THE GLORY BUS 1 страница

THE GLORY BUS

Richard Laymon

The right of Richard Laymon to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2012

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

eISBN: 978 0 7553 9181 3

HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

An Hachette UK Company

338 Euston Road

London NW1 3BH

www. headline. co. uk

www. hachette. co. uk

Contents

Title Page

About the Author

Also by Richard Laymon

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Chapter Forty-three

Chapter Forty-four

Chapter Forty-five

Chapter Forty-six

Chapter Forty-seven

Chapter Forty-eight

Chapter Forty-nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-one

Chapter Fifty-two

Chapter Fifty-three

Chapter Fifty-four

Chapter Fifty-five

Richard Laymon wrote over thirty novels and seventy short stories. In May 2001, The Travelling Vampire Show won the Bram Stoker Award for Best Horror Novel, a prize for which Laymon had previously been shortlisted with Flesh, Funland, A Good, Secret Place (Best Anthology) and A Writer’s Tale (Best Non-fiction). Laymon’s works include the books of the Beast House Chronicles: The Celler, The Beast House and The Midnight Tour. Some of his recent novels have been Night in the Lonesome October, No Sanctuary and Amara.

A native of Chicago, Laymon attended Willamette University in Salem, Oregon, and too an MA in English Literature from Loyola University, Los Angeles. In 2000, he was elected President of the Horror Writers’ Association. He died in February 2001.

Laymon’s fiction is published in the United Kingdom by Headline, and in the United States by Leisure Books and Cemetery Dance Publications.

Praise for Richard Laymon:

‘This author knows how to sock it to the reader’ The Times

‘A brilliant writer’ Sunday Express

‘No one writes like Laymon and you’re going to have a good time with anything he writes’ Dean Koontz

‘In Laymon’s books, blood doesn’t so much as drip as explode, splatter and coagulate’ Independent

‘Stephen King without a conscience’ Dan Marlowe

‘Incapable of writing a disappointing book’ New York Review of Science Fiction

‘A gut-crunching writer’ Time Out

‘This is an author that does not pull his punches…A gripping, and at times genuinely shocking, read’ SFX Magazine

Also by Richard Laymon and published by Headline

The Beast House Trilogy:

The Cellar

The Beast House

The Midnight Tour

Beware!

Dark Mountain

The Woods are Dark

Out are the Lights

Night Show

Allhallow’s Eve

Flesh

Resurrection Dreams

Alarums

Blood Games

Endless Night

Midnight’s Lair*

Savage

In The Dark

Island

Quake

Body Rides

Bite

Fiends

After Midnight

Among the Missing

Come Out Tonight

The Travelling Vampire Show

Dreadful Tales

Night in the Lonesome October

No Sanctuary

Amara

The Lake

The Glory Bus

Funland

The Stake

*previously published under the pseudonym of Richard Kelly

Chapter One

‘You were it. Do you know what I mean? There was never anyone else, not for me. Do you know when it was, the first time I ever saw you? Sally Harken’s thirteenth-birthday party. I hardly even knew Sally, since we didn’t go to the same school. The only reason I got invited to her party, my mom and dad were friends with Sally’s parents. I didn’t want to go, can you believe that? They had to make me go.

‘And then you walked in. I’ll never forget it. You had bangs that hung down almost to your eyes, and those blue eyes shining out, and those white teeth. You wore a white blouse. It had short sleeves but you had them rolled way up high on your arms. And you had the cuffs of your shorts rolled up, too. The shorts were blue denim, and looked brand new. The legs must’ve been too long to suit you, so you turned them up. It was like you were all cuffs. Cuffs and smooth, tan skin.

‘Speaking of cuffs, how are you doing? ’

Pamela, sitting in the passenger seat with her cuffed hands resting on her lap, stared out the window and didn’t answer.

‘Are they too tight? ’

They were too tight. The sharp edges of the bracelets dug into her wrists, and her fingers tingled. But Pam didn’t want Rodney to fool with them. ‘They’re fine, ’ she said. She wanted him to leave her alone.

‘You sure? ’

‘Yes. ’

‘Anyway, that’s when I fell in love with you. We were thirteen, and you walked into Sally’s party and. . . It hurt me to look at you, you were so cute and beautiful and. . . you had a freshness, an innocence, something like that. And you also had that twinkle in your eyes. A kind of glint. You’ve still got that. Not at the moment, of course. But it’ll come back. Once you get used to things, it’ll come back.

‘Of course, you lost most of that freshness I was talking about. It’s a shame. Everyone loses it, though. Maybe it goes when you start in with sex. Or maybe it’s when some special sort of dream dies in you. Who knows? You kept it longer than most girls. You still had it in your junior y

ear. Your first year as a varsity cheerleader. Oh God, the way you used to look. . . that pleated skirt, that sweater. When you jumped, the sweater would come up just an inch or two above the top of your skirt, so there’d be a little strip of bare skin showing. I used to watch you at the games, and want to kiss you there. I knew just how it would feel, and how it would smell.

‘Anyway, that freshness thing was gone when we started our senior year. Even without it, you were. . . wonderful. But a different kind of wonderful. Not so much like an innocent, eager kid, more like a woman. And you sure hadn’t lost that sparkle in your eyes. It’s sort of as if, everywhere you look, you’re seeing things that amaze you. And like maybe you’re hoping to throw in a quip.

‘Of course, too, you just got more and more beautiful. I couldn’t believe it when I saw your picture in the newspaper. The picture sure didn’t do you justice, but it about tore me apart. To look at your face again, after so many years. I thought to myself what a fool I’d been, depriving myself of you, making do with a string of gals that were nothing but lousy imitations of the one and only you I longed for in my heart. They were available, that’s all they had going for them. They hadn’t gone off to some damn college halfway across the country, like some people I could name. So I just had to make do with them. I tried to make them look like you. Silly, huh? I made them wear a wig that looked like how you wore your hair. I dressed them up like you, too. And I called them Pamela. Sometimes, when I tried really hard, I could sort of trick myself into thinking they were you. It wasn’t an easy trick, though. Mostly, I was just disgusted by myself. You know? That I’d let myself get so obsessed with you and couldn’t let it go and had to trick myself with a bunch of crummy substitutes.

‘So when I saw your picture in the paper, it was like a sign that I oughta quit all that and go after the real thing. So that’s just what I did.

‘Bet you must be wondering what took me so long. They ran that picture six months ago, didn’t they? And it gave your husband’s name, and even the address of the newlyweds’ home. So why did it take me six months to show up and claim you? Is that what you’re wondering? ’

‘I’m wondering what you did to those girls. ’

‘Oh, mostly the same as what I plan to do to you. Except for one difference, which is that I’m going to keep you. I’ve bought us a house. It’s a fine little place where nobody’ll ever bother us. It’ll be our home. We’ll have a wonderful time. ’

‘Did you kill them? ’ Pamela asked.

He smiled. ‘I put them out of their misery. ’

‘Oh, God. ’

‘I guess one might say it’s your fault. All those girls and that husband of yours, all of them died because you went on your merry way just as if old lardass Rodney Pinkham was a nobody. Should’ve paid me more attention, maybe. Should’ve maybe dated me. ’

‘Dated you? You never even asked! ’

‘You would’ve laughed in my face. ’

‘I’ve never laughed in anyone’s face! ’

‘Bet you called me Piggy behind my back. ’

‘I didn’t. ’

‘They all did. ’

‘I never heard anybody call you Piggy behind your back. ’

‘Liar. ’

‘If you wanted to go out with me so badly, why didn’t you just ask! ’

‘Told you why. ’

‘I might’ve gone out with you. You didn’t have to kill people. My God. . . how many were there? ’

‘Including your husband? Oh, sixteen. ’

It numbed Pamela’s mind. Fifteen girls had died because of this man’s obsession with her?

Not just Jim.

She’d thought it couldn’t get any worse than last night. It can always get worse, she realized.

‘It’s not all that many, fifteen, ’ Rodney explained. ‘I mean, it sounds like a lot when you just blurt it out like that. But what you’ve gotta remember, it went on for five years. That only averages out to three a year. That’s not so many. Would’ve been plenty more, except you went and got yourself married and they ran your picture in the paper. Now that I’ve got you, the rest of it’s gonna stop. I mean, why would I want them when I’ve got you? You’re all I ever wanted. ’

He turned his head and smiled at Pamela. It was the way he had smiled ever since she’d known him: an odd, quick lift of the upper lip that showed not only his front teeth but the gums above them. The crevices between his teeth always used to be packed with crud from old meals, and all the snacking in between.

Which was one of the reasons why everyone had called him Piggy. They’d called him Piggy not only because of his obesity, but also because of his tiny eyes and his filth and body odor and the remains of food decorating his clothes and teeth.

Pamela had always figured that the nickname was an insult to swine everywhere. She preferred to call the creep Rotney because everything about him seemed rotten, repulsive. Hoglike. Among her friends she’d said terrible things about him. She had always been kind to him, though.

Maybe that had been a mistake. Not hurrying away whenever he approached, the way most kids used to do. Smiling at him. Talking to him. Treating him like a human being, even though his disgusting appearance and sour smell had sometimes made her eyes water. A couple of times, she had actually gagged in the middle of chats with him. Wanting to spare his feelings, she’d claimed it must’ve been something she ate.

Maybe she should have avoided him, laughed at him, called him Piggy or Rotney to his face. If she’d been really bad to him, maybe none of this would’ve happened.

All those girls. . . Jim.

Went away Jim, came back Rodney.

That’s how it had seemed, anyway.

The room had been dark last night except for the light from the television. Pamela was in bed, propped up with pillows, watching the tail end of the eleven o’clock news and waiting for Dave to start. Jim had gone off to the bathroom. He seemed to be taking longer than usual. Pamela hoped he was shaving. He usually shaved before bed if he planned to fool around. The VCR was already set, so they would be able to watch the tape if they missed some of Dave’s show.

When she heard Jim’s footsteps outside the room, she drew the top sheet up to cover her bare shoulders. She wanted it to be a surprise that she had dispensed with her nightshirt. Jim walked into the bedroom. He was wearing his paisley bathrobe, the same robe that he’d been wearing ten minutes ago, but he had grown. He looked as if he’d somehow swollen up – grown taller, spread out until he was so fat that his robe wouldn’t shut all the way. The front of his belly bulged through the gap and looked like uncooked bread dough. Only for an instant did Pamela’s mind stumble with confusion about the sudden change in her husband.

Then she realized that the man in Jim’s robe wasn’t Jim. He reached toward a light switch.

The bedside lamps came on and made the room bright. Pamela recognized the man in Jim’s robe. She hadn’t seen him in five years, not since her high-school graduation, but he hadn’t changed very much. His smile was exactly the same – a lift of the upper lip. Same piggy eyes. He raised his arms and spread them wide. ‘My dear! Have you missed me? ’

Pamela could hardly breathe. She felt as if a mallet was pounding her heart. She wanted to call out for Jim.

But Jim had to be dead, didn’t he? Dead.

Rodney took a step toward her.

She whipped the sheet away, flung herself over, squirmed across Jim’s side of the bed and reached down for the night-stand drawer. She grabbed its handle. Jerked it open. Drove her hand down inside the drawer toward the Sig-Sauer. 380 that Jim kept there for emergencies.

Before she could touch the pistol, Rodney kicked the drawer shut. It slammed on her forearm. As Pamela cried out, her arm was grabbed and jerked away from the drawer. Rodney shoved it up high on her back, driving her face into Jim’s pillow. Then he climbed onto her.

The weight of his body mashed her against the mattress. The robe must’ve come wide open. She could feel his bare, grea

sy skin all down her back and rump and legs. With her face in the pillow and his massive weight on her back, she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t scream. She could hardly move. She fought to suck air into her lungs, but failed. This is it, she thought. Oh Jesus, I’m gonna die.

When Pamela woke up, she was surprised to find herself alive. And spent the next several hours wishing that she were dead. Rodney finally dragged her out of the bedroom. In the bathroom he showed her Jim’s body. Then she watched him set the house on fire. She remembered being carried outside in Rodney’s arms, but nothing after that.

She came awake in the passenger seat of his car. The sun was low and shining in her eyes. Her hands rested on her lap, shackled together with handcuffs as if she’d been arrested by the police. She ached almost everywhere. In some places, she felt raw pain. Rodney must’ve dressed her. She couldn’t remember it, though. It seemed as if she’d still been naked on her way out of the house.

She was wearing a green pleated skirt. It was very short. It reached only halfway down her thighs, and she could feel the upholstery of the car seat against her bare rump. She was also wearing a gold pullover sweater. It had a crew neck and long sleeves. The wool felt heavy and hot. It was scratchy against her skin. All the outfit really needed was a big green-felt ‘J’ sewn to the chest of the sweater, and it would be a pretty fair replica of the varsity cheerleader costume that she’d worn at Jackson High. Rodney seemed unaware that she’d awakened, so she closed her eyes again and pretended to sleep. She thought about what had happened last night.

Jim was dead.

At twenty-three, Pamela was a widow. She’d been beaten savagely and half suffocated. In his grunting, hog-man voice Rodney promised to do so many things to her. He mentioned some of them. With gloating relish. Dirty fucking pervert!

What if I just throw myself out of the car? Probably bust my head open, but that might be better than going on. At least it’ll be over and done with. In some ways, the idea appealed to her. But she knew that she wouldn’t hurl herself out of the car – not while it was speeding along at sixty. Not gonna kill myself. No way, no how. I’m gonna live through this.

Right. That’s what they all think.

Pamela had no confidence that she could live through this. But she knew that she would try. She would be patient and wait for just the right time to save herself. And so she sat motionless, head down, eyes shut, cuffed hands resting on her lap. For a long time, Rodney drove along in silence. Maybe he thought she was sleeping. Maybe he was preoccupied with plans or fantasies.

When he finally started to talk, the words came out in a heavy rush that seemed to have no end.

‘You were it. Do you know what I mean? There was never anyone else, not for me. ’

Then he fell silent, and she wondered: When he stops the car – what’s he going to do to me?

Chapter Two

‘Now that I’ve got you, the rest is gonna stop. I mean, why would I want them when I’ve got you? You’re all I ever wanted. ’ Rodney turned his head and smiled at Pamela.

She turned her face away from him. She stared out the window. All she could see beyond the edge of the road was desert. Not a desert of sand, but of hard gray ground that looked like a mixture of dry mud and gravel. She knew the brush was mesquite. The stubby trees were yuccas. Some of the cacti were prickly pear, cholla, and saguaro. The saguaros looked like giant men with their arms raised in surrender. But she didn’t see any men out there. The only animals in sight were a few hawks or buzzards floating across the sky on outstretched wings. Except for the road, the area seemed to be a wasteland. There was bound to be civilization ahead, though. At the very least, a service station. Rodney hadn’t stopped for gas yet, so he would have to get a fill-up soon.

I’ll make my break when he stops for gas, Pamela thought. She wondered if he had a gun. He might’ve taken Jim’s pistol out of the drawer. He might’ve had a gun of his own, last night, when he broke into the house.

For all she knew, he might be armed to the teeth.

She hadn’t seen any guns on him, but that didn’t mean much. The little. 380 could fit in a pocket of his pants.

I don’t want anybody getting killed. But I can’t let him take me to his hideout, she told herself. Have to make my getaway before that. What if his next stop is the hideout? Maybe he found a place that he could reach on a single tank of gas. Or maybe he has a couple of jerry cans stowed in his trunk.

Pamela suddenly found herself peering past Rodney at the gas gauge. The red needle pointed to E. She felt a lurch of fear. Take it easy, she told herself. My angle makes it look worse than it is. It’s not really on empty yet. We’ve probably got twenty or thirty miles to go. We could be in a city by then. And if we do run out of gas here in the middle of nowhere it might give me a chance to get away.

‘Am I going too fast for you? ’ Rodney asked.

Apparently he thought that she was staring at the speedometer. ‘I’m worried about the gas, ’ she said.

‘We’re fine. ’

‘Will there be a gas station pretty soon? ’

‘Nope. Nothing between us and home. ’

Home. Coming from him, the word made her feel sick. ‘Will we have enough gas to reach it? ’ she asked. ‘Our home? ’

‘Sure. We oughta be coming up on the turn-off in another fifteen miles, and then it’s only twelve to go. ’

‘That’s almost thirty miles. ’

‘Twenty-seven. ’ Rodney looked at her and raised his upper lip. ‘We might have to go the last bit on fumes. Maybe even on foot. It won’t matter, though, long as we make it to the turn-off. We can always walk from there, if we have to. Nobody’ll come along and bother us. It’s just an old dirt road that doesn’t go anywhere. It goes to our house, and noplace else. ’

‘What about a gas station? ’ Pamela asked.

‘We don’t need one, like I told you. ’

‘I do. I have to use a restroom. ’

Rodney looked very interested. ‘Number one or number two? ’

‘Number one. ’

‘Ahhh. You don’t need a restroom for that. ’

‘Where am I supposed to go? ’

‘Anywhere you like. Except the car. ’

‘Then you’d better pull over. ’

‘Wait till we get to the dirt road. ’

‘I can’t. ’

‘Sure you can. ’

‘I’m telling you. I have to go now. ’ She saw him glance at the rearview mirror. Apparently the road behind them was as empty as the road ahead. Rodney stepped on the brakes. As his car slowed down, he steered to the right. The tires bumped down off the pavement. The ride became bumpy, and the tires made crunching sounds on the rough surface of the shoulder.

After a few seconds, the car stopped.

‘Don’t move, ’ Rodney said. He shut off the engine, pulled out the ignition key, and swung his door open. Hot, dry air swept into the car. He climbed out. His door thunked shut. Pamela watched him walk toward the front of the car.

In spite of the heat, she felt loose and shivery inside.

I’d better just pee and let it go at that, she told herself. I don’t have to do anything crazy.

If I don’t do something crazy, he’ll have me. He’ll get me to his place and that’ll be it.

As Rodney walked past the front of the car, he watched Pamela through the windshield. He had an eagerness in his tiny pig eyes. Sweat glistened on his nose.

He’s planning to watch.

He turned and came toward her door. Reaching into the left front pocket of his pants, he pulled out a small black pistol. The Sig-Sauer. He’d taken it, after all. He opened the passenger door.

‘What’re you gonna do, shoot me? ’

‘That’ll be up to you. ’

‘I won’t try anything. ’

‘Hope not. ’

‘Will you take the cuffs off? ’

‘What do you think? ’

‘Please? ’

‘You must think I’m pretty stupid. ’

‘What are you scared of? What could I possibly do to you? My God, you’re twice my size. And you’ve got the gun. So just take the cuffs off me, okay? ’

‘No-kay. Come on, out. ’

Pamela scooted to the edge of her seat. Rodney was staring at her legs. Keeping them together, she turned sideways and swung them out the doorway. She used her cuffed hands to stop her skirt from climbing too high when she squirmed forward.

Rodney laughed. ‘Who you trying to hide it from? ’

Ignoring him, she stretched her legs down. She couldn’t quite touch the ground, so she scooted off and dropped the rest of the way. The ground felt rough and hot under her bare feet. She stood up straight in the V of the open door.

The heat of the desert sun was so great that Pamela felt as if she were standing in the midst of a fire – a blaze that seemed only moments away from igniting the hair on her head, the shoulders of her sweater. Her body suddenly ran with dribbles and trickles of sweat as if her skin were melting.

‘My God, ’ she muttered.

‘Soon as you’re done with business, ’ Rodney said, ‘we’ll climb back into the car and be on our merry way. In air-conditioned comfort, such as it is. ’

‘Better than this. ’

‘You’re the one who wants to pee. ’

She hobbled clear of the open door. Rodney threw it shut. Squinting against the afternoon brightness, she looked for a place beyond the roadside where she might have some privacy.

None of the nearby cactus plants were high enough. There was a good-sized organ-pipe cactus, but it was at least a hundred feet away. She’d destroy her feet, going that far.

This isn’t about peeing, she reminded herself. It’s about escaping. If I can get to that organ pipe, I’ll have that much of a head start.

Unless he comes with me.

She squinted at Rodney. He was grinning at her, enjoying her discomfort. ‘Could I borrow your shoes? ’ she asked.

‘What do you want shoes for? ’

‘So I don’t kill my feet. I want to go over there. ’ Pamela pointed at the cactus. It was tall and green. It looked like a saguaro,

but it had no arms.

‘What do you wanta go over there for? ’

‘To relieve myself. ’

‘Forget it. Do it here. ’

She shook her head.

‘Do it. ’

‘No. Somebody might come along. ’

‘Think so? ’

She swiveled her head from side to side. Nothing was approaching from either direction. But the highway had dips and bends. ‘What if I start to go, and a car comes? ’

‘Isn’t gonna happen. And so what if it does? They get a free peek, so what? If they stop and try to mess with us, I’ll blow their heads off. ’

Facing him, Pamela stiffened her back. ‘I’m not going to do it here. Just let me go over to that cactus. I can get behind it and nobody’ll be able to see what I’m doing. ’

‘What a kick. You care? After last night? ’

‘Yeah, I care. ’

‘Okay, okay. What the hell, why not? Anything for my honey. ’

‘How about shoes? ’

He coughed out a laugh. ‘Anything but that. ’

‘Just let me borrow your shoes for two minutes, okay? ’

‘What am I supposed to wear? ’

‘You can sit in the car. ’

‘What’s this, Fantasy Land? I’m going with you. ’

Of course he is, she thought. What did you think, he’d give up his chance to watch?

‘Go on, ’ Rodney said. ‘I’m right behind you. ’

Pamela started walking toward the cactus. She moved slowly, picking her way with care to avoid stepping on any of the shiny bits of broken glass that littered the roadside, then keeping her distance from the prickly pears and cholla. In spite of her care, bits of rock jabbed the bottoms of her feet. She winced when they stabbed her. She kept her teeth gritted. Sometimes, the scorching heat of the ground made her hiss. But she kept on walking all the way to the organ-pipe cactus.

She stepped behind it.

Rodney halted beside her. ‘Did you notice? ’ he asked. ‘Nothing came by. ’

‘Really, ’ she muttered. She didn’t care.

‘Could’ve saved yourself all that hurt. ’

Pamela looked back at the road. It still appeared to be empty in both directions. The only car was Rodney’s. It sat there, hunched in the sunlight, like some species of metal beast. A beast with a foul, rancid soul. Just biding its time, waiting for them to come back so that it could bear them away to Rodney’s den.

I’m not getting back in.

‘Come on and do it, ’ Rodney said.

‘Not with you watching. ’

His lip slid up. ‘Get outta here. You forgetting about last night? I saw all your iddy-biddy bits and pieces. ’

‘That was last night, this is today. ’

‘Lift your skirt and squat, honey. ’

Squinting into his eyes, she slowly shook her head from side to side.

Rodney laughed softly. Then he pressed the muzzle of the pistol against the bridge of her nose. The feel of it made her eyes ache as if she had crossed them.

‘Do you want to die? ’ he whispered.

‘No. ’

‘Do you want me to hurt you so bad that you’ll wish you were dead? ’

‘No. ’

‘Good. ’ Rodney took two steps backward. Keeping the pistol aimed at her face, he sank to a crouch. ‘How about doing me a cheer? ’ he said.

‘A what? ’

‘I was gonna wait till we got home, but I wanta see you do one now. ’

‘A cheer? ’

‘A good one. Pretend it’s a night game at good old Jackson High, it’s fourth down and goal to go, and our guys just gotta make it. ’

‘My feet. ’

‘You’re the one who had to make us stop. You’re the one who had to walk all the way out here barefoot so you could have the privacy of a cactus. You wreck up your feet, whose fault is it? ’

‘I can’t do a cheer with my hands cuffed. ’

‘Sure you can. ’

‘Not a good one. You want me to jump, don’t you? You want me to make my skirt and sweater fly up. That’s the idea, isn’t it? Well, I can’t really make them fly unless my arms are free. ’

Rodney’s tiny eyes stared at her. ‘The only problem, ’ he said, ‘is you’ll try to run away if I take off the cuffs. ’

‘No, I won’t. ’

‘Yes, you will. I’m not an idiot. Do I look like an idiot? ’

‘Where would I run to? We’re out in the middle of nowhere. ’

‘You might run to the car. ’

‘You’ve got the gun. ’

‘That’s very true. ’ His eyes narrowed to pink slits. ‘Have you ever been shot? ’

‘No. ’

‘It hurts. If you make me shoot you, it’ll hurt a lot. Because I won’t kill you. I’m not going to ruin it all and kill you, no matter what you do. But I’ll shoot you just enough to stop you so you can’t get away. And it’ll hurt. And that’ll only be the start of the pain for you, because I don’t like traitors. ’

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