Off Season - Jack Ketchum [65]
He drew the gun slowly down beside him, relying no further on chance. At any moment he half expected to see the man bolt in his direction, knife flashing. All at once he was miserably cold. The damp sea air seemed to creep up his spine and over his thighs. He felt his penis retracting, his skin tighten. And then a moment later the man was only a tall figure on the beach, walking the hard wet sand at the tideline, all the threat out of him; and Nick rose up into a crouch and scrambled through the grass and shrubs to the high ground at the base of the cliff and, invisible in the darkness, followed him.
4:15 A.M.
He keeps it in his pants, thought Marjie, right next to his cock. How fucking sick. She heard the soft snap as the blade of the knife slid into place and saw the long broad glint of steel. He walked over to the cage, looking up at them, grinning stupidly. I knew it, she thought. You had only to see the way he’d been watching the couple fucking on the floor. The couple were finished now. They sat together beside the cage, picking one another over for lice, squashing them with their fingers.
The boy lay to the left of her, his legs pulled up tight to his chest, his long dark hair hiding his face. Marjie could not even tell if he was awake. Laura saw the man approach them and moved closer to her side. Marjie slipped her arm around Laura’s waist, again a little surprised to find how strong and firm the flesh was, at the tightness of the skin over her rib cage. Nordic, she thought. Big-boned. Now there was a bad joke for you.
She watched the thin man wind the rope off the big metal cleat and then begin to lower it hand over hand, the knife held pirate fashion between his teeth. She was so struck by the incongruity of the weapon that she had to stifle a laugh that she knew was mostly hysteria. A boy-scout knife. It should be flint, she thought, or stone—not polished steel. The man had long, thin fingers. He stunk like a Bowery drunk. She felt her stomach turn in disgust.
He lowered the cage and she realized how strong the lean wiry body was. She noticed the tendons in his arms and neck. Laura was trembling now. The cage came to rest on the cave floor and the boy stirred a little. Marjie had never seen catatonia but she imagined that if this was not it, it was very close. The boy seemed to have reached a place where he had no nerves left at all. He was lucky in a way. She would envy him, she thought, just as soon as she was convinced that there was no hope anymore. If it came to that. She was not convinced quite yet. Not quite.
The man left them a moment and went to the fire, and she saw that the others, most of whom had settled down and seemed, from above, to be sleeping, were in fact wide awake and watching him intently. Did they never sleep? It was nearly morning, damn them. Only the big man by the fire had his eyes closed. There would be no hope of escape, of getting beyond him somehow and out of the cave, if they were still awake. She knew he’d open the cage door soon now. It was pretty obvious what he was after.
He returned from the fire with a torch in hand. He paused a moment, staring at them openmouthed and slack-jawed and empty-eyed, and then thrust the torch inside the cage, giggling like a little girl as they jumped away. He wiped his lips with the back of the hand that held the knife, and his eyes darted back and forth from one woman to the other. He did not even glance at the boy. I was right, then, thought Marjie. He’s picking himself a whore for the night. A whore or a victim. Or both.
She fixed her eyes on his with a pure effort of will and glared at him, trying to tough it out. I bet I’m pretty convincing, she thought. The contempt was there in gross. She thought that in over thirty years,