“That explains a few things,” he muttered as he descended the stairs. Bart, unlike Alexandra, must not have expected guests in his basement. Stacks of boxes concealed one wall, a laundry area filled one comer, and an old, beat-up pool table dominated the center of the room. No balls waited on the felt at the moment, but stains, cigarette burns, and wear showed it had been heavily used. A cot with a blanket and pillow sat on one side of the pool table. Tim almost regretted fleeing the relative comfort of Alexandra’s basement.
“It ain’t much,” Bart said, “but you’ll be safe here.”
“So what have you got going against the witches?”
“We’ll talk later. You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Let me scrounge up a change of clothes and a sandwich or something. The ladies are on the warpath as we speak, so I want you to stay down here. They know about your escape.”
“And the fat woman?”
Bart grinned. “She’s dead. Couldn’t happen to a better bitch. You just made a lot of guys’ lives a lot easier. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back.”
A twinge shot through Tim’s gut. He did not intend to kill the poor woman.
But then again, her own intentions were clear. No way could it be anything other than self defense. He tried not to think about it as Bart went back upstairs.
A short time later, Bart made good on his promise of food. The best came up with for clothing was a pair of sweatpants, the legs too short and the waist too wide. Fortunately the drawstring kept them up, and they were much more comfortable than Tim’s cold, soaking-wet jeans. He threw his own clothes in the dryer and tied his boots over a rafter near a heat vent. He played pool while he waited, doing his best to concentrate on calculating the vectors and angles of his shots. To his surprise, he actually began to relax as the balls clicked and clacked around the table.
The more he concentrated on the game, the more his fears faded away. Instead he began to feel irritated, and even angry.
He knew Alexandra would not be so tolerant of him this time around. His life effectively ended the moment he drove into Rapture. He had no money, no car, no proof of his identity. He had no job, no family, and none of his friends were so dose that they would be willing to take him in and help him along.
No, his life had been reduced to this: a breeder for a feminist witch bitch serving as a sex slave for a forgotten Greek myth. She once told him he would be allowed to live after the birth of their child, even if they successfully bred a satyr, as long as he stayed in Rapture.
Yeah, that would something to look forward to. Live out the rest of his life in the company of a bunch of men who lacked the gonads to stick up for themselves in the face of their wives and sisters. There was no telling what those women would do to him either. Perhaps they would make him their next target of ridicule, or sacrifice him to their Earth Mother. Hell, once Alexandra finished with him, maybe some of the other witches would have a little fun with him or just kill him.
Within a week he would either be lost and homeless somewhere in America, or he would be dead and staked up in a field as a scarecrow. He decided he did not care which, as long as this whole chapter in his life came to a close.
The cue ball followed the eight into a comer pocket.
“Shit.”
* * *
Tim did not see Bart again until five that evening, when he brought some dinner downstairs. Tim asked him about the witches, but the doorbell rang and Bart hurried back upstairs.
The front door opened then, a few minutes later, closed again. He hoped Bart would come back down to fill him in, but it never happened. Shooting pool became beyond boring by this time, and he tried without success to take a nap.
Finally, near eleven o’clock while Tim wondered whether or not he should just hit the sack, Bart came down again.
“Oh, what a day,” he complained.
“So what’s going on? Fill me in! I’ve been going crazy holed up down here all day!” He did not think to hide the anger in his voice.
“If you’ve got a problem with the way I’m going to keep you stashed away, then you can just take a fucking walk right now!” Bart roared. “These women have mostly ignored me these past few years, and I’d like to keep it that way! But today, I got cats prowling through my yard, carloads of women driving up and down the street, and a brief visit from one of their cronies. All because I’m covering your ass!” He jabbed a finger at Tim’s chest for emphasis. “And I don’t even fucking know you!”
Tim felt his ire rise but staved it back quick. The guy obviously took a lot of heat for him, and if he were not hiding out in this basement, he would be cold, tired, and hungry. That is, if he had not been caught and killed by now. “Sorry, man. I’m just nervous. I hate not knowing what’s going on.”
Bart took a deep, calming breath but his face still burned fiery red. “Just back off and we’ll work this through.” Another calming breath. “Here’s the score. Like I told you before, I’ve known about you for some time. What I need to know first, before we do anything else, is what you did to piss them off so much.”
Tim sighed and scratched at his head. “Well, I didn’t do anything. Except show up in town. Then they pounced on me.”
“Nothing new there. They always move quick on strangers,” Bart muttered.
“Well, apparently, I have a unique ancestry. Alexandra is making me stick around until she has the baby.”
“So that is your kid she’s carrying around. We thought as much. The timing was pretty much unmistakable. So what’s the deal with this ancestry thing?”
“I guess I have a similar line of descent as Alexandra. Kind of gives me the creeps. She’s trying to give birth to a kid just like Sebastian.”
“Who?”
“Sebastian. Big guy, horns, goat’s legs…Surely you’ve seen him?”
Bart leaned behind a stack of boxes and pulled out a pair of rickety folding chairs. He straddled one chair backwards and waved a hand toward the other chair. “I’ve got a feeling this is going to be a long conversation, Timmy. I know everyone in town, and I’ve never heard of any Sebastian.”
“Well, if I remember my mythology right, he’s a satyr.”
“A what?”
“You know, like Pan and his flutes, chasing the nymphs around?” Bart, but for his narrowed eyes, showed no expression. “The first time I got out of the house a few months ago, I saw the witches dancing around with him during a ceremony of some kind. They were chanting, dancing, and the fire was shaped like a giant woman, who I understood later was the spirit of Mother Earth. The satyr, Sebastian, seemed to be the boss of the whole thing. He was the one who actually caught me. He’s fast and he’s strong, and who knows what else he’s capable of. Especially if he’s in control of the witches.”
Bart rested his head on his hands, massaging his temples with his thumbs. “You know,” he said, raising his head once more. “Fifteen years ago, if you would have told me that, I would have said you were full of shit. Now, though…I guess I’m not really surprised. Things have gotten stranger and stranger, and we’ve been getting hints that there was someone working behind the scenes.”
“Well, that’s about all I can tell you. Ninety-nine percent or better of my time here has been spent in Alexandra’s basement. There were a lot of women in and out, but they were always careful to keep me out of their conversations. I was lucky to get out this time.”
“You were there when they murdered Mike?” Bart asked.
“Yeah, unfortunately. I wish I had been able to do something about it.”
“Do you know who did it?”
Tim shook his head. “No, I never got a really good look at them. The best I can tell you is the two that chased me were tall and blonde.”
“Twins?”
He thought about it a moment, then shrugged. “Maybe, yeah.”
“That’s no surprise. They’re two of Alexandra’s closer friends,” Bart explained. “Cassandra and Genevieve. Th
ey hang out with Gretchen, the chubby redhead.”
“I ran into them when I first got into town. I never saw them much around the house.”
“I’m not surprised. They tend to hang out late at night. Even then, they’re usually out and around.”
“I don’t have much more to tell you,” Tim continued. “I’d really like to know if there’s any good news.”
“Fair enough, though there’s not much of that these days. Things were pretty bad the past few years, but then when Mike was killed…” Bart shook his head. “It was a big morale blow to most of the guys, you know?”
“How many of you are there?”
“Only a handful. You could probably count all of us on two hands. Those of us that still stick together, that is. Mostly we just keep out of their way.”
“Are you married?” Tim asked.
“No. I’m the only one not tied up with one of the witches, in fact. That’s another reason we haven’t been too active. Most of the guys’ wives have been keeping closer tabs on what they do with their free time. What little of that there is. My wife and I moved out here about fifteen years ago. We didn’t know it then, but she had breast cancer. Spread before the doctors diagnosed it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Bart shrugged. “Well, at least it was before these witches could get their claws into her. Mind you, not all the women around here are witches. But I wouldn’t trust any of them. They all tend to talk to one another.”
“Understood. So how do you get by?”
“I’m one of the few maintenance men around. I do a lot of work at the school, some home repair, and so forth. I also help run the sewer and water works. I have my uses, so they tolerate me. They allow me my privacy at home most of the time as a result.”
“I guess I’m in the right place. What’s the plan from here?”
Bart shrugged. “Don’t know yet. Depends on what happens over the next couple of days and what our options are at that point. Ideally, we’ll get you out of here.”
“That’s what I was hoping to hear,” Tim said. He felt stupid for grinning so broadly as he said it, but he could not help himself.
“Well, don’t get your hopes up too high. We’ve only managed to get someone out of here a few times, even under normal circumstances. They’re actively searching for you.”
“Why are you still here? Or any of the other guys, for that matter?”
Bart chuckled. “That’s a good question. A damn good question. Most of these guys can’t leave. Period. Some of us, I guess it’s got something to do with loyalty and friendship. We all go or nobody goes. The rest, it’s fear. They’re too afraid to try. Some of these guys are so browbeaten that they’re actually convinced things aren’t so bad. Hell, I know a couple guys who are actually convinced that their life is better this way!”
“Unreal.”
Bart forcefully blew air through his cheeks. “Anyway. I’m gonna take one more look around the house, make sure we’re safe and secure, and hit the hay. Like I said before, it’s been one hell of a day.” He poked his temple with a thick finger. “Mental stress and all, you know?”
“All right. I guess I’ll see you in the morning?”
“Yep.” He headed for the stairs.
“Hey, Bart.”
“Yeah?” He paused, one foot on the bottom step.
“I forgot to say thanks. I owe you.”
One corner of his mouth turned upward. “Yes, you do. But save it for later. You’ll be working as hard as the rest of us if we try to get you out of here. I guarantee it.”
* * *
Morning came sooner than expected for Tim. Bart shook him awake urgently and waved a flashlight in his face. It irritated him at first, but then he remembered where he was. “What’s going on?”
“Get dressed. We’re getting out of here.”
Bart held the flashlight at a suitable angle for Tim to see his clothing and dress hastily. As they climbed the stairs, he turned it back off. Darkness filled the first floor, with the exception of a few patches where windows allowed the moonlight access. Tim followed Bart carefully to the back door, which the stout man opened quietly to peer outside.
“C’mon. Stay close,” Bart instructed, then moved out into the yard in a brisk trot. Tim had to push himself to keep up, surprised by how quickly somebody with such short legs could move.
The rain quit, but their shoes squished across the wet grass. All appeared quiet in the neighborhood, but nevertheless the two men stuck close to fences and hedgerows for cover, always checking the streets and houses before moving out into the open. They steered clear of streetlamps and twice dove for cover as cars passed by.
Tim desperately wanted to know what was happening, how bad the danger was, to force them out of the house so quickly. But Bart did not offer any explanations at the moment, and Tim knew to keep his mouth shut. He wondered if perhaps somebody spotted him going into Bart’s house after all, and they finally turned him in.
They cut through one last back yard, arriving at a tall chain link fence bordering a gravel parking lot. A pickup with a number of tools and various other apparatus stacked in the bed parked in one corner, and on the other side of it sat a larger truck with a cherry picker on the back. Across the parking lot Tim saw a long building which he thought looked like a giant, prefabricated utility shed. A sign painted with big block letters reading “Rapture Water Works” hung on the side and a sodium vapor lamp illuminated the front entrance, a sliding door large enough to allow vehicle access. A white water tower rose from the opposite side of the building.
The two men climbed the fence quickly, every rattle of the links making Tim cringe. Once they landed on the other side they hurried across the parking lot. Keeping clear of the illuminated front entrance, Bart led Tim around the side of the building to a different entrance. Bart retrieved a small keyring from his pocket, flipped through the keys for a moment, then unlocked the door and pulled it open. They slipped into the darkness and Bart locked the door behind them.
“We should be safe here. At least until morning,” Bart said between gasps. He turned the flashlight on and cast the beam across a workbench stacked high with tools, scraps of metal, boxes of bolts and screws, and several blueprints and other papers. In the darkness behind them, Tim heard the whirr of large machinery and the trickle of water in pipes. The rank smell of damp sewage filled the shack.
“So, are you going to fill me in?”
“Jack called. His mother figured you must have been the man that helped him and called Alexandra. It will only be a matter of time before they got him to confess where he sent you.”
“What will they do to him?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure it won’t be pleasant.”
Tim’s stomach churned. If he never helped the kid, Jack would not be in this position. Suddenly the flashlight aimed into his face. He held up a hand to shield his eyes.
“Don’t blame yourself,” Bart said, reading his expression. “The kid knew it was dangerous. Remember, he was raised in this shit.”
Tim nodded, though the feeling of responsibility didn’t abate. “So what happens now?”
“There’s a phone in here. I’m going to call some of the other guys. We need to move quick.” Bart rested the flashlight on the workbench and moved a toolbox, revealing an old black rotary phone spattered with paint and grease. He reached into his pocket, and for the first time Tim noticed the .45 automatic pistol tucked into the man’s waistband. He felt a little safer, but could not help wondering if even a .45 slug would knock Sebastian down. He hoped satyrs were not like werewolves and could only be killed with silver bullets.
Consulting a slip of paper he retrieved from his pocket, Bart rapidly dialed a number. “If you can’t talk, hang up.” He said into the receiver. After a brief pause he pressed down the hook. “Damn.”
Tim leaned against the wall as Bart went through the same thing two more times. He assumed whoever he called must have their
wives around. Or a cat, a bird, et cetera. The thought that the witches had eyes practically everywhere gave him the willies. A scurrying noise whispered across the back of the room, and he wondered if the witches used the rats’ eyes, too.
Finally, Bart seemed to have some success. “Good, I’ve got Alexandra’s man here. His name’s Tim…Yeah. Listen, there’s more to what’s been going on. Someone…” He glanced over at Tim. “…make that something named Sebastian is running things…Yeah, you heard me right. Can you get out to the utility center?…Good, see you in a bit.” He hung up the phone.
“So?” Tim asked.
“Ed’s on his way. Hold on, I have a few more calls to make.” He made four more calls. Two didn’t answer at all, and one hung up as the others did. The fourth, like Ed, was on his way. Bart hung up the phone and sighed. “Well, we got two of the guys. That’s not so bad.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“We’re going to get you out of here, one way or another. With you out of the way, maybe things will settle down and be back to normal for the rest of us.”
Tim nodded.
“Don’t get your hopes up, yet,” Bart said, taking a seat on a stool and leaning back against the workbench. “There’s a lot more to getting you out of here than simply driving out.”
“How’s that?”
Bart sighed. “It’s hard to explain. The cliffs are guarded.”
Tim’s chest tightened. “By what?”
“The other guys call them demons. I think it’s just animals. Coyotes and so forth. See, every time someone tries to just drive out, the next day a couple of the other women end up driving that same vehicle back into town. We didn’t know exactly what was happening, until one time a guy named Saunders tried to get out with his three sons. He was married to Gretchen, the redhead who hangs out with Alexandra all the time. Anyway, they made a run for it. Their bodies were stacked in the bed of his pickup, practically torn to shreds. Everyone else they recovered, they started nailing to the posts out in the cornfield as examples.”
“Great,” Tim muttered. “Just fucking great. Now my options are stay and die, run and die, or run and maybe get away and maybe survive as a street bum!”
Deadliest of the Species Page 18
