Post by sonata on Feb 4, 2011 23:06:09 GMT
Hue Wilson
132 miles from Angel Falls
Time: 2:15pm
Time: 2:15pm
The sky was a vibrant white. The clouds were indiscernible; the land beneath them was smoky with an approaching storm. The clouds hung like a curtain, caressing the earth with light rain. Of course this day would be shitty. Her eyes like polished lazurite gazed upon the horizon; her cheekbone had puffed up and was slowly turning black. Her lips were dry and cracked to bleeding, her right cheek swollen like she had oral surgery done—in the form of a fist to the face.
The young woman was sitting in the flaky grass with her back to the door of an old, vanilla and mahogany station wagon. A red, polka dot dress hugged her body like a sleeve and near her pale, pasty thighs was a deep wrinkle from where her skirts were hiked up her hips. Her panties were still damp and stinking with the filth that had been forced between her legs. It had become a lingering sensation that made her crotch ache as the wind attempted to comfort her with a chilled stroke of its fingers through her flaxen hair. Her face had become arid and crispy in long streams that traced the paths of old, salty tears that had once stained her face. Her screams and sobs seemed like a dream—a nightmare that she might not have believed had happened to her if not for the dawdling spasms.
A man stepped in front of her—thin and smelling of tobaccy. He looked like the typical hick that had nothing better to do. Dark-blue, plaid button-up shirt, blue Levis, and a blue Budweiser cap. His face was tan and almost tinged a natural red. It was rough with stipple and his wrinkled, licked-over lips rolled back to flash a smile of marble, tobacco-stained teeth in a fashion as if he were squinting into the sun.
“Why hello there Mrs…” He reached a hand into his back pocket to procure a brown leather wallet. It was a man’s wallet. It had been her husband’s. The man’s brows curved upwards, pinching together as he read over the license that was within it. “Mrs. Jessica Noirot. What kind of a last name is No-ee-rot? Oh well, it doesn’t matter. How ya feelin’? You’re lookin’ good.” He confirmed his admiration by resting his sandpaper hand on the side of her neck. His thumb crept to the corner of her mouth where he pulled down her bottom lip and his smile stretched further upon seeing the pink of her gums. The way he made her lip dip to show off the whites of her teeth made him shudder in delight. It was so sensual.
“Are you ready to go again Mrs. No-rot?” the man asked.
The question triggered a sheet of tears to bubble at her eyelids. Her face, however, gave no expression of remorse as she gazed upon the man that had made her hurt.
“Hey, if yer gonna do her again, ya know it’s gonna be muh turn,” another man, larger and thicker spoke.
“Man, shut the fuck up. I knows that. Shit.”
The man drew his hand away from Jessica’s face, frowning like a child that was too reluctant to share. He scowled at the earth as the larger man walked over in his large boots and suspenders. He was already grinning as he imagined the fun he was going to have with her. He was going to fuck her harder than Hunter that’s for sure. Make the bitch scream his name!
As the larger man stood there grinning, his hands beginning to unfasten his suspender straps, the slender Hunter stood to his feet to make way for his larger associate and upon facing the dark strip of road that bisected the grassland, he noticed a stranger approaching them on a mountain bike.
“Who the hell?” Hunter mused aloud.
The bicycle squeaked in a rhythm that every time his left pedal met the peak of its revolution, on the way down it uttered a long whine. It was beginning to rust from its extensive use and exposure to moisture. A plastic Walmart bag was tied over the seat, crackling beneath the denim-covered ass that sat upon it. The two rednecks clinched their eyes in that habitual squint, staring against the vibrancy of the white-washed sky at a man that was dressed like no ordinary biker.
The stranger was dressed in a black, nylon winter jacket with a tactical vest, a dirty tank top, and olive-colored, denim cargos. He wore a black cap with a white Nike symbol on his head and black aviator sunglasses beneath. His left hand was clutching the handle bar, while his right held in his lap a bag of Oberto beef jerky. A slither of dark meat was lodged up in the right corner of his mouth, poking out from between his teeth as he chewed every few seconds, swirling the sweet teriyaki flavor across his tongue. What had put the rednecks on edge was the tail-end of a Mossberg peering over his right shoulder from behind a back pack and the two pistols strapped to his hips.
Upon being noticed, the stranger turned the steering wheel of the bike, causing it to glide in playful S motions until he arrived fifteen feet from the gentlemen. His steel-toe boots planted themselves with a thud, and he straightened his posture, freeing his hand of the handlebar to dive into the bag of jerky and slide free another piece. He slid the red strip of meat into his mouth as his lips uttered two smacking noises as they dragged upon the sweet juices that rolled along his tongue. Like the nosy kid of the neighborhood, the stranger asked with a child-like curiosity, “Whatcha’ do~in’?”
Silence. It happened for the ten seconds it took Hunter to gaze over his shoulder at the larger man behind him. “What the fuck?” was still drawn on his mug. He gazed back at the stranger, who was looking at Jessica who had turned her head and gave the stranger the most gloomy and hopeless gaze he had ever seen. It made his brown brows lower in displeasure.
Hunter gazed at the stranger and warned, “What the fuck are you supposed to be? A cop?”
“Not really,” the stranger plainly returned.
“You best go on your way then.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
Hunter scowled and chuckled in what he hoped would demonstrate condescendence, but only revealed how insecure he was. The larger man muttered suspiciously, “He ain’t…” he rehearsed his statement in his mind for a moment, “He ain’t normal.”
His comrade’s observation disturbed him. Chuckling once more, Hunter asked the stranger, “What are ya gonna do? Shoot us?”
“Yes,” the stranger admitted.
The larger man’s lip turned upwards in a sneer. The flesh on his face came together like a balled fist as his cheeks sagged into jowls and his throat thickened like a tire. He leapt into the air, his massive form bloating like a balloon until the denim ripped, spilling forth his bronze belly. His stomach opened like a maw, his ribs lowering like teeth as his entrails launched like whips toward the stranger.
Not too far behind, Hunter too had transformed. His head billowed into a spherical ball, his forehead jutting and eyes sunken in. Every muscle on his body evaporated until his flesh was stretched like a glove over his bones and fingers lengthened into claws. His mouth had opened at his throat as he sprinted toward the stranger with a deranged scream.
The gunman had been quick to react as soon as he saw the contortion the face of the larger man had taken. His right hand withdrew his SIG, pointer finger popping free the clasp as the gun was brought into both hands. He released the safety and squeezed the trigger, releasing three rounds at the airborne foe before tumbling off his bike to his left and releasing two more rounds upon the crazed Hunter. Both men struck the ground, thrashing about as though they had been struck by lightning. The holes in their chests released a white thread of smoke as the stench of burning flesh thickened the air.
Rising, the stranger walked over to the two men and just as Hunter began to rasp, “Who?-” A bullet tore through his skull, cracking it like an egg that dumped its red yolk across the earth. Squirming like a worm in the human syrup was a black leech that swiftly fled into the earth almost as though it were fleeing back to the fiery pits from which it had spawned. The stranger emptied the last two rounds into the side of the head of the larger man as he strode toward Jessica. He instantly ceased movement and lye still as a leech ate its way out the flesh of his back to burrow into the earth.
Jessica’s eyes were wide in horror. She hadn’t been able to see the men’s transformations but she had seen their gruesome deaths. To her eyes, it looked as though mere bullets had split the skull of Hunter and spilled the larger man’s entrails across the ground. The blonde turned upon her side and began crawling away from the gunman in terror, and when she glanced over her shoulder to see if he was menacingly in pursuit, she watched as he went over to her station wagon and popped open the door. He checked the front seats, and then the back of the station wagon. Several things were taken out the car, and littered the ground outside it—registration papers, oil change receipts, and other miscellaneous trash.
Stepping back from the wagon, the stranger questioned Jessica, “Where are your keys?”
She was slow to respond, making a gesture with her head toward Hunter. The stranger turned, puckering his lips to spit the fat from the jerky off to the side. He walked over to Hunter’s corpse and crouched, shoving his hands into his pants pockets as he removed two wallets and the station wagon keys. Holding Jessica’s wallet in his right, four fingers, he opened up Hunter’s wallet to remove forty dollars.
“Some of that is mine,” Jessica squeaked; her eyes were glazed over as though she might cry again.
The gunman gave her a brief look before he tossed Hunter’s wallet down and stuffed the forty dollars into Jessica’s wallet. No skin off his nose. He gave the large man the same treatment, taking his money and keys to the rusty Ford pickup that was parked behind the station wagon.
Jessica stood to watch the mysterious stranger as he climbed into the pickup and cut it on. When the engine roared to life, she felt her heart skip in fear that he might abandon her, but he hadn’t drove away. He was checking the fuel and noticed that there was at least a quarter of a tank left. Cutting the ignition, he hopped out and started over to the station wagon. He checked the fuel and the gauge read half a tank.
Jessica parted her lips to speak, but was interrupted when the gunman asked, “Do you have anythin’ I can take the gas out of this wagon with?”
Casting her blue eyes to the floor, she replied softly, “It’s in the back.” As the stranger went to do his thing, Jessica enlightened, “They’ve been chasin’ me for a long time. They saw me at a Shell and they been followin’ me ever since. At first I didn’t realize it, but then I saw the same truck in the drive thru when I was gettin’ Wendys.” The stranger had set up a funnel and hose he had got from the back of the station wagon and was pulling gasoline from the tank into a container. Jessica crossed her arms, clutching her biceps as her lips pursed. Tears drizzled from her eyes as she continued, “I drove hoping to find a state trooper, but there was no one. God then cursed me with a flat tire.”
“They gave you a flat tire,” the stranger corrected.
“What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“I can’t believe men would chase a girl down justta rape her and rob her.”
“You ain’t gotta worry about them no more. Some people are just full of so much sin it makes them susceptible to the devil and his minions. I’m not like that.” When the last of the gas was emptied, he pulled out the funnel and hose and picked up the red container by the handle. “Come with me. If you were headin’ some place, I’ll take you there.”
Jessica wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and followed after the man. “What is your name?”
Unscrewing the gas cap of the truck, the stranger began dumping the gas inside. “Hue Wilson.”
Eventually, the truck was fueled and everything was dumped in the back, including the bike Hue had arrived on. The ride was long and silent as Jessica remained curled up in her corner often crying silently to herself as her fingers curled into the red material of her dress and her legs squeezed tightly together. He had felt sorry for her and wished he had arrived to save her sooner, but he was lucky to find a bike as his last method of transportation broke down, forcing him to walk quite a distance. Making the trip with armed weapons on his back hadn’t been easy either, but the road had mostly been surrounded by nothing but grassland.