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They crept through waterlogged meadows, coming to the low hedge-and-wire fence that divided the lawn and gardens from the pasture. Below the brow of the hillock, in a now darkened barn, Charlie's cow dog barked once, and then was silenced.
Aunt Mara's autumn blooming chrysanthemums and her prized roses were trampled under the polished jackboots of a slowly advancing platoon of black clad men. Men ignorant and uncaring of the rights of others, cock-sure and arrogant. Not even Leda's shon:gili followers dared to defy the sanctity of this homestead.
At the head of the rutted and overgrown farm lane a man watched, occasionally adjusting the night-binoculars he used, speaking in low and angry tones at his 'talkie. His face was grim, determined. In the lens his men were little more than moving red flames.
Raising the 'talkie to his mouth, he spoke briefly, lips barely moving, he was so edgy and strained. He lowered it and stared through the binoculars.
This should be an easy take.
Deep in the shadows the twins watched. They glanced at each other and giggled.
The men drew close and rushed the sleeping house. Live bodies hurdled through the doors, crashed through windows.
A sullen flame licked in uncertainty at a log in the fireplace. A spark cracked from the log and one of the men snapped off a round at it. He flushed under a coating of face-black. His immediate supervisor scowled, motioning him from the house with a curt jerk of the hand. The rest combed the ancient building.
Mara counted sleeping forms again. She moved on silent feet to her husband.
Behind a screen of brush near the mouth of the cave, Charlie sat with Anna. Behind them was the tunnel that led to the abandoned mine. It houses Gramps Waya's distillery equipment and barrels of Charlie's moonshine.
"Honey?" Mara's low voice trembled in his ear. "I can't find the girls, Charlie." She whispered a sob.
In horror Charlie and Anna stared up at her.
Outside the house and to the left of the shattered main door, the agent squatted on his heels. The broad porch roof kept off most of the rain, but gusts of wind brought clouds of mist to dampen him further and lower his spirits.
From the sound of angry voices rising through the old farmhouse, the perps escaped. How the hell could they have known?
A chill crept up his spine. He clutched the rain slick 30.06. A little tighter. Fear slid up his chest. In the corner of the rain spotted night-vision glasses he caught a flicker of red. Turning his head a slow fraction of an inch at a time, the glasses adjusted and he saw a small face. A little girl. Carrot red hair complete with pigtails and all.
"Hey, mister. How Y'all a-doing?"
"Uh . . . hey yourself, kid." Shivers of fear crawled up his back. Was this was one of the abominations the boss lady wanted.
"I'm Dixie. That there," she indicated someone on his far side with a rolling wave of her hand, "is my reeeal pretty sister, Trixie. Ain't she just simply, simply and I do mean reallllly gorgeous?"
A giggle to his left jerked his head around. A mirror image of the first abomination brought a start to him.
"Who the hell are you?" he sputtered.
A perky, almost gleeful grin came over the girl's face. "Like my prettier sis done told you, mister, I am Trixie."
"Son of a fuckin' bitch," he snapped. "Who are you?"
Her face hardened into something distinctly unchildlike.
"Our Unca' Carl, now he wouldn't like hearing a man use them kind a words around a couple a young ladies. Would he, Sis?"
"No indeedy." Dixie's pigtails swung in violent denial.
"Uncle Carl? The Conners' twins?" They were on the list. The fear was replaced by an angry excitement.
A wary greed filled him. He had a right to this. They were prey in this hunt and taking them, his record would be expunged of that hasty shot. And from the sound of things, the place was as empty as Tillerman's evil heart. Yeah-baby-yeah. Come to papa, kids.
The rifle dropped and he lunged to the right.
"Ouch, ow, that hurts. Put me down, you're hurting me."
A low whisper came from behind him. "He hurtin' you, Sis?"
"Ow-ow. He's pulling my hair out, Sis." Trixie sobbed, clawing at the man.
Dixie walked through the grass, her feet dragging, picking up wet leaves, her eyes narrowed and bitter.
"You oughtn't to o' done that, mister."
"Shut it, kid. Get over here or I'll break the little bitch's neck."
Head low, teeth bared, Dixie obeyed. The man snarled a grin and grabbed for her.
"Fuckin . . . Damn it," he yelped and eyes wide with shock, he held up his had, staring at the blood running out of a shortened finger.
"You little bitch," he screamed, "You cut off my finger." Throwing Trixie to the ground he smashed his hand across Dixie's face. She tumbled away, dodging him, staying just out of reach.
The girls ran down the hill and up towards the road. Once in the wild lilacs and cedars that bordered the dirt lane they slid away.
He paused. The sound of the twins crashing through the brush and their lungs begging for air was gone. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked. He stepped out onto the road and saw nothing but a curtain of fine mist all around him. He took a step, listened as someone took a step. In his rain soaked black camouflage he shivered.
"Come on out," he called in a low voice. "I know you're in there." He waited, licking rain from his upper lip until it felt raw. Stalking forward, he moved through the brush, hunting the girls, then realized that it was he, not them, who was the hunted.
The brush opened up. Hemlocks towered over him blocking out even the mist. A low growl came from behind him and he bit his tongue to stop from crying out. His feet stumbled over rocks and roots, fallen branches tripped him.
It was getting closer. It was heavy, padded feet clawing the slick ground behind him.
He spun.
A thing, unhuman. Impossible to exist. Nightmare.
It cocked its misshapen head and showed jagged teeth.
With a scream he ran with the Hunter right on his heels. He burst into the glen, shrieking, "I'm a fed agent, help me."
The group of red and black clad worshippers opened. He ran through them and fell onto a boulder. It was slick and sticky, smelling of rotted blood even on this cold night.
He looked at the crowd, lungs bellowing in terror.
"Help . . . me. Thing . . . chasing me."
They closed in, pale hands in an attitude of prayer.
"What?" His head spun. "No. Get away from me-"
They threw him on the 'Stone and bound him with strips of human leather. He twisted, cursing and pleading in turn and they cut off his clothing.
A woman forced a challis to his lips. He gagged on the foul taste and felt himself swelling to an aching hardness.
She mounted him. When done, a man rolled him over and the agent wept in shame even as he shrieked and pleaded for more. Done, the man rolled him over and another woman used him.
One by one the deathly silent group took their turns until his was begging for release, pleading as blood welled out of his member. Screamed for release from the agony.
No sound penetrated the brooding ring of hemlocks.
"God," one of the twins whispered, awed into a terrified attitude of prayer. The second whimpered in agreement.
"Let's go git us another un," the first said. "Be Best we take 'im on down the other way, tho'."
Her sister's head rattled in quick agreement.
The Hunter snuffled at Dixie's heel.
It growled. With a scream, Dixie drove her heel into its blood-shot eyes. The werewolf howled and backed away. It pounced at the girls. They dodged through the brush, tearing through the hemlocks and back to the farm's boundary line.
The Hunter leaped through the cedars and over the stone fence. It squealed, thrashing in the tall pasture grass and clawed its way back through the cedars.
Safe from the power that protected Mara and Charlie's farmstead, it whimpered and changed back to a naked human.
"We don't like you."
Dixie stepped across the boundary line. Trixie grinned so sweet it would make a sinner weep for love.
"Not a-tall."
"We hate you."
"Burn."
"Burn."
They whispered it softly, gently on and on.
He shivered. A flash of blinding pain struck his head. Screaming, he rolled in the leaves his head whipping back and forth. A little smoke seeped from his mouth. Then his ears. His eyes bulged and exploded in steam and tiny flickers of blue sparks while the twins whispered and held hands, pausing every once in a while to giggle.
In his chest his heart raced, blood pressure shoved up hard and he shrieked, clutching his head and then fell back, the heart stopped.
Tormenters gathered, creeping from the earth.
Hand in hand, they walked through the gray mists.
"Halt."
"Hi."
"Hi."
He swayed around and gawked at them.
"We on your list, mister."
"We're ol' Conn's little baby girls."
"We got to be, Sis," the one on his right said, her voice agonized. "We just got to be. Please, mister?"
"Shoot, Sis. We got to be, 'cause we can do this." Linking pinkies, they glanced at his feet.
He followed their gaze down.
Under his feet the ground steamed, a wet, earthy smell filled his nostrils even as his feet began to burn.
He yelped and stumbled back only to discover his boots were on fire. A blackened blade flicked open and he kicked off the ruins of his boots, then the steaming socks. They burst into flames. He groaned at the cooling wetness on his blistered feet.
"You fucking little cunts." He raised up. "Witches." He reached for his rifle.
They were indignant. "Not us."
"That's them preevert down at the 'Stone."
"Yep. They're a makin' movies with one a your pals, mister."
"Whooo-ee, but is he just a-crying."
"Like to so as it would break your heart."
"Poor soul."
"Jesus loves him."
"Where the hell's my gun?"
"You lookin' fer this?"
He looked up at them and quailed. One knelt before him, the muzzle of his rifle steady on her shoulder. She squinted and stuck a finger in her ear.
"Hey, give me that." He reached for the gun. He froze.
"You wanna hurt Aunt Mara and Pop Charlie."
"And Toddy and the girls."
"Those girls is sooo sweet."
"Just as sweet as can be, mister."
"Pretty as Unca Benny."
"If we grows up,"
"We're gonna have lots,"
"Just tons,"
"Of babies."
"Just like them two."
"We're gonna marry up with Unca Benny."
"Sure are."
"Family's sacred."
"Aunt Anna and Aunt Mara says so."
"And you wanna hurt our family."
"Yeah."
"That's why we're gonna blow your ass to hell."
"Yeah."
"Ye-ow," she hollered. "Sweet Jesus save me, Sis, but I think Unca Carl just swatted my a- I mean by back-side. Forgive me my foul mouth."
"Not quite," a strident voice rapped out. "What in the Name of Names do you two think you're doing out with these murderers on the loose?"
"Oh. We was just helpin'."
"Yeah."
They both put up their right hands and spit.
"We was gonna shoot this here preevert."
"Yeah."
"Not hardly," Anna said at her driest.
"Please?"
"Just this un?"
"We won't never,"
"Not ever again!"
"Shoot anybody."
"Honest to gosh."
"Dixie, uncross your eyes. Trixie, take off your shoes-" Anna slapped a hand over her eyes. "Oh, God," she groaned, "What's the use?"
"Hold it." A second agent ungently nudged Anna between the shoulder blades. "You're Anna Wya Grey." There was a solid satisfaction in his voice.
Trixie screeched, "Now can we shoot him, Et:lo:ki Anna?"
Before Anna could shout no the rifle muzzle flared in a deafening report and the first agent scrabbled away, clutching his ear and screaming he was hit.
The second agent blinked.
The woman, she was gone.
He darted after a flash of white.
"Now I got you, you bitch." He panted a laugh. "I'll cut you a new asshole if you try anything." He grabbed a hank of hair.
The big male llama reared and spat a stream of saliva in his eyes. His hoofs struck the man down.
Cursing and half-blinded he was thrown back. His head hit a chunk of rock with a sickening thud.
Tormenters drew near.
Anna slipped from the muttering herd of llamas to close his staring eyes.
The agent crept near to the giggling twins, every sodden leaf and pebble bringing a welter of pain to his blistered feet. Inching forward, he snatched the girls to him, cursing them even as they lay limp in his arms.
"You kiss your poor old mama with that mouth," Trixie demanded.
"Up yours, whore.
"You had best let us be," Dixie said, her words slow and filled with certainty.
Cuffing them together, he laughed. "Try something," he begged. "Please, try one of your tricks, you cuntlappers. See?" He held out his hand. "It's a .350 Magnum." The girls ooed and ahed over it. "Burn me, go ahead. I'll send you both to hell with one shot."
Serene, Trixie said, "We un's too young to go to he- er, H. E. Double Tooth Picks, mister."
"Yeah."
"Aunt Mara says we're a couple a sweet angels."
"Yeah."
"Just you best take care, else ol' Fergie'll git ya."
"Fergie? What is he, a fairy with a name like that?" The agent shook them hard. "Another freak like you two?"
"Fergie!" the girl's screeched, "Help, Fergie. A bad ol' baby killer done caught us."
The agent waved the gun over his head. "Yeah," he jeered, "Come on out, you freak. Come on, you cock-gobbler."
Dixie kicked him in the shins.
"Don't you call him that, mister."
"Why, ol' Fergie, he ain't even human."
"He's our pet."
"He's furry and cute and sweet."
"Yeah."
"He's named after that old princess o' England."
"Yeah."
Hard and sharp they whistled for Fergie.
Looking around for a pet, the agent smirked. "Looks like you poodle is smarter than you two. He's heading for the tall timber. What is he, a toy pup, maybe a Chihuahua? Maybe you red-nigger hicks prefer cow dogs." He thumped his chest and pulled a knife out. "I cut the throat of the one in the barn." He made a show of wiping Gert's blood off on their sleeves.
Tears flood their skinny freckled cheeks.
"You're a bad man."
"Gerttie, she never hurt us a-tall."
"Not even when she had babies."
"She loved us."
Sniffling back her tears, Dixie whispered, "I hope Fergie crunches you."
He knelt before the now silent, weeping twins and said in a low, mean voice, "Where's your precious mutt? I like killing dogs." Rising, he called in a laughing voice, "Come on. Here boy. Come and let me cut your throat too."
A low rumble sent shivers from the wet earth up through his feet. Puzzled, he frowned. Hot, moist air blew around him in a gust, but did not warm him. Chills ran up his spine as he turned.
The first thing he saw was a jet black muzzle that glistened in the dark. Above that was a pair of eyes that glowed red and a five-foot span of horns attached to a two thousand pound Devonshire bull.
The bull rumbled a low growl. The massive head went down.
"Oh, God."
"Hi, Fergie."
"Good boy."
"Oh effing Christ."
"Gee, mister. You oughten't talk like that around ol' Fergie."
"He don't like it much."
Dixie sighed. "'Bout like Unca' Carl."
They sighed.
"Mister? I don't think Fergie likes you."
"Nope."
In a low, mean voice that matched the agent's, Dixie whispered, "I hope he crunches you."
The agent spun, darting away.
Fergie's head cracked into his spine. Vertebrae crushed, and he thudded to the ground twenty feet away.
Calling the bull to them, the twins giggled and declared their love for him. Fergie shuddered but let the girls clamber on his back. They loved him? He'd rather stumble into a nest of copperheads, break his leg, be scorned by heifers, become a steer- Well, maybe not a steer. The bull shivered and trotted up the mountain to where Anna was and he prayed she would deliver him of the terrors on his back.
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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