Off Season - Jack Ketchum [2]
She saw that the runners to her left had been joined by a new boy, a big boy moving fast. My God, she thought, what is he wearing? Some skin, some animal. Who in God’s name are these people? There were two more children to the right of her now. She could not tell if they were boys or girls. They moved easily through the tall grass. Stop playing with me, she thought, oh please stop. The big boy broke out ahead of her, darting directly into her path. So now she was surrounded. He glanced back over his shoulder and in the moonlight, she saw that his face was a solid mass of scabs and pimples.
The fear was cold and hollow inside her now. Their switches cut deep into her back and legs. There was nothing to do but keep running. There was only running, running and the sea.
She stared hard at the boy’s back, trying to focus, trying to keep up her strength and courage. Then suddenly he whirled and she saw the blur of his switch and all at once her face exploded with pain. Her nose was bleeding and her face felt raw from cheek to cheek. The taste of blood in her mouth. It was hard to breathe. She knew she would have to stop soon. She felt as if something were already dead inside her. She almost ran into the boy as he halted in front of her. Her eyes darted to the right and left of him, looking for a way out. She could not look at him. Not until she had to.
She saw something glint in the moonlight behind him. There it was. The sea. It made her feel terribly weary. There was nowhere left to go, no help at all. There were no houses. Only a sheer drop down the sudden granite cliffs into unknown depths of ocean. The fall alone would probably kill her. There was no hope, none. She stopped running and turned slowly to face the pursuers gathered around her.
For a moment they were only children again, and she stared bewildered at the tattered rags and sackcloth, at the incredibly filthy faces, at the eyes bright with the chase, and the small tight bodies, and she thought that this could not possibly be happening, that no children could be this way. That she was lost in a dream of blood and agony. Then she saw their bodies crouch and tense, the birch switches poise and rise again, the eyes narrow and the lips press tight together. She closed her eyes against them.
And then an instant later they were upon her. The foul claws tearing her clothing, the switches falling hard on her head and shoulders. She screamed. It only caused more laughter. She felt their drooling mouths press against her, and her flesh began to crawl with the feel of blood and saliva. She screamed again and felt a fear like none she had ever known well up and burst desperately against them. Suddenly she felt immense and strong compared to them, a huge wounded monster. She opened her eyes and struck out wildly, struck foreheads and mouths with her small fists and pushed hard against their vile, filthy bodies. For a moment she seemed to burst through them toward the big boy in front of her. Then they surged back at her again, and she pushed against them and whirled twice, spinning them off her, and then she was through, the way was clear, and the big boy saw her intent and stepped quickly out of her way.
There was never anything to consider, no time to think or fear. She had no options. She ran past the boy into the thin night air. And her leap drew her far away over the rockface and breathlessly down into the wild, churning waves, into immense and frigid darkness, and washed her blood in the cold salt sea.
1:15 A.M.
There wasn’t much in the small blue suitcase to interest them. Three cotton blouses, slightly soiled. A green pullover sweater. Otherwise only bras, panties, stockings, and a tweed skirt. In the front seat was a sweater that buttoned