BloodWise

BloodWise, Chapter 10

Winston stopped the car about two city blocks from the abandoned grain mills that marked the outskirts of the Prestons' woods. He spent a few minutes checking his pistol and then a few seconds cursing the fact that he'd dropped his only cane in the house of mirrors. He got out of the car and shuffled slowly down the empty street towards the urban forest. As it had been the time before, the city noise became muffled and the light seemed to fade away. Winston's eyes slowly adjusted to the deep shadows around him. He kept to the road this time. He didn't need the particular grief of running into any of the Prestons. As he moved along, he did his best to listen for movement and scan for lights, but the Prestons' woods were thick, and if there was any activity going on in there, there was no way to tell. Finally, he walked back to the last of the abandoned mills and squatted in a defensive crouch under a rusted steel stairwell. There wasn't anything to do but to wait for Noah and Ivan, and then watch the shocked look on Old Skinner's face as they brought hell raining down onto to his rotten plantation home.

And then something came flying out of the shadows above him. Winston twisted to get out of the way and swung his pistol, but someone grabbed him from behind.

He heard a wicked cackle. Something very hard struck him across the face.

Then he heard Bunny Preston say, "We got you boy!"

Winston vision was still blurry from the blow to his face, but didn't need to see. He used Bunny's voice to guide him and squeezed the trigger. He was rewarded with an intense shriek as the bullet found its target.

Multiple strong sets of arms grabbed him, exacerbating the wounds he already had and make him dizzy with pain. He writhed, kicked with his good leg and shot randomly. The strategy bought him one yard of space to work with. He finally could lay eyes on the mob that was coming after him. He saw Mel, and Essie, the woman that was as big as a wrestler, and the man with no nose, and a few others whom he didn't recognize. Behind them- on the ground and moaning - was Bunnby. Winston couldn't stand, but scooted backwards on his but, ripping the seat of his expensive pants in the process. Despite the cuts on his hands, he held the pistol steady, determined to waste the next Preston who took a step in his direction.

Then he remembered the body that had come flying down on him from above. Where had that one gone? He glanced behind him, but it was too late. The woman whose face was covered with lacy webbing hit him across the back with a cricket bat. He squeezed the trigger of his pistol inadvertently and put a hole into the chest of the man without a nose. The cricket bat struck him again, and he dropped the gun.

They beat the hell out of him, but he somehow remained conscious as they pulled him into a beaten-up sedan, tied his wrists- a gesture that was entirely unnecessary as he could hardly move at all- and drove him back towards the Preston woods. He watched through a pained haze as the used another length of rope to attached his bound wrists behind him to a small tree. Essie then came back with Old Skinner in his wheel chair. Then she left and returned with a big, charcoal grill. The type of wheeled grill that people used to barbecue hot dogs and hamburgers at backyard pool parties.

Winston's pain was fabulous. White lines kept streaking across his field of vision. For several minutes all he could do focus on it. He didn't even have the time or energy to worry about the coals that Essie was dousing with lighter fluid. Then he went through a brief period of regret that he'd ever left Jamaica to begin with. If he'd just stayed with Delroy Catman, he wouldn't be here now. Then came other emotions, one after another, shuttling through his mind like actors audtioning for a major role: grief, bargaining, anger, self-loathing and finally cold fear. He tried to push that one back, but it was no use. Fear had won the starring role.

Old Skinner- trapped in his youthful body- must have sensed the change in Winston because he had the Bunny wheel him right up to Winston. Winston saw- with just a note of satisfaction- that Bunny was limping because he'd shot her in the knee. Around her neck was the purple and yellow lei. "What we are going to do here boy is an old injun' ritual with which you may not be entirely familiar. We are going to slice your skin open this way." Skinner used his pointer finger to draw a line from the bottom of Winston's rib cage to just above his pelvis. "The cut won't be too deep. Just shallow 'nuff to get under your skin. Then we shall wait until yon coal reaches circa 350 degrees fahrenheit and we will open that flap of your skin and load the coals into your belly region."

Bunny grinned at Winston.  "It will kill a mortal in about a half hour. In your case- however- with you bein' a vamp and all- it should take about three or four hours. And once we are done, Winston, your intestines and sweet meats will be transformed into a feast of sorts."

Winston tried to rack his brain to find something to say. Maybe he could make a deal with these people. Maybe he could trade some vital information for his life. Or even for a quick death. he stuttered for a moment and then stopped. Noah and the others would be coming. They might have already arrived. In the moment, he'd forgotten. So he screamed. He screamed as loud and as long as he could, hoping that someone might here. He screamed until his lungs felt like they were burning, until the muscles in his neck cramped, and then he started coughing blood. Then he fell quiet.

The Prestons had all stopped to look at him.

"I think he might have lost his marbles already," Mel said.

"Fear will do that thing," Old Skinner said. Then in what seemed a strangely poetic moment, he clutched his own belly and let out a low moan of pain. Bunny helped him back into his chair. "You and I," Skinner said to Winston, "You and I will will share some pains tongith my friend."

Winston waited and waited and watched the coals in the grill go red and then ash gray and white. Where was Noah? The whole time the fear did its job in his brain, stripping away his psychic defenses and leaving him with nothing but contempt for life.

Finally, Bunny crossed the small clearing they were in with a knife. Behind her, the man with no nose, reached into the barbecue grill with iron tongs and extracted several glowing coals which he dropped into a small bucket. He took the bucket and followed Bunny. Bunny was humming to herself as she approached. It was the tune to "Here Comes the Bride."

Winston's head filled with a strange noise. A sound that he quickly recognized as his own teeth chattering. His fangs extended involuntarily and blood-tinged sweat soaked his clothes, the weight and moisture of them clinging to limbs and torso. "Please!" he gasped. The reality of being cooked alive was sinking in. The reality that Ivan and Noah weren't coming was sinking in, "Maybe we can work something out!"

"Now you see what fear can accomplish," Old Skinner told his people.

Winston struggled against the ropes that held his wrists against the tree.

Bunny leaned over him. She touched the tip of the knife against the skin just below his solarplexus. "Pop goes the weasel," she said to Winston. The noseless man stood patiently behind her. She giggled and pushed the knife in about a quarter inch.

Winston snapped at her, trying to bite at her face. He hadn't even planned to do it; it was more of a reflexive reaction, like when a cat gets its tail stepped on. Winston sucked in air. "Please have mercy."

Bunny didn't even answer as she drew the knife down towards his navel. He could hear his shirt and skin splitting.