One rainy night, p.20
One Rainy Night, page 20
Softening his tone, he said, ‘I’m not going to leave a stranger in her house. Besides, she might come home wet. If that happens, she’ll attack you. I don’t want either one of you getting hurt.’
‘Well, I don’t wanta get wet again.’
‘I’ve got a car just outside the kitchen. It’s not in the rain.’
‘Where do you aim to take me?’
‘Just away from here. You won’t have to leave the car. Come on.’ He backed his way out of the bathroom, watching her. She stepped over the pile of clothes, taking a long stride to avoid them, the robe slipping away from her thigh. She made no attempt to snatch up the hatchet.
She’s either all right, Trev thought, or she’s putting on a good act.
But he didn’t think he was ready to turn his back on her.
He waved her into Maureen’s room, and followed her in. ‘Find something to wear,’ he said.
She pulled open a dresser drawer and lifted out a pair of black panties. She frowned at him. ‘You don’t gotta watch me, do you?’
‘Put them on.’
‘Well, shoot.’ She turned away from him, bent over and stepped into the panties. She drew them up beneath her robe, groaned and pulled them down again. ‘These little things’ll cut off my dang circulation.’
‘We’re wasting time. Try the closet. Maybe she’s got a coat or something.’
Sandy entered the closet. She pulled a string to turn on the light bulb, then searched among the hanging clothes. ‘Reckon this is a pretty big gal,’ she said. ‘Not as big as me, but she’s tall, ain’t she?’
‘Yeah.’ The talk of Maureen made him feel empty.
‘Now, here.’ She pulled a tan trench coat off a hanger. ‘This oughta do just fine.’ Still in the closet, she faced Trev. ‘You just gotta watch me?’
Shaking his head, he turned around.
‘That’s a sight better,’ she said.
‘Don’t try anything.’
‘You sure don’t trust me very much.’
‘I’m just trying to keep alive.’
‘Well, same here.’ A few moments later, she said, ‘OK, I’m decent now.’
Trev turned. She came out of the closet with the robe in one hand. Maureen’s coat was tight across her shoulders and chest, but the sleeves reached to her wrists and the bottom of the coat covered her to the knees. Though she hadn’t been able to button it, the belt cinched it shut.
‘You’ll need shoes,’ Trev said. ‘You’ll have to wear your own, I suppose.’
Nodding, she stepped to the dresser. She took out a pair of white socks. ‘These’ll probably fit OK. Maybe you can wash off my shoes for me. You got them bags on.’
‘Let’s go.’ He waved her ahead, and followed her toward the bathroom.
‘Maybe we can dig up some trash bags for me,’ she said.
‘We’ve already wasted too much time. We’ll just get your shoes ready, and take off.’
‘You’re sure in a mighty rush to get out in that rain. You sure we shouldn’t just oughta stay right here and be safe?’
‘I’ve got to make one more stop. Then we’ll see about finding a place.’
11
So far, the trick was working fine.
They’d taken care of three outsiders, one each time, keeping the right hand door of the restaurant latched with the steel pegs at its top and bottom, shoving open the door on the left, grabbing the first crazy to squeeze in, and taking him down while Terry and Rafe jerked the door shut again by tugging on the table cloth they’d passed through its handle.
They’d killed one intruder. He was a skinny, giggling man who came in swinging a crowbar. As John chopped his arm, Gus jammed a steak knife into the side of the guy’s neck and severed the carotid artery.
‘Let’s not kill them if we don’t have to,’ John had said while they dragged the body out of the way.
‘We don’t kill ‘em, what’ll we do with ‘em?’ Gus wanted to know. He was the one who’d called John a pansy.
‘Let’s try to disable them, then maybe tie them up.’
‘Great. That how you handled the VC? No wonder we lost the fuckin’ war.’
‘This isn’t a war. These people are just like us except they happened to get caught in the rain.’
‘Like a mutt happens to get rabies.’
‘John’s right,’ Steve said. ‘We should try to take them alive if we can.’
‘More risky that way,’ said Roscoe the chef.
‘Fuckin’ right, more risky.’
‘I’ll handle the next one,’ John told them.
The next one had charged into the restaurant with a knife in each hand. John broke both his arms, then his nose. The screaming man was dragged into the cocktail lounge where people huddled over him and bound his feet.
The third outsider was a teenage boy with a Mohawk haircut and a monkey wrench. John took the wrench away. Gus clobbered him with an upper-cut that lifted him off his feet. The first part of the kid to hit the floor was the back of his head. From the noise it made, the stiff brush of hair hadn’t been much of a cushion. He was taken into the cocktail lounge to be trussed.
‘We do much more of this,’ Gus said, ‘folks are gonna start running low on belts.’
‘Let’s worry about one thing at a time,’ John told him.
‘This is working pretty good so far,’ Steve said.
John stationed himself at the door. He glanced at Terry and Rafe, off to the side with the table cloth. Steve stood next to him. He checked the rear. Gus and Roscoe, waiting, nodded.
‘Let’s do it,’ he said.
Terry and Rafe let the cloth droop. John shoved the door open. This time, those outside were ready. Two of them hit the door, forcing it wide. The crowd surged forward.
‘Oh shit!’ Steve cried out.
The first to rush in was a woman in a nightgown. She drove a screwdriver down at John’s face. He blocked it, slammed a fist into her belly, and hurled her sideways for Steve. An elderly man tried to bring down a golf club, but it was too long. Its head knocked against the top of the doorframe. John chopped both sides of his neck, grabbed the front of the man’s jacket, kneed him in the groin, then swung him aside for Roscoe. A kid rammed his head against John’s hip. John’s elbow punched into the back of his neck. The kid flopped and two men blocked the doorway, elbowing each other as they tried to squeeze through at the same time.
John yanked the knife from his belt. He shoved it up under the ribs of the man on the right. John recognized him. Henry, the night man from the Shell station.
Damn!
He pulled the knife out and kicked high, the blow shoving Henry into the crowd. Gus crashed a chair leg down on the head of the man on the left. As that guy started to slump, John slashed his throat and shoved him. That one knocked against the pair bracing the door open. John ducked, snatched up the hanging table cloth and threw himself backward.
A woman with a clawed gardening tool leaped over Henry’s body. She managed to get her arm inside. The door slammed on it. She shrieked and dropped the weapon. John gave the cloth some slack. The woman’s arm jerked out of the gap. With a quick tug, he jerked the door shut. Steve rushed in from the side and locked it.
John stepped over to the wall. He leaned back against it, gasping, and let his legs fold. He slid down the wall until his rump met the floor.
It seemed as if everyone from the restaurant had poured into the entryway. Some just stood around looking shocked. Others were gathered in small groups, probably surrounding the crazies he’d brought in. He heard quiet murmurs, weeping, voices high-pitched with alarm, the thumps of blows landing on the kid, the golfer and the woman. He thought he should get up and tell them to stop, but he just sat there.
Too close. It had been too damn close. His trick had backfired, could’ve gotten everyone killed.
He saw Cassy push her way into one of the groups, heard her snap, ‘Quit it! That’s enough.’
Then Lynn came through the crowd and sat down beside him. She slipped an arm across his shoulders. ‘Pretty rough?’ she asked.
‘God,’ he muttered.
‘You’re not hurt, are you?’
He shook his head. ‘So much for brilliant plans.’
‘You did fabulous, though. Really. The plan really did work. You got . . . how many of them? Six?’
‘Plus two outside.’
‘So eight. That’s fabulous. That’s really whittling them down, honey. We got eight of them and they didn’t get any of us.’
He faced Lynn. She had a forced smile and a sad, rather frantic look in her eyes.
She’d led a peaceful, sheltered life and there was no reason in the world for her to understand. But she did. John could tell. She knew this wasn’t pretend, knew that lives had been lost, that he had killed people whose only crime was getting caught in the black rain, and that he hated all this.
‘I’m so sorry I made you come here tonight,’ she said.
‘We didn’t know what would happen.’
‘If Kara gets . . .’
‘She’ll be fine.’ He wished he could believe that.
Lynn was silent for a while. Then she said, ‘I used to have these horrible daydreams. About earthquakes and nuclear war. I always thought, what if something like that happened and we weren’t all together? I’d see myself out grocery shopping or something, and I knew I couldn’t get home. And that was the worst part, not being with you and Kara . . . at the end.’ Sobbing quietly, Lynn lowered her head.
‘This isn’t the end,’ John said. He put his hand on her thigh, and realized he was touching skin. He looked down. Her leg had come out of the slit side of her gown. He’d given her a rough time about wearing the outfit. Hurt her feelings. Over something as minor as a dress. They might not survive the night. Kara might . . .
Kara will be all right, he told himself.
He moved his hand up the smooth warmth of Lynn’s thigh. ‘It is a nice dress,’ he said.
She sniffed. ‘Oh, sure.’
‘Really.’
‘I wore it for you, you know.’
‘I know.’
He eased his hand under the slick fabric, and felt a quick surge of desire when he realized she wore no panties. She caressed his shoulder. More of her leg came out of the slit. He touched her soft curls, slipped his hand lower and spread his fingers, opening her. She squeezed his shoulder. Breath hitching, she squirmed a little, rubbing herself against his hand. He curled a finger into her. She moaned.
With her free hand, she wiped tears from her face. She looked as if she didn’t know whether to keep on crying, or laugh, or beg him to stop, or reach for his zipper. She said, ‘Jeez, John.’
‘Jeez yourself, lady. You got nothing on under there.’
‘All these people . . .’
‘I’m sorry I gave you a bad time about it. About coming here. About everything. I love you.’
‘I love you, too.’ She gave a loud, wet sniffle. She moved his hand away, but didn’t let go of his wrist as she got to her feet. ‘Come with me,’ she said.
John stood up. As she led him through the foyer, he saw that people were busy with belts, binding the three he’d let in. Nobody paid attention to him or Lynn.
She hurried ahead, pulling him through the cocktail lounge. One woman was hunched over the bar, nursing a drink. Otherwise, the room was empty.
‘Where are we going?’ he asked.
‘Not far.’ Lynn glanced over her shoulder at him. Her smile was crooked and strange.
‘You’re kidding,’ he said.
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘They might need me out front.’
‘They can do without you for a while. Can’t they?’
‘They’ll have to, I guess.’
Lynn pushed open the door marked Damsels and pulled John in. The restroom appeared deserted. As the door swung shut, she leaned back against it. She pulled at her single, glossy sleeve, baring her shoulder. As the sleeve descended her arm, the top of her dress peeled down from her breasts. She shook her hand free. With a funny half-smile, she used both hands to twist the dress at her hips. Its slit came to the front. She slipped the dress higher until golden hair filled the peak of the opening.
‘Holy smoke,’ John whispered.
Lynn said nothing. Gazing into his eyes, she pulled at the knot of his necktie. The movement made her breasts sway a little. He held them, caressing the stiff nipples with his thumbs while she opened the buttons of his shirt.
Cassy came into his mind. The way she’d looked when she stretched back to put his blazer on.
Even before he could feel any guilt for thinking of Cassy, he forgot about her as Lynn guided one of his hands down between her legs. He stroked her there. She was wet and slippery. Moaning, squirming, she unfastened his pants. They dropped around his ankles, and she pulled at his shorts, dragging them down, freeing him.
She curled her fingers around his straining penis. They glided down it, and up, and down again.
‘I’m not quite sure how to go about this,’ he said.
Lynn chuckled. ‘You’ll think of something.’
‘Hope nobody comes in.’
‘Then we’d better get on with it.’
‘What about the floor?’
‘Yuck.’
‘And hard on my knees.’
She swallowed. She shook her head. She looked as if she were in pain. Her tongue darted out and licked her lips, ‘Just fuck me right here against the door,’ she said.
Fuck me? John had never heard her say that before. Somehow, the words didn’t sound foul. Just blunt and urgent.
‘Fuck me,’ she said again.
And he no longer cared how, as long as he did it.
He moved forward and Lynn spread her knees wide and he went up against her feeling the firm soft push of her breasts, her arms going around him. When he tried to crouch, the door at Lynn’s back stopped his knees. He pulled her away from it, clutching her buttocks through the slick dress, urging her closer.
And he slid up into her as she sank down, wet and tight and hugging.
Her legs came up around his hips. They seemed to be climbing him. The higher they climbed, the deeper he plunged.
Then he had her pinned to the door. He kissed her mouth. It got away, and his lips met her chin. Her mouth was a moving target, and he stopped trying to kiss it. He watched her eyes, and she watched his as the hard thrusts jammed her upward and she slid down against the door only to be pounded up again. She grunted and bit her lips and whimpered. She whipped her head from side to side. She let go of him with her arms. Slumped back against the door and jerking up and down against it, she rubbed and squeezed her breasts.
John had never seen her like this before.
12
‘Denny?’
She awoke with a start and found herself lying crooked on the sofa, her iegs hanging to the floor and her head resting on Tom’s lap. Kara still slept at the other end.
‘News bulletin,’ he said. His hand, just above Denise’s face, pointed at the television. ‘They broke into the show.’
She turned her eyes to the TV and recognized Chris Donner, the Eyewitness News anchorwoman.
‘. . . been receiving sketchy reports that a crisis has developed in the nearby town of Bixby. Our news staff received its initial telephone call from a citizen of Bixby shortly after seven-thirty this evening, in which we were informed that a storm was dropping rain onto the town which appeared to be black. We were further told that the caller’s spouse, caught in the mysterious storm, quote “went out of her senses and attacked me for no good reason” unquote.
‘In our attempts to verify the story, we tried to make contact with various Bixby officials. Our calls to the mayor, fire department and police department have gone unanswered.
‘Since that time, we have received numerous calls from people in that area. We have determined that an emergency situation exists in Bixby, and we have notified officials in surrounding areas.
‘It appears that the storm began shortly after seven o’clock this evening, that it is generally confined to the city limits of Bixby, and that the black rain-like substance falling from the sky may be causing those who come into contact with it to commit acts of violence. We understand that affected citizens are roaming the streets, and breaking into business establishments and homes in search of victims. Though the reports we’ve received have been sketchy, we understand that an undetermined number of people have been killed by these roaming marauders.
‘Let me repeat that, at this time, the crisis is occurring only in Bixby and in the areas immediately surrounding its city limits. The situation is not taking place in any of the neighboring towns. If you are not a resident of Bixby, there is no cause for alarm.
‘We ask that our viewers who are in Bixby remain indoors. Under no circumstances should you venture outside. Also, it is imperative that you avoid contact with anyone who has been exposed to the rain. Many of those people have armed themselves, and they should all be considered extremely dangerous.
‘We take you now to Stan Fisher, live at the scene. Stan?’
‘Thank you, Chris.’ The screen showed a tidy, middle-aged man wearing a bow tie and an open sweater. He was standing in lights beside a van marked ‘Eyewitness News.’ Staring grimly into the camera, he said, ‘I’m here at a roadblock set up by the CHP on Route 12 two miles south of the town of Bixby. County and local law enforcement agencies are cooperating with the Highway Patrol in an effort to seal off all roads leading into the stricken community. Nobody is being allowed to enter the area.’
The TV showed Chris at her news desk, the picture of Stan Fisher on a screen behind her as she spoke into a telephone. ‘Stan,’ she said, ‘is anyone coming out?’
‘As a matter of fact, Chris, three cars have come out just since we arrived. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to interview any of the survivors. They were immediately taken into custody. I presume that authorities are questioning them even as I speak to you.’
‘In effect, they’re being quarantined?’
‘That seems to be the case, Chris.’
‘Do you know whether they had come into contact with the rain?’
‘It appears that they hadn’t.’ Stan again filled the TV screen and the camera pulled back, showing a man in uniform beside him. ‘Chris, this is Commander Brad Corkern of the Highway Patrol. Sir, what can you tell us about the situation in Bixby?’ He held his microphone toward the man.
‘Well, I don’t wanta get wet again.’
‘I’ve got a car just outside the kitchen. It’s not in the rain.’
‘Where do you aim to take me?’
‘Just away from here. You won’t have to leave the car. Come on.’ He backed his way out of the bathroom, watching her. She stepped over the pile of clothes, taking a long stride to avoid them, the robe slipping away from her thigh. She made no attempt to snatch up the hatchet.
She’s either all right, Trev thought, or she’s putting on a good act.
But he didn’t think he was ready to turn his back on her.
He waved her into Maureen’s room, and followed her in. ‘Find something to wear,’ he said.
She pulled open a dresser drawer and lifted out a pair of black panties. She frowned at him. ‘You don’t gotta watch me, do you?’
‘Put them on.’
‘Well, shoot.’ She turned away from him, bent over and stepped into the panties. She drew them up beneath her robe, groaned and pulled them down again. ‘These little things’ll cut off my dang circulation.’
‘We’re wasting time. Try the closet. Maybe she’s got a coat or something.’
Sandy entered the closet. She pulled a string to turn on the light bulb, then searched among the hanging clothes. ‘Reckon this is a pretty big gal,’ she said. ‘Not as big as me, but she’s tall, ain’t she?’
‘Yeah.’ The talk of Maureen made him feel empty.
‘Now, here.’ She pulled a tan trench coat off a hanger. ‘This oughta do just fine.’ Still in the closet, she faced Trev. ‘You just gotta watch me?’
Shaking his head, he turned around.
‘That’s a sight better,’ she said.
‘Don’t try anything.’
‘You sure don’t trust me very much.’
‘I’m just trying to keep alive.’
‘Well, same here.’ A few moments later, she said, ‘OK, I’m decent now.’
Trev turned. She came out of the closet with the robe in one hand. Maureen’s coat was tight across her shoulders and chest, but the sleeves reached to her wrists and the bottom of the coat covered her to the knees. Though she hadn’t been able to button it, the belt cinched it shut.
‘You’ll need shoes,’ Trev said. ‘You’ll have to wear your own, I suppose.’
Nodding, she stepped to the dresser. She took out a pair of white socks. ‘These’ll probably fit OK. Maybe you can wash off my shoes for me. You got them bags on.’
‘Let’s go.’ He waved her ahead, and followed her toward the bathroom.
‘Maybe we can dig up some trash bags for me,’ she said.
‘We’ve already wasted too much time. We’ll just get your shoes ready, and take off.’
‘You’re sure in a mighty rush to get out in that rain. You sure we shouldn’t just oughta stay right here and be safe?’
‘I’ve got to make one more stop. Then we’ll see about finding a place.’
11
So far, the trick was working fine.
They’d taken care of three outsiders, one each time, keeping the right hand door of the restaurant latched with the steel pegs at its top and bottom, shoving open the door on the left, grabbing the first crazy to squeeze in, and taking him down while Terry and Rafe jerked the door shut again by tugging on the table cloth they’d passed through its handle.
They’d killed one intruder. He was a skinny, giggling man who came in swinging a crowbar. As John chopped his arm, Gus jammed a steak knife into the side of the guy’s neck and severed the carotid artery.
‘Let’s not kill them if we don’t have to,’ John had said while they dragged the body out of the way.
‘We don’t kill ‘em, what’ll we do with ‘em?’ Gus wanted to know. He was the one who’d called John a pansy.
‘Let’s try to disable them, then maybe tie them up.’
‘Great. That how you handled the VC? No wonder we lost the fuckin’ war.’
‘This isn’t a war. These people are just like us except they happened to get caught in the rain.’
‘Like a mutt happens to get rabies.’
‘John’s right,’ Steve said. ‘We should try to take them alive if we can.’
‘More risky that way,’ said Roscoe the chef.
‘Fuckin’ right, more risky.’
‘I’ll handle the next one,’ John told them.
The next one had charged into the restaurant with a knife in each hand. John broke both his arms, then his nose. The screaming man was dragged into the cocktail lounge where people huddled over him and bound his feet.
The third outsider was a teenage boy with a Mohawk haircut and a monkey wrench. John took the wrench away. Gus clobbered him with an upper-cut that lifted him off his feet. The first part of the kid to hit the floor was the back of his head. From the noise it made, the stiff brush of hair hadn’t been much of a cushion. He was taken into the cocktail lounge to be trussed.
‘We do much more of this,’ Gus said, ‘folks are gonna start running low on belts.’
‘Let’s worry about one thing at a time,’ John told him.
‘This is working pretty good so far,’ Steve said.
John stationed himself at the door. He glanced at Terry and Rafe, off to the side with the table cloth. Steve stood next to him. He checked the rear. Gus and Roscoe, waiting, nodded.
‘Let’s do it,’ he said.
Terry and Rafe let the cloth droop. John shoved the door open. This time, those outside were ready. Two of them hit the door, forcing it wide. The crowd surged forward.
‘Oh shit!’ Steve cried out.
The first to rush in was a woman in a nightgown. She drove a screwdriver down at John’s face. He blocked it, slammed a fist into her belly, and hurled her sideways for Steve. An elderly man tried to bring down a golf club, but it was too long. Its head knocked against the top of the doorframe. John chopped both sides of his neck, grabbed the front of the man’s jacket, kneed him in the groin, then swung him aside for Roscoe. A kid rammed his head against John’s hip. John’s elbow punched into the back of his neck. The kid flopped and two men blocked the doorway, elbowing each other as they tried to squeeze through at the same time.
John yanked the knife from his belt. He shoved it up under the ribs of the man on the right. John recognized him. Henry, the night man from the Shell station.
Damn!
He pulled the knife out and kicked high, the blow shoving Henry into the crowd. Gus crashed a chair leg down on the head of the man on the left. As that guy started to slump, John slashed his throat and shoved him. That one knocked against the pair bracing the door open. John ducked, snatched up the hanging table cloth and threw himself backward.
A woman with a clawed gardening tool leaped over Henry’s body. She managed to get her arm inside. The door slammed on it. She shrieked and dropped the weapon. John gave the cloth some slack. The woman’s arm jerked out of the gap. With a quick tug, he jerked the door shut. Steve rushed in from the side and locked it.
John stepped over to the wall. He leaned back against it, gasping, and let his legs fold. He slid down the wall until his rump met the floor.
It seemed as if everyone from the restaurant had poured into the entryway. Some just stood around looking shocked. Others were gathered in small groups, probably surrounding the crazies he’d brought in. He heard quiet murmurs, weeping, voices high-pitched with alarm, the thumps of blows landing on the kid, the golfer and the woman. He thought he should get up and tell them to stop, but he just sat there.
Too close. It had been too damn close. His trick had backfired, could’ve gotten everyone killed.
He saw Cassy push her way into one of the groups, heard her snap, ‘Quit it! That’s enough.’
Then Lynn came through the crowd and sat down beside him. She slipped an arm across his shoulders. ‘Pretty rough?’ she asked.
‘God,’ he muttered.
‘You’re not hurt, are you?’
He shook his head. ‘So much for brilliant plans.’
‘You did fabulous, though. Really. The plan really did work. You got . . . how many of them? Six?’
‘Plus two outside.’
‘So eight. That’s fabulous. That’s really whittling them down, honey. We got eight of them and they didn’t get any of us.’
He faced Lynn. She had a forced smile and a sad, rather frantic look in her eyes.
She’d led a peaceful, sheltered life and there was no reason in the world for her to understand. But she did. John could tell. She knew this wasn’t pretend, knew that lives had been lost, that he had killed people whose only crime was getting caught in the black rain, and that he hated all this.
‘I’m so sorry I made you come here tonight,’ she said.
‘We didn’t know what would happen.’
‘If Kara gets . . .’
‘She’ll be fine.’ He wished he could believe that.
Lynn was silent for a while. Then she said, ‘I used to have these horrible daydreams. About earthquakes and nuclear war. I always thought, what if something like that happened and we weren’t all together? I’d see myself out grocery shopping or something, and I knew I couldn’t get home. And that was the worst part, not being with you and Kara . . . at the end.’ Sobbing quietly, Lynn lowered her head.
‘This isn’t the end,’ John said. He put his hand on her thigh, and realized he was touching skin. He looked down. Her leg had come out of the slit side of her gown. He’d given her a rough time about wearing the outfit. Hurt her feelings. Over something as minor as a dress. They might not survive the night. Kara might . . .
Kara will be all right, he told himself.
He moved his hand up the smooth warmth of Lynn’s thigh. ‘It is a nice dress,’ he said.
She sniffed. ‘Oh, sure.’
‘Really.’
‘I wore it for you, you know.’
‘I know.’
He eased his hand under the slick fabric, and felt a quick surge of desire when he realized she wore no panties. She caressed his shoulder. More of her leg came out of the slit. He touched her soft curls, slipped his hand lower and spread his fingers, opening her. She squeezed his shoulder. Breath hitching, she squirmed a little, rubbing herself against his hand. He curled a finger into her. She moaned.
With her free hand, she wiped tears from her face. She looked as if she didn’t know whether to keep on crying, or laugh, or beg him to stop, or reach for his zipper. She said, ‘Jeez, John.’
‘Jeez yourself, lady. You got nothing on under there.’
‘All these people . . .’
‘I’m sorry I gave you a bad time about it. About coming here. About everything. I love you.’
‘I love you, too.’ She gave a loud, wet sniffle. She moved his hand away, but didn’t let go of his wrist as she got to her feet. ‘Come with me,’ she said.
John stood up. As she led him through the foyer, he saw that people were busy with belts, binding the three he’d let in. Nobody paid attention to him or Lynn.
She hurried ahead, pulling him through the cocktail lounge. One woman was hunched over the bar, nursing a drink. Otherwise, the room was empty.
‘Where are we going?’ he asked.
‘Not far.’ Lynn glanced over her shoulder at him. Her smile was crooked and strange.
‘You’re kidding,’ he said.
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘They might need me out front.’
‘They can do without you for a while. Can’t they?’
‘They’ll have to, I guess.’
Lynn pushed open the door marked Damsels and pulled John in. The restroom appeared deserted. As the door swung shut, she leaned back against it. She pulled at her single, glossy sleeve, baring her shoulder. As the sleeve descended her arm, the top of her dress peeled down from her breasts. She shook her hand free. With a funny half-smile, she used both hands to twist the dress at her hips. Its slit came to the front. She slipped the dress higher until golden hair filled the peak of the opening.
‘Holy smoke,’ John whispered.
Lynn said nothing. Gazing into his eyes, she pulled at the knot of his necktie. The movement made her breasts sway a little. He held them, caressing the stiff nipples with his thumbs while she opened the buttons of his shirt.
Cassy came into his mind. The way she’d looked when she stretched back to put his blazer on.
Even before he could feel any guilt for thinking of Cassy, he forgot about her as Lynn guided one of his hands down between her legs. He stroked her there. She was wet and slippery. Moaning, squirming, she unfastened his pants. They dropped around his ankles, and she pulled at his shorts, dragging them down, freeing him.
She curled her fingers around his straining penis. They glided down it, and up, and down again.
‘I’m not quite sure how to go about this,’ he said.
Lynn chuckled. ‘You’ll think of something.’
‘Hope nobody comes in.’
‘Then we’d better get on with it.’
‘What about the floor?’
‘Yuck.’
‘And hard on my knees.’
She swallowed. She shook her head. She looked as if she were in pain. Her tongue darted out and licked her lips, ‘Just fuck me right here against the door,’ she said.
Fuck me? John had never heard her say that before. Somehow, the words didn’t sound foul. Just blunt and urgent.
‘Fuck me,’ she said again.
And he no longer cared how, as long as he did it.
He moved forward and Lynn spread her knees wide and he went up against her feeling the firm soft push of her breasts, her arms going around him. When he tried to crouch, the door at Lynn’s back stopped his knees. He pulled her away from it, clutching her buttocks through the slick dress, urging her closer.
And he slid up into her as she sank down, wet and tight and hugging.
Her legs came up around his hips. They seemed to be climbing him. The higher they climbed, the deeper he plunged.
Then he had her pinned to the door. He kissed her mouth. It got away, and his lips met her chin. Her mouth was a moving target, and he stopped trying to kiss it. He watched her eyes, and she watched his as the hard thrusts jammed her upward and she slid down against the door only to be pounded up again. She grunted and bit her lips and whimpered. She whipped her head from side to side. She let go of him with her arms. Slumped back against the door and jerking up and down against it, she rubbed and squeezed her breasts.
John had never seen her like this before.
12
‘Denny?’
She awoke with a start and found herself lying crooked on the sofa, her iegs hanging to the floor and her head resting on Tom’s lap. Kara still slept at the other end.
‘News bulletin,’ he said. His hand, just above Denise’s face, pointed at the television. ‘They broke into the show.’
She turned her eyes to the TV and recognized Chris Donner, the Eyewitness News anchorwoman.
‘. . . been receiving sketchy reports that a crisis has developed in the nearby town of Bixby. Our news staff received its initial telephone call from a citizen of Bixby shortly after seven-thirty this evening, in which we were informed that a storm was dropping rain onto the town which appeared to be black. We were further told that the caller’s spouse, caught in the mysterious storm, quote “went out of her senses and attacked me for no good reason” unquote.
‘In our attempts to verify the story, we tried to make contact with various Bixby officials. Our calls to the mayor, fire department and police department have gone unanswered.
‘Since that time, we have received numerous calls from people in that area. We have determined that an emergency situation exists in Bixby, and we have notified officials in surrounding areas.
‘It appears that the storm began shortly after seven o’clock this evening, that it is generally confined to the city limits of Bixby, and that the black rain-like substance falling from the sky may be causing those who come into contact with it to commit acts of violence. We understand that affected citizens are roaming the streets, and breaking into business establishments and homes in search of victims. Though the reports we’ve received have been sketchy, we understand that an undetermined number of people have been killed by these roaming marauders.
‘Let me repeat that, at this time, the crisis is occurring only in Bixby and in the areas immediately surrounding its city limits. The situation is not taking place in any of the neighboring towns. If you are not a resident of Bixby, there is no cause for alarm.
‘We ask that our viewers who are in Bixby remain indoors. Under no circumstances should you venture outside. Also, it is imperative that you avoid contact with anyone who has been exposed to the rain. Many of those people have armed themselves, and they should all be considered extremely dangerous.
‘We take you now to Stan Fisher, live at the scene. Stan?’
‘Thank you, Chris.’ The screen showed a tidy, middle-aged man wearing a bow tie and an open sweater. He was standing in lights beside a van marked ‘Eyewitness News.’ Staring grimly into the camera, he said, ‘I’m here at a roadblock set up by the CHP on Route 12 two miles south of the town of Bixby. County and local law enforcement agencies are cooperating with the Highway Patrol in an effort to seal off all roads leading into the stricken community. Nobody is being allowed to enter the area.’
The TV showed Chris at her news desk, the picture of Stan Fisher on a screen behind her as she spoke into a telephone. ‘Stan,’ she said, ‘is anyone coming out?’
‘As a matter of fact, Chris, three cars have come out just since we arrived. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to interview any of the survivors. They were immediately taken into custody. I presume that authorities are questioning them even as I speak to you.’
‘In effect, they’re being quarantined?’
‘That seems to be the case, Chris.’
‘Do you know whether they had come into contact with the rain?’
‘It appears that they hadn’t.’ Stan again filled the TV screen and the camera pulled back, showing a man in uniform beside him. ‘Chris, this is Commander Brad Corkern of the Highway Patrol. Sir, what can you tell us about the situation in Bixby?’ He held his microphone toward the man.
