Where the River Ends - Charles Martin [86]
Limpy leaned in. “She flatter than you, Buf.” Their laughter bounced off the vaulted ceiling. Troll turned his head sideways like a dog. “Looks like two puckering buttholes.”
The three men had now multiplied to six, two of each of them. Another draft blew across the room, tugging at the fire and pulling more flame out that lit nearly the entire room. I lunged at the man over me, grabbed the shotgun and heard him click off the safety. I pulled, causing him to reflexively yank hard on the trigger. Two feet of flame shot out of the barrel as the percussion nearly burst my eardrum. The blast of number 8 birdshot cut through the house and ricocheted off the concrete floor. I turned toward Abbie just as the butt of the shotgun came down a second time on my left eye. I landed flat on the concrete in a puddle of something that smelled like oil and heard him jacking another shell in the chamber. My vision faded from black to blurry and back to black again. The fourth man was straddling me, pointing the barrel in my face, firelight reflecting off the whites of his eyes.
Coal Miner’s hands were walking up and down Abbie. Limpy leaned in, squinting, and put his hand on Troll’s shoulder. “Verl…” He pointed. “She ain’t right.”
Coal Miner sat back. “Wha’ you talking ’bout?”
“Look at her. She looks ’bout dead.”
Coal Miner adjusted his lamp, making him look like a Cyclops, and dropped his shorts. “She’s alive enough.”
Out of the corner of my right eye, I saw a bluish-reddish flash and then heard what sounded like the flip and flop of flip-flops. Half a second later, the shotgun man’s head snapped back, he grunted and fell across me, shoving my face down hard against the concrete and back into the oil.
The man who now stood above me wore red and blue Hawaiian shorts, flip-flops, no shirt and he was holding a jagged piece of a two-by-four. Limpy leapt to his feet, only to be immediately met in the head by the swinging end of the lumber. Bits and pieces of teeth flew out across the room and scattered across the concrete. Somewhere, a small, furry, snarling thing entered the picture. It jumped off the ground—its nails scratching the concrete—latched onto Coal Miner’s butt and hung there. Limpy hit the ground like a noodle, without so much as a grunt. Coal Miner had just gotten his pants below his butt, which was real hairy. I don’t think he was wearing any underwear. Troll bounced like a cat, grabbed Hawaiian man around the neck only to get hip-tossed across the room toward me. He landed against the wall and I whacked him in the head with the side of the revolver. He moaned and I hit him again. He lifted his head and I slammed it down a third time. He lay on the ground moaning but not moving. I pulled myself across the floor toward Abbie. Coal Miner turned just in time to see Mr. Hawaii coming toward him. Coal Miner’s lamp partially blinded Mr. Hawaii, but not the little snarling beast hanging on his butt. Pants still at his ankles, Coal Miner sack-jumped to one side and took three strides back, trying to shake loose the demon attached to his buttock. Coal Miner tripped and landed on the dog, momentarily shaking it loose, but when he stood it launched itself a second time off the concrete and latched firmly onto the man’s crotch. Coal Miner began screaming at the top of his high-pitched lungs.
Incredibly, Coal Miner made it to the door and disappeared outside. I saw the reflection of his lamp as he jumped off the porch, tripped and began rolling down the grassy lawn toward the river. Mr. Hawaii looked at me, smiled, then disappeared out the door in the direction of the lamp and the sound of the snarling. I couldn’t see out of my left eye, the world was spinning too fast and the edges were starting to tunnel inward. I crawled up next to Abbie as my own nausea came in waves. I lay across her, feeling her stomach rise and fall under mine. I forced my eyes open but I knew I didn’t have long. I crawled back to the shotgun, press-checked the chamber with my finger and returned to Abbie. I pulled