Out in the woods, Kathleen stumbled on. The big thug, Goldmunsen, was right behind her with his gun. The wiry psycho Flake moved along beside her. Flake kept the flashlight trained on the ground ahead of them so the little group could make their way in the beam.
Kathleen didn’t look at either one of them. She just went on, watching the ground, uncaring. She didn’t give a damn about the dying or any of it anymore. The only reason she was crying the way she was was because her life had turned out to suck so much and now it was over, which also sucked, and it was all because of men, who sucked worse than anything. Men were bullies and cowards, the lot of them. Chris crawling like a bitch to Hirschorn. Frank Kennedy with his I-don’t-give-a-shit eyes. All she’d ever wanted was for one of the little bastards to love her. What the hell was that anyway, a crime in this state?
She dragged her forearm across her dripping nose. Trudged on through the thick duff. Kicking through the undergrowth. Downhill over the uneven ground. They’d been walking for a long time. The swamp was not far off now. Kathleen could hear it—the bullfrogs and the peepers and the bugs. It was loud, a real racket, getting louder. They were very close. Step after heavy step she went. The tears poured down her cheek. The snot poured out of her nose. Her pace slowed as she wiped her face again. Goldmunsen prodded her in the back with his pistol. It made her stumble forward. She tripped on something, a root or a rock. She had to pull up a second to keep her balance, reaching out to steady herself against the trunk of a tree.
Goldmunsen said behind her, “Keep moving.”
“Oh, fuck you,” muttered Kathleen.
Flake giggled crazily at that.
“And fuck you too,” she said. “Psycho asshole.”
“Hey!” said Flake. “Watch your mouth, bitch.” He backhanded her in the face—or he tried to. Kathleen blocked his arm with both her own. Threw him off with a furious gesture, staggering sideways as she did. “Hey!” he said again, nearly falling himself.
“Just get the fuck away from me, you sick fuck.” She spat the words out. Because fuck him, fuck both of them. They could kill her if they wanted but she’d be damned if anyone hit her anymore. None of these assholes was going to hit her anymore ever. “Just get the fuck away.”
Crying, she stormed off ahead of them down the hill.
For a second Flake just stood there, amazed, stunned, looking after her.
“Come on, let’s go already,” said Goldmunsen. “Jesus. Let’s just for once do what we’re supposed to do tonight and stop complicating things. Fucking mosquitoes are killing me out here.”
“Did you see that?” said Flake. “Did you see what that little bitch…?”
He went after her, caught up with her, moved beside her, shining the flashlight into her eyes to get her attention. She brushed at the light as if it were a bug or something but that was it. She didn’t even turn to look at him.
“You think I won’t cut you?” he said.
“Oh, shove it up your ass,” she told him.
Flake stopped dead, stood still again, his mouth open.
“Come on already!” said Goldmunsen as he passed.
“Did you…?”
“Come on!”
What could Flake do? He followed the two of them, seething. Lighting the way with the flash.
Now Kathleen felt the ground grow spongy under her feet. The mosquitoes swarmed and harried her. The noise of the frogs and the water bugs grew louder—screaming loud all around her. Then there was a spark in the blackness, a ripple of glitter: The flashlight’s beam had struck water.
Kathleen felt a jolt of fear. Here they were. The swamp. She swallowed. God, this sucked. She wished it would just be over.
Another step—and her foot sank into bog. The cold water seeped in over her tennis shoes, soaked her socks. She stopped, standing in muck up to her shins. There was nowhere else to go. This was it. This was the end of it.
A shudder went through her. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, defiant and resigned. A mist of flies and mosquitoes settled around her head but she didn’t even bother to try to chase them off. Let them have her. Why not? Her life ought to be good for something.
She stood and stared out across the expanse of water. There was open sky above and some moonlight though the moon was low. She could make out the shapes of reeds and cattails. She could make out the shifting water, the reflection of the stars. All of it—everything—blurred by her tears.
She shook her head at the night, frowned bitterly at it. What the hell good was any of it anyway if no one loved you? Christ, maybe she should’ve asked a man to abandon her like her father had or beat her like her husband had or lie to her like her lover. Maybe then, you know, if she’d asked him for it, he’d’ve been faithful and kind and true just to spite her. Just to throw her for a loss. Who the fuck knew? Who the fuck knew anything anyway?
She shivered again, getting cold. Jesus, let them do it already. What the hell was taking them so long?
She turned around to face the bastards. But she had marched so fast there at the end that they were still lagging behind. Goldmunsen was just coming down the slope, just galumphing down on his bowed ape legs with one dangling ape arm swinging, the other clutching his gun. Another day, another murder for Goldmunsen, that’s how he was. And Flake was pulling up to the left of her, hanging back from the water to keep his shoes dry. Bouncing on his toes there, looking like he was just about to blast the fuck off from pure psycho energy. He trained the flashlight on her. His face was glowing in the light, glowing with anticipation. His mouth was corkscrewed into a little smirk at the thought of what would happen to her now.
The two of them—Goldmunsen and Flake: just like the rest, bullies and cowards. They pissed her off, every goddamned one of them.
“Look at you fucks,” she burst out. She hated that she was crying in front of them but she couldn’t stop. She was too scared and miserable to stop. “Look at you.”
The two murderers actually obeyed her, actually glanced at one another like the idiots they were. She’d’ve laughed if she could’ve worked herself up to it.
“If I was you I’d be ashamed to breathe it’d be such a waste of air,” she said. They stared at her. Anger twisted her face. “Come on, already, you dumb fucks. Shoot me for the love of Christ. What’re you waiting for? I’m sick of the sight of you.”
Flake could hardly believe his ears. He gaped at her, gaped at Goldmunsen. He couldn’t get his mouth shut, that’s how shocked he was.
“All right, that’s it!” he said finally. With a muttered curse, he shifted the flashlight from his right hand to his left. Now his right hand was free to pull his switchblade out of his pocket. He snapped it open. “I’m…I’m…I’m gonna cut her.” He could barely get the words out.
Kathleen sneered at him, him and his switchblade. “Oh yeah, big fucking man,” she said.
Flake started toward her. But Goldmunsen had had it with Flake. This had been a long day for poor Goldmunsen. He’d already been through this whole business once already with the bitch’s husband. Twice to the killing place in one day and nobody was even dead yet. Well, that was enough. Enough of Flake, enough of this whole business.
“Hold it, Flake! Just hold it!” he said.
The tone of his voice made Flake hold up. He stood at the edge of the water. He glared hate at the woman in the swamp.
“Just stay the fuck right there,” Goldmunsen said. “And keep the goddamned flashlight steady. Let me get this over with. Christ.”
Flake hesitated, still trembling with outrage.
“Come on!” shouted Goldmunsen. “Remember what Mr. Hirschorn said. No diddly-shit now, let’s go.”
Hirschorn’s name decided it. Flake breathed down his anger. “All right, all right,” he muttered. “Shit.” He jerked the flashlight up until the beam caught Kathleen full in the face. She flinched at it, holding up her hand. Then she squinted straight into it, still sneering at them through her tears. Flake couldn’t understand it: How the hell could Goldmunsen just take that shit from her? How could he just let it go and kill her without wiping that sneer off her face, without making her scream for mercy?
But Goldmunsen didn’t care a fart about the look on her face or what she said or whether she screamed or anything. He just wanted to take her out and get this over with. In fact, he gave a little snort of admiration for her.
“You got more balls than your old man does, I’ll say that for you,” he told her.
Then, with one smooth motion, he lifted his gun and aimed it squarely at her chest.
And Jim Bishop leapt at him, flying out of the darkness like a panther.