A Crying Shame

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by William W. Johnstone


  The infection spread to them. Your coming had nothing to do with their decision to die.”

  Jon sighed. A question he had to ask. What if this clan is infected?”

  It isn’t,” a woman said. We know all the signs of the infection.”

  Her words were spoken in a halting fashion, as if the language was unfamiliar to her.

  Jon asked, Why were you sick at the mansion, vomiting at the sight of the dead Link Linda shot?”

  Mike shook his head. Shock. Mother had told me of the upcoming attacks. But I refused to believe her. It was just too much for me to take. It pushed Joe to the edge of sanity and beyond. Get it over with, mercenary,” he urged.

  My boat is not large enough for all of you and . . . your babies. I’ll have to return, make several trips.” He spoke to the women.

  We’re not going,” the older human female said. And I speak for all the others.”

  The other women nodded their heads.

  I see,” Jon said. So you want me to kill you with the Links, eh?”

  Yes.”

  And the babies?”

  If you must.”

  I don’t know that I can do that,” Jon said. And I think you were counting on that. Look ... won’t you reconsider and return with us?” He indicated Karl.

  Return to what?” the black woman said. I’m thirty-two. I’ve been here since I was fourteen. I’ve produced five normal, healthy, human children. They are all living normal lives on the outside. One is about to enter LSU. This is my home—our home. Can you imagine the reception we would receive if we returned to your world? Freaks in a sideshow—pitied, scorned, whispered about, laughed at. Who would accept us after this? And oh, the embarrassment it would cause our normal children living on the outside. And we all have normal kids living out in your world. No . . . this . . . your guns, that’s the only way for us.”

  Your children know their real history?” Karl asked.

  Some of them. The pull of the swamp drew them back to us. We told them to return, and not to come back.”

  Jon thought for a moment. They really believed he was so hard-hearted he would kill them. Are the . . . ah ... mental defectives gone? Dead, I mean?”

  Yes,” a white woman said. Some of our sons among them.”

  Well,” Jon said. This is a rather sticky situation, to say the least.”

  Stic—uh,” a young Link said. He pointed to a club on the ground.

  That’s very good,” Karl said. How many of the others have some use of the English language?”

  All of them that are left,” Mike said. As you can see, none of them here are pure in bloodline. From what I can gather, the purity was first diluted about two hundred years ago. I know that from bits of pottery and jewelry I found over the years.”

  You are a very good actor, Mike,” Jon said. I must admit that.”

  I’ve had to be, Jon.”

  Jon watched as a big male walked to the side of a human female. His eyes were blue. He was almost human. He put a hand on her shoulder, speaking to her softly.

  The words touched the mercenary. Was he saying good-by?”

  Yes,” the woman said. She had tears in her eyes.

  Well . . . shit!” Jon said.

  El . . . sht!” a young Link said.

  Oh, my Lord, Jon!” Karl said. You’ve got them saying that word. For heaven’s sake!”

  What do you propose doing with the human babies?” Jon asked.

  I . . . don’t understand the question,” a woman said. ”You’re here to kill us, aren’t you?”

  I’ve not a savage!” Jon blurted.

  Matter of opinion,” Karl muttered.

  Shut up, Karl!”

  The woman smiled. After a year, when we are certain they are really human, we planned to take them to a home. Leave them so they can be cared for properly—just as we have always done, and many women before us. You see,”—her smiled broadened—the pure native babies, what did you call them? Links? Interesting word. As in missing link, I assume. Anyway, the barren chain has been broken. They are all female.”

  Gut!” Karl said.

  Good for who?” Jon looked at him.

  Whom, you nincompoop.”

  Are you sure about that?”

  Don’t you dare question me on language.”

  Jon turned to the group. They were all looking at him, not sure of what was coming next. Progress will find you—you must know that. You—none of you—have a chance of surviving in the wild. It’s a miracle you lasted this long.”

  He was met with silence.

  Look,” Jon pleaded. Leave the . . . nonhuman babies. Come back with us.”

  The women shook their heads.

  Jon clicked the M-10 off safety. Karl tensed at his side, but made no move to stop him. The group all drew together, offering no resistance. Jon pointed the compact SMG to the ground and emptied the clip. He did the same with two other clips. He pulled the pins of his grenades and tossed them into the water. They exploded in a gush of churning dark water.

  The swamp was shockingly silent after the barrage.

  Jon looked at the big male with the blue eyes and saluted him. You really should take a bath every now and then, old boy. You are disgustingly rank.”

  EPILOGUE

  The ordeal was over in Fountain Parish. Jon Badon was hailed as a mighty hero and a street in Laclede was renamed in his honor.

  Tammy Gray married Karl von Pappen.

  Sheriff Mike Saucier was reelected.

  The local paper is now under new management which gets along well with the sheriff’s department.

  Nine months after the ordeal, a number of babies were born in Fountain and the parishes surrounding it. Those who know what happened that night can only watch and wait.

  The good ol’ boy who was bitten while mutilating the young Link went insane, attacking his wife. She shot him dead.

  Ray Wagner is still attempting to learn French, and Mike still cringes when his new chief deputy tries to speak to him in Cajun.

  Jon and Linda were married. They had one child and are working—at every opportunity—for another.

  The Crying Swamp was leased, for ninety-nine years, by an organization known as the International Study Group, which promptly turned it into a wildlife refuge: no hunting, no fishing, guided tours in selected areas only. Certain areas are off-limits.

  All the dead Links were destroyed before the press could get to them and blow everything out of proportion. The incident was old news in a week.

  A small team of scientists is always at the large white block buildings at the edge of the Crying Swamp. Those buildings, too, are off-limits.

  They study something. Think tank” is what it’s called by the locals. Bunch of eggheads out there all the time.

  And once a week, Jon Badon walks over to one of the buildings and asks the same question of one of the scientists: Have you taught the big, hairy, ugly bastard how to bathe yet?”

  The reply is always the same.

  But the Crying Swamp no longer cries.

  THE SURVIVALIST SERIES

  by Jerry Ahern

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  THEY CALL ME THE MERCENARY #14:

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  A pistol-packin’ lady suspects Shell is her enemy—and her gun isn’t the only thing that goes off!

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  When Apaches close in around him, Shell thinks his vengeance trail is finally over. But he wakes up in the midst of a peaceful tribe so inclined toward sharing—that he sees no reason to decline the leader’s daughter when she offers her bed!

  Available wherever paperbacks are sold, or order direct from the Publisher. Send cover price plus 50¢ per copy for mailing and handling to Zebra Books, 475 Park Avenue South, New York, N.Y. 10016. DO NOT SEND CASH.

  All of the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  are published by

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  475 Park Avenue South

  New York, N.Y. 10016

  Copyright © 1983 by William W. Johnstone

  ISBN: 978-1-6165-0785-5

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

 

 

 


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