Ron Hubbard: Black Genesis

Heller looked back and to his right. Another man, a black, was standing there with a revolver pointed at him, thirty feet away. “We been waitin’ all afternoon for a setup like this, kid, so don’t make any sudden moves.”

The man with the shotgun said, “This is one time, sonny, when you don’t get a piece all to yourself. You can have some later, if there’s any left.”

Excited laughter was coming from the men around Miss Simmons. They were jumping up and down.

She struck at them with her stick!

A black grabbed it and yanked it out of her hand!

The others screeched with laughter and the one with the stick started to dance with it, waving it. The others started to dance around Miss Simmons.

Heller shouted in a strong voice, “Please don’t do this!”

The man with the shotgun said, “Take it easy, sonny. It’s just a gang rape. Some fun for a Sunday. Me and Joe is a little too (bleeped) out to do more than watch, so you just get smart and be like us and maybe we won’t have to kill you.”

“What kind of beasts are you on this planet?” shouted Heller.

“You got any money?” said the man with the revolver. “The big H comes high these days.”

The crowd around Miss Simmons was dashing in at her and dancing back. They were herding her into a flatter place more masked by trees. She was shouting at them to leave her alone.

Heller reached toward his haversack. “Hold it, sonny. Keep your hands in sight. This is a twelve-gauge and both barrels loaded in front of hair triggers. We can get his money later, Joe. Jesus,” he said indulgently, “look at those young devils.”

“Only the raving insane do things like that!” said Heller.

“What do you mean, insane?” challenged the man with the revolver. “Pete there taught ’em himself. He really knows his psychology. And every one of those kids got Grade A in psychology. How could they be insane? Jesus, would you look at how hard their (bleepers) are! Great stuff, hey, Pete?”

“Jesus, look at ’em,” chortled Pete.

Heller was backing up, I suddenly realized. Inch by slow inch he had been backing up. He was going to use a standard solution. He was going to run away! He was smarter than I thought.

The half-dozen whooping young men, getting wilder and wilder with excitement, had herded Miss Simmons into the flatter area. A Hispanic leaped in and grabbed off her hat!

Another leaped past her and hit at her hair. It came loose and showered around her shoulders.

“Yippee!” screamed a black. “Don’t she look wild!”

“Killing a bunch of hoodlums isn’t part of my job!” Heller said. Then he shouted, “Please quit this and get away while you still can!”

“The only ones likely to be killed is you and that (bleepch),” said Pete. He shouted down, “Jesus! Start stripping her! Show me some skin! Oh, man, does this beat Sunday TV.”

Two of them seized her coat, one from either side, and yanked it off her, danced away and threw it aside.

Two more dashed in past her flailing arms and tore at her shirt!

Heller was backing up, inch by inch.

“Blackie!” howled Joe down into the vale, “get behind her and get that bra off!”

“Ah,” sighed Pete in ecstasy.

“Pedrito!” howled Joe. “Get the skirt! The skirt, man! Yank it off her!”

As if in ultra-slow motion, Heller moved back further.

“Heat her up! Heat her up!” shouted Joe. “Grab her from behind and heat her up!”

“Get her down! Get her down!” howled Pete.

Miss Simmons’ foot lashed out at a man. He grabbed her shoe with a surging wrench, and tore it off her foot, laces and all. There was a crack.

Miss Simmons’ face contorted in agony. “My ankle!”

Pete said, “Oh, Jesus, I like it when they scream!”

Inch by inch, imperceptibly, Heller was backing up. The angle made by two tree trunks was closing. He was getting out of the shotgun’s field of fire. In a moment he would be able to escape. Smart.

Joe yelled, “Get her down! Get her on her back!”

Pete shouted, “Strip her total like I taught you!”

Joe let out a sigh. “Oh, wow! Look at that boy paw her!”

Miss Simmons’ voice rose to the tops of the trees. “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!”

A Hispanic was watching avidly as Miss Simmons cried, “My ankle is broken!”

Joe licked his lips as Miss Simmons’ scream lanced through the glade.

A wild-eyed white heard Pete’s shouted order, “Get her begging for it!” He darted forward.

Pete yelled, “Grab her legs!”

Joe jerked as Miss Simmons’ scream tore up from below.

“Let Whitey go first!” howled Pete. “The rest of you have got the (bleep)! Whitey first!”

Heller suddenly dived to the ground!

The shotgun blasted with a roar!

Heller was rolling to his left in a blur of motion.

A revolver shot racketed.

The man with the shotgun was trying to get around the tree which now blocked his aim. He pulled back.

Another revolver shot sounded and a spurt of dirt leaped near Heller’s head.

Heller was rolling further.

A sudden glimpse of a tree. The shotgun man lunged!

Heller’s hands shot out and grabbed the shotgun.

The man screamed, flailing back a broken hand.

Bark leaped from the tree! The racket of a revolver shot!

A sight down the shotgun barrel at the revolver man!

The buck of the shotgun!

The revolver man’s chest spurted red and he flew backwards.

The shotgun man trying to get up!

The swinging blur of the stock. The crack as the stock shattered. The shotgun man didn’t have a face! Just red flesh and bone splinters!

Heller sprang out into the path.

The group around the girl were spread out, facing up the path, crouched and alert.

A white youth yelled, “It’s just one guy! Kill him!”

A black and a Hispanic rushed forward.

A switchblade flashed.

The other four spread out so they could encircle.

Heller’s foot struck the switchblade hand. The knife flew. The man screamed!

A man seen between two others. He had a gun.

Heller’s foot extended like a battering ram. The man’s gun arm crumpled!

A whirl. Another knife! A foot up against the hand. The knife flew into the air!

Heller spun on one foot, the other extended like a scythe. The flat of the foot tore the man’s whole face off!

Gods! Spikes! This was why Heller was wearing spikes!

A knife blade glittering. It slashed down on Heller’s arm and bit.

A foot up toward the wielder. A down kick! The whole chest of the knife wielder ripped open!

Arms seizing Heller from behind. A darting back of Heller’s head, his own arms rising and casting off the grip. He spun!

Spikes stamped against a thigh and, ripping downward, that foot hit the ground. The other foot coming upward.

The whole throat of the man torn out!

A blur of three men trying to get at Heller.

A woolly head. A spiked foot driving at it. The grind of steel into bones!

A Hispanic face. The blur of a foot kick. The whole side of the head coming off.

A man’s heels. He was running, trying to get away.

A rush. A horizontal thrust of two spiked feet. They hit the man in the back. He went down in a skid of leaves. Heller landed upright. Man’s head two feet below the spikes. Down came Heller. The soles were held in a V. They stripped the skin, ears and two huge slabs of skull off the head.

Silence.

Heller started checking them. Five were dead, ripped to pieces. The sixth had his whole chest open. Veins and arteries were pumping.

The man came to. He screamed. He collapsed. The body went into the final twitches of the death agonies.

Heller went up the hill. Both Pete and Joe were very dead.