Midian Unmade (10 page)

The discarded detritus from the topside pleased Abra, and she spent much of her time playing with the trashed remains of summers past, the garbage sparking her childlike imagination like tinder. Anyone else would've found the place sad, but Abra liked living among the discarded lawn chairs; the old mechanical shark that lay on its side, half rusted through; the busted plastic cups smashed like flattened Chinese lanterns; the rotting flyers in a rainbow hue of colors; and the robin's-egg-blue tent whose canvas body had been tattered into ribbons by an unseen hand.

It was a burial ground of sorts and Abra was just another dead thing taking up residence there.

*   *   *

Night fell fast, dropping a heavy, black velvet curtain over the Boardwalk—not that anyone seemed to care. Like a herd of antelope on a grassy African savannah, the tourists were ripe for the picking, too wrapped up—in eating corn dogs and popcorn, in hooking shiny metal rings over milk bottles, in wriggling with delighted terror as the roller coaster inched up its first incline—to notice anything was wrong.

The four of them stood on the periphery, watching and waiting. Theirs was a mission of quality not quantity. Unlike a real pride of lions, they were not interested in picking off the weak or infirm. They were looking for something special, a glorious female with perfect, angelic features and a disposition to match. Once found, they'd catch her then share her body among them—and when they'd finally used her up, their prize would be discarded in a shallow grave, or the eternal depths of the ocean, forever theirs, marked and mated with for eternity.

“What about the girl over there?” one of the twins said, pointing to a tall brunette with skin the color of slightly burnt marshmallow. She was on a bench by the cotton-candy stall, texting someone on her phone, fingers flying over the screen, oblivious to everything and everyone around her.

Cal and Jeb shook their heads. As if she'd heard them talking about her, the girl looked in their direction, left eye drifting lazily within the confines of its socket. She didn't try and catch their gaze, or flirt with them like a real lioness would, but quickly returned to her phone.

Something about the intensity of their stares must've spooked her, because a moment later she stood up and wrapped her red sweater tightly around her shoulders before moving off into the crowd, unaware of just how close she'd come to an unhappy ending.

Sometimes it took only a few moments to lock on a target. Other nights they skulked back to the red VW bus empty-handed. The longer between kills, the more ferocious the hunt and capture of the next victim would be; the more titillating. They'd learned from experience it was better to wait for the right specimen than to take down substandard fare just because they could.

They waited now for the right woman to cross their path.

*   *   *

Abra smelled them before she saw them. She doubted if any of the humans noticed, but, to her, their scent was palpable: rank, animal musk that screamed danger. Then she saw them and knew her nose hadn't steered her wrong. These were human monsters and they were on the hunt.

Abra watched them, curious and strangely drawn to their raw masculinity, as they lounged against the Boardwalk's protective wooden railing, backs to the sea. One of them was sitting on the handrail, bare feet swinging, while the others stood, bodies relaxed, hands casually at their sides or in the pockets of their jean shorts. Abra wanted to laugh at their studied postures, an affect cultivated in order to appear nonthreatening.

With their tawny, tousled hair and ruggedly handsome faces, they looked like models. Many of the women who saw them did a double take, stared openly at them, or smiled so broadly it looked as though their faces might split in half. For the most part, these women were ignored. Once or twice, the one sitting on the handrail would hold a woman's gaze, but never for long—and never so one of the others could see.

Abra wanted to go to them, to see if they could sense in her some of the things she sensed in them, but she was shy. She'd been alone for so long that she felt awkward and tongue-tied. Instead, she watched them from afar, biding her time.

*   *   *

Jeb saw her first.

Still as a large cat, he flicked his lazy caramel-brown gaze in her direction, drinking her in. She was small and slim, but beneath her clothes he could see the gentle curve of hip and thigh, the fullness of pert, young breasts straining against the sheer, black fabric of her thin dress. She had tiny wrists and a delicate neck, the pale white skin at her throat throbbing with bruise-blue veins. She was angelic and beautiful.

He got hard, watching her breathe, and imagining the short yelps she'd make as he entered her, drove himself inside her over and over again until he'd covered her with his scent and seed. He wanted her badly and he knew the others would feel the same.

She had a striking face, symmetrical features in a sharp, heart-shaped frame. She tilted her head, a sheet of straight, honey-blond hair falling across one dark violet eye, causing her to appear aloof and mysterious. He didn't think she'd noticed him yet, which was good. No one wanted to tip off the prey too soon in the game.

“Three o'clock,” he said, his voice smooth as cream, trying not to betray his excitement.

The others followed his gaze, and three more sets of eyes locked on the girl. Usually, the power of four male stares was enough to turn any woman's head, but she didn't seem to notice.

Without exchanging a word, they began to move, fanning out so their paths would eventually draw them back together, hemming her in place. Weaving through the crowd, they took their time, sinewy muscles flexing as they engaged in the controlled stalking of their prey.

Even though Jeb made the selection, Cal was in charge. He stepped up to the girl, his perfect white teeth flashing under the Boardwalk's fluorescent lighting.

“My friends and I couldn't help noticing how beautiful you are.”

The girl lifted her chin, head turning as her blank gaze settled in Cal's direction, following the sound of his voice. Cal looked startled; then comprehension dawned across his face as he realized they'd missed the obvious—there was something wrong with her, a disturbance of the mind. He doubted she possessed the IQ of a small child.

He shook his head at Jeb and the twins, letting them know he was aborting. The others drew back, disappearing into the anonymity of the crowd, leaving Cal alone to deal with the simpleminded girl.

*   *   *

It was a wash. They'd waited half the night, but no other woman had piqued their curiosity. Abra followed them as they left the Boardwalk, keeping a safe distance behind, not wanting them to know she was there. One of her gifts was the ability to move in silence. She glided, her footsteps muted as she shadowed them across the asphalt parking lot and onto the wide concrete sidewalk that paralleled the Boardwalk.

It was early enough that there were still people out on the street, strolling couples holding hands, families with small children half asleep in their parents' arms, and Abra used them like human cover, hiding behind them whenever she felt vulnerable. As they moved farther away from the Boardwalk, skirting the residential sections of town, the crowd began to thin and she had to fall back even more. There was almost no foot traffic once they moved into the suburban areas, and so she used the long shadows in between the streetlights to hide herself away, tucking up close to the bungalows and cottages she passed, ready to step into a front yard or garden and disappear from view.

Up ahead, under a bright yellow streetlight, she saw them stop beside a red VW bus. The sound of the bus's side door sliding open carried across the emptiness of the landscape, and she knew if she was going to make her move, it was now or never.

*   *   *

They climbed into the car, the twins in back, Jeb shotgun, Cal driving. The night's search had been fruitless, but they were unfazed, used to such evenings. It was only a few weeks since their last kill and going without the feel of a woman underneath them for so long only built anticipation, heightening the next experience. Cal started the engine, the old bus knocking back and forth on its wheels as it came to life.

They pulled out into the street, the bus slowly gathering speed as it prepared to melt away into the night, but then the sight of a figure standing in the middle of the road, bathed in the glow of their headlights, made Cal slam his foot on the brakes.

It was too little, too late. They hit the figure straight on, the body slamming into the windshield.

When the bus finally came to a jarring stop, they were all silent. The front windshield was cracked down the middle, flecked with what looked like black blood spatter. Cal opened his door and climbed out, the empty street ahead of him lit by the car's headlights. He looked around, expecting to see a crumpled body lying in the road, but there was nothing. He felt a tap on his shoulder and he whirled around, expecting the worst.

The simpleminded girl from the Boardwalk was standing behind him, her hair wild around her porcelain face. There was black fluid running from her left nostril and the corner of her mouth, and her left shoulder was out of joint, hanging limply at her side.

“You,” Cal whispered, unsettled for maybe the first time ever in his life.

He'd radically misjudged her. There was still a vacuous look in the girl's violet eyes, but she was
not
simpleminded. He realized this, too late, as she smiled in his direction, revealing two rows of utterly inhuman crocodile teeth and a forked tongue that flicked out in his direction, tasting the air.

“I want to play with you.”

Her voice was soft and melodic, but frightening in the context of the black fluid and her injuries. She reached out with her good arm and touched his chest, her fingers smearing black fluid across the front of his neon-green tank top.

Inside the bus, the others watched as Cal took a step backward. The girl dropped her hand, her beautiful face scrunching up in a frown of confusion. With a violent shake of her torso, she snapped her disjointed shoulder back into place and smiled—but there was nothing happy about the angle of her lips.

*   *   *

When Abra realized they were leaving, that her chance was slipping away, she didn't think. She just stepped into the road. There was no pain as she slammed into the glass windshield, cracking her head and tearing her shoulder from its socket, only the thrill of excitement, and knowing she was going to share herself with creatures that were as deviant on the inside as she was on the outside. But then he'd stepped away from her—the only one who'd been bold enough to catch the eyes of the women on the Boardwalk—and she realized he was scared, his fear a heady musk leaking from his mouth and his pores. Confused, she'd tried to touch him, to let him know she just wanted to play, but the fear smell only increased and he moved even farther away from her.

She wanted to be human, so she could cry and bang her head against something hard until the skin and skull split open and the brain inside was mashed to a pulp and she didn't have to think anymore—anything that made the pain of being so alone go away.

These men were supposed to embrace her. They'd come her way once, and she'd dropped the ball, so nervous she hadn't been able to talk. Now here she was again, ready to join them for the night, but in the space of a few hours something had changed. She was a pariah even to these monsters.

She howled in pain, her mind on fire with misery and anger—and then she stopped thinking at all and began to act.

*   *   *

The girl lashed out with her right hand, driving her fist into Cal's chest. With a wet, sucking sound, she extracted his heart and hefted it into the air so the others could see it in the glow of the headlight. Eyes rolling up into the back of his head, Cal pitched face-first onto the asphalt, where he stayed, unmoving, as the girl threw the bloody thing on the ground and stomped it into pieces with her bare foot.

When she was done, she leapt catlike over his body and raced to the driver's-side door of the bus, where the others were sitting in stunned silence, watching the action play out through the cracked windshield like a scene in a violent action movie. As soon as the girl made her move for the bus, Jeb threw himself across the front seat, hand poised over the door lock to engage it, but the girl was faster, grasping the outside handle and ripping the door out of its frame before Jeb could lock it. She reached through the empty doorframe and grabbed Jeb's left arm, tearing it from his torso then throwing the meaty limb behind her, where it landed on the road with a loud
thwack.

Jeb screamed, and the girl punched him in the throat, compressing his windpipe until the scream became a gurgle. He collapsed against the passenger door, grasping at his throat with his hand as the girl placed her hands on either side of his head and twisted until it detached from his neck. Dropping the offensive head into the well between the front seats, she turned her attention to the twins, who were falling all over themselves to get out of the bus, hands scrambling to unlatch the door.

Grabbing a fistful of blond hair in each hand, she dragged them backward across the seat, pulling them into the front so she could get a better grip on their necks. Then she bent over each one in turn, and used her crocodile teeth to rip out their throats.

*   *   *

The police had blocked off both sides of the street, yellow crime-scene tape flapping in the chilly early-morning breeze, but the neighbors ignored the cordon, standing on their porches and out on the street in their pajamas and robes, eyes wide as they took in the procession of investigators and forensic technicians alighting on the crime scene.

Abra sat on the roof of a nearby house and watched as the coroner loaded the four mangled bodies onto stretchers and took them away. She wasn't sorry for what she'd done, only for what she was.