Swamp Monster Massacre (12 page)

“I’ll be right up there. When the time comes, you and me are gonna make them wish they never fucked with us.” He pointed at Jack. “Asshole, start climbing.”

Jack scampered up the tree with a good deal of difficulty. Liz lay down at the base of the tree and moaned. Rooster made the climb with the ease of King Kong going up the Empire State Building. The tree limbs were sturdy enough to support both their weights.
 

“Let it rip,” he called down to Liz.
 

She began to wail in agony, calling out for them to come back for her. He had to give it to her. She sounded like her leg had been snapped in two. Her cries were piercing. In between her labored screams were tears. He knew they were tears for Maddie, just as her false shouts of pain were for Maddie’s revenge.
 

It didn’t take long for it to work. The Bigfoots’ rotten stench wafted over them.
 

He tightened his grip on the machete, and waited.
 

Chapter Twenty

Liz’s scream caught in her throat the moment the skunk ape’s nauseating smell wormed its way into her nose. Instead, she gagged, fighting the desperate need to vomit. She couldn’t afford to lose whatever scant fluids she had left in her body, and she sure as hell didn’t want to be wracked with spasms when death was so close. Her heart went crazy, like a wild horse set free. She prayed Rooster knew what he was doing. She’d seen the murderous look in his eye, and knew in that instant that he was no stranger to death.
 

Thinking about Maddie got her to calm down, to focus. Yes, they had killed the skunk ape child, but it had been an accident. In return, the creatures had taken six lives in the most brutal fashion conceivable.
 

In the small amount of time they had been together, it was easy for her to see that Rooster had feelings for Maddie. She’d always been the charmer. And despite what he was, her sister seemed to be falling for him. Maybe it was all a case of Stockholm Syndrome, but it did unite Liz and Rooster in one thing: neither would stop until every last one of those skunk apes was dead. Both sides had adopted a policy of mutually assured destruction, and neither gave a shit anymore.
 

She looked around, still doing her best to whimper softly and sound like easy pickings.
 

A pair of red eyes poked out from behind a tree.
 

At most, the beast was ten feet away.
 

Huff.

Was it calling to the others? Or was that just a grunt of satisfaction, knowing it had her dead to rights?

“Please, if you can hear me, I’m hurt! Help me!” Liz hoped that would lure the beast closer. She cried, hot tears spattering the dirt.
 

Old leaves shuffled, and she looked up to see the hulking shadow separate from the tree trunk. It wasn’t the big mother, but it was massive nonetheless. It stared at her, chest heaving, eyes locked on to her. She saw its lips curl back over razor-sharp teeth.
 

“No! No!”

She raised an arm across her head and inched the gun out of her waistband with the other, careful not to let it see that she was armed. The skunk apes had been shot at several times now. Even dumb animals could learn, and these things were not dumb.
 

It took three quick strides, stopped and screeched as if it thought the simple act of bellowing at her could kill her.
 

It didn’t hear Rooster leap from his hiding place, a war cry spitting from his throat. The machete connected with the skunk ape’s back before Rooster’s feet hit the ground, a tactic meant to utilize gravity, momentum and Rooster’s full weight so he could bury the machete deep.
 

The skunk ape howled in pain, pulling away from Rooster. The machete was firmly lodged in its back. It twisted round and round like a dog chasing its tail, desperate to locate the source of its pain. As the handle spun his way, Rooster grabbed hold, put one foot on the skunk ape’s hip, and pulled with both hands. The machete came loose with a tearing sound and a jet of blood that colored Rooster from head to toe.
 

“How do you like it, motherfucker?” Rooster wailed. The skunk ape fell to its knees, loosing a series of low, rapid grunts.
 

Rooster didn’t give it a chance to regain its footing. He brought the machete down on its skull with an earsplitting
crack
. The tip of the blade poked out from between its eyes. He worked the machete up and down, up and down, trying to pull it free. The moment he did, with gray brain matter flicking off the edge, he began hacking at both sides of its neck. Arterial spray whooshed out with an audible hiss. Liz caught a mouthful and spat out the vile-tasting plasma.
 

“Teach…you…fuckers to…fuck…with Rooster!” He drove the machete down into every section of the creature’s body, like a chef chopping an onion in rapid motion. In under a minute, the skunk ape was nothing more than a mass of red, stringy fur, exposed bone and severed organs pouring out of fresh-made crevices.
 

“Rooster!” Liz shouted.
 

He stopped, looking at her with dazed eyes.
 

“It’s dead,” she said. “Save your strength. We have more to go.”

He looked down at his hands as if they had just been attached moments ago. Between the blood and the wild look in his eyes, Liz would have sworn he was the Devil himself. But that didn’t scare her. She needed the Devil to kill the demonic things that had murdered her sister.
 

A loud splash gave them both a start, distracting them from the quivering bits of the skunk ape.
 

Jack was still in the tree, vomiting hard. “Oh, my God, the smell,” he said between heaves.
 

If living skunk apes smelled bad, dead ones that had been flayed open were even worse.
 

When Jack stopped, he wiped his mouth with the back of his arm and said, “I’d always heard the smell of blood was awful, but I think you may have nicked whatever gland made it reek so bad. Maybe they’re not just rotten on the outside.”

“Might as well come down,” Liz said. “It’s not like we can do the same thing here twice.”

Jack hit the ground and rolled into his own vomit.
 

He was about to protest when Rooster raised his finger to his lips.
 

“You hear that?” he asked.
 

Liz tried, but could only discern the natural sounds of small critter life on the island. Rooster hadn’t even bothered to wipe a drop of the blood from his face. It dripped down his cheeks, seeping into his mouth.
 

He pointed to the east. “They’re over there.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Jack said.
 

“Trust me. Your nose will know I’m right.”

He turned and headed off without waiting to see if they would follow. Liz helped Jack to his feet.
 

“I’m sure the rest of them will all be together, so get ready to use that,” she said,handing the gun back to him. Jack needed it more than her. He nodded, and they scrambled to catch up with Rooster, who Liz now felt with all her soul had become more beast than man.
 

She could hear her daddy telling her,
Stay close to him. If you want to survive, you have to put yourself in the eye of the hurricane. Remember everything I taught you. Don’t let me or your sister down.
 

She stopped when she spotted a branch that was just wide enough for her to stretch her fingers around. It must have been snapped off in a storm. The tip had split into a jagged, sharp point. The guns hadn’t done them much good. Time for a new tactic.
 

Chapter Twenty-One

Damn, it felt good to make mincemeat out of that friggin’ ape.
 

Rooster was riding his anger high, hard and fast. Back there, carving up that fucker like it was a Thanksgiving turkey that had done him wrong, he didn’t even feel the blood as it bathed his skin or smell the hellish funk that oozed out of each chopped-up bit. It was like an out-of-body experience, this free rein given to his anger, letting it satisfy its every lust and hunger.
 

Maybe that’s why all those folks back home tried their damndest to wring that poison out of me,
he thought. As he ran recklessly, he briefly wondered what his life would be like after this—if there was an after. Would his anger all bleed out, or would it continue to boil? Then he thought of Maddie, and realized he didn’t give a crap. He had work to do.
 

He skidded to a stop when he saw a pair of hairy, enormous skulls just above a line of bushes. They were facing the other way, oblivious to his approach. He jerked around and motioned for Jack and Liz to freeze.
 

“Two, up ahead,” he mouthed.
 

Liz’s mouth set in a grim line. Jack hunched low, looking nervous as all get out.
 

He waved them to come closer.
 

“Liz, I say we flank them while Jack here empties out that gun the moment they stand up. Looks like you found a spear. Nice. Just drive it into its belly, where you won't get much resistance. You try for the chest or head and it’ll just bounce off the bone. Drive it deep as you can and just keep pushing on it.”

“Got it.”

“And Jack, I need you to be fucking Wild Bill Hickok. Make the few shots you have count. Go for their upper backs. With any luck, you’ll hit their spine. That’ll drop ’em quick. Just breathe through your mouth and keep your eyes open when you pull the trigger.”

Jack was already doing his share of mouth breathing to calm his nerves. His head bobbed up and down like a bird dipping into a puddle of water.
 

“Just let me lead. Liz, once you see me, you come ready to gore its ugly ass. I’ll take the right. Let’s hit it before they go looking for their dead brother.”

Liz gave him a thumbs-up and disappeared behind a cypress tree without making a sound. Rooster wasn’t quite as nimble, but in a way, he wanted the Bigfoots to know he was coming. He hoped when he got close enough, they could smell the blood of their brother on him. He wanted them to feel what it was like to be hunted. Most of all, he wanted them to feel fear.
 

The trees ended in a flat field of high grass. He emerged from the tree line about fifteen feet to the right of the sitting Bigfoots. Both looked hurt, the worse being the one Dominic had done a number on. Its face was jacked to hell and looked like a mask made of crumbled bologna. The other was nursing its arm and grimacing in pain.

Perfect.
 

No sense waiting for someone to ring the bell.
 

Rooster charged, holding the machete across his chest with both hands like a samurai brandishing his sword. Their heads twitched to face him, and he noticed that the one Dominic had pummeled was missing both its eyes.
Even better, because that would be Liz’s kill.
 

The gunshot one rose up and did its best to let out one of those tighty-whitey-staining roars, but it didn’t have the strength. Rooster saw Liz dart out from behind something that looked like a termite mound with her makeshift spear pointed in the beast’s direction. The Bigfoot swiped at him with its long arm, but he ducked and slashed with the machete across its belly. He heard Jack’s gun go off and saw the other one stagger when the bullet buried itself in its back. Rooster hadn’t gotten near enough of the Bigfoot’s belly, so he went to take a hack at its good shoulder. The damn thing still had some speed left in it, and it dodged the blow, catching him with a backhand that sent him ass over head.
 

He stopped tumbling just in time to see Liz go for bologna face’s gut. She misjudged, aimed too high, and sure enough, the branch hit the bottom of its rib cage and shuddered out of her hands.
 

“Liz!”

Scrabbling to his feet, he watched in horror as the other Bigfoot sprinted toward Liz. He ran, shouting as loud as he could to get its attention.
 

When it turned, swinging both arms to tear his head from his neck, he dropped low like he was sliding into second base, letting the momentum carry him forward, where he slashed at its leg, rending a gaping maw in its calf. There was another shot, and he saw bologna face’s head explode like an egg in a microwave. Jack let out a cry of exultation, and Liz jumped back to avoid having the big ape fall on her.
 

One to go.
 

The last Bigfoot backed away slowly, limping and trailing blood and stink that even Mother Nature couldn’t wash away.
 

“That’s right, big fella. It’s me and you now,” Rooster sneered. He advanced, swinging the machete in a wide arc. The Bigfoot put up a hand to stop it and lost three fingers for its efforts. It yelped and paused to look at its wrecked hand.
 

“I may just save those fingers for myself. Maybe they’ll be lucky, like a rabbit’s foot.”

All the Bigfoot could do was cower, even though it stood a good foot and a half taller than him and outweighed him considerably. Its fear fed Rooster’s rage, and he growled as he swept in to deliver the killing blow.