THE GLORY BUS 20 страница

Even so, those sharp stones made themselves felt as she ran.

But where am I going? she thought, dazed. I’m running away from the cafe. I should be running toward it. Might be some would-be customers. One might have a cellphone, or they can drive me to the nearest town so I can tell the cops.

Tell the cops what?

When they come to investigate the Duke Gang’s armed takeover of Pits they’ll also find that we’ve been killing and eating people.

Go figure.

Pamela’s eyes were by now more accustomed to the sun’s midday glare. Even so, the yellow rocks reflected a hell of a lot of rays. She had to squint to see.

Above her, the burning blue of the desert sky. In front of her, the ground rose up into rocky hills. These were sliced by brutal ravines. She saw the ruins of mine buildings. Rusty hunks of machines littered this side of the hill. There were the remains of iron rails, complete with a corroded ore hopper or two.

She could also see that she was being chased.

Norman had raced after her. She made out the golden gleam of the automatic in his hand.

Chasing her. Just like Rodney.

Only he hadn’t fired yet, thank God.

As Pamela climbed the boulder-strewn hillside she glanced back. Norman must have been nearly a quarter of a mile away. He weaved between clumps of cacti. She’d gotten a good start. Was he gaining on her? She couldn’t tell.

Could she hide?

No tree cover. No intact buildings.

Only rocks, sand, skeletal ruins. Not many options when it came to concealment.

Press on, she told herself. You might find somewhere in the hills.

So Pamela pressed on. She could almost see herself from a vulture’s point of view. A young woman with blonde hair. Dressed in the uniform of a Pits cafe waitress: knit sweater, bright red shorts, dinky apron, white sneakers. Still had her order book in the apron pocket.

Could do with a Luger. Or a machine gun. Then I could blow Norman away.

She huffed for air. Sweat ran in a salt river between her breasts. The sun burned the back of her head. She dodged a cluster of prickly pear. Then pushed for speed again: chin tucked down to her collar bones, back hunched, arms pumping, feet splashing dust.

‘Pamela! ’

Norman sees me all right, she told herself. I must still be out of range, otherwise he’d have tried for a lucky shot. . .

Pamela considered a change of direction. Making a run back to the cafe. Or even the highway in the hope that a passerby would pick her up. Whisk her to safety. Maybe even Sharpe again in his bus.

But to double back would take her too close to Norman.

Gotta keep running away from him. That means running in the opposite direction to the cafe, too.

‘C’mon, Pamela, ’ she panted. ‘You need a plan. You can’t run all the way. . . way to Vegas. ’

She was slowing. She knew it. Heat, exhaustion, running uphill. All conspired against her. Norman would catch up with her soon.

Or close the gap enough for him to fire a round or two off at her.

Pamela slowed her pace to a lope. Still she had to dodge cacti and mesquite. Only she knew she had to pump oxygen into her brain. Gotta do some thinking.

A plan. Need a plan.

What to do, Pamela?

Stop here? Fight him? Brain him with a piece of old iron from the mining equipment?

Iron bar versus automatic pistol? Think harder, Pamela.

Now she was almost walking. A stitch penetrated her side. Ahead, the hill split in two.

Can’t keep climbing. Gotta take the easier route.

Pamela entered the V-shaped depression in the hillside. She soon realized that she was entering a small canyon. The ground beneath her began to run downhill. Still a lot of loose rubble underfoot. Sun beat at her from the canyon sides. But a little easier to make progress.

If she couldn’t outrun Norman this might give her more time to consider a plan.

C’mon, Pamela, think. . . think! What are you going to do to save your life?

Chapter Forty-seven

Norman was no athlete. But on the upside he was young. At college he jogged (mainly so that he could watch the female joggers jiggle pleasingly round the track).

Also, he had incentives.

Duke had given him permission to bone Pamela. His reward for catching her.

Course, there’s a downside, too. Duke will beat seven yards of crap outta me if I don’t catch her.

And if I don’t catch her she’ll call the cops.

I’m a cop-killer. Therefore the conclusion isn’t hard to make.

I fry in the electric chair.

All that was enough to keep Norman running as hard as he could. Which wasn’t that fast when it came to marathon st

andards. But not so terrible, either. He reckoned he was gaining on Pamela as he dodged cacti with their sharp spines or jumped over boulders. He even at one point sidestepped a snake that had red bands running along its body.

The gold Glock automatic in his hand grew a mite too heavy from time to time, so he’d pause to change hands.

Ahead, Pamela was running up the slope of the barren hill. Norman saw the flicker of her long, bare legs. Saw the sway of her butt clad in bright red shorts.

He wondered about claiming his prize.

Take her there and then on the hot ground? Or escort her down to the trailer where he could enjoy the comfort of a soft mattress?

Hell, she’ll be my mattress.

Norman even began to wonder about afterwards. If he pleasured her sweetly enough there might be a bond. Pamela might fall in love with him.

It’d be a shame to hand her over to Duke.

He paused for a second to wipe sweat from his eyes. Glancing back, he saw the lone house on the hill, the cemetery with its long-dead gunslingers and monkeys. Beyond that was the cafe beside the deserted highway.

Still quiet.

Quiet as a grave.

Norman pushed himself hard to run across the slabs of rock and past discarded mining machinery. At one point he had to leap over the skeleton of a mule. Perhaps three hundred yards ahead of him he glimpsed Pamela. The sight of her slim-waisted figure sent a fire running through his veins.

Man, was she beautiful.

Desirable.

He couldn’t wait for that slippery moment of entry.

Squinting against the sun’s fierce glare, he saw her hair fly out as she turned her head swiftly to look back at him. He couldn’t see her face so he couldn’t tell if she wore an expression of fear.

But being chased by a horny guy with a gun, how would you feel?

Feel shit-yer-pants-full scared, that’s how you’d feel.

Norman grinned. This was a rare feeling of power, of being in control. He realized that he was enjoying himself. He even called out Pamela’s name a couple of times. Never expected her to stop, but that was part of the chase game, wasn’t it?

Let the victim know that you’re hot on their trail.

He upped the pace. Now it was hot perspiration on his face that dried the second it beaded from his skin. Only his shirt became damp and itchy from sweat.

Once he’d tamed Pamela he’d put her to good use soaping his back in the shower. That would feel good.

Norman circled a patch of prickly bushes. Now he could see that a section of the hill ran into a gully. Pamela was headed along it.

She can’t run forever, can she? I’m going to catch her soon. And then?

Chapter Forty-eight

Questions Pamela asked herself – whether her stamina would hold out, or whether she’d suddenly find she’d happened upon the main route to Las Vegas, crowded with vacation traffic – were suddenly answered for her.

‘Damn. ’

She gazed up at the rock face in front of her. The canyon had ended as suddenly as if someone had built a fifty-foot wall in front of her. Pamela looked left. Looked right. Looked forward. Sheer cliffs.

Only one way out.

That’s back.

Back the way I came.

Right into the arms – and firearm – of Norman.

But Norman is no Rodney Pinkham. He looked like a college boy from a good family. He spoke politely. He didn’t act like bad-boy Duke. And he certainly didn’t seem a psycho like Rodney.

But who can tell a psychopath from a friendly, well-mannered guy? There’s no knowing who’s nice and who’s a killer.

‘Pamela! ’

She looked back along the canyon. It was perhaps a hundred feet wide. Flat at the bottom and covered with a loose scree. Almost like the dried-out bed of a river.

‘Pamela! ’

The sun had passed its zenith now. A strip of deep shadow ran along the right-hand side of the canyon floor. She could still see Norman.

He had gained on her.

Now he was a hundred yards away.

‘Pamela! ’ His voice echoed along the canyon walls.

Oh, God. She saw the glint of the gun, too. A gold brilliance.

After being nearly killed by Rodney she couldn’t just stand there and wait for Norman to stroll up and shoot her.

‘Pamela. There’s nowhere to run. ’

He didn’t even seem to shout now. The narrow gap between the horizontal planes of rock amplified his voice. They channeled it to her as well. Lending it an eerie quality.

‘So here you are, Pamela, ’ she hissed to herself. ‘Caught like a rat in a trap. So. . . what ya gonna do? Stand and fight? Or walk toward him? Beg for mercy? Offer anything he wants? ’ She gulped. A tear came to her eye.

And when she wished for someone to save her it wasn’t the man she once believed had loved her – her dead husband, Jim – it was Sharpe. Guardian angel of the freeway. Driver of the gray bus of salvation. The tear rolled down her cheek.

‘Pamela. ’

Norman was now maybe eighty yards away. He stepped over knee-high boulders. Sometimes he’d vanish into shadow then re-emerge closer.

Shockingly closer.

‘No, ’ Pamela hissed. ‘I’m not giving up! ’

Her eyes scanning the rock face, she searched for something – anything! A cave. A niche to hide herself. A secret passageway.

The sunlit cliffs were featureless. Very nearly as smooth as a man-made wall.

Only now she took a closer look at the cliff that lay beneath a veil of dark shadow. Ah ha. This was different. More exposed to the west wind. She saw that the yellow rock had been weathered. There were fissures, hollows, recesses and protrusions. Not big ones.

But, God willing, big enough.

‘Pamela! ’

Closing out the voice, she ran across the stones that shifted beneath her feet. She stumbled. Almost fell. But sheer willpower kept her balance. Seconds later she reached the rock face.

Good-bye, fingernails. Hello, grazed knees. But needs must.

Pamela began to climb the vertical rock.

‘Pamela. You’re wasting your time. ’

She didn’t care. She climbed. A born-again rock monkey. Driven to scale a vertical wall of stone because her survival depended on it. Her eyes scanned the rock, locating hand-holds. Some were more like burrows in the cliff.

Pray God that there are no snakes in them.

Pamela’s fingers probed hidden spaces. She expected the needle-sharp sting of fangs in the back of her hand at any moment. But her luck held. No snakes, no scorpions. Steadily she worked upward. Her back ached. She panted. Her fingertips were sore. One finger bled from the nail. Not a bite; just relentless wear and tear.

‘Pamela. Don’t risk it. You’ll fall. ’

‘No, I won’t. ’

She glanced down. Thirty feet or more to the canyon floor. As she began to climb again she glimpsed Norman. He was perhaps forty yards away now. Close enough to fire on her.

Gritting her teeth against pain, gravity, exertion, Pamela drove herself higher. Still a helluva way to the top. She’d never make it before Norman reached the bottom of the cliff.

She glanced to her right. Almost level with her there was a protruding lip of rock. It formed a ledge a good five feet wide. Ten feet long. It didn’t go anywhere. It was covered in boulders and loose stones that had dropped from above due to erosion over the years.

It had one thing she prized, though.

Sanctuary!

Not risking another look to see where her pursuer was (though she could hear his feet clattering over stones – he must have been close), Pamela shuffled sideways across the cliff face. Her body ached. Her muscles felt as though they were on fire. She’d grazed her chin because she’d hugged the vertical surface so closely. Fifteen seconds of shuffling like a human fly brought her to the lip of rock. Almost recklessly she flipped sideways so that she could grip the ledge with her hands, while her fe

et were still wedged in a crevice on the rock face.

It was awkward. Her torso was twisted. Elbows locked straight, she took her body weight on the palms of her hands that were flat down against the horizontal surface of the ledge. Then, like someone climbing out of a swimming pool without using the steps, she hauled her body onto the platform of rock. A moment later she lay panting on a mattress of jagged stones.

As mattresses went it was uncomfortable. But right at that moment an exhausted Pamela thought it was the most beautiful place on the planet to rest.

A voice wailed from below. ‘Pamela. There’s no way out of here. Come on down. ’

‘Get lost. ’

‘I won’t hurt you. ’

‘Yeah, like I believe that, Norman. ’

She realized that her legs from the knees down still hung out over the edge of the ledge. A bullet in her shin wouldn’t help matters so she wriggled forward. The dust that she raised made her sneeze. But when she glanced back she saw her entire body was laid flat on the rock.

Not even a heavy-duty handgun like the gold one Norman hefted could punch a slug through three feet of sandstone.

‘Pamela, ’ Norman called. ‘There’s nowhere to go from there. ’

‘I’m not coming down. ’

‘Aw, don’t be like that. Climb down here. We can talk. ’

Pamela worked herself into a sitting position with her back to the cliff. She didn’t risk glancing over the edge just in case Norman shot her in the head.

‘Please, Pamela. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world. Believe me. ’

She called back. ‘If you don’t want to hurt me, prove it. Go back down to the cafe. ’

‘What? And leave you here? ’

‘Yes. ’

‘You’ll call the cops. ’

‘How? The nearest telephone must be fifty miles away! ’

‘You might have a cellphone. ’

‘They don’t work out here. ’

‘Pamela, ’ he pleaded.

‘Go away, then I’ll come down. ’

‘You know I can’t do that. ’

‘Why not? ’

‘Orders. You saw what Duke’s like. He’ll rip me a new corn-chute. ’

‘Norman. Go away. I’m not coming down. ’

‘I’ll come up and get you, then. ’

A boulder as big as a basketball rested on the brink of the ledge. She pushed it off with the sole of her foot.

A crash. A loud one that echoed back as it struck home.

Silence.

Dear God. It hasn’t hit him, has it?

Then came an aggrieved bleat. ‘Hey, be careful! That nearly hit me. ’

‘If you try to climb up here I’ll make sure the next one cracks your skull. ’

‘You wouldn’t do that. ’

Pamela folded her arms. ‘Try me. ’

She heard a more reflective Norman mutter, ‘Shoot. ’

For a few moments silence descended on the canyon. It would be too dangerous to expose her head by looking over the side of the rock ledge, but if she knelt up with her back to the cliff she could see the shadow creep across the scree floor. This’d become a waiting game now.

Waiting for dark. . . What would Norman do then? Retreat? Or try to reach her under cover of darkness?

At last she heard Norman say, ‘Looks as if we’ve got a dilemma. ’

‘I’ve got no dilemma, ’ Pamela retorted. ‘I’m staying put. ’

‘You can’t stay there forever without water. Not in this heat. ’

‘Neither can you, Norman. ’

‘One of the others will be along in a minute. ’

‘So you’re a telepath. You can communicate with them and tell them that you’re way up here in a hidden canyon? ’

‘Ugh. ’

She heard the grunt as he realized the flaw in his thinking.

No one knew they were here. So no one would bring Norman a cool bottle of water to slake his thirst.

To sit it out in this arid channel of rock would be an endurance test. The one whose craving for liquid got the better of them would lose.

‘I don’t want you to die of thirst, Pamela. ’

‘Women survive longest without water, Norman. We’ve got a thicker layer of liquid-filled fat under our skin. Boobs are pretty much all fluid anyway. Y’ know? Like camels’ humps? ’

When Norman spoke next Pamela realized that he was changing his strategy. ‘Pamela? We’re alike, you and me. ’

‘Don’t think so, Norm. ’

‘We’re educated. I can tell you are from the way you speak. ’

‘How observant, my dear Holmes. ’

‘Well read, too. ’

‘I saw the old Sherlock Holmes movies. ’

‘Yeah, Basil Rathbone, he was the greatest, wasn’t he? ’

‘Norman, you’re patronizing me. ’

‘Listen. We both know it’s stupid for us to sit out here in a godforsaken canyon without water. If you come down here we can walk back to the cafe and talk all this through over a glass of cold white wine. How does that sound? ’

‘Sounds wonderful. But you’ll shoot the fuck out of me the moment I start climbing down. ’

‘Pamela, I’m not a barbarian. ’

‘What about Duke and Boots? They psychotic or what? ’

‘Uhm. . . that’s one of the subjects I need to discuss with you. ’

‘Say again? ’

‘You’re intelligent. I need your advice. To be honest with you I’m in a bit of trouble. Well. . . more than a bit of trouble. A hell of a lot of trouble. ’

Pamela realized that she needed to see Norman’s face. His expression would indicate whether or not he was telling the truth. Come to that, the look in his eye would suggest whether or not he’d murder her in cold blood.

She inched toward the edge of the rock ledge. Just one glimpse down. One glimpse at his face would be enough.

That was when the shot rang out.

‘Norman, you double-crossing son of a—’

‘Pamela. Pamela! ’

‘You promised you wouldn’t try and shoot me. ’

‘I didn’t! I’ve just shot a rattlesnake. It struck out at me. ’

‘Like I’d believe you. ’ She hunkered back against the cliff. Out of sight.

‘Pamela, you’ve got to believe me. I shot a snake. There’s another thing. . . ’ His voice sounded troubled.

‘What’s that? ’

‘Pamela, you’ve got to help. The rattler bit me! ’

Chapter Forty-nine

‘You’re shitting me, Norman. ’

Norman looked up the cliff face. It was in shadow, but he could still make out where the rock ledge bulged out. Couldn’t see Pamela, though. She must be hunkered back against the cliff, out of sight.

‘Please, Pamela, ’ he called, his voice echoing from the canyon walls. ‘There was a rattler. It really did bite me. ’

‘Yeah, and the second I poke my head out you blow a hole in it. ’

‘No. ’

‘Can’t trust you, Norman. ’

‘It’s starting to burn. It’s the venom. . . ’

‘Where’d it bite? ’

‘My leg. ’

‘Where on your leg? ’

‘Come down, Pamela. See for yourself. ’

‘As if. ’

‘Please. ’

‘Are you sure it was a rattlesnake? ’

‘Take a look for yourself. ’

‘Put the gun on a rock – somewhere I can see it, but well away from yourself. ’

‘Yes, yes, anything. As long as you help me. ’

Norman still couldn’t see Pamela, so he walked twenty paces and laid the gold-plated handgun on a boulder. Then he returned to the bottom of the cliff.

But he noticed something.

Something bad.

He was limping now. The venom burned up through his veins as if hot wax was flowing there instead of blood. A moment ago he’d felt too hot – now cold shivers ran down his spine despite the heat in his veins.

Oh, God. All this and now I get chewed by a snake – a fucking rattler of all things. . .

His legs had become wobbly by the time he’d gotten himself back to the bottom of the cliff.

When he called out again, his voice had gone croaky.

Start of the death rattle?

‘Pamela. . . I got rid of the gun. . . You’re safe. . . Please. . . you gotta do something. I feel weird. . . I. . . ’

‘Okay, Norman. You’ve gotta stay calm. Breathe nice and slow. ’

He looked up. The sky was a dazzling blue. This side of the canyon was dipped black in shadow now. But he could see her!

A lithe figure with blonde hair. Long bare legs swinging over the ledge thirty feet above him. She moved fast.

Her hands and feet found small lodges and holes so that she could descend.

So she can save me!

Norman’s heart pounded. An awful taste filled his mouth. The venom? Was it invading every part of his body in a tide of bitter poison?

Oh, God. . .

Norman closed his eyes. He only opened them when he heard a thump of feet. Pamela had jumped the last five feet to the ground.

‘I really think it’s kicking in. ’ His voice was weak-sounding. Hoarse.

‘Where’s the snake? ’ She sounded suspicious.

She doesn’t believe me.

Swaying slightly, he pointed.

His finger had swollen.

Shit. That stuff acts fast. He was inflating like a balloon.

‘There. ’

He pointed to three feet of tube-shaped reptile lying in its own snake blood. His shot had blown most of the head away, leaving strands of skin and gristly bits of snake muscle.

‘My God, ’ she breathed. ‘That’s a rattler, all right. Do you see the tail? ’

‘Saw the tail? Felt its teeth, too. Bery farp. ’

‘Say again? ’

Norman moistened his swollen tongue, then took a run at the two words again. ‘Very sharp. Rattlesnake bangs. Bery farp. ’

‘Here, sit down on this rock, Norman. ’

‘Bank yar. ’

‘It’s affecting your speech, Norman. The venom’s entering your bloodstream fast. ’

‘Uh. . . ’

r />
He felt like death.

Pamela cupped his face in her two hands. She looked into his eyes. He saw the anxiety there.

‘Norman, ’ she said in a calm but firm voice. ‘I need to get as much of the venom out of the wound as I can. ’

‘Uh-huh. ’ He grunted the affirmative. His hands felt cold as frost.

Circulatory collapse. Toxic shock.

She spoke again. ‘Norman, listen. . . no, stay awake for me, Norman. Where did the snake bite you? ’

‘Thigh. ’

Pamela stepped back to see where he was pointing.

‘Your inner thigh? ’

‘Uh. ’

‘Okay, Norman. Help me drop your pants. I’m going to have to suck out the poison. ’

He’d wondered what Pamela’s lips would feel like against his skin. Now he was going to find out.

But he hadn’t anticipated these circumstances. Not for one minute.

With her help he slid his pants down. Then he sat on the boulder with his bare legs apart. They were awful pale-looking. Shaky, too.

‘I see the bite mark, Norman. ’ She took a deep breath. ‘Okay. Here goes. ’

Norman felt Pamela’s cool lips on the burning wound. The fangs had indeed punctured the skin on his inner thigh. Midway between knee and groin.

Now Pamela’d clamped her lips on the two bleeding holes.

Oh, man, and how she sucks!

When she paused for breath she also spat. Despite Norman’s dizziness he saw that her saliva was a bright pink with blood.

‘Ya gonna apply. . . apply a tourniquet? ’ he croaked.

‘Nope. Never apply a tourniquet to snake bites. ’ She wiped her lips with the back of her hand. ‘Always make sure the patient is calm, keep the affected limb lower than the heart. With luck, the venom will localize and not spread through the body. ’

‘You really know what you’re doing? ’

‘I should hope so, ’ Pamela told him. ‘I’m a teacher. I took first-aid courses so I could take the little darlings on field trips. Of course, they never got bitten by snakes, stung by scorpions or chased by grizzly bears. Instead, they got drunk on beer or whacked out of their skulls on E. Here goes again. ’ Again she ducked her head down to suck his naked thigh.

Norman’s mind was fuzzy to say the least. His hands were cold as ice. His leg was swelling. But he realized what this must look like to anyone watching the pair of them.

Here I am sitting on a rock with my pants down. Pamela is crouching in front of me. Her head is below my waistline. She’s sucking away like crazy. Her head’s twisting from side to side. I’m moaning.

Only not with pleasure.

Snakebites aren’t fun. They hurt. Fucking hurt!

‘Yee-ow! ’ he cried.

Pamela spat and wiped again. ‘Hurting? ’

‘You could say. ’

‘I think I’ve got some of it. ’

‘I’m gonna die. ’

‘No, you’re not. ’

‘If you felt the agony I felt you wouldn’t say that. ’

‘Norman. ’ She was panting from the exertion. ‘In this country more than eight thousand people are bitten by snakes in any one year. Less than one percent die. ’

He grunted. ‘One percent still sounds like scary odds to me. ’

‘Less than one percent. Far less. More people die from wasp and bee stings. ’

‘You’ve gotta get me some antidote. ’

Pamela shook her head. ‘You won’t get any antivenom in fifty miles of here. ’

‘Aw, crap. ’

‘Besides, not a lot of doctors administer it for snakebites. Sometimes the side effects of the treatment are worse than the snake poison itself. ’

‘That doesn’t make me feel any better. ’

‘Well, you sound better. ’ Pamela looked closely at his face. ‘Your speech’s improved. So has your color. ’

Norman straightened up. Experimentally he moved his arms, and then turned his head from side to side. ‘Hey, I don’t feel as bad as I did a few minutes ago. The dizzy spells are passing. ’

She smiled. ‘You’ll live, then. ’

‘Yeah, ’ he said, pleased. ‘I will, won’t I? ’

Pamela turned to look at the gun on the boulder twenty paces from them. ‘You still going to shoot me, Norman? ’

‘No. I never planned on killing you, anyway. ’

‘But you’re going to take me back to the house and lock me up with the others? ’

Norman shook his head. ‘I’ve decided. This madness has got to end. ’

‘Oh? ’

‘I’m gonna call the cops. ’ He paused. ‘At some point. ’

‘Why at some point? Why not now? ’

He grimaced. ‘That’s why I need to talk to you. ’

‘We’d be more comfortable talking down at the cafe. ’

‘With the dead guys there? ’ He shrugged. ‘It’s a bit of a mess, I’m afraid. ’

‘My trailer, then. ’

‘Okay. ’

He stood up.

She looked at his legs. ‘Norman? ’

‘Uh? ’

‘Your pants. Before you walk anywhere, best pull them up. ’

Chapter Fifty

‘So there it is, ’ Norman said. He took a swallow of ice-cold soda. He’d talked so much that his throat burned. ‘Now you know everything that’s happened to me in the last seven days. ’

‘You killed two police officers? ’ Pamela stared at him.

‘Yes. . . but I didn’t mean to. You’ve got to believe me. ’

‘Shoot. ’

‘It’s being with Duke and Boots. It’s like some kinda dope. You can’t think straight. They make really crazy stuff seem like the most perfectly rational behavior in the world. ’

‘You mean like taking over Pits at gunpoint? ’

Norman nodded. Then he glanced across the trailer lounge to a table where the gold-plated handgun gleamed in the afternoon light.

He winced as he shifted in the armchair. The snakebite still seared his thigh although it felt a little less painful than before. Pamela had washed the puncture marks with antiseptic and then had taped on a dressing. After shuffling to get comfortable he sat brooding.

At last Norman said to Pamela: ‘You must think I’m the worst. ’

‘I think maybe you’ve done some stupid things, but. . . ’

He looked up at her. The change in her tone when she said ‘but’ suggested that something was weighing pretty heavily on her mind, too.

‘But? ’ he echoed.

‘But Pits isn’t what you think. ’ Pamela went to the table where she’d left a pitcher of chilled water. She refilled her glass.

Pamela’d ditched the waitress apron.

Norman noted with some pleasure that its absence revealed more of her slim figure. She still wore the cafe’s uniform. Bright red shorts, plus a white pullover shirt.

Boy, she looks good.

’S easy to get distracted when a babe looks that hot, Norman told himself. He took his mind off the curves of her bod, concentrated on what she was saying.

‘Norman, I thought Pits was just a little desert community, ’ Pamela went on.

‘Doesn’t look much more than a ghost town to me, ’ he added.

‘Just what I thought. It’s only got the cafe, gas station and trailers. Those, and a population of six people. ’

Five, Norman thought. He realized that Pamela couldn’t know that Terry, the cook, was lying dead in a patch of cholla cacti. He let it pass. Such admissions now would complicate the situation with Pamela. . . Delicious Pamela.

Pamela, he realized, was trying to explain certain facts. ‘You remember what the old guy was saying earlier? ’

‘The one-legged guy? ’

‘Priest. ’ She nodded.

Norman shrugged. ‘He’s a crazy old coot, isn’t he? All that talk of eating people. Has to be certifiable. ’

‘He’s not crazy, Norman. ’ Pamela took a steadying breath. ‘Here in Pits they reall

y do eat people. ’

Norman laughed out loud. Then clammed up.

Pamela ain’t laughing.

⇐ Предыдущая 15 16 17 18 19 202122 23 24 Следующая ⇒