The snow shivered off the branches above me as the Sheriff fired off another six shots into the darkness, the bullets coming nowhere near me. I knew he was probably firing at a shadow of a half-fallen tree. He wasn't verifying his target. The snow and darkness was no excuse, common sense said to make sure what you were shooting at.
I heard someone screaming and moved around so I could see them.
The guy I'd let go was running toward the front of the house. He wasn't wearing a jacket.
"She's after me! Help me! She's after me!" he screamed.
The shotgun fired from inside of the house and blood sprayed from the guy's hip. He went down with a scream, holding his hip.
The snow flurry increased, covering him, and I heard him scream. The scream dwindled, fading away, and it felt like he was being pulled away somehow. Pulled into the dark and snow.
There was something out here with me. Something worse than me.
My mother in law to be.
I held still, in mid-stride, my hand pressed against the tree trunk.
The scream in the distance was raw, full of agony.
weregild
blood paid in blood
The blood flowing from the cut on Aine's forehead from where the rock had smashed into her face.
blood for blood
I started moving again. My mother-in-law to be was hungry. She was part of these woods in a way I could never understand. She fed on the weak, the disrespectful, those she was offered.
I moved to the stump and picked up the blade embedded in it that I had sharpened with the file from my Leatherman. I held it up, looking at it closely.
Four people inside the cabin. Dave. His father. The Sheriff.
And Gail.
There was four shots from a pistol, then I heard a clicking noise.
The pistol was out of ammunition.
The shotgun hadn't fired the entire time since whoever was shooting it had hit the guy my mother-in-law to be had dragged away to devour.
The snow crunched under my combat boots as I headed toward the cabin. My mind was still, empty, the singing core of darkness and emptiness inside of me filling me with cold purpose.
the sound the rock made as it hit Aine in the face
The snow was swirling around me as I moved up to the back door. I wondered if they were guarding it, but from the half-panicked voices I could hear in the cabin, they were all toward the front of the lake cabin.
"What about the shotgun in your cruiser?" Dave's father was asking.
"Gone. He took the guns and the ammo from my cruiser," Sheriff Wesley said. His voice was tight with fear.
"Dammit. We're trapped here," Dave's father stated.
"But, like, how? Paul is totally just a radioman and junk. He's, like, nobody important and junk," Gail said.
She was right.
I was nobody special. Just a radioman who had followed a psychotic killer named Stillwater through fire and blood. He was special. Stokes was special. Bomber was special.
Hannah/Aine was special.
I was just Paul Foster. A radioman from a small time in Kansas.
The door opened quietly and I stepped inside, closing the door behind me.
The cabin was dark, the power out. I could see the light around the edges of the door at the end of the hallway that led to the front room. It was cold inside the cabin, the baseboard heaters out now that the power was out. I wondered if they'd built a fire in the fireplace or the wood stove. With the windows busted, the wind and snow had blown in and made the inside of the cabin cold.
It was dark and cold in the cabin as I moved carefully, walking on the outside edges of my boots like they taught us in Basic Training, up to the door.
"You said that you were told to quit investigating him?" Dave's dad asked.
"Yeah. The State Department asked if he was in trouble. When I told them no, they told me to mind my own business. That his assignment was classified. I figured it was his unit, not him," The Sheriff said.
I stood there, in front of the door, still and silent, listening to them talk.
"So, Paulie isn't, like, a Green Beret or some junk?" Gail asked.
"No. He's just a radio operator. In Vietnam they could barely handle their rifles," Sheriff Wesley said.
We have learned the mistakes of Vietnam, men. The American Army lives and dies on its communication, which means you need to stay alive. You will be targeted at all times...
Advanced Individual Training
"Foster said he called an old friend," The Sheriff mused. "Maybe he's got help."
"Like a Green Beret or some junk?" Gail asked.
"Yeah. Maybe it isn't him out there," Dave said. "Paulie's always been a pussy. I can't see him doing all of this."
I opened the door silently, standing in the doorway.
Dave's father and the Sheriff were looking out the front windows at the vehicles. Dave and Gail were standing in the middle of the room, holding onto each other. His brother was standing there, a bandage where I'd laid the knife on his jaw bright white, looking out another window. I could smell the fear in the room, see their terror in their stances.
I didn't know what they were so afraid of out there. I was inside, with them, and they still all stared out the windows into the snowy night, filled with fear. Instead of paying attention to the doors and the ways to get inside the cabin, they stared outside at the winter night.
Why were they so frightened of out there?
There were no monsters out there in the dark and cold of Kansas.
I took two steps into the room and stood there silently, staring at them.
"Paulie, like, won't do anything to me. I'm his ex-wife and junk," Gail said. "He, like, wouldn't hurt a woman and junk."
I just stood there, cocking my head as I watched them talk, the brush blade heavy in my left hand, the hand-axe comfortable in my right hand.
"Sooner or later he has to try to get in," Dave's father said, straightening up from where he was looking out the window. "We'll kill him then."
He turned around and his mouth dropped open in shock as he saw me. The shotgun was held in his hands, forgotten.
"I'm out of ammo," The Sheriff said, straightening up. He turned around, the heavy revolver in his hand, and stared at me in shock.
"Holy shit!" The Sheriff yelled.
"He's inside!" Dave's father yelled.
Everyone turned to look.
They stared at me in shock, mouths open and eyes wide in fear.
I didn't understand why. They were all, with exception of Gail, over six feet tall. I was only five foot eight. They all outmassed me by at least thirty or forty pounds. My last weigh-in I only weighed a hundred and sixty pounds. I wasn't frightening.
There were frightening things in the dark and cold of Alfenwehr, not Kansas.
"P-P-Paul?" Dave was staring at me.
Dave's brother just screamed, high and loud.
I just stood there, staring.
"Paul, there's no need for this," Dave's father said, walking forward, spreading out his hands. "There's no need for all of this. Call off your friend, and we can talk this out."
I took two steps forward, swinging the hatchet in an arc, and connecting dead in the center of Dave's father's forehead. The axe sounded like it had hit wood and blood sprayed, hitting my face, the heat strange after so much time outside in the woods. I let go of the handle and switched to holding the heavy brush blade with both hands.
"DADDY!" Dave screamed.
Gail just shrieked.
The Sheriff cried out in fear as I took a step toward him. Seeing me coming at him, holding the brush blade in both hands, he yanked open the door and ran out into the night. He veered around the dead man, running for the woods and away from me.
And stepped on another trap.
Dave's brother was backing up, a shotgun in his hands completely forgotten as he watched me stand there, silently, in the middle of the cabin. He started to lift the shotgun and I moved, turning, a half step forward, and buried the brush blade in the middle of his face, spraying the room with blood when I kicked him off the blade, flipping him out the window.
I turned away and stared at Dave and Gail for a long moment, a half dozen heartbeats. They just stared, eye bulging, mouths working.
I walked forward and shut the door on the Sheriff's screams of agony. I stood there, looking at the door, watching Gail and Dave's shadows.
Neither moved.
I turned around, looking at them.
"P-P-Paulie, now, let's not be hasty," Dave said. "We're friends, remember? Best friends. Since grade school."
I just stood there, staring at them.
Dave's father's right foot was kicking, a steady rhythmic movement indicating the lines were down but his body wasn't quite aware of it.
"Call your friend off, Paulie, OK?" Dave said, holding out his hands.
There was silence for a moment, just the hissing of the Coleman propane lantern. Finally I spoke.
"It's just me."
"You?" Dave's face showed that he couldn't figure out how I'd done it all.
control the battlefield you win the war
"Don't, like, hurt me, Paulie, please?" Gail begged, backing up. "You, like totally love me, remember?"
"The rock," I growled. I dropped the brush blade on the floor, letting it stick, point first, into the wooden planks. The impact splattered a halo of blood on the floor, around the blade.
"Rock?" Dave said, frowning.
"Paulie, like, we totally didn't mean for, like, your girlfriend to get hurt and junk," Gail tried.
"Her name is Hannah," I growled. I took a step forward.
Dave was sweating, the fat droplets moving down his face like oily snakes. He was flushed around the collar, terrified as he stared at me. Gail was pale faced as she flinched back.
"STOP!" Dave yelled.
I stopped, cocking my head, staring at them.
"This is all your fault, Paulie," Dave said. "All you had to do was give Gail the house, like your mother promised her."
I just stared.
"We aren't moving heroin, don't you understand, you goddamn moron? That's just some crazy fantasy you cooked up in your head," Dave yelled, turning red.
When we were kids, I hated it, was afraid of him, when he yelled.
But since then, I'd been yelled at plenty by people who yelled for a living.
I just stood there, staring at him.
"My family owns the trucks, Gail's family owns the mill, that's all!" Dave took a step forward, working up his courage by yelling at me. "We just pay those stupid fucking junkies to do shit for us and bribe the Sheriff to ignore the logging trucks being overweight or going too fast! That's it, you stupid motherfucker!"
Dave stepped forward, his face red with rage.
"There's no fucking heroin conspiracy, you fucking lunatic! You killed my father over fucking delusions!" He screamed.
He swung at me, a looping right hand roundhouse that started back by his ear. His eyes widened when I lifted my hand and negligently slapped his forearm, deflecting the blow past my ear.
The cold emptiness inside of me shivered as I slapped him across the face with a backhand, my fingers curled.
The force of the blow knocked him off his feet.
"DAVE!" Gail screamed.
Dave looked up at me, his nose bleeding and his lip split. He scrambled up, intending on getting to his feet, staring at me.
I smiled as I slapped him down again.
He scrambled up again, his mouth bleeding, blood running from both nostrils. Before he could get all the way up I grabbed the back of his head, yanking him down, and driving my knee into his face. Blood heated my leg as his nose broke against my knee. The flopped onto his back, unconscious, and I stared down at him.
I knelt down, wrapping my hands around his neck, and started to squeeze. I looked up at Gail, who stood there, screaming as I choked Dave. He woke up and started to slap my arms, trying to get me loose.
Gail stopped screaming suddenly.
Her silence made me look at her as I kept strangling Dave.
"Why?" I asked her.
She frowned at me. "Like, your mother totally told me I, like, got the house and junk."
It was quiet, only the whisper of the snow and the quiet sound of the wind outside. Dave was still, greenish blood flecked foam having filled his mouth and run from his nose, his eyes bloodshot and bulging from the socket. I let him go and stood up, Dave's body thumping on the floor.
She hadn't once begged for his life.
Gail watched me, her eyes giving no clue as to her thoughts, as I straightened up and stared at her. Gail was still gorgeous, even terrified. Her pale skin flawless, perky C-cup breasts, long slim legs, perfect looks that belonged on a movie screen.
It made my stomach twist.
"It was mine, Gail," I told her. "Why can't you let me have the house?"
"I like want it, Paulie. I've like totally wanted that house for like years. Seeing what, like, that red-headed slut made it, like, totally look like just made me want it more and junk," she said. "I'm tired of people not letting me have what I want!"
The last part was nearly yelled and was missing her Valley Girl affectation.
"Do want to live?" I asked her.
She licked her lips, staring at me, and we were silent for a long moment. Outside, the Sheriff stopped screaming and I looked at the broken window. I wondered if it was blood loss, shock, or the cold that had done him in first.
When I looked back at her, Gail had stripped off her shirt, standing there in her bra.
"You were, like, the only one who, like, totally let me have, like, what I wanted and junk," Gail said, stripping off her bra. Her breasts bobbled, the nipples hardening up. "You're, like, the only one who, like, didn't make me like do things and junk to get, like, what I totally wanted and junk."
just leave me alone. stop lying to me.
She spit on Dave's father. "Him and Dave both, like, totally used me like I was a boy and junk," she growled. "It was, like, totally gross and junk. They, like, made me take it, like, I was a guy and junk if I really, like, wanted something I like totally deserved and junk."
i don't care leave me alone stop lying
I just watched her as she started unbuttoning her pants. She looked at me. "You, like, totally wouldn't understand, like, how, totally gross it is to, like, have someone, like, totally put it up your butt and junk."
Gail, I've always known when you were lying. You shouldn't lie to me.
That quivering cold darkness shivered as it swallowed up whatever emotion almost formed at her words.
"I, like, totally know what you want and junk," She said. "You, like, aren't like Dave or his father and junk."
no. i'm still alive
She smiled at me and the emptiness quivered for a moment with the urge to cave in her face before it swallowed the desire up.
"I've, like, totally missed you and junk," She lied as she unbuttoned her pants. "That redheaded skank can't, like, take care of you like I totally can and junk," she said, pushing her pants down over her panties.
Gail was hoping to get her way. She'd always done whatever she had to get her way.
When she stepped out of her panties and pants, my stomach rolled. I remembered all of it, every cutting remark, every little insult, every little pain she had inflicted on me.
She stepped forward, putting her hand on my belt buckle, pulling me forward, toward the table behind her.
"Come on, Paulie, like, if you, like, give me the house and junk, I'll totally let you fuck me hard and junk like we were like, still married and junk," She said in her best sexy voice. "Then, like, you..."
Without a sound I grabbed her throat. She made a startled, pained sound as I lifted her up, stepping forward. She cried out in pain when I slammed her back on the table and blood sprayed when she bit her tongue and then coughed. Her legs splayed open, revealing her crotch. I could tell from the matted hair that she had sex, and recently.
I reached behind me, finding what I had taken off the dash and modified right where I'd tucked it. I pulled it free, staring at her.
"Paulie, what?" She started before my hand wrapped around her throat. I squeezed and her eyes bulged.
I jammed the barrel of the .44 Automag into her crotch, hard, feeling the barrel tear her open. There was resistance for a moment, then the pistol sunk to the trigger guard and my fingers into her.
Gail shrieked, loudly.
"Her name was Hannah," I growled, stepping back.
The pistol was jammed to the grip into her crotch.
Gail was screaming, reaching down and clawing at the pistol as I turned around and walked toward the front door. The blood made a sticky sound as I slowly walked through it. The door handle was cold against my skin when I wrapped my hand around it. Gail had stopped screaming and was now gasping.
I opened the door when I heard Gail's voice.
"Paulie," Gail said, her voice full of fury.
I turned and looked at her. She was aiming the big .44 Automag at my face.
"When are you, like, going to learn, Paulie," she smiled, despite the blood streaming from between her thigh, "I, like, totally always get, like, what I totally want and junk."
She pulled the trigger.
The pistol went off. The hammer struck the primer, the primer went off, igniting the gunpowder, the pressure of the gunpowder gasses expanding pushing the big .44 slug into the barrel that was aimed at my face.
It hit the blockage I'd shoved into the barrel. The bullet stopped. With no way to push the bullet from the chamber, the gases exited the only way it could.
By exploding the hammer and the rear of the slide backwards.
Into Gail's face.
Which was reduced to raw bloody ruin by the shrapnel.
She choked and gagged, trying to scream through a ruined face and throat. She went down on her knees, the agony making her claw at her own flesh.
"Just leave me alone," I told her, stepping out into the dark and cold of the Kansas night.
I didn't shut the door.
I just walked into the snowy night, my hands in my pockets.
At least there were no monsters in the Kansas night.