wire hanging between her legs to the grass. At her back, Stanley had ducked and reached between her knees and grabbed the wire. He'd drawn it up behind her.

  'Welcome to my back yard. That's my house right there or what's left of it. Of course, it fared better than yours. Mine is only half down. Over here is my garage, which fared worse than my house. Mother's in the house. Deader than shit, as the saying goes. And a good thing, too. She wouldn't approve of my behavior today. Wouldn't approve in the least. The old bat always did think I was a pervert.'

  Laughing, he'd given the wire a couple of quick tugs that made Sheila jump and gasp.

  'Giddy-up, horsey.'

  Bending over, Sheila had started to hobble forward.

  'To the right, to the right. Our next obstacle is the block wall there by my driveway. But I think we'll go around it. Would you like that? You took such a nasty fall at the last wall, so we'll try to spare you, this time. I think we can probably make it to the gate without drawing undue attention to ourselves, don't you? We'll just go down my driveway.'

  She'd led the way, and Stanley had kept a sharp watch as they approached the front of his house. Making her wait, he had stepped past her and opened the gate that shut off Judy's side of the cinderblock wall. Then they'd gone in and made their way alongside her house to her back yard.

  'This is the home of my friend, Judy. I don't believe you know her. Me, I've gotten to know her quite well since the quake. It was her saw we used to get you out. A lovely woman. Not in your league, of course. Nobody is in your league. Perhaps we'll visit with her, later on. You two have a lot in common. Me, for one thing. And guess what - she's still in her bathtub. Not that her house fell on her. Her house didn't fall at all, the lucky bitch. But fell on her. Ho! Maybe we'll let her out, later on, and ask her to join us for cocktails and hors d'oeuvres. Why not? It'll be her stuff.'

  Stanley had kept the monologue going all the way across Judy's back yard, smiling at Sheila's backside, sometimes chuckling, wondering if she was at all impressed by his wit. Under the circumstances, he'd thought, I can hardly expect her to be amused.

  'We're almost there,' he said. 'The pool's just on the other side of this fence. See where I made a doorway for us? We won't have to climb over this one or go looking for a gate, we can walk straight on through. But watch your head.'

  Hunching down, Sheila stepped over the lower crossbeam and slipped through the gap in the redwood fence. On the other side, she halted. Stanley stepped through. He ducked, but not quite enough. The upper beam scraped the top of his head.

  'Ow!'

  Sheila ignored him.

  'I hurt myself.'

  She acted as if she were deaf.

  'Say you're sorry.'

  'I'm not sorry,' she muttered.

  'You're not being very nice to me.' Stanley flipped the wire from side to side, switching it against her thighs. 'But why should you be? All did was rescue you.'

  She didn't look back, didn't make a comment.

  'Get moving.'

  She waddled toward the pool.

  'Go to the right. We're going to the other end. That's where the water is.'

  She followed orders. As they walked alongside the pool, Stanley said, 'Bet you can't wait to get in. I've been in. Not a whole lot of water down there, but it's plenty good for washing off blood and it's really quite refreshing. I'm sure we'll both enjoy it. stop here.'

  Sheila stopped.

  'Face the pool.'

  She turned and looked down.

  This is it! Stanley thought. Suddenly, he was excited. He could hardly believe that he'd actually freed Sheila from the bathtub and brought her to the swimming pool. They were finally here, exactly as he'd hoped. This is my day! The greatest day ever. And the best hasn't even started yet! Dreams can come true, he told himself. All you've do is reach out for them and not let anything get in your way. Stanley peeled the clinging remains of his pajamas away from his rump. He crouched, lowering his pajamas. While still down, he placed the scissors and razor on concrete. Then he straightened up. With a few quick, movements, he stepped out of his moccasins and the rag that draped his feet. Sheila seemed to be unaware of what he'd done.

  'We can't go in here,' she said.

  'Sure we can.' The concrete felt awfully hot under his feet. He was glad to be naked, and wanted her to turn around and look at him. See how big am? It's all because of you. Just tell her to turn around. No no no. I want her right where she is.

  'It's too shallow,' she protested. 'This is the deep end, moron!'

  With that, he used both hands to jerk upward on the wire. Sheila cried out. The barbed steel vanished in the crease of her rump, but she bent down and it came out fast. Still tugging the wire, Stanley took a quick step backward. The pull made Sheila fold as if broken at the waist. Her bound hands came swinging toward him between her calves. Her elbows struck the inner sides of her knees. Her face appeared, upsidedown, hair hanging. Stanley yanked the wire upward as hard as he could. Sheila shrieked. For a moment, Stanley thought he might be able to drag her whole body, arms-first, through her widely spread legs. Make her kiss her own ass! But suddenly her legs flew up, bare feet almost kicking him as she flipped over. Her back, just below the shoulders, struck the edge of the pool. The blow jolted her body, straightened her out. Stanley strained at the wire as if he hoped to drag her from the brink. Propped up at only one end, Sheila was stretched out over the pool like the naked and bloody victim of a demented magician more interested in torture than levitation. The wire lurched in Stanley's hands. Letting go, he watched his end of the wire leap high. Sheila's legs dropped out of sight and the fulcrum of the pool's edge seemed to launch her upper body forward. Stanley rushed to the edge.

  At first, he thought she would hit the water flat, a real belly-whomper. At the last instant, however, her body twisted and curled. Her side hit the surface. A geyser of white, sparkling spray shot up and she was submerged in a roil of froth.

  The spray sprinkled down. The froth vanished. After her impact with the water, Sheila must've rolled, She was face down, bound hands hanging toward the legs spread apart. Submerged in water her body seemed to waver and shimmer. As Stanley watched, she glided slowly upward. The surface of the water slid away to make room for back. Her back became a slick, clean island that gleamed sunlight. But it was the only island. The rest of Sheila stayed down, a layer of water over her buttocks, the hair on the back of her head rising and swaying. She's faking it, Stanley told himself. Wan
ts me to think she's drowning so I'll let my guard down. She'll come up for air any second. But the only movements of her body seemed to be those made by the gentle shifting of the pool water buoying her up. What if she's out cold? What if she drowns? 'Sheila!' Nothing. She can't drown! That'd ruin everything. But even as Stanley leaped from the edge, he wondered if this was exactly what she wanted him to do. He was on his way down when he realized that his hands were empty. He'd set down the scissors and razor…

  'Shit.' he yelled.

  His feet slapped the water. A moment later, they struck the bottom of the pool and he felt as if his legs were being rammed up through his hips. His knees folded. He tumbled forward through the rising spray of his splash and slammed onto Sheila's back. He drove her down. He felt a slight jolt when she hit the bottom of the pool. No struggle came from under him. No good, he thought. No good at all. What if she drowns? He knew he should act quickly to save her, but he wanted to savor the moment- the silence, the mild and heavy coolness of the water, the slick feel of Sheila's skin against his chest and belly, the way he was pressed against her rump with his penis snug between her buttocks. Why they call 'em buns, he thought. Could do her right now. Go just a little lower, and shove it in… And she'll drown for sure, he warned himself. Don't want that. She's gotta be alive and kicking, or it won't be any good at all.

  So he clutched her just below the armpits and slid himself backward. On his knees, he leaned away from her and pulled. She glided up with him. As her body rose, her arms descended and slid over the backs of his hands, pressing them against her sides. Their heads lifted out of the water. Stanley gasped for air. Sheila didn't. She hung limp in his arms, her head drooping. Stanley shook her. 'Hey!' Nothing. He stopped shaking her. She didn't seem to be breathing. Doesn't mean anything, Stanley told himself. She's just holding her breath. From his position at her back, hands clamped to her, he couldn't tell whether she had a heartbeat. So he shoved hands forward, forcing them through the tight spaces between her arms. When they came out the other side, they touched her breasts. Which ended his quest for her heartbeat. He filled his hands. The breasts were wet and heavy. He squeezed them. They were soft, firm, he swirled his hands around them. The nipples were stiff, rubbery nubs. Breathless, he grew so hard that he ached.