A Crying Shame (11 page)

Mike hauled him back to the ground by grabbing the seat of the man's trousers and jerking.
Get your ass back down here, Joe.”

Miss Breaux,” Mike called.
Are you all right? Anybody in there with you?”

Just a dead ... thing,” she called, her voice breaking at the last.

The cops looked at each other.
A dead ... thing?” Mack said.

The door surrendered, the last few splinters relaxing. The heavy door fell inside the house with a crash. The men all jumped at the noise.

Come on out here,” Mike said firmly, his voice carrying through the morning stillness.

They heard the sounds of her stumbling footsteps and her almost hysterical weeping. She stepped over the fallen door to stand in the bright, harsh glare of the sun. The house faced the east; the woman lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the brilliance. The lawmen stared in silence at her, too shocked to speak. She was bloody, hair disheveled, eyes red from crying and wide from fear. Some sort of hideous odor clung to her jeans and shirt. Her face was white, chalklike, in direct contrast to the blood that stained her shirt. Her bare arms were splattered with dried blood. She held the .32 automatic in her right hand.

Ms. Breaux,” Joe said softly.
Please place the gun on the porch. Now ... don't drop it ... that's only in the movies. Just bend down and lay it easy on the porch.”

She did as ordered, straightened up, took two steps, and fainted, falling into the arms of Joe Ratliff, who managed, quite unintentionally, to get his hands on all the wrong places of her very amply endowed body.

Joe blushed.

Hell of time to cop a feel,” Mack said.

Joe glared at him, conscious of his beet-red face.
I'll pray for your evil thoughts,” he told the trooper. Joe looked at Mike.
And yours, too.”

What'd I say?” Sheriff Saucier asked.

Behind the great house, hidden from the eyes of the lawmen, a creature slipped into the dark waters of the Crying Swamp.

While Joe and Mack attended to the needs of Linda Breaux, Sheriff Saucier, reloaded .357 in his right hand, entered the house—cautiously.

He slowly prowled the house, his eyes taking in but not believing the now-horseshoed shape of the double-barreled shotgun on the damp carpet of the den. Broken glass glittered like shattered crystal on the floor.

Bent double!” Mike hissed in a whisper.
What in God's name would have the strength to do that?”

He walked down the hall, his nose following the stench to the office. When his wide, unbelieving eyes found what lay sprawled in hideous death on the floor, Sheriff Mike Saucier lost his breakfast, spewing it on the wall and carpet.

He backed out of the office, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. His eyes lifted from the lifeless ugliness on the floor to the bullet-shattered window of the office.

More than one of those ... things?” he muttered.
God, let it not be.” He stopped his backing up, pulling his shaky emotions together, forcing himself to reenter the gore-splattered room.

Mike had worked terrible automobile accidents; had seen firsthand what high-speed impact could do to a human body; had witnessed stabbings, shootings, and most other forms of mayhem ... but never, ever, had he seen anything to match this.

At a sharp noise behind him Mike jumped about six inches off the carpet. He relaxed as the familiar tread of footsteps reached his ears. He holstered his pistol, wiping suddenly sweaty palms on his pants leg.

Sheriff?” Mack called.

Down the hall, Mack. Last room on your right. Brace yourself. You're about to see something right out of a horror movie.”

Ah, come on, Mike. I've seen just about everything that can happen to a human.” He stepped into the office. His breakfast, a Danish and two cups of coffee, joined Mike's bacon and eggs on the wall and the floor.

I believe the bathroom's that way.” Mike pointed, his tone dry.
But I have to warn you . . .”

The trooper lifted embarrassed and frightened eyes to the man.

. . . There may be more of those things.” He pointed to the brute on the floor. ”As a matter of fact, I'd bet there are. Look at that window; she shot out of it. Very little glass on the floor. Maybe she was shooting at shadows, but I'll bet footprints will prove that”—again, he looked at the dead creature—
beast had company with it.”

Sheriff ... what is that damned thing?”