Richard Laymon - Fiends

Let her go?

He hurried after her, staring at the backs of her legs. Shadows and firelight fluttered on them. Sweat glistened. The skirt was so short it barely covered her rump and groin.

You get her and you get her.

She thrust herself up.

I’m gonna let her go, Jim thought. They’ll kill me, and they’ll probably get her anyway, but…

Instead of making a break for the woods, she whirled around, jerked a knife from the sheath at her hip, and threw herself at Jim.

The blade ripped the front of his shirt. Before she could bring it back across, he caught her wrist. He yanked her arm up high and drove a fist into her belly. Her breath exploded out. The blow picked her up. The power of it would’ve hurled her backward and slammed her to the ground, but Jim kept his grip on her wrist. She dangled in front of him, writhing and wheezing. Her sweaty face was twisted with agony.

One side of her vest hung open.

She might’ve had a chance.

I got her, I get her.

Jim cupped her warm, moist breast, felt its nipple pushing against his palm.

Her fist crashed into his nose. He saw it coming, couldn’t believe it, had no time to block it. Pain exploded behind his eyes. But he kept his grip, stretched her high by the trapped arm, and punched her belly until he could no longer hold her up.

Blinking tears from his eyes, sniffing up blood, he let go. Her legs folded. She dropped to her knees in front of him and slumped forward, her face hitting the ground between his feet. Crouching, he pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his belt. Blood splashed the back of her vest as he picked up her limp arms, pulled them behind her, and snapped the cuffs around her wrists.

‘That one put up a hell of a scrap,’ Roger said.

Jim, sitting on the ground beside the crumpled body of the woman, looked up at the grinning vampire. ‘She was pretty tough,’ he said. He sniffed and swallowed some more blood. ‘Sorry I couldn’t stop her quicker.’

Roger patted him on the head. ‘Think nothing of it. Strang was always a pain in the ass, anyway, and Winthrop was such an atrocious brown-noser. I’m better off without them. I’d say, taken all round, that we’ve had a banner night.’

Roger crouched in front of the woman, clutched the hair on top of her head, and lifted her to her knees. Her eyes were shut. By the limp way she hung there, Jim guessed she must still be unconscious.

‘A looker,’ Roger said. ‘Well worth a broken nose, if you ask me.’ He chuckled. ‘Of course, it’s not my nose. But if I were you, I’d be a

pretty damn happy fellow about now.’ He eased her down gently and walked off to join the other vampires.

While they waited for all the Guardians to return with the female prisoners, they searched the bodies of the outlaws, took whatever possessions they found interesting, and stripped the corpses. They tossed the clothing into the campfire, not one of them bothering to remove Strang from the flames.

Joking and laughing quite a bit, they hacked the bodies to pieces. The banter died away as they began to suck the remaining blood from severed heads, stumps of necks and arms and legs, from various limbs and organs. Jim turned his eyes away. He looked at the woman. She was lucky to be out cold. She couldn’t see the horrible carnage. She couldn’t hear the grunts and sighs of pleasure, the sloppy wet sounds, the occasional belch from the vampires relishing their feast. Nor could she hear the women who’d been captured and brought in by the other Guardians. They were weeping, pleading, screaming, vomiting.

When he finally looked away from her, he saw that all the Guardians had returned. Each had a prisoner. Bart and Harry both had two. Most of the women looked as if they’d been beaten. Most had been stripped of their clothes.

They looked to Jim like a sorry bunch.

Not one stood proud and defiant.

I got the best of the lot, he thought.

Roger rose to his feet, tossed a head into the fire, and rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘Well, folks,’ he said, ‘how’s about heading on back to the old homestead?’

Jim picked up the woman. Carrying her on his shoulder, he joined the procession on its journey through the woods. Other Guardians complimented him on his catch. Some made lewd suggestions about her. A few peeked under her skirt. Several offered to trade, and grumbled when Jim refused.

At last, they found their way to the road. They hiked up its moonlit center until they came to the bus. Biff and Steve, Guardians who’d stayed behind to protect it from outlaws and vampire gangs, waved greetings from its roof.

On the side of the black bus, in huge gold letters that glimmered with moonlight, was painted, ROGER’S ROWDY RAIDERS.

The vampires, Guardians and prisoners climbed aboard.

Roger drove.

Fiends

An hour later, they passed through the gates of his fortified estate.

The next day, Jim slept late. When he woke up, he lay in bed for a long time, thinking about the woman. Remembering her courage and beauty, the way her breast had felt in his hand, her weight and warmth and smoothness while she hung over his shoulder on the way to the bus.

He hoped she was all right. She’d seemed to be unconscious during the entire trip. Of course, she might’ve been pretending. Jim, sitting beside her, had savored the way she looked in the darkness and felt quick rushes of excitement each time a break in the trees permitted moonlight to wash across her.

The other Guardians were all busy raping their prisoners during the bus ride. Some had poked fun at him, asked if he’d gone queer like Biff and Steve, offered to pay him for a chance to screw Sleeping Beauty.

He wasn’t sure why he had left her alone during the trip. In the past, he’d never hesitated to enjoy his prisoners.

But this woman was different. Special. Proud and strong. She deserved better than to be molested while out cold and in the presence of others.

Jim would have her soon. In privacy. She would be alert, brave and fierce.

Soon.

But not today.

For today, the new arrivals would be in the care of Doc and his crew. They would be deloused and showered, then examined. Those judged incapable of bearing children would go to the Donor Ward. Each Donor had a two-fold job: to give a pint of blood daily for the estate’s stockroom, and to provide sexual services not only for the Guardian who captured her but also for any others, so inclined, once he’d finished.

The other prisoners would find themselves in the Specialty Suite.

It wasn’t a suite, just a barracks-like room similar to the Donor Ward. But those assigned to it did receive special treatment. They weren’t milked for blood. They were provided good food, not the slop doled out to the Donors.

And each Special could only be used by the Guardian who had captured her.

Mine will be a Special, Jim thought. She’s gotta be. She will be. She’s young and strong.

She’ll be mine. All mine.

At least till Delivery Day.

He felt a cold, spreading heaviness.

That’s a long time from now, he told himself. Don’t think about it.

Moaning, he climbed out of bed.

He was standing guard in the north tower at ten the next morning when the two-way radio squawked and Doc’s voice came through the speaker. ‘Harmon, you’re up. Specialty Suite, Honors Room Three. Bennington’s on his way to relieve you.’

Jim thumbed the speak button on his mike. ‘Roger,’ he said. Heart pounding, he waited for Bennington. He’d found out last night that his prisoner, named Diane, had been designated a Special. He’d hoped this would be the day, but he hadn’t counted on it; Doc only gave the okay if the timing was right. In Doc’s opinion, it was only right during about two weeks of each woman’s monthly cycle.