Blood Games

    Twisting her head around, she gazed back at the cabin. No sign of Batty. Nor could she hear the crazy laughter.

    He won’t come after us, she told herself. Not with a broken arm. Not with that gash.

    Not right now, anyway.

    She realized they had left their water bottle in the cabin.

    It’s okay. We’ve got two more back at the car. Sure not going back in for it.

    Just stay where you are, Batty. Don’t come after us.

    Returning her attention to the boat, she saw Cora already seated in the center and busy fitting an oar into the metal U of its oarlock. Finley, behind Cora, sat cross-legged on the bottom of the boat and now had the shotgun. She held it straight up, the barrels rising like a mast above her head.

    Cora got the other oar into position.

    Abilene leaned against the prow and pushed. The boat began gliding away, stem first, and she sloshed after it, guiding it farther from shore until the water climbed to her waist. Then she boosted herself up, kicked high enough to hook a calf over the gunwale, squirmed and twisted until she dropped aboard.

    She lay on her back, struggling to catch her breath. Beyond her upraised knees, Cora was rowing with a single oar to turn the boat around. Then both oars were in motion, Cora leaning forward to dip them in, coming back toward Abilene as she drew their blades through the water, and starting over again.

    Abilene lifted a hand to her face. Gently, she fingered the lump of soreness beneath her right eye. Her cheekbone felt as if a golf ball were growing out of it.

    I got him better than he got me, she thought. Still, she wished she hadn’t broken his arm. She had never hurt anyone like that before and the memory of it sickened her.

    He was going to stab Finley, she reminded herself.

    Besides, it was an accident. I only broke it because he bashed me with that skull and I started to fall.

    The boat dropped abruptly, then rebounded off the water, its wooden ribs pounding against her. Enough of this, Abilene thought. Rising, she scooted across the bottom until her back met the edge of the bow seat. She clutched the gunwales, pushed herself up, and sat on the narrow bench.

    The slate gray lake was choppy, but didn’t look nearly as rough as it had felt when she was lying on the bottom of the boat. The fresh breeze felt good.

    Leaning sideways, she looked past Cora’s back. Finley met her eyes and nodded. Vivian was twisted around, gazing toward shore.

    The limbs of the willow, hanging out over the lake, blew like green streamers.

    We really haven’t gone very far, Abilene thought. Maybe a hundred feet.

    And then she saw Batty come prancing down the slope stark naked. ‘Oh, my God,’ she murmured. The broken arm swung from its elbow like a dead thing. The other arm, bound with a red rag, was upraised and shaking a pale club that had a knob at both ends.

    A bone?

    Batty’s long gray hair blew like the willow limbs.

    Her breasts bounced and flopped like loose sacks of pudding.

    His erection was a rigid, jerking spike.

    Abilene’s mind reeled.

    Vivian pointed, swiveled her head and said something to Finley.

    Finley got to her knees and turned around and shouldered the shotgun.

    ‘Don’t you shoot,’ Cora warned, still rowing.

    Batty stopped at the water’s edge. And began to dance. Hopping from foot to foot, shaking the bone at the gray sky then bowing to dip it into the lake before thrusting it again overhead.

    Finley looked over her shoulder. Abilene expected a remark about hermaphrodites until she caught the strangeness in her friend’s eyes.

    Too freaked out to crack wise.

    This was the thing that had grabbed her breast. A lecherous old coot but also a hag, mad and sly, a drinker of blood, a collector of body parts, a conjurer.

    Freaks me out, too, Abilene thought, and I’m not the one who got groped.

    Finley turned away.

    Batty was still dancing, twirling and leaping, sweeping the hone from the water to the sky.

    A heavy blast slammed Abilene’s ears. The shotgun leaped beside Vivian’s shoulder. Vivian jumped as if her boat seat had turned into a cattle prod. Then she grabbed the barrels and shoved them up. Her face red and twisted, she glared back at Finley.

    She said nothing.

    But Cora shouted, ‘Damn it!’

    On the shore, Batty shook the bone and hopped with both feet, broken arm and breasts and penis bouncing up and down.

    Abilene found herself wishing Finley hadn’t missed.

    Finley yanked the barrels from Vivian’s grip, but she didn’t take aim again. Holding the shotgun upright, she scowled back at Cora. ‘The fuck’s putting a curse on us!’ she called.

    ‘Since when are you scared of shit like that?’ Cora asked.

    ‘Since today.’

    ‘Don’t worry. The creep can’t hurt us now.’

    ‘Should’ve cut its throat when I had the chance.’