Tim felt ashamed of his revulsion at the thought and, especially, the act, of lifting the corpse over his shoulder to descend the ladder. Fortunately, he closed the belfry entry door on ground level before climbing up and the others would not see what he intended to do. Taking the ropes and looping them once around his arm, he dragged the corpse to the edge of the open trap door and slid Jack’s feet over the lip. He then carefully lowered the corpse to the floor below.
The ropes did not quite reach, but the boy was rather light and he managed to lower the boy the rest of the way by climbing down the ladder. The body touched down gently, and when Tim reached the floor he untied the bonds from Jack’s wrists. Finally, steeling his nerves, he pushed the door opened and scooped the body up behind the shoulders and knees.
Whatever had been going on when he stepped out into the chapel stopped. Everyone turned their attention to the dead young boy, then bowed their heads respectfully. Bart visibly fought back tears, though he waved Tim over to the altar and removed the candelabra. Tim hurried over and laid the boy out atop the altar. He gently forced the boy’s arms down to his sides. He then helped Bart wrap the body in the crimson altar cloth.
“We’ll have to see to it he gets a proper burial,” Gus said.
“Unfortunately, it will have to wait,” Bart told him. “This should do for now.” He muttered a soft prayer over the body, and the others bowed their heads in reverence.
“I can’t believe they would do that to such a young kid,” Archer muttered afterward. He stood beside the altar, fists alternately clenching and unclenching in anger. “Let’s get down to business.”
Their resolve strengthened by the sight of the dead boy, the men left the church in groups at intervals of several minutes. Tim, Bart, Steve, and Gus left last, climbing into Gus’s car after making sure the streets were clear.
“Let the games begin,” Tim said grimly.
Chapter Eighteen
Medusa’s parking lot overflowed onto the streets, and wild cheers, lewd requests, and excited screams streamed from the doors. The owner must own an independent power generator, as bright light streamed through the narrow windows beneath the eaves. Apparently the witches’ libidos would not be denied, power outage or otherwise.
Tim wondered whether a man or a woman performed on stage, or perhaps even both.
He chuckled softly as he wriggled his way beneath the fourth car. The radiator stopcock on this particular car was awkward to reach, and his hand already began to cramp up from the first three cars, but he managed to work it open. He held the blue plastic funnel in place as the antifreeze leaked from the radiator and trickled through the narrow plastic tube into the Tupperware container Gus sacrificed for the cause. He filled three more bowls in this manner, sealed them, and passed them out to Bart. Bart, in turn, carefully placed them in the trunk of Gus’s car with the others.
“How many is that?” Tim asked as he crawled back into the open. The antifreeze splashed and gurgled as it continued to pour out onto the asphalt. With a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed the stopcock out into the grass to be lost with the others.
“Eight. We have two more containers,” Bart replied, holding the empty bowls toward Tim.
“We’ve been here quite a while. You want to chance it?”
“There’s a lot of cats in this town. The more the better. Besides, Gus is keeping an eye out.”
“You’re the boss,” Tim groaned. He laid down on the ground and shimmied backwards on his raw shoulders underneath a Blazer backed into its space. Thankfully, the vehicle had more room beneath it than the other sedans and coupes. He unscrewed the stopcock and pulled it free, then moved the funnel into place.
The container filled rapidly, and he quickly slid the second into place and handed the second off to Bart. He put on the cover, then waited as Tim filled the second and passed it out as well. Bart sealed it and carried it toward the car as Tim started to crawl out from beneath the Blazer when Gus started his car, their pre-arranged danger signal.
Bart ran toward the other cars and Tim pulled himself back under the Blazer. In his urgency he dropped the funnel and antifreeze splashed along the length of his body as it continued to pour out of the radiator. He turned his head to one side to look across the parking lot, and he barely made out Bart flattened on the ground behind the opposite line of cars.
Four women emerged from the bar and made their way across the parking lot. They talked and laughed loudly, and one of them stumbled several times. Another tried to help out, nearly taking them both down.
They headed straight toward Tim. This is far too many close calls in one night, he told himself.
A close call so far, anyway. He prayed it would stay that way.
Ten feet away, they stopped and finished their conversation. With unsteady waves and a few hugs, they said goodnight. Two of them continued down the parking lot to Tim’s right, while the remaining pair walked directly toward the Blazer. They parted, one coming around the passenger’s side, the other the driver’s side. The driver, wearing high heels with thin soles and an open toe, stood in the puddle of antifreeze as she fiddled with the lock. The flow of the liquid built up at the tip of her shoe and threatened to wash over the edge and tickle her toes.
Finally the driver climbed inside, her shoe making a soft kissing sound as she lifted it from the puddle. He heard a muffled clunk as the power locks disengaged, and the passenger climbed in a moment later. Both doors slammed shut. Inside the vehicle, both women giggled about something.
“Shit!” Tim proclaimed. He backpedaled, cracking the back of his skull on the lot surface. Grit and sharp-edged pebbles dug into his palms. Nevertheless, he fairly hurled himself out from beneath the rear of the vehicle just as the engine turned over. The engine roared, the tires spun and squealed, and the Blazer hurled itself across the parking lot. One of the rear tires crushed the blue funnel flat. Off to the right, the other group of ladies backed out of their space and gave chase.
Tim lay spread-eagled and gasping in the tall grass. He thanked the Lord no parking bumper blocked his escape, and he wondered if he had more lives than a cat. Bart came running to his side and dropped to a crouch.
“Tim! You okay?” he asked urgently.
Tim sat up and brushed the grit from his palms. “I’m fine,” he muttered. The trail of antifreeze from the parking space toward the entrance gave him a bit of satisfaction. It would only be a matter of minutes before the Blazer overheated and locked up, especially the way they drove it. “Let’s just get out of here.”
Gus kept the car running, and as soon as Bart and Tim climbed inside he pulled away from the club. They made their first stop a few blocks down the street.
Tim hopped out and removed a yellow bowl full of thick, green antifreeze from the back seat. He peeled away the lid and set it down at the comer of the building. Over the next twenty minutes they made several such stops, until they distributed all the Tupperware containers every couple of blocks.
* * *
Heidi, a calico half-breed, mostly white with black and brown spots on her back and head, strutted down the sidewalk.
A stuck-up little cat, she tended to stay away from most humans. She hated the way their greasy fingers mucked up her fur, and it especially unsettled her when they picked her up. She hated the younger ones the most, for they always squeezed her or tried to shoot her with stinging little bands of stretchy stuff. The worst would comer her and shave her whiskers or tie bags to her paws or head. Once, one of the little bastards even picked her up by her tail and swung her around.
Most of that changed a few years ago when her owner, a spinster named Kathy who often left her to her own devices, got invited to this little town by her grand-daughter. The girls still chased and cuddled her, but the women properly respected the felines. But the best news was the little boys, who deferred to the females and knew better than to pull any of their devious little pranks.
She turned the corner just in time to see a big, ug
ly brown car pull away from the curb down the block. The people inside left a small object behind. She approached it carefully, focusing her sharp eyes on the object. Small and opaque green, it looked a lot like the bowl in which Kathy left her meals. She sniffed at it, whiskers twitching, and caught a slight sweet smell.
Really interested now, she moved closer and peered over the edge of the bowl. Green liquid, slightly thicker than water, filled it almost to the brim. She sniffed it again and the smell almost overpowered her, and she knew she just had to taste it. However, she often knew better than to trust most of the humans. Was it wise to taste something so mysteriously left behind?
Yet, it smelled so good…
Tentatively, she touched the surface with her sandpaper tongue. It tasted like nothing she ever tasted before, and she loved it. She licked at it happily, staining her mouth and nose green and splashing a bit onto her whiskers. A short time later her belly grew heavy with the stuff, though she barely managed to reduce the level of the liquid in the bowl.
She trotted a few feet away, where she sat down and started to clean herself before heading home.
A short time later, the cramps began. At first she tolerated them, but soon they became excruciating. She vomited several times, but the pain did not abate. She started to realize the humans must have done something to her.
By then, it was too late.
* * *
Across town, Archer and the others climbed out of their cars, one of the vehicles now loaded with spoiling meat from the grocer’s freezer. They used one of Bart’s keys to get into the back door of the hardware store. Once they got inside and closed the door behind them again they lit the candles they brought along. Always keeping one hand curled around the flame to shield the light from the front windows, they started searching the aisles for their goods.
As Archer walked down the automotive aisle, he thought again about the conversation regarding the antifreeze. He did not see the point in wasting time at Medusa’s to get the stuff when he was coming here anyway. Why risk getting caught? But Bart and Tim insisted the risk of all of them getting caught in one shot would be greater. Furthermore, if they managed to take out a few cars while collecting the antifreeze, all the better.
“Here we go,” somebody murmured in the next aisle. Archer looked over to see Jon holding up several pairs of yellow rubber gloves.
“How long are they?” Archer asked him.
“Not quite to the elbow.”
“Hmm.” He considered for a moment. “Should be fine.” Jon nodded, and carried his findings out to the car.
Near the back corner, Archer found the second of the three items they sought in the store. He paid a brief visit to the front counter, retrieved two large, plastic bags from beneath the cashier’s kiosk, then returned to the corner. He loaded the bags with a dozen boxes of various brands of rat poison. The clerks stocked them within easy reach, and he wondered why strychnine would be kept within such easy reach of children. The little black skull-and-crossbones logo, looking so much like a Jolly Roger, attracted more kids than it repelled.
Of course, he doubted the witches much cared if little boys ate it by the mouthful. What loss several young males?
“I’ve got the poison,” he advised the others. “Any luck with the buckets?”
“There’s a couple pails over here. They should do. How many you think we need?”
“Just grab five or six. Let’s get out of here.”
“Right-o then.”
The group carried the remainder of their loot to the car and hopped in, not bothering to lock up the store behind them. They made their way carefully through town until they reached Archer’s house. He opened his two-car garage, waved the others in, then closed the door. Immediately they unloaded their goods and started setting up.
“Your wife’s not going to walk in on us, is she?” Jon asked.
“Don’t worry about her,” he replied with a sly grin. “She’s been handled.”
Three hours ago he left her bound and gagged in the upstairs bath tub, sitting in six inches of cold water. He doubted she even came to yet, considering the beating he gave her. At the time, he had not been sure he would commit to the meeting and the planning at the church, but it made a damn good excuse to pay the bitch back for the years of torment. He figured if he did not go along with Bart’s and the others’ plans, he could just leave her in the street and blame the newcomer, Wilder.
They moved swiftly, first separating the buckets and pulling on their gloves, then unpacking the meat and dividing it amongst the buckets. They mixed in the strychnine, stirring and kneading it into the meat. They worked the white crystalline powder and the graying, bloody ground beef until it all turned a uniform color. Once they finished, Archer retrieved his garden hose and they sprayed down their gloves and scrubbed their hands vigorously.
That done, they loaded the buckets back into the trunks of the cars. They threw the gloves beside the buckets, as they would be needed again shortly. The cars went their separate way at that point, one making its way to the stand of trees across from the motel, the other heading for the cornfields.
Archer pulled over to the ditch beside the cornfield, not far from where so many of his friends had been crucified and left to the crows. Ed’s body still hung there, his skull and hands mostly picked clean. Three more corpses dangled from other posts. Archer knew their names, though he no longer could distinguish one from another.
The team did their best to look away from the grisly sights, though they dared not take the bodies down. Without the corpses, the crows would likely not return. An unfortunate, yet necessary, sacrifice. God willing, they would be able to take down the bodies and give them proper funerals within a few days.
Donning their gloves once more, they pulled the loaded buckets from the trunk and began scattering the poisoned meat liberally around the crucifixion posts. As they spread more and more of the meat, they took care not to walk on it and grind it into the ground. Once they emptied all their buckets they took off their gloves and tossed them into the buckets. They then hurled the buckets out deeper into the field. Safer they left them at the scene of the crime rather than be caught with the evidence.
At the motel, the other team parked their car out of sight behind the building and removed their buckets. Moving swiftly and quietly, they hurried across the parking lot to the trees where the ravens made their nests. Some of the birds woke and watched with puzzled interest as the men scattered the contents of their buckets in the grass and between the trees. Five minutes later they finished and hurried back to the car. They tossed the empty buckets and their gloves into the motel dumpster.
The blackbirds considered investigating, everything stayed still and quiet. This was their time for sleep. They needed their rest, for tomorrow the human women would call upon them again to be their eyes. They could examine the peculiar activities of the human males at sunrise.
* * *
Gus found a quiet stretch of road and dropped Bart and Tim off. He watched them disappear into the forest, then made his way back to his apartment. He passed a car full of women as he drove, shifting uncomfortably beneath their cruel gazes. They made no attempt to conceal the fact they did not trust him, and were also quite obvious in their attempts to see into the back seat. He did his best to ignore them, constantly telling himself to act natural as his palms grew slick with sweat on the steering wheel.
And if they stopped him? What then? Sure, nobody was with him, but what reason did he have for being out at this hour? He considered his options but could think of nothing. He wished he had the creativity and imagination of some of the other men, but his overbearing mother saw to it that all impulses to lie never became a part of his personality. He thought he escaped her until the witches appeared and reinforced this behavior.
Their car seemed to pass at a snail’s pace, though he knew they both traveled at around twenty-five miles per hour. They made no move to stop him, and at last they moved past him and a
ccelerated down the street. He watched them shrink into the distance in his rear view mirror, and sighed with relief when they turned a corner.
He was definitely getting too old for this sort of thing. He muttered a brief prayer to God, to his Guardian Angel, and to anyone else listening, begging for a swift end to this whole affair, one way or the other. Before he said “amen,” he added that he would like his survival to be a part of the package.
He pulled into the quiet alley below his apartment and parked in his usual space. He sat there for a moment, taking a few deep breaths to calm his nerves. He dried his palms on his pant legs. He opened the car door and used the dome light to find the key to his front door, then locked the car climbed the black metal stairs to his apartment. He hesitated as he turned the key in the lock, listening for any sign of life on the inside. Hearing nothing and seeing only darkness through the window beside him, he took a deep breath and pushed the door open. It bounced softly off the wall, and he extended a hand to stop it from swinging back and hitting him.
No lights came on, no voices or shouts greeted him. He closed the door behind him and walked carefully along the wall until he found the candle and lighter he left on the stereo cabinet. The lighter flashed a few times before it caught, and he quickly touched the flame to the candle wick. He held the candle high and turned to look around. The couch in the living room and the chairs and table in the dining room were all empty. With a smile that nearly revealed his entire denture plate, he went into the bedroom to get some sleep.
* * *
Tim and Bart made their way back toward the cave in a brisk jog, occasionally pausing to catch their breaths and watch their backs. The cooperation of the others and the progress of the plan excited them, though neither saw need to mention it to the other. They planned to move ahead alone if need be, but even tonight’s initial movements would have taken them two nights. And no doubt by the second night the witches would be looking for them far more earnestly.
Deadliest of the Species Page 26
